The Bish Closet Missions ... Mission 1
Dec. 2nd, 2007 11:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
texchanOK, so a bit of explanation is in order, I suppose. Recently, I was incredibly stressed about something that happened. Actually, I was stressed about "someone" who happened, so to speak. At the urging of a couple of friends, I decided to deal with that stress and unhappiness by writing a "snuff" fic. Of sorts. Nothing super mean or anything like that, but just me trying to convince my favorite flowery assassin boys to "deal with" my problem. In the end, the story turned out kind of funny, so I decided to share it. I may make this a semi-regular kind of thing, actually. Writing this one was fun. And very therapeutic!
When I Was Persia
(a tiny bit of very personal fanfic fun by tex-chan)
Legal Stuff: As always, this story is intended to express one fan’s genuine appreciation of Weiss Kreuz and its characters. It is just for fun and not for profit. If you have any rights in the anime described here and find the posting of this fanfiction offensive or harmful, please contact me, and I will be happy to remove it.
Warnings: Completely crack-ficish self insert. Oh, and bad language, too.
“OK, so … will you do it, or what?” I asked, giving Aya and Yohji an eyebrows-raised expression and a shoulder shrug that, I thought, more than adequately expressed my irritation over their dithering.
I paused long enough to glance around the Bish Closet, wincing at the mess. Empty Cheetos bags and half-eaten packages of beef jerky and breath mints littered the coffee table. The breeze from the AC vents caught a few of the empty wrappers, pushing them down to the floor, where they got caught in the draft and skittered around like living things. Beer bottles, some half-full and others empty and tossed on their sides, seemed to tower over the wrapper debris -- a little forest of used-up trash and potentially recyclable material that hadn’t managed to work its way to the trash bin. A light dusting of orange -- from the Cheetos -- covered everything, sticking to the table in the small puddles of beer that had leaked out of the overturned bottles. The TV was, of course, on -- tuned to The Fifth Element. The picture flickered and moved in the Bish Closet’s dim light, throwing a bluish glow over the coffee table, the debris littering it, the sofa, and its two occupants, both of whom were currently staring at the television in zombie-like fascination. The only things conspicuously absent were Yohji’s cigarettes and the overflowing ashtrays I was used to seeing all over the Bish Closet, but one sniff of the stale smoke smell hanging in the air told me they weren’t missing, just gone into hiding at my arrival.
“Do you guys ever clean up in here?” I asked.
The overwhelming clutter had distracted me from the task at hand, causing the question to pop out of my mouth, unbidden. I glanced around the room once more, wishing I could put some distance between myself and the carnage. Was it just my imagination, or was all this clutter making me itch? I scratched my head and told myself it wasn’t real. The place might be messy, but I couldn’t catch anything just from that.
Aya and Yohji, of course, ignored me. Neither looked away from the television, but Aya waved his hand toward Yohji -- an absent-minded gesture that, apparently, was supposed to indicate it was Yohji’s turn to clean up the mess. Yohji, in turn, shrugged, as if to say the mess didn’t bother him at all, which, of course, it didn’t.
I sighed and rolled my eyes toward the ceiling. It wasn’t like this was anything new. I was used to being ignored by my resident Bish Closet boys. Normally, it wouldn’t bother me, but tonight, I could hardly contain my irritation. Tonight was different. Tonight, for once, I needed them. Really and truly needed them. And yet, the bandage dress was getting more attention than my very real problem. How many times had they seen this damn movie, anyhow?
When a commercial flashed across the screen, I leaned down, over the back of the sofa, to retrieve the remote control. I couldn’t help hesitating when I realized I would have to do some cushion diving to find it. Considering the generally shabby state of the rest of the Bish Closet, there was no telling what I might find under the cushions. But, there was no help for it; it had to be done. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what I might find, and went for it, plunging my hand under the cushion on which Aya was sitting. In and out, thankfully. I had the remote control in a matter of seconds, and I clicked the television off as I pulled it out from beneath the sofa cushions.
That got their attention. They groaned in unison -- the sound of two irritated men who have just been deprived of their bandage dress fix for the evening -- and turned around to stare at me with two versions of an assassin-in-the-headlights expression. After a second, Aya frowned at me, the barest narrowing of his eyes as he glanced from the remote in my hand and, then, back up to my face. Staring down an unhappy assassin isn’t my idea of fun. I’m not ashamed to admit I had to fight the urge to take a step backward, away from the couch. But, I would have taken the remote with me, which, I figured, would have compounded the problem. Besides, they had been sitting in here, chomping down cartons of Cheetos and guzzling cases of beer for … well, longer than I liked to think about. And, I had the bills to prove it. I reminded myself of that and stood my ground, refusing to wither under Aya’s paint-peeling stare.
It felt like a long time that we glared at each other, neither of us really angry with the other, but, yet, both of us too stubborn to back down. After a few long seconds that felt like an eternity, Yohji snickered. I heard the rustle and squeak of old leather as he shifted around to dig under the sofa cushions in search of his cigarettes and lighter. Aya huffed a disgusted-sounding sigh and turned away, breaking eye contact with me just in time to see Yohji turn on his lighter.
He leaned over and flicked the cigarette from Yohji’s lips before the flame was halfway to the end of the stick. The cigarette spun through the air, hitting the edge of the coffee table and bouncing off to land on the floor, amid several empty beef jerky wrappers.
“What the fuck?” Yohji asked, turning to give Aya an indignant-looking stare.
“No smoking around Fangirl,” Aya replied, shrugging. As if that explained everything.
And, in a way, it did. Yohji didn’t look any happier, but he didn’t argue. He stared after the cigarette and, for a moment or two, looked as if he would dive under the coffee table to retrieve it. Just as he leaned forward to reach for it, there was a sudden rustling sound and a flash of blurry-white motion as my cat leaped into the middle of the trash pile, causing Yohji to utter a startled yelp as he jerked his hand back out of harm’s way. She scattered the empty jerky wrappers and grabbed the cigarette in her mouth, glancing at Yohji before bounding off to one of the far corners of the room, where she would, no doubt, amuse herself to no end by batting her new prize around on the floor.
“That was my last one,” Yohji muttered, under his breath. He didn’t even try to hide the whine in his voice.
He looked so forlorn and lost that I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. Not that I wanted him smoking around me. I was already getting a contact allergic reaction just from the stale smoke that had seeped into everything in this room. Still, I knew how it felt to need something like that -- in a way that made you feel you couldn’t get through another moment of the day without it. And, I knew the crushing feeling of having that something jerked out from under me. It wasn’t pretty, and I couldn’t help sympathizing with Yohji.
Unfortunately, Aya didn’t have that problem. He snickered, earning him an eyes-narrowed glare from Yohji. From the looks of things, they would be coming to physical blows within a matter of seconds. Unless I separated them or distracted them somehow.
“Anyhow,” I said, clearing my throat and leaning over the back of the sofa so that they were forced to scoot farther away from each other. “Are you guys going to do this for me, or not?”
Aya frowned at me. “What, exactly, is it that you want us to do?”
The sticking point. I had been so intent on getting them to agree to this job that I hadn’t put much thought into how I was going to ask for their assistance. It was a delicate thing, requiring a certain amount of balance and finesse. Sadly, I’ve never been one for finesse, so I decided I would just bull right ahead with things.
“Um … you know … just … like, maybe … a job. Or something,” I stammered.
My voice was muffled because I was chewing on my fingernail. I could feel my face flush with heat, and I knew I was blushing. Smooth, really smooth. Just the thing to convince your two pet assassin boys to handle a few things for you.
Aya and Yohji stared at me.
“I don’t think I heard you. Could you repeat that, please?” Yohji asked.
He cupped his hand around his ear and leaned toward me, as if to indicate I should speak up. But the teasing tone in his voice, along with Aya’s eyes-narrowed glare, told me, in no uncertain terms, they had both heard me.
I sighed, exasperated. “OK, fine. A job. A job. This person,” I said, tossing a photo printout over the back of the sofa.
It floated down to land on the cushion between them. Yohji picked it up, lifting his sunglasses up in order to study the image. It was grainy and blurry, and he squinted at it, turning the photo one way and, then, the other, as if that would make things stand out more clearly for him.
“Is this a person? Seriously? It looks like a … yeti,” Yohji said, frowning.
“There’s no such thing as a yeti,” Aya said, his tone flat, matter-of-fact, and, really, more than a little frightening. He turned his cold glare my way again as he continued, “You know I don’t like it when you get involved in stuff like this, Fangirl. I don’t like it at all.”
He stared at me until I started to squirm. Not that I was afraid of him -- exactly. But, really, when you have a couple of assassins living in your closet, you generally do whatever you have to do to keep them happy. A disappointed assassin is … well, not a good thing. Luckily for me, Yohji came to my rescue.
“No, really. A yeti. Don’t you think this looks like a yeti?” he asked, shoving the blurry photo in front of Aya’s face. “A naked yeti,” he continued, sounding very pleased with himself.
“There’s no such thing as …” Aya began, his voice trailing off as he took the picture. He held it close to his face, squinting at it, before shaking his head. “Well, maybe, but still. There are no such things as yetis. You should know better.” He tossed the print-out back into Yohji’s lap and turned his disquieting stare back in my direction. “And you, Fangirl, know better than to run around plotting murder. It’s not nice.”
I sighed and stared at the floor, shuffling my feet.
“I know that,” I said, my voice small, “It’s not like I run around doing this every day or anything. I just … this person is horrible. A putrid waste of skin.”
Aya stared at me.
“She sounds serious,” Yohji said, shrugging. “Putrid waste of skin. That’s not something you hear her say every day.”
“True,” Aya said, still staring at me with an intensity that made me want to sink down into the floorboards.
“Or, really, ever,” Yohji said, holding the photo up to squint at it again.
“True,” Aya said.
“Putrid waste of skin,” Yohji continued, “That’s … you know, harsh. Especially for her.”
Aya sighed in irritation, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. “All right! All right! I get it. You win. You both win. Just this once. I don’t want this to become a habit, Fangirl.”
I nodded -- a solemn promise that it wouldn’t become a habit for me. Or, as close to a solemn promise as I could get, considering that I couldn’t stop smiling. It was all I could do to contain the fangirl squeal that wanted to work its way out of my throat. But, I managed to choke it down.
“So, where do we find the yeti?” Yohji asked, grinning as Aya groaned in frustration at a joke that had grown stale about two seconds after it was first uttered.
“Address is on the back of the picture,” I replied.
“Oooh! Nevada! I love that place,” Yohji said, barely able to contain his excitement. He was the very picture of a grown boy who has just been told his job will take him to the neatest playground, ever.
Aya didn’t look nearly so happy. He snatched the picture from Yohji’s fingers and frowned at it, grumbling under his breath, “Stupid yeti. It’s fucking hot there. And leather doesn’t breathe.”
***********************
Aya and Yohji paused in the hallway. The house was dark and quiet, except for a blue-toned glow that shone from a room toward the end of the hall. They could hear the steady tap-tap-tap of someone pecking away at a computer keyboard. The sounds were slight, but they floated down the hall, distinct in the quiet that pervaded the rest of the house. It was obvious that room was the only occupied space in the building, and, thus, where they would find their target.
The whole mission had been almost laughably simple. One plane ride from the Bish Closet to Nevada. One cab ride to the address indicated on the target’s photo. The house didn’t have any security -- not even a burglar alarm or a little yappy dog. Nothing to alert its occupant to their presence. It hadn’t taken Yohji more than a few seconds to pick the lock on the front door, and, still, their target had no clue the white hunters of Weiss were closing in on him.
Aya sighed and wiped a trail of sweat from his forehead. He had been right about leather and the hot weather here not mixing well. He was hot and irritated, and more than ready to get this stupid mission over and done with. The sooner Fangirl’s yeti was dead, the sooner he could head back north, where it was cooler.
He nodded to Yohji, indicating the glowing room at the end of the hallway. Yohji nodded in return, to show he understood. And, in unison, they crept forward, their boots making no sound as they stalked down the hall. Only the slight squeak of leather rubbing against leather marked their passage, but the small noises went unnoticed by the house’s occupant, who was still too preoccupied with typing on the computer.
As they reached the doorway and moved into the room, Aya felt his stomach clench with dread. It was worse than he had expected. Way, way worse. Their target sat hunched over the computer keyboard, bathed in the glow from the monitor. His skin was pasty-pale, and he wore only a pair of boxer shorts and a wife-beater undershirt. He was big -- layer upon layer of blubbery flesh protruded from beneath the hem of his shirt and over the waistband of his boxers, as well as wiggling along the underneath of his arms as he typed. In contrast to his grotesquely large body, his head was small. So small that it seemed square and out of place on top of such a mountain of flesh. He never noticed Aya and Yohji’s presence. He was too engrossed in whatever he was typing, leaning forward to mumble curses and insults under his breath as his fat fingers flew across the keyboard. He left a fine mist of spittle splattered across the computer monitor, but he couldn’t pull his attention away from the insults and bile he was typing long enough to wipe the monitor clean.
Aya jerked his head toward the hallway, indicating to Yohji that he wanted to retreat back the way they had come. Yohji took one more despairing glance at their target and, reluctantly, nodded his agreement. As one, they backed out of the room and into the hall.
“That yeti is gross,” Yohji hissed, once they were sufficiently out of earshot of the glowing room.
Aya nodded. “I know it’s important to Fangirl,” he whispered, “But … I’m not sticking my sword in that.” He shuddered as he imagined his precious weapon sinking beneath layers and layers of blubbery fat. “That’s no way to treat a weapon,” he said. “Besides, I might not get it back.” He paused for a moment or two, before asking, his tone hopeful, “We could use your wire …??”
“Don’t even think about it,” Yohji whispered back. “Besides, there’s not enough wire in the universe to strangle that … thing.” He glanced back toward the glow at the end of the hall. “So?” he asked, “What do we do? This was really important to Fangirl. Putrid waste of skin. That’s what she said.”
Aya sighed. “I know. Don’t remind me.” He wiped another trail of sweat from his face as he tried to think of the most reasonable course of action. After a few seconds, he shrugged and sighed again. “There’s only one thing we can do.”
“Great,” Yohji whispered, “Care to share your brilliant plan?”
“Simple,” Aya said, giving Yohji a little half-smile that made the older man’s blood run cold, “We get Ken to do it. He won’t care. He’ll kill anything.”
******************************
Aya paced back and forth in front of the Bish Closet door. How long could it possibly take for Ken to handle things, anyhow? They had been back for a day and a half already, and he had expected Ken to contact him by now. So far, Fangirl hadn’t asked about the job, but it was only a matter of time. She had been happier than usual to see them upon their return, presenting them not only with a newly-cleaned Bish Closet, but a copy of Fifth Element on DVD, as well as a carton of cigarettes for Yohji, a case of Cheetos for him, and two cases of beer for the two of them to share. Not that he was complaining about the swag, but Aya felt a little guilty having taken payment for a job he had been unable to complete. He wasn’t sure what he would tell her when she finally got around to asking about their outing. After leaving the yeti’s house, Yohji had been pretty successful at the black jack tables, but Aya had a feeling that wasn’t exactly what Fangirl wanted to hear.
Just when he thought he was going to wear a hole in the floor, there was a knock at the door. With a soft sigh of relief, Aya opened the Bish Closet door to find Ken standing there -- still wearing his assassin gear, right down to the bugnuks. And, yet, Ken was surprisingly clean. No blood, no gore. Nothing but a good-natured, goofy grin.
Aya frowned at him.
“I told you not to come back until the job was done,” he said.
“You’re not backing out on our deal, are you?” Ken asked, his grin dissolving into a suspicious-looking glare.
“No, no. A deal is a deal. Three morning shifts and two extra afternoon shifts in the shop. Plus, Yohji’s porno stash,” Aya said, frowning as he confirmed the second part of his deal with Ken. He still wasn’t sure how he was going to break that to Yohji. The chain-smoking playboy was a man who liked his porn. A lot.
“Great,” Ken said, the goofy grin returning. “So, it’s all done, then.”
Aya frowned. “But … you’re all clean.”
Ken shrugged. “Weirdest damn thing. I barely poked him with my claws, and he just … deflated. There wasn’t anything in there -- just hot air, I guess. What was that thing, anyhow? A yeti?”
Aya groaned. “Never mind,” he said, shoving Ken out of the Bish Closet and closing the door in his face.
He felt strangely dissatisfied as he slouched down onto the sofa, propping his feet up on the coffee table. But, in the end, he figured it wasn’t anything a fresh bag of Cheetos and a new Fifth Element DVD wouldn’t cure.
~end~
(a tiny bit of very personal fanfic fun by tex-chan)
Legal Stuff: As always, this story is intended to express one fan’s genuine appreciation of Weiss Kreuz and its characters. It is just for fun and not for profit. If you have any rights in the anime described here and find the posting of this fanfiction offensive or harmful, please contact me, and I will be happy to remove it.
Warnings: Completely crack-ficish self insert. Oh, and bad language, too.
“OK, so … will you do it, or what?” I asked, giving Aya and Yohji an eyebrows-raised expression and a shoulder shrug that, I thought, more than adequately expressed my irritation over their dithering.
I paused long enough to glance around the Bish Closet, wincing at the mess. Empty Cheetos bags and half-eaten packages of beef jerky and breath mints littered the coffee table. The breeze from the AC vents caught a few of the empty wrappers, pushing them down to the floor, where they got caught in the draft and skittered around like living things. Beer bottles, some half-full and others empty and tossed on their sides, seemed to tower over the wrapper debris -- a little forest of used-up trash and potentially recyclable material that hadn’t managed to work its way to the trash bin. A light dusting of orange -- from the Cheetos -- covered everything, sticking to the table in the small puddles of beer that had leaked out of the overturned bottles. The TV was, of course, on -- tuned to The Fifth Element. The picture flickered and moved in the Bish Closet’s dim light, throwing a bluish glow over the coffee table, the debris littering it, the sofa, and its two occupants, both of whom were currently staring at the television in zombie-like fascination. The only things conspicuously absent were Yohji’s cigarettes and the overflowing ashtrays I was used to seeing all over the Bish Closet, but one sniff of the stale smoke smell hanging in the air told me they weren’t missing, just gone into hiding at my arrival.
“Do you guys ever clean up in here?” I asked.
The overwhelming clutter had distracted me from the task at hand, causing the question to pop out of my mouth, unbidden. I glanced around the room once more, wishing I could put some distance between myself and the carnage. Was it just my imagination, or was all this clutter making me itch? I scratched my head and told myself it wasn’t real. The place might be messy, but I couldn’t catch anything just from that.
Aya and Yohji, of course, ignored me. Neither looked away from the television, but Aya waved his hand toward Yohji -- an absent-minded gesture that, apparently, was supposed to indicate it was Yohji’s turn to clean up the mess. Yohji, in turn, shrugged, as if to say the mess didn’t bother him at all, which, of course, it didn’t.
I sighed and rolled my eyes toward the ceiling. It wasn’t like this was anything new. I was used to being ignored by my resident Bish Closet boys. Normally, it wouldn’t bother me, but tonight, I could hardly contain my irritation. Tonight was different. Tonight, for once, I needed them. Really and truly needed them. And yet, the bandage dress was getting more attention than my very real problem. How many times had they seen this damn movie, anyhow?
When a commercial flashed across the screen, I leaned down, over the back of the sofa, to retrieve the remote control. I couldn’t help hesitating when I realized I would have to do some cushion diving to find it. Considering the generally shabby state of the rest of the Bish Closet, there was no telling what I might find under the cushions. But, there was no help for it; it had to be done. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what I might find, and went for it, plunging my hand under the cushion on which Aya was sitting. In and out, thankfully. I had the remote control in a matter of seconds, and I clicked the television off as I pulled it out from beneath the sofa cushions.
That got their attention. They groaned in unison -- the sound of two irritated men who have just been deprived of their bandage dress fix for the evening -- and turned around to stare at me with two versions of an assassin-in-the-headlights expression. After a second, Aya frowned at me, the barest narrowing of his eyes as he glanced from the remote in my hand and, then, back up to my face. Staring down an unhappy assassin isn’t my idea of fun. I’m not ashamed to admit I had to fight the urge to take a step backward, away from the couch. But, I would have taken the remote with me, which, I figured, would have compounded the problem. Besides, they had been sitting in here, chomping down cartons of Cheetos and guzzling cases of beer for … well, longer than I liked to think about. And, I had the bills to prove it. I reminded myself of that and stood my ground, refusing to wither under Aya’s paint-peeling stare.
It felt like a long time that we glared at each other, neither of us really angry with the other, but, yet, both of us too stubborn to back down. After a few long seconds that felt like an eternity, Yohji snickered. I heard the rustle and squeak of old leather as he shifted around to dig under the sofa cushions in search of his cigarettes and lighter. Aya huffed a disgusted-sounding sigh and turned away, breaking eye contact with me just in time to see Yohji turn on his lighter.
He leaned over and flicked the cigarette from Yohji’s lips before the flame was halfway to the end of the stick. The cigarette spun through the air, hitting the edge of the coffee table and bouncing off to land on the floor, amid several empty beef jerky wrappers.
“What the fuck?” Yohji asked, turning to give Aya an indignant-looking stare.
“No smoking around Fangirl,” Aya replied, shrugging. As if that explained everything.
And, in a way, it did. Yohji didn’t look any happier, but he didn’t argue. He stared after the cigarette and, for a moment or two, looked as if he would dive under the coffee table to retrieve it. Just as he leaned forward to reach for it, there was a sudden rustling sound and a flash of blurry-white motion as my cat leaped into the middle of the trash pile, causing Yohji to utter a startled yelp as he jerked his hand back out of harm’s way. She scattered the empty jerky wrappers and grabbed the cigarette in her mouth, glancing at Yohji before bounding off to one of the far corners of the room, where she would, no doubt, amuse herself to no end by batting her new prize around on the floor.
“That was my last one,” Yohji muttered, under his breath. He didn’t even try to hide the whine in his voice.
He looked so forlorn and lost that I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. Not that I wanted him smoking around me. I was already getting a contact allergic reaction just from the stale smoke that had seeped into everything in this room. Still, I knew how it felt to need something like that -- in a way that made you feel you couldn’t get through another moment of the day without it. And, I knew the crushing feeling of having that something jerked out from under me. It wasn’t pretty, and I couldn’t help sympathizing with Yohji.
Unfortunately, Aya didn’t have that problem. He snickered, earning him an eyes-narrowed glare from Yohji. From the looks of things, they would be coming to physical blows within a matter of seconds. Unless I separated them or distracted them somehow.
“Anyhow,” I said, clearing my throat and leaning over the back of the sofa so that they were forced to scoot farther away from each other. “Are you guys going to do this for me, or not?”
Aya frowned at me. “What, exactly, is it that you want us to do?”
The sticking point. I had been so intent on getting them to agree to this job that I hadn’t put much thought into how I was going to ask for their assistance. It was a delicate thing, requiring a certain amount of balance and finesse. Sadly, I’ve never been one for finesse, so I decided I would just bull right ahead with things.
“Um … you know … just … like, maybe … a job. Or something,” I stammered.
My voice was muffled because I was chewing on my fingernail. I could feel my face flush with heat, and I knew I was blushing. Smooth, really smooth. Just the thing to convince your two pet assassin boys to handle a few things for you.
Aya and Yohji stared at me.
“I don’t think I heard you. Could you repeat that, please?” Yohji asked.
He cupped his hand around his ear and leaned toward me, as if to indicate I should speak up. But the teasing tone in his voice, along with Aya’s eyes-narrowed glare, told me, in no uncertain terms, they had both heard me.
I sighed, exasperated. “OK, fine. A job. A job. This person,” I said, tossing a photo printout over the back of the sofa.
It floated down to land on the cushion between them. Yohji picked it up, lifting his sunglasses up in order to study the image. It was grainy and blurry, and he squinted at it, turning the photo one way and, then, the other, as if that would make things stand out more clearly for him.
“Is this a person? Seriously? It looks like a … yeti,” Yohji said, frowning.
“There’s no such thing as a yeti,” Aya said, his tone flat, matter-of-fact, and, really, more than a little frightening. He turned his cold glare my way again as he continued, “You know I don’t like it when you get involved in stuff like this, Fangirl. I don’t like it at all.”
He stared at me until I started to squirm. Not that I was afraid of him -- exactly. But, really, when you have a couple of assassins living in your closet, you generally do whatever you have to do to keep them happy. A disappointed assassin is … well, not a good thing. Luckily for me, Yohji came to my rescue.
“No, really. A yeti. Don’t you think this looks like a yeti?” he asked, shoving the blurry photo in front of Aya’s face. “A naked yeti,” he continued, sounding very pleased with himself.
“There’s no such thing as …” Aya began, his voice trailing off as he took the picture. He held it close to his face, squinting at it, before shaking his head. “Well, maybe, but still. There are no such things as yetis. You should know better.” He tossed the print-out back into Yohji’s lap and turned his disquieting stare back in my direction. “And you, Fangirl, know better than to run around plotting murder. It’s not nice.”
I sighed and stared at the floor, shuffling my feet.
“I know that,” I said, my voice small, “It’s not like I run around doing this every day or anything. I just … this person is horrible. A putrid waste of skin.”
Aya stared at me.
“She sounds serious,” Yohji said, shrugging. “Putrid waste of skin. That’s not something you hear her say every day.”
“True,” Aya said, still staring at me with an intensity that made me want to sink down into the floorboards.
“Or, really, ever,” Yohji said, holding the photo up to squint at it again.
“True,” Aya said.
“Putrid waste of skin,” Yohji continued, “That’s … you know, harsh. Especially for her.”
Aya sighed in irritation, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. “All right! All right! I get it. You win. You both win. Just this once. I don’t want this to become a habit, Fangirl.”
I nodded -- a solemn promise that it wouldn’t become a habit for me. Or, as close to a solemn promise as I could get, considering that I couldn’t stop smiling. It was all I could do to contain the fangirl squeal that wanted to work its way out of my throat. But, I managed to choke it down.
“So, where do we find the yeti?” Yohji asked, grinning as Aya groaned in frustration at a joke that had grown stale about two seconds after it was first uttered.
“Address is on the back of the picture,” I replied.
“Oooh! Nevada! I love that place,” Yohji said, barely able to contain his excitement. He was the very picture of a grown boy who has just been told his job will take him to the neatest playground, ever.
Aya didn’t look nearly so happy. He snatched the picture from Yohji’s fingers and frowned at it, grumbling under his breath, “Stupid yeti. It’s fucking hot there. And leather doesn’t breathe.”
***********************
Aya and Yohji paused in the hallway. The house was dark and quiet, except for a blue-toned glow that shone from a room toward the end of the hall. They could hear the steady tap-tap-tap of someone pecking away at a computer keyboard. The sounds were slight, but they floated down the hall, distinct in the quiet that pervaded the rest of the house. It was obvious that room was the only occupied space in the building, and, thus, where they would find their target.
The whole mission had been almost laughably simple. One plane ride from the Bish Closet to Nevada. One cab ride to the address indicated on the target’s photo. The house didn’t have any security -- not even a burglar alarm or a little yappy dog. Nothing to alert its occupant to their presence. It hadn’t taken Yohji more than a few seconds to pick the lock on the front door, and, still, their target had no clue the white hunters of Weiss were closing in on him.
Aya sighed and wiped a trail of sweat from his forehead. He had been right about leather and the hot weather here not mixing well. He was hot and irritated, and more than ready to get this stupid mission over and done with. The sooner Fangirl’s yeti was dead, the sooner he could head back north, where it was cooler.
He nodded to Yohji, indicating the glowing room at the end of the hallway. Yohji nodded in return, to show he understood. And, in unison, they crept forward, their boots making no sound as they stalked down the hall. Only the slight squeak of leather rubbing against leather marked their passage, but the small noises went unnoticed by the house’s occupant, who was still too preoccupied with typing on the computer.
As they reached the doorway and moved into the room, Aya felt his stomach clench with dread. It was worse than he had expected. Way, way worse. Their target sat hunched over the computer keyboard, bathed in the glow from the monitor. His skin was pasty-pale, and he wore only a pair of boxer shorts and a wife-beater undershirt. He was big -- layer upon layer of blubbery flesh protruded from beneath the hem of his shirt and over the waistband of his boxers, as well as wiggling along the underneath of his arms as he typed. In contrast to his grotesquely large body, his head was small. So small that it seemed square and out of place on top of such a mountain of flesh. He never noticed Aya and Yohji’s presence. He was too engrossed in whatever he was typing, leaning forward to mumble curses and insults under his breath as his fat fingers flew across the keyboard. He left a fine mist of spittle splattered across the computer monitor, but he couldn’t pull his attention away from the insults and bile he was typing long enough to wipe the monitor clean.
Aya jerked his head toward the hallway, indicating to Yohji that he wanted to retreat back the way they had come. Yohji took one more despairing glance at their target and, reluctantly, nodded his agreement. As one, they backed out of the room and into the hall.
“That yeti is gross,” Yohji hissed, once they were sufficiently out of earshot of the glowing room.
Aya nodded. “I know it’s important to Fangirl,” he whispered, “But … I’m not sticking my sword in that.” He shuddered as he imagined his precious weapon sinking beneath layers and layers of blubbery fat. “That’s no way to treat a weapon,” he said. “Besides, I might not get it back.” He paused for a moment or two, before asking, his tone hopeful, “We could use your wire …??”
“Don’t even think about it,” Yohji whispered back. “Besides, there’s not enough wire in the universe to strangle that … thing.” He glanced back toward the glow at the end of the hall. “So?” he asked, “What do we do? This was really important to Fangirl. Putrid waste of skin. That’s what she said.”
Aya sighed. “I know. Don’t remind me.” He wiped another trail of sweat from his face as he tried to think of the most reasonable course of action. After a few seconds, he shrugged and sighed again. “There’s only one thing we can do.”
“Great,” Yohji whispered, “Care to share your brilliant plan?”
“Simple,” Aya said, giving Yohji a little half-smile that made the older man’s blood run cold, “We get Ken to do it. He won’t care. He’ll kill anything.”
******************************
Aya paced back and forth in front of the Bish Closet door. How long could it possibly take for Ken to handle things, anyhow? They had been back for a day and a half already, and he had expected Ken to contact him by now. So far, Fangirl hadn’t asked about the job, but it was only a matter of time. She had been happier than usual to see them upon their return, presenting them not only with a newly-cleaned Bish Closet, but a copy of Fifth Element on DVD, as well as a carton of cigarettes for Yohji, a case of Cheetos for him, and two cases of beer for the two of them to share. Not that he was complaining about the swag, but Aya felt a little guilty having taken payment for a job he had been unable to complete. He wasn’t sure what he would tell her when she finally got around to asking about their outing. After leaving the yeti’s house, Yohji had been pretty successful at the black jack tables, but Aya had a feeling that wasn’t exactly what Fangirl wanted to hear.
Just when he thought he was going to wear a hole in the floor, there was a knock at the door. With a soft sigh of relief, Aya opened the Bish Closet door to find Ken standing there -- still wearing his assassin gear, right down to the bugnuks. And, yet, Ken was surprisingly clean. No blood, no gore. Nothing but a good-natured, goofy grin.
Aya frowned at him.
“I told you not to come back until the job was done,” he said.
“You’re not backing out on our deal, are you?” Ken asked, his grin dissolving into a suspicious-looking glare.
“No, no. A deal is a deal. Three morning shifts and two extra afternoon shifts in the shop. Plus, Yohji’s porno stash,” Aya said, frowning as he confirmed the second part of his deal with Ken. He still wasn’t sure how he was going to break that to Yohji. The chain-smoking playboy was a man who liked his porn. A lot.
“Great,” Ken said, the goofy grin returning. “So, it’s all done, then.”
Aya frowned. “But … you’re all clean.”
Ken shrugged. “Weirdest damn thing. I barely poked him with my claws, and he just … deflated. There wasn’t anything in there -- just hot air, I guess. What was that thing, anyhow? A yeti?”
Aya groaned. “Never mind,” he said, shoving Ken out of the Bish Closet and closing the door in his face.
He felt strangely dissatisfied as he slouched down onto the sofa, propping his feet up on the coffee table. But, in the end, he figured it wasn’t anything a fresh bag of Cheetos and a new Fifth Element DVD wouldn’t cure.
~end~
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Oh, I wish ^_^
Date: 2007-12-05 03:54 am (UTC)Re: Oh, I wish ^_^
Date: 2007-12-05 10:13 pm (UTC)Oh, how I wish I really had assassin boys living in my closet. Although, I'm confident it wouldn't be as great of a thing in "real life" as it seems like it would be in my imagination. But, then, a fangirl wants what a fangirl wants ... which is quite a scary thing. =P
I'm really glad you enjoyed this one. It's a weird little story, but I thought it turned out to be a little funny. At least, that was my hope.
Thanks for taking the time to read it, as well as for the encouraging comments. Sometimes, I'm such a pathetic whiner. *fwaps self*
*sends hugs*
(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-27 05:12 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-27 06:20 pm (UTC)The Cheetos thing has kind of taken on a life of its own. It started out as a joke between me and one of my cel friends. She writes fanfic, too. Anyhow, I kept joking that I had Aya and Yohji tied up in my closet -- you know, for safe-keeping. And, I said I kept them there and happy about it by feeding them Cheetos (for Aya) and Beer (for Yohji). The Cheetos ... I think I love the idea of Aya eating them because they are such a messy snack, and he seems so fastidious and clean, as if dirt wouldn't dare stick to him. *giggle*
Anyhow, from there, the Bish Closet was born. It just kind of grew in my imagination until it became, more or less, a kind of dingy flat where they hang out from time to time. And, yeah, there are always Cheetos and beer.
The funny thing is that I used to post on a big cel forum, and it didn't take long before people on there started talking about "Tex's Bish Closet" ... then people began mentioning it on one of the cel gallery sites, so I guess it sort of became "known" to other folks that way. Which is weird. Funny, but weird. =P
But, I guess the Bish Closet is here to stay. At least, in my own imagination -- eeek! Skeery! o.o