Salome (
sweetsalome) wrote2008-08-29 09:04 pm
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Homecoming [
powered_otaku]
He had silently entered his own house the night before, when no one was there to greet him, to make a fuss over him. Standing in the front foyer, he looked around slowly, not a thing out of place, the great walls and ceiling as silent as a tomb. Like a giant cat he had stalked through the house, making sure everything was as it should be. A massive shadow, gliding over chairs and carpets, all seeing, all knowing. The shadow beast settled himself in one of the massive high back chairs in the living room, glass of scotch in hand he listened, he waited. He waited a long time before this, there was nothing wrong with waiting a little more.
Salome thought she had been wrong. Maybe he wasn't coming home that day, or maybe he had just decided that it wasn't worth it and just left town. Maybe Santa was real and this year she would finally get that pony she always wanted for Christmas.
There's nothing wrong with being wrong, just expect the consequences of not being right.
He called her into his office, summoned her, as if some sort of employee, if she was nothing but a serf on his estate. She sat in one of the big high backed chairs across from his desk, the one with the slippery leather that squeaked every time she moved or shifted. Palms wet, heart racing, two works away from a panic attack as he fixed her with those eyes of his, eyes she had only seen from behind the safety of bullet proof glass. There was a high likelihood that she was going to either die or throw up on his Persian rug.
She did neither.
He spoke to her softly, asking how she had been, how Jonba was and how her summer had gone at her grandparents. The more they talked, the more she relaxed, until she was left only slightly weary, her palms now dry. Maybe she had made a mistake, there was no threat here, just a man she had missed while he had been gone. Someone who had changed when no one thought he could.
He asked her for a hug.
Standing up, she walked to him and lent forward to give him a gentle hug around his shoulders. For a moment that was enough, but when she started to pull away, he grabbed her by the hips and yanked her down into his lap. Despite the struggle, despite the fight she didn't do any damage, except smack her foot against the desk drawers.
Fool me once, shame on you, fool me two hundred times. . . Maybe I might be asking for it.
"I heard you've been bad," he whispers into her ear, hand at the back of her neck, holding her still like some wild animal.
"I heard that you've been telling lies about me," his fingers tightened, applying more pressure.
"I even heard you found a play thing, and he believes you. How long do you think that's going to last?" With his free hand, he reaches for the ring on her left hand and twirls the band around slowly.
"How long before he gets tired of you? Before you come crying back to me because he doesn't love you any more. . ." He stands up with her and starts to move to the door, dragging her along as she struggles in his grip.
She doesn't fight as hard as she could have, she knows that if she did it would hurt, a lot. She doesn't want to get hurt, she doesn't have the defenses for it any more. This needs to be over, this pain, this humiliation, this feeling of being so filthy and disgusting that she can't even look at herself in the mirror. Somewhere, between the study and the bedroom, she takes over, and mercifully, Salome doesn't feel a thing.
She picks up the phone and she sends the text message after a shower. There is no need to delay the inevitable any longer.
Salome thought she had been wrong. Maybe he wasn't coming home that day, or maybe he had just decided that it wasn't worth it and just left town. Maybe Santa was real and this year she would finally get that pony she always wanted for Christmas.
There's nothing wrong with being wrong, just expect the consequences of not being right.
He called her into his office, summoned her, as if some sort of employee, if she was nothing but a serf on his estate. She sat in one of the big high backed chairs across from his desk, the one with the slippery leather that squeaked every time she moved or shifted. Palms wet, heart racing, two works away from a panic attack as he fixed her with those eyes of his, eyes she had only seen from behind the safety of bullet proof glass. There was a high likelihood that she was going to either die or throw up on his Persian rug.
She did neither.
He spoke to her softly, asking how she had been, how Jonba was and how her summer had gone at her grandparents. The more they talked, the more she relaxed, until she was left only slightly weary, her palms now dry. Maybe she had made a mistake, there was no threat here, just a man she had missed while he had been gone. Someone who had changed when no one thought he could.
He asked her for a hug.
Standing up, she walked to him and lent forward to give him a gentle hug around his shoulders. For a moment that was enough, but when she started to pull away, he grabbed her by the hips and yanked her down into his lap. Despite the struggle, despite the fight she didn't do any damage, except smack her foot against the desk drawers.
Fool me once, shame on you, fool me two hundred times. . . Maybe I might be asking for it.
"I heard you've been bad," he whispers into her ear, hand at the back of her neck, holding her still like some wild animal.
"I heard that you've been telling lies about me," his fingers tightened, applying more pressure.
"I even heard you found a play thing, and he believes you. How long do you think that's going to last?" With his free hand, he reaches for the ring on her left hand and twirls the band around slowly.
"How long before he gets tired of you? Before you come crying back to me because he doesn't love you any more. . ." He stands up with her and starts to move to the door, dragging her along as she struggles in his grip.
She doesn't fight as hard as she could have, she knows that if she did it would hurt, a lot. She doesn't want to get hurt, she doesn't have the defenses for it any more. This needs to be over, this pain, this humiliation, this feeling of being so filthy and disgusting that she can't even look at herself in the mirror. Somewhere, between the study and the bedroom, she takes over, and mercifully, Salome doesn't feel a thing.
She picks up the phone and she sends the text message after a shower. There is no need to delay the inevitable any longer.
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"Talk to me in Japanese, don't tell me what you are saying, just talk, please?"
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"We are here."
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"Thank you for letting me nap."
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The immediate area in front of the elevators bears the Yamagato logo. The hall stretches to either side. To the left are the rank-in-file apartments - many more doors. To the right there are fewer doors and the Yamagato logo is on them all. Hiro leads her down the right, all the way to the end of the hall. He opens the door.
The huge suite would fit 3 of Hiro's Tokyo apartment. However, it's more than obvious that Hiro hasn't moved anything much into here. The shelves are nearly empty and there are only a few other things in the sunken living room. There are a number of very tasteful Japanese prints of natural scenes and a few scrolls with calligraphy. The furniture is cherry and the room itself is an off-white which makes it look even more huge, especially with all the windows.
Hiro tosses the keys into a wooden bowl near the door. As he starts across the room, the blinking light of the phone catches his attention. He hits the button.
"Two new messages. First message," the machine says just before a torrent of Japanese in a female voice spills out of the speakers. Whoever it is definitely sounds worried. Hiro groans.
The machine beeps. "Second message." More Japanese, but it is definitely a guy, also sounding worried.
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Exploring the apartment, she listens to the messages, she has no idea what the voices are saying, but the way Hiro groans, it really can't be good news. Slipping off her shoes, she hangs up his jacket on one of the cherry wood chairs before walking over to him.
Her arms wrap around him from behind and she puts her lips against the back of his shoulder. "Is everything okay, Hiro? Is that your sister?"
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"Hiro?"
"Oneesan," he says.
She launches into what Salome recognizes as an "I was so worried about you" speech, even though it's in Japanese. Hiro can't get a word in edge-wise until she finally runs out of steam. Her name comes up in the conversation.
"Salome? Dare ka?"
"Boku no fiancee des'."
There's a long pause. "Is she there?" The voice has less of an accent than Hiro's, obviously much better versed in English than Hiro. "Miss Salome?"
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Freezing, she looks at Hiro, and then grabs his hand, as if she could actually see Salome there. Licking her lips she clears her throat and tries to think of the right way to address Hiro's sister.
"Yes, Ms. Kimiko?"
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There's a buzz on the line. "That is the other line, oneesan. It is Ando."
"You worried him, Hiro. You need to work on your message etiquette. Better that he's calling you than me. It was a pleasure to meet you, Salome. I look forward to meeting you in person," this is said rather pointedly to Hiro. "Abayo, ototochan."
"Sayonara, oneesan. The one line goes dead just in time for a male voice to start up. "Hiro! Doko e..."
"New York, Ando."
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She can breathe a little easier when Kimiko hangs up, and Ando's voice comes on the line. It's deeper then she thought it would be, but then again she should learn not to expect anything these days. Kissing Hiro's cheek, she slowly moves away from him to sit down on a chair close by.
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"I will talk to you later, Ando." There's a long pause, then Ando says goodbye.
Hiro flops down in the chair near hers. "At least they will not be calling again until the meeting tomorrow night."
There's a knock at the door and Hiro lets in the driver, who's laden down with grocery bags and bags from Ajisen Noodle restaurant. He goes directly to the kitchen and puts the groceries away as Hiro puts lunch together. He expertly carries over many plates, placing them on the low coffee table in the living room.
"Are you hungry at all?"
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"What did you tell him?"
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Hiro grabs the noodles and puts about half of them on a plate and makes his sauce. He holds the carton out to her.
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"I've heard him at least, now I know he's real."
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He dunks more noodles in the sauce and slurps them down before he reaches for the cold persimmon sake he ordered. "Do you want to try some?"
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Pulling away, she grabs for her bag and then walks into the kitchen. There's something for the tension headache, the general pain, and the various pills that are prescribed after a sexual assault. That makes her shudder, but she swallows them down before walking to the living room.
"I dub this living room, Moon bunny outpost one." And she laughs because of the image of little bunnies in moon suits bouncing around.
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Hiro looks around at the room. "Moon bunny outpost one? It is a very big outpost." Even though he has money, Hiro has never been a huge spender. This place is a little extravagant to him, but with Salome and Jonba there, it will definitely shrink a bit in size. He has no idea how his sister bore this except possibly that she spends more money than he does. After all, she still lives in the house in Tokyo. He loves that house, but after his mother died, it always seemed empty to him.
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Her head on his shoulder she shrugs and then grins broadly. "Well outpost one is just this room, there is a command station and everything else. They just take up all the other rooms. Speaking of which, how many other rooms are there?"
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Hiro thinks, then gets a puzzled look on his face. "I do not know how many rooms are in here. I usually stayed in the room a couple doors down the hall." He gets up and holds out his hand for her to take. "Let's find out."
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"I can't believe you never explored the rest of this place, but it is massive."
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"We definitely have to try that one later."
The room on the same side of the hall turns out to be the office. It is completely set up with 3 computers and a rather large LED screen.
The last bedroom is the master bedroom with its own bathroom. It is done completely in cherry wood with cream colors and red accents. The bed is a king-sized platform futon with a black and red comforter. The room looks like there is absolutely no place to put clothes, until Hiro goes over to what looks like a wall and slides it aside to open a huge walk-in closet. At the moment it's completely bare.
"Sugoi..."
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