A bell plinks, snapping me out of my thoughts.
Regi pulls his shirt over his head. Then glances at the door. “Mina? What are you eating? It doesn’t sound like your food.”
The tortoiseshell scottish fold scrabbles up onto the bed, muzzle wrinkled into a chewing face.
Regi scoops her up and sits down with her, prying her mouth open with his fingers. He frowns.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Fur from something. Probably from that white fox she was tussling with last night after I brought you in.” Regi says, holding up a wet wad of white fur. “She keeps finding all this stuff to chew on. Last week it was screws and woodchips.” He puts Mina next to me. “Mina can keep you company while I’m gone. Remote is on the nightstand if you want to watch tv. And we’ve got all the episodes of The Red Hood if you like that,” Regi takes his keys off the dresser and leaves the room. “Keep her out of trouble, will ya?”
I’ll try I guess. Really, I’m only marginally better with cats than I am with dogs. I reach out to touch Mina's soft crimped ears.
She mews. A tiny sound like a question as she stares up at me with wide-pupiled brown eyes and her fur fluffed out as if she's seen a ghost.
2-3 'Ah'
“Mother? Where are you?” Rose, a girl who can’t be more than fourteen (or at least that’s all I can assume from the anime voice actress), pulls on her red cloak and shines a light down into a darkened church corridor. Beside her, her bear-sized wolf mech companion whines robotically.
“Hehehe…” A bald man in a white priest robes steps out. “Looking for someone?”
“Father Yuudai? What are you doing here? Where’s my mother? She said she’d be here.”
“Oh ho ho. Your mother was here. As we speak, she’s being sacrificed to Ahmun Ra. And there’s nothing you can do to stop it!” Father Yuudai then throws his head back for a laugh that makes me wish that I had a toilet to puke into.
“Oh no!” Rose cries.
Oh yes! Sacrifice her now! I’m like ten episodes into this show and so far it’s been nothing but filler and a goody-two shoes fest. I was almost starting to doubt that anything remotely close to character development could happen to Rose. Why do Regi and Megumi watch this anyway? It’s so boring. I pick up the remote and turn off The Red Hood and opt for watching the news instead, but the news is drier than the anime: two more cases of Devil’s Disease in Yamamura.
Tired of being ignored, Mina dabs at my hand gently with her pink bean-like paw pads, guiding one of my fingers back to her belly. I sink my hand back into her warm fur, earning a purr from her. You don’t have to do anything to be lovable. You can be as demanding as you want and no one would care. With my other hand, I flip to the channel menu. It’s almost nine. I’m surprised Regi isn’t back yet. I hope he brings food too, or that maybe we get to go out and get something. I should take a shower while I’m at it. I lift my hand from Mina and head to the bathroom.
Standing in the shower unravels all the abuse I took yesterday. Thin cuts stretch over my skin. Dark spots splotch my body in places I didn’t even know I got hit; I almost look like a Devil’s Disease victim. Dried dirt melts away under rivulets of warm water and Regi’s aloe-scented soap.
I slip into one of Regi’s gray T-shirts and boxers. The huge sleeves hang off my limbs and my hips just barely hang onto the waistband.
A door knock grabs my attention. I answer it.
It’s Regi’s mother, standing in a pink gingham dress. There’s no question of where Regi got his looks from; it’s written all over her face: freckles on her pale complexion, feathered ginger hair framing her tiny head, gentle sea-green eyes holding a motherly weariness in them. But she’s so thin, so small like a strip of rice paper that even a small breeze could carry away. It’s miraculous that her body managed to push out a baby as big as Regi and three triplets. “Good morning. How are you feeling, Jun?”
“Just sore.” My voice tapers. It hits me that she knows me, but I don’t know hers. Did she mention it yesterday? “Mrs. Beauregard.”
“Just Elise.” She gives a polite smile. “Or Mom if you like. Nice to meet you again.”
Heat flushes sweeps through my face. Regi must have told her I don’t remember. “Nice to meet you too…Again.” I touch the back of my neck.
Her gaze scans over me, appraising me how a jeweler appraises a diamond for value. “How are you feeling? You’re not in any pain, are you?”
Her stare makes me want to shrink and disappear into the floor. It’s not hostile, but when I imagined meeting Regi’s parents, I imagined that it would be something I’d have plenty of warning for. You know…getting dressed up, dinner maybe, a polite chat to make a good first impression, not after I get fucked up by a ghost snake! Hopefully, I still have a chance to make a somewhat decent impression.
Elise touches a white-gloved finger to her chin. “I may have some ointment for those bruises, if you’d like. But first…” She puts her hands together. “Breakfast is ready downstairs. Would you like some jasmine tea?”
My held breath leaves as a shaky exhale. “I’d love some. Thank you.”
I follow her, taking in the sights of the house I missed yesterday. The wooden owl clock ticking quietly outside the bathroom door. Family photos hanging along stairwell walls: the triplets in floppy-eared piglet hoodies as they eat mochi, Elise standing behind a young Regi while he blows out four candles on a double-layered red velvet cake. There’s even one of Regi with Shig: bits of colored construction paper and sticking to their navy blue elementary school uniforms as they make cards and chocolate bags for White Day.
Brewed coffee, steak, eggs, jasmine rice, and oranges scents the kitchen. Light from the canary curtains slants over the faux wood table where Mr. Beauregard sits behind a screen of the Tokaido Today newspaper, his stainless steel coffee tumbler, and his plate of white rice grain scraps, orange peels, and a ribeye bone picked clean. Mina scampers in, raising her tail in greeting and mews.
Elise hands me a tin-foil covered plate, then takes Mr. Beauregard’s. He lowers the newspaper. They exchange a brief half-lidded look like a wordless code. Then Elise’s lips move over his. It’s like watching two lovers on screen, lips locking and unlocking.
My body freezes. I avert my eyes to my plate. My fingers pull quietly at the foil on my plate. Small sheepish movements. Should I leave? Would that be weird? I’ve never been in this situation before. I’ve never seen my parents kiss like that around the house when they were alive. My parents never kissed like they were in love.
Then it hits me like a hose of ice water. Is that what things will be like if Regi and I ever get married? Him at the kitchen table, the husband working from nine to five everyday. Me, the home-kept wife smiling sweetly and waiting with dinner when he comes home?
That could be us.
Does he want that?
Do I want that?
The pair part with satisfied smiles. Mr. Beauregard clears his throat casually as if he wasn’t just making out with his wife a few moments ago. He acknowledges me with a nod of his gray-streaked head. “Good morning, Jun.”
“Good morning, Mr. Beauregard,” I mutter, stripping the foil off my plate.
I feel him looking at me. His piercing eyes wrinkled at the corners with the first sign of crow's feet. I don’t look up. I don’t want to meet his gaze, but it’s no less awkward.
“Interesting tattoo,” Mr. Beauregard says. "Is that Oldspeak?"
I peer down at my chest, then freeze.
Regi’s huge shirt hangs low enough at the collar so that the Oldspeak text of my Showguns tattoo sprawls across my skin and the initials SG tag behind. Shit. Does he know about Showguns? Regi never mentioned if his parents knew anything about that. I chew my steak slow, biding time. “It is.”
“What does it mean?”
“Fall down seven times, stand up eight,” I say. “It’s an old proverb.”
He chuckles. “Must be older than me. I’ve never heard of it.”
I relax. Laughing is good. Laughing means he doesn’t know. “It’s from long before the Revolution. Or at least that’s how the story goes anyway.”
"Wherever it's from, I like it. Might be useful something to remember on a bad day." Mr. Beauregard scratches at his chin stubble. “Perhaps I’ll tell Regi that the next time we go to the skating rink. He’s always falling down.”
I cover my mouth with my hand, holding in my laugh. Regi sure can’t skate for shit.
“Stop making fun of him, Firuz,” Elise chides, setting a porcelain cup of tea beside me.
Firuz? With a last name like Beauregard? I pick up my tea cup and find a cursive-like script on it. I’m not that great with foreign languages, but I’m pretty sure that this is some Vak’ Bahar language. My gaze wanders around the kitchen, then settles back to Mr. Beauregard’s newspaper.
The front page headline reads: Tokaido Research Institute's Virtual Reality Gaming Simulator Opens Soon. Alpha Team Has First Successful Run.
I saw off a slice of steak, peering closer. Virtual Reality Gaming Simulator? Didn't Megumi say something about that? Now, that would be a job. Not taking orders and getting funny looks all day at Thanks-A-Latte. Maybe I ought to call Megumi. Though she’d be at work right now. Well, since I’m in a calling mood, I ought to call Ken and talk to him about my horimono. And Mai. Ken should be at PoleControl today and so should Mai since she’s going to be around for thirty days. With any luck, Mai still works the same hours.
I finish my food and politely offer to wash the dishes, which Elise even more politely declines, and I go upstairs. I grab my issued phone and hook it up to its charger and quickly cut it on. I touch Ken’s name and press my phone to my ear.
He picks up instantly with a warm, “Hey, Jun.”
“Hey.” I sit on the edge of Regi’s bed. “Are you at work right now?”
“Yeah. What’s up?”
“Is Mai in her office? She still has to clear it out, right?”
“Oh, Mai? She came to use the phone a while ago to call her phone company. You just missed her.”
My heart sea-saws in my chest. Not quite terrified. Not quite relieved. But pounding hard all the same. “Did she seem okay?”
“Uhh… is pissed your definition of okay?”
I clasp the comforter under me. “But physically okay? Not hurt or anything? Was she acting strange in any way?”
“Huh? No. Well, hmm…” A long delay follows. There’s drill-clamor, whirring machines, and phones blared their stuttered ring in the background. He must be down in the hangars where PoleControl keeps the security mechs. “Now that I think about it, she seemed out of it.”
“Out of it?” I echo. “Like what?”
“She looked like she didn’t sleep much last night. And she was in a hurry.”
“If you see her, can you tell her to call me or get a hold of me somehow? I have something I need to give her.”
“No problem. By the way, did you still want your tattoo?”
“Yes, how much do you want for it?” I ask.
Ken laughs. “I’m not gonna charge you, Jun. But if you're serious about it, just a heads up, we kinda have to do every session at my house. There’s no parlor for this kind of thing. Are you okay with that?"
I forgot about that. Even though nothing is legally wrong with having a tattoo, tattoo parlors are banned here all across Tokaido. “How long is each session gonna take?”
“Standard is two hours. If you’re up for more, I don’t mind. But really I do it based on your Akuma gene pain threshold,” Ken says. “What are you again? Geisha?”
“Hound,” I correct.
“Ah, that one is decentish. I could probably bump you to four or five hours per session,” Ken says. “But we need to talk designs. When can you come over?"
I dry-scrub my brow with my palm. “I don’t know. I just lost my car. I have to wait until someone drops me off at home.”
“Lost it? How?”
“Something jumped in front of my car on the way home. The whole thing is wrecked.”
“Are you okay at least?”
“Just sore.”
“Mmm, the distance between my place and yours is walkable, I think. But how sore are you? Is your back sore?”
“It’s mostly just my arms and legs.”
“Oh good, good. Then I’ll tell you what. When you get home, let me know when you can come and I’ll give you the address. I’ve got a few designs ready for you to look at. If you like them, we can start right away or make adjustments.”
“Alright, I’ll let you know.” Then my phone comes to mind, and I immediately say, “Hey Ken. Is the phone desk for IT open?”
“Not until like 11. What’s up? Need to rotate phones?”
“Not exactly. But I want to be sure that my personal phone isn’t tapped or anything like that. They can check that, can’t they?”
“Should be able to. I’m not one hundred percent sure if they work on personals. But I don’t see why they wouldn’t. A phone is a phone.”
“Alright. I’ll come by when I can,” I say. “See you later.”
“See ya, Jun.”
No sooner after I hang up, the door swings open. Regi strides to me with his toothy grin and fishes his hand into the plastic bag he’s holding. “I went and got a little something for you.” He hands me a paper box that has a cute shiba inu in a doctor’s outfit giving medicine to a button-eyed poodle with a cast on its leg. Blue cursive on the front reads Get Well Soon. Through the cellophane panel on the outside, a blueberry muffin topped with coarse sugar rests on lacy paper.
A slow smile sprawls over my face. I stand up to kiss him. “So that's what took you so long?"
“Yep, I remember you liked these.” Regi says. “And besides, they had this little dog box.” He slips his hand into my empty one and tugs. “I know you're probably not feeling the best right now, so I figured that I’d do something nice. How are you feeling?”
I set the box atop the dresser. “Just tired still, but I’ve got some business to take care of in Yamamura.”
Regi frowns. “Today? For what?”
“Need to take my company phone back to You-Know-Who.”
Regi makes an “o” shape with his mouth, then grimace. “Man, I don’t want to go back out. Can we do this tomorrow maybe?”
“I guess so, but I really do need to get that out of the way. You know how they get when you don’t take care of stuff.”
“No worries. I promise first thing tomorrow morning.” He takes both of my hands. “But we still have our date. If you’re up to walking around.”
Ah yes. Him and his sneaky kiss-hints. “I can walk.”
His whole face brightens. “Great!” Then his gaze travels down my body. “Err, you want to go in my clothes?”
“Your clothes are comfier than mine.”
“Well, I guess it doesn’t really matter. It’s gonna be dark when we get there anyway.”
Secret Room 2-4 (Heaven) 'Ah'
“Heaven, a Mr. Beauregard is here to see you.”
You tote a sheaf of applications against your bamboo desk, then turn in your swivel chair. “Mr. Beauregard?”
Akemi, the short snub-faced security, smooths down a pleat in her skirt as she props your office door open with her back. “Flame Beauregard.”
You lay your papers down. “Ah. Send him in."
“Alright, I’ll tell him.” Akemi retreats back into the hall.
You get up to draw up the blinds. Overcast light spills over your office's rustic decor. The room seems to perk at the gesture, but only a little. Outside, the moisture-swollen clouds are stewing over the Aokai’s skyline. Rain should come any day now. Autumn too. The maple trees in the research institute’s parking lot are already yellowing to orange-gold.
Behind you the door gasps open.
You turn.
Flame steps in, well-dressed: french-cuffed white oxford shirt with a few mother-of-pearl buttons popped loose at the top, black
lint-free pants, styrofoam cup in his hand, and a frown on his lips that makes you wonder if the great Black Tortoise woke up on his back this morning. He closes the door behind him. “Good morning, my lady.”
“Couldn’t wait until I get home?” You tease, trying to lighten his mood.
He tilts his head. “Well, when you put it that way…” Flame lifts the rim of his cup to his lips, veiling his mouth. You can’t tell if your attempt at humor has made a difference. But at the very least, you’re sure that you’re not the cause of his mood. His statement, on the other hand, never gets finished. Instead, he looks down at your applications. “What’s this?”
“Recruits for the simulator. I’m supposed to be reviewing them, but I don't want to do it.”
"Not to your liking?"
"Some of them have strong written applications and gaming experience. But only about four people have the physical qualifications,” You say. “We need five people in the simulator.”
Flame’s eyebrows scrunch together. “People? I thought the simulator was for the war mechs.”
“It still is, but PoleControl’s representatives still haven’t given me the official approval for those. Apparently, they’ve gotten some kind of new security project that’s slowing down everything on their end. But I am going to speak with Genji Fujiwara from PoleControl around noonish and we should be able to get that sorted out.”
Flame sets his cup down on the edge of the table. “Be careful dealing with PoleControl. I’ve heard some nasty things about them.”
“Such as?”
“Possible ties to Showguns,” Flame says. “I don’t want you to get caught up in anything dangerous.”
You chuckle. “Dangerous? Flame have you forgotten what we are? They are humans. We’re kitsune and…well you’re a tortoise too, but really what can they do to me? Shoot me? Toss my body out? As long as my wager with Bastet still stands, dying is a joke.”
Vicissitude Yang Side Page 14