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tamingthemuseTitle: Homesick (Part 2/?)
Fandom; Pairings: Original; AU Selene/Ballari
Prompt: #252 - Samurai
Warnings: Talk of murder, assassination.
Rating: R (Eventual NC-17)
Word Count: 2,117
Summary: John stops by the beach house with a job for Selene. Trouble is Ballari might not like what this job requires Selene to do. (You don't need to read part one to be able to understand what's happening here, but here's a link just in case.)
Notes: This is something I banged out this afternoon, and it is a set-up for some kinky smut in part three, which I don't think right now I can fit into next week's prompt (Any joke in a storm), but we'll see. Either way I will write a part three soon and do my best to fill next week's prompt even if it's not Selene/Ballari. And this is one of those things where I sat down with one thing in mind and what came out was totally different. However, I happen to like what I wrote and I felt like I was in the zone, and that I've got Selene's voice nailed back down.
ETA: Now with the proper version up here and less copy-paste fail on the part of the author!
Every day Ballari would wake up before dawn and go outside to run through her katas with the sunrise as her backdrop. It never seemed to matter how little sleep she got the night before or how sore she might be from training and sparring. As soon as the eastern sky began to lighten, she was on her feet repeating the same movements she’d probably started learning the day after she took her very first steps.
Not being a morning person in any sense of the word, I usually slept in, rousing before noon most days. But sometimes I’d stagger out of bed to make coffee and watch her from the large bay window in the den. It was a fascinating thing to know that such beautiful, graceful motions were the basis for fighting techniques that enabled her fists and feet to strike an opponent with what was, more often than not, deadly precision. It was nice to be able to stop and appreciate the art for what it was, an impossibility when we were neck deep in thugs intent on killing us. And it was an art, especially in the hands of a master like Ballari.
“I see the little samurai is hard at work.” John strolled into the den with the morning’s newspaper tucked under his arm and his own mug of coffee in one hand. His silver-streaked brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail as always, nary a strand of hair out of place and he was dressed in a freshly pressed gray linen suit and blue silk dress shirt that all but screamed money. A gold designer watch on his wrist completed the ensemble, appearing elegant rather than gaudy.
“I didn’t know you were here.” It was just like John to drop by for a visit unannounced like he owned the joint, which technically he did, but that was beside the point. I hate it when people sneak in under my nose.
John pulled out a chair to take a seat, at the head of the table naturally. He laid the newspaper down and tugged at his jack sleeves. “I would have informed you when I arrived last night, but the noises coming from behind the bedroom door told me you might not appreciate the disturbance. I only wonder who made who scream like that.” Amusement touched his green eyes as he studied me over the rim of his cup of coffee.
My gaze went back to the window to see Ballari had reached the mid-point of her exercise. “What can I say, she’s got quite the set of lungs,” I said, turning back in time to enjoy the way John’s eyebrows rose on his forehead in surprise.
“I thought she was mute.”
“She’s incapable of speaking, yes, but I’ve learned she can still express her pleasure via more primal means.” I moved to the seat to his right, which sadly put my back to the window and ended my morning show. “If you’re here to probe into my sex life, I suggest you cancel your plans for the rest of the day. There’s quite a bit to go over.”
John chuckled and shook his head. “Would that I had the time, but you’re right, that isn’t why I’m here.” He set his coffee down and unfolded the newspaper, taking out a manila envelope that had been hidden inside.
“I know you’re still on vacation,” he said apologetically, “but a new problem has arisen that requires a more delicate approach.” In other words, he needed an assassin.
I reached for the envelope, opened the flap, and then upended it to dump the contents. A plastic hotel card key skittered a couple of inches across the table’s surface alongside some color photographs of a man, each taken at a different angle and presumably on different days. The face looked familiar, though it wasn’t anyone I knew personally.
“You’ve probably seen him on the news,” John answered as if reading my thoughts. “He’s an elected official and one of those rare politicians who actually considers himself a servant of the public rather than whoever’s offering to make the biggest contribution to his campaign.”
“In other words he’s the sort that really chaps your hide.”
“On the contrary, I happen to think he has many admirable qualities. He’s a man with vision and the ability to make that vision a reality, a man much like myself.”
I chuckled dryly as I studied the photos. “Unfortunately his vision isn’t quite the same as yours.”
“Correct, and after speaking to several consultants, I have concluded that it is better to deal with this nuisance now before it becomes too taxing on my resources.”
I nodded slowly while staring at a picture of my soon-to-be target visiting a children’s hospital. In it Mister Public Servant was kneeling down to offer a small child a lollipop and a stuffed bear. It could have been a publicity stunt as you see with any campaign, but the smile on his face and the empathy in his eyes appeared genuine. Either this guy knew how to sell it or he was the real deal. I had a sinking feeling it was the latter instead of the former.
“He’s a good guy,” I muttered. “An innocent.”
“He is,” John agreed. “He’s also completely ignorant of the many troubles that plague our fair city.”
“Which means some of his planned good deeds might quite literally pave the road to hell.” And it wasn’t like we could approach this man and tell him that all his childhood nightmares were real. Odds were he wouldn’t believe us, and even if he did, he wouldn’t be capable of taking the steps necessary to help the civilians he’d sworn to protect. He wouldn’t understand that some sacrifices were necessary to preserve the whole.
Make no mistake; John was, at his core, a selfish bastard and a criminal. He didn’t deal with the dark forces of evil out of the goodness of his heart. He did it because he believed he owned the city and he really hated it when someone or something tried to take his things. Even so, some of his illegal activities were what kept us from being consumed and we were all safer with him at the helm. Mister Public Servant would never see it that way.
I frowned and flipped to the next picture, one that wasn’t taken by one of John’s men. It was from a campaign poster featuring Mister Public Servant with an arm over his wife’s shoulder and their young daughter straddling both their laps. I set the pictures down and reached for my coffee. The bitter taste didn’t help as much as I’d hoped and it did nothing to rid me of my sudden homesickness.
Things were easier on Shadow. It didn’t matter who I killed because at the end of the day they were all monsters in one form or another, including me. I loved my job not for the fact that I rid the world of a few bad guys, but because I relished the kill. Few aphrodisiacs could compare to the thrill of watching the light fade from my target’s eyes as his blood warmed my hands. At least, that’s how it used to be before I’d left Shadow and was ultimately pulled out of Aria altogether. I’d changed since coming through the portal. I’d developed a conscience and had become a little more discriminate in the jobs I took on. Yet, I still enjoyed killing, and while I didn’t truly want to take this job, when the moment came I’d take pleasure in running my knife across Mister Public Servant’s throat.
I never denied I was a sick fuck.
John cleared his throat and picked up the card key. “In two nights he’s scheduled to speak at a convention at the Blair Hotel. This will get you into his suite. His wife won’t be there, so you could try to seduce him, but…”
“He doesn’t cheat on his taxes or his wife,” I finished for him. “Gods, John, you can be a real downer, you know that?”
He gave me a sympathetic look. “I don’t like this anymore than you do, Selene.” He gestured to the window. “And I especially hate that this comes at such a critical juncture in your budding relationship with the little samurai.”
I turned to look over the back of my seat. Outside Ballari was finishing her routine with some basic stretches. She paused to wave at us when she noticed us watching, a wide smile on her face. With some effort, I smiled and returned the silent greeting before looking back at John. “She knows about my past.”
“Yes, but knowing and actually witnessing it are two separate things.”
My fingers curled into a fist and I slammed it on the table, but I stopped short of spouting off an angry remark to John. Though it hurt to admit, he had a point, and when push came to shove, I didn’t know how Ballari would react to seeing me kill. Sure, she wouldn’t be in the room when it happened, but she wasn’t stupid either. I’d tell her I had a job to do for John, disappear for a night, and the next morning the news would be all abuzz with the death of Mister Public Servant. She’d know it was me and it was better she hear it from me first. Better that she was given the option of walking away.
John gathered up the photos and the key, slipping them back into the envelope and handing it back to me. He held into it when I reached for it, his eyes regarding my face with interest. “You’ve still got two nights with her. Enjoy them.” He let go of the envelope and pushed away from the table, buttoning his suit jacket as he rose to his feet. “I’ll be in touch via the usual channels.”
I stayed in my seat as he walked out and left me in silence. Ballari entered a few moments later, a towel draped over her shoulders. She cast a puzzled glance to John’s now-empty chair and then to me. I’d made sure to put the envelope back into the paper, which was now tucked under my arm.
“He had some business to tend to, but he said to tell you hello,” I half-lied. Under different circumstances, he would have remembered to have me extend his greetings. “There’s still some coffee in the kitchen if you want it, and I think there’s a grapefruit in the refrigerator.” She smiled, made the sign for thank you, and turned on her heel to head back into the kitchen.
Listening to her bang around the kitchen, I thought about John’s nickname for Ballari. He’d dubbed her the little samurai after he’d seen a demonstration of her fighting skills. It was easy enough to see why “little” was part of her new appellation—her below-average height was the first thing anyone noticed about her—but samurai was not a world I was familiar with. John explained to me that samurai were fierce and noble warriors who had the wisdom of knowing that not every problem could be solved with their swords. It was perhaps a simplistic definition of the word, and I had the sense that it was one of those words that had come to mean many different things to different people. Yet his particular definition seemed an apt descriptor for Ballari. She only ever raised a hand to someone if she was sure there was no other way. On an occasion when she wrote down a little about her past for me to read, she said she’d learned the price of revenge once and had found the cost too much to bear. Put another way, she sought justice where others might seek vengeance.
In short, she was the exact opposite of me in more ways than I cared to count, and I wondered if I was the only one of us aware of that. Could the little samurai stomach learning she was falling in love with a killer?
Maybe not, I thought as I stood up. But for now she’s still my little samurai, and I’m going to remind her of that one last time before I do this job. A devious grin spread on my lips and I made my way to my bedroom. I was going to show Ballari my darker nature and let her decide if she wanted to know the monster lurking inside of me, or if it was too ugly of a truth to face.
But first I needed my knife.
Fandom; Pairings: Original; AU Selene/Ballari
Prompt: #252 - Samurai
Warnings: Talk of murder, assassination.
Rating: R (Eventual NC-17)
Word Count: 2,117
Summary: John stops by the beach house with a job for Selene. Trouble is Ballari might not like what this job requires Selene to do. (You don't need to read part one to be able to understand what's happening here, but here's a link just in case.)
Notes: This is something I banged out this afternoon, and it is a set-up for some kinky smut in part three, which I don't think right now I can fit into next week's prompt (Any joke in a storm), but we'll see. Either way I will write a part three soon and do my best to fill next week's prompt even if it's not Selene/Ballari. And this is one of those things where I sat down with one thing in mind and what came out was totally different. However, I happen to like what I wrote and I felt like I was in the zone, and that I've got Selene's voice nailed back down.
ETA: Now with the proper version up here and less copy-paste fail on the part of the author!
Every day Ballari would wake up before dawn and go outside to run through her katas with the sunrise as her backdrop. It never seemed to matter how little sleep she got the night before or how sore she might be from training and sparring. As soon as the eastern sky began to lighten, she was on her feet repeating the same movements she’d probably started learning the day after she took her very first steps.
Not being a morning person in any sense of the word, I usually slept in, rousing before noon most days. But sometimes I’d stagger out of bed to make coffee and watch her from the large bay window in the den. It was a fascinating thing to know that such beautiful, graceful motions were the basis for fighting techniques that enabled her fists and feet to strike an opponent with what was, more often than not, deadly precision. It was nice to be able to stop and appreciate the art for what it was, an impossibility when we were neck deep in thugs intent on killing us. And it was an art, especially in the hands of a master like Ballari.
“I see the little samurai is hard at work.” John strolled into the den with the morning’s newspaper tucked under his arm and his own mug of coffee in one hand. His silver-streaked brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail as always, nary a strand of hair out of place and he was dressed in a freshly pressed gray linen suit and blue silk dress shirt that all but screamed money. A gold designer watch on his wrist completed the ensemble, appearing elegant rather than gaudy.
“I didn’t know you were here.” It was just like John to drop by for a visit unannounced like he owned the joint, which technically he did, but that was beside the point. I hate it when people sneak in under my nose.
John pulled out a chair to take a seat, at the head of the table naturally. He laid the newspaper down and tugged at his jack sleeves. “I would have informed you when I arrived last night, but the noises coming from behind the bedroom door told me you might not appreciate the disturbance. I only wonder who made who scream like that.” Amusement touched his green eyes as he studied me over the rim of his cup of coffee.
My gaze went back to the window to see Ballari had reached the mid-point of her exercise. “What can I say, she’s got quite the set of lungs,” I said, turning back in time to enjoy the way John’s eyebrows rose on his forehead in surprise.
“I thought she was mute.”
“She’s incapable of speaking, yes, but I’ve learned she can still express her pleasure via more primal means.” I moved to the seat to his right, which sadly put my back to the window and ended my morning show. “If you’re here to probe into my sex life, I suggest you cancel your plans for the rest of the day. There’s quite a bit to go over.”
John chuckled and shook his head. “Would that I had the time, but you’re right, that isn’t why I’m here.” He set his coffee down and unfolded the newspaper, taking out a manila envelope that had been hidden inside.
“I know you’re still on vacation,” he said apologetically, “but a new problem has arisen that requires a more delicate approach.” In other words, he needed an assassin.
I reached for the envelope, opened the flap, and then upended it to dump the contents. A plastic hotel card key skittered a couple of inches across the table’s surface alongside some color photographs of a man, each taken at a different angle and presumably on different days. The face looked familiar, though it wasn’t anyone I knew personally.
“You’ve probably seen him on the news,” John answered as if reading my thoughts. “He’s an elected official and one of those rare politicians who actually considers himself a servant of the public rather than whoever’s offering to make the biggest contribution to his campaign.”
“In other words he’s the sort that really chaps your hide.”
“On the contrary, I happen to think he has many admirable qualities. He’s a man with vision and the ability to make that vision a reality, a man much like myself.”
I chuckled dryly as I studied the photos. “Unfortunately his vision isn’t quite the same as yours.”
“Correct, and after speaking to several consultants, I have concluded that it is better to deal with this nuisance now before it becomes too taxing on my resources.”
I nodded slowly while staring at a picture of my soon-to-be target visiting a children’s hospital. In it Mister Public Servant was kneeling down to offer a small child a lollipop and a stuffed bear. It could have been a publicity stunt as you see with any campaign, but the smile on his face and the empathy in his eyes appeared genuine. Either this guy knew how to sell it or he was the real deal. I had a sinking feeling it was the latter instead of the former.
“He’s a good guy,” I muttered. “An innocent.”
“He is,” John agreed. “He’s also completely ignorant of the many troubles that plague our fair city.”
“Which means some of his planned good deeds might quite literally pave the road to hell.” And it wasn’t like we could approach this man and tell him that all his childhood nightmares were real. Odds were he wouldn’t believe us, and even if he did, he wouldn’t be capable of taking the steps necessary to help the civilians he’d sworn to protect. He wouldn’t understand that some sacrifices were necessary to preserve the whole.
Make no mistake; John was, at his core, a selfish bastard and a criminal. He didn’t deal with the dark forces of evil out of the goodness of his heart. He did it because he believed he owned the city and he really hated it when someone or something tried to take his things. Even so, some of his illegal activities were what kept us from being consumed and we were all safer with him at the helm. Mister Public Servant would never see it that way.
I frowned and flipped to the next picture, one that wasn’t taken by one of John’s men. It was from a campaign poster featuring Mister Public Servant with an arm over his wife’s shoulder and their young daughter straddling both their laps. I set the pictures down and reached for my coffee. The bitter taste didn’t help as much as I’d hoped and it did nothing to rid me of my sudden homesickness.
Things were easier on Shadow. It didn’t matter who I killed because at the end of the day they were all monsters in one form or another, including me. I loved my job not for the fact that I rid the world of a few bad guys, but because I relished the kill. Few aphrodisiacs could compare to the thrill of watching the light fade from my target’s eyes as his blood warmed my hands. At least, that’s how it used to be before I’d left Shadow and was ultimately pulled out of Aria altogether. I’d changed since coming through the portal. I’d developed a conscience and had become a little more discriminate in the jobs I took on. Yet, I still enjoyed killing, and while I didn’t truly want to take this job, when the moment came I’d take pleasure in running my knife across Mister Public Servant’s throat.
I never denied I was a sick fuck.
John cleared his throat and picked up the card key. “In two nights he’s scheduled to speak at a convention at the Blair Hotel. This will get you into his suite. His wife won’t be there, so you could try to seduce him, but…”
“He doesn’t cheat on his taxes or his wife,” I finished for him. “Gods, John, you can be a real downer, you know that?”
He gave me a sympathetic look. “I don’t like this anymore than you do, Selene.” He gestured to the window. “And I especially hate that this comes at such a critical juncture in your budding relationship with the little samurai.”
I turned to look over the back of my seat. Outside Ballari was finishing her routine with some basic stretches. She paused to wave at us when she noticed us watching, a wide smile on her face. With some effort, I smiled and returned the silent greeting before looking back at John. “She knows about my past.”
“Yes, but knowing and actually witnessing it are two separate things.”
My fingers curled into a fist and I slammed it on the table, but I stopped short of spouting off an angry remark to John. Though it hurt to admit, he had a point, and when push came to shove, I didn’t know how Ballari would react to seeing me kill. Sure, she wouldn’t be in the room when it happened, but she wasn’t stupid either. I’d tell her I had a job to do for John, disappear for a night, and the next morning the news would be all abuzz with the death of Mister Public Servant. She’d know it was me and it was better she hear it from me first. Better that she was given the option of walking away.
John gathered up the photos and the key, slipping them back into the envelope and handing it back to me. He held into it when I reached for it, his eyes regarding my face with interest. “You’ve still got two nights with her. Enjoy them.” He let go of the envelope and pushed away from the table, buttoning his suit jacket as he rose to his feet. “I’ll be in touch via the usual channels.”
I stayed in my seat as he walked out and left me in silence. Ballari entered a few moments later, a towel draped over her shoulders. She cast a puzzled glance to John’s now-empty chair and then to me. I’d made sure to put the envelope back into the paper, which was now tucked under my arm.
“He had some business to tend to, but he said to tell you hello,” I half-lied. Under different circumstances, he would have remembered to have me extend his greetings. “There’s still some coffee in the kitchen if you want it, and I think there’s a grapefruit in the refrigerator.” She smiled, made the sign for thank you, and turned on her heel to head back into the kitchen.
Listening to her bang around the kitchen, I thought about John’s nickname for Ballari. He’d dubbed her the little samurai after he’d seen a demonstration of her fighting skills. It was easy enough to see why “little” was part of her new appellation—her below-average height was the first thing anyone noticed about her—but samurai was not a world I was familiar with. John explained to me that samurai were fierce and noble warriors who had the wisdom of knowing that not every problem could be solved with their swords. It was perhaps a simplistic definition of the word, and I had the sense that it was one of those words that had come to mean many different things to different people. Yet his particular definition seemed an apt descriptor for Ballari. She only ever raised a hand to someone if she was sure there was no other way. On an occasion when she wrote down a little about her past for me to read, she said she’d learned the price of revenge once and had found the cost too much to bear. Put another way, she sought justice where others might seek vengeance.
In short, she was the exact opposite of me in more ways than I cared to count, and I wondered if I was the only one of us aware of that. Could the little samurai stomach learning she was falling in love with a killer?
Maybe not, I thought as I stood up. But for now she’s still my little samurai, and I’m going to remind her of that one last time before I do this job. A devious grin spread on my lips and I made my way to my bedroom. I was going to show Ballari my darker nature and let her decide if she wanted to know the monster lurking inside of me, or if it was too ugly of a truth to face.
But first I needed my knife.
