Innocence

An alternate universe Rurouni Kenshin fanfic.

 

Chapter Three- "Hard to Get"

 

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"What are you looking at?"

 

-Madonna-

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When we want to love, we love…

When we want to kiss, we kiss…

With a little petting…we're getting, some fun out of life.

 

The Russians claim Vodka to be a tasteless spirit, but even from the first wash of the deviously mild liquor over his tongue, Soujiro found that he could detect, if not by taste, then by instinct, the presence of the alcohol from behind it's strong, citrusy mask. It was probably in much the same way that he could sense some hidden quality about the woman that swayed on the stage in front of him. Being a Friday, the crowd was considerably less starched than the one that attended on the night of his birthday. This being so, "Lady Jade" as Sano had addressed her, took the opportunity to become more like what must have been herself. The sleek, black dress of the week before had been discarded in favor of a shorter, flouncier creation that closely matched the color of her eyes. Her hair wasn't drawn back as severely as before either, now a loose bun that allowed several tendrils of silken ebony to cascade down around her now smiling mouth.

 

When we want to work, we work…

When we want to play, we play…

In a happy setting, we're getting, some fun out of life.

 

It excited him, this newfound playfulness. If she had tried to sing this particular song in the presence of his mother and her friends, they would have at the very least, turned up their noses on something even as mildly provocative as the words of Madame Peyroux. Points to the lady for knowing how to pick her audience on that. Even so, he could not help but see the aristocrats through the eyes of his sibling if even for just a moment. What a poverty it must be to have an entire redwood growing on the inside of your colon with all the tenacity of a hookworm.

 

He laughed at himself for that last thought. His illicit affair with this questionable female was now, little more than a plan in his formidable little cranium and already he hated that set for the horrible things that they would have to say about it if they knew. Well…screw the bastards. (Damn, that vodka really does kick, doesn't it?) It was about time that he was allowed to be something separate from their self-righteous, hypocritical mass of Prada and French cologne.

 

He brought the glass firmly back down onto the bar, determined not to make an ass of himself by drunkenly spouting out loud all that had just transpired in the privacy of his mind. He wanted to be on his very best behavior when he "met" the lady.

 

Maybe we do the right things…

Maybe we do the wrong

Spending each day

Just wending our way along

 

When we want to sing, we sing

 When we want to dance, we dance

 You can do your betting, we're getting

Some fun out of life

 

Instinctively he smoothed the collar of his deep blue shirt. Yumi had bought it for him the birthday past, deliberately choosing the gift not for its cost or affiliations, but primarily for the reason that she found her younger sibling to be quite dashing in that particular shade of blue. He was thankful for its cottony simplicity, one could not be intimidating and cute at the same time and right now he'd much rather be cute. The end of this song would mark the beginning of a ten minute break for the singer, and if the easygoing bartender he spoke to earlier was to be believed, she'd walk directly off the stage to the far corner of the counter to order something with which to soothe the strain on her vocal cords before going back up to complete her set. It seemed all he could do in the end was wait, hope and worry.

 

Maybe we do the right things

Maybe we do the wrong

Spending each day

Just wending our way along

 

But when we want to sing, we sing

 When we want to dance, we dance

You can do your betting, we're getting

Some fun out of life.

 

As the band's pianist brought the song to its jaunty end, the brunette on stage bowed to her audience. Then, sure enough, she made her way down the stage's steps and through the crowd even as they continued to reciprocate her graciousness and talent with an equally cordial round of applause.

 

Soujiro could feel the fine hairs on the back of his neck prickling as she drew closer to the place where he sat. The flared skirt of the dress she had chosen for the night played a tantalizing game of hide and seek with his slate colored eyes as she walked. Her hips shifted with every step that she made to pull the material left and right over the sheer shadows of her nylons. Soon, she drew near the counter and with no more disturbance than a bird landing on a sturdy branch, slid into one of the two available stools, absentmindedly crossing her legs at the ankles as she leaned on her elbows, muttering her preference in low, husky tones to the bartender on duty.

 

"Arrigatou," he heard her murmur as the barkeep placed her drink of choice in front of her. A pale, pearl-pink mixture swirling in a fluted glass with one of those ridiculous straws with the miniature fans attached. She plucked the straw out immediately, briefly frowning at the bright red paper contraption attached to it before setting it on the counter beside her glass.

 

There was an empty stool between them, a clear indication that she wasn't really looking for company tonight. No matter. Even a small "hello" would have him swinging around lampposts all the way home. That was his goal after all, to get her attention and hope that he would be able to hold it for more than a millisecond.

 

"Alright. Here goes…"

 

He raised his head in her direction; his most innocent and endearing smile firmly fixed onto his lips. His eyes slid almost all the way closed in an effort to seem as harmless as humanly possible as he turned to face her. He opened them quickly though, when a considerable mass placed itself between himself and the girl of his fantasies.

 

Misao's frown deepened although she didn't look up from the place where her finger traced the rim of her glass. The man who had settled in the seat next to hers was a good few inches above her head, and so could not see the distaste written there. Just as well. He didn't seem to be the sensitive type.

 

"Cute song you did there," he grunted.

 

No one would ever know the pure effort it took for Misao to keep her voice at a neutral level. She could feel his beady eyes traveling over her stockings with a sickening meticulousness that stole her patience more quickly than she could remind herself that she needed the cabaret job to make ends meet.

 

"Thank you," she said evenly.

 

"Oh no, cupcake," his annoying greasiness said with a lecherous smile, "Believe me when I say…the pleasure's all mine."

 

"Filthy, sweaty, disgusting pig." Misao rattled off in her mind as she slid her eyes to regard the man who was causing her so much discomfort. He was old, by her standards anyway, old enough to be her father and mournfully unattractive despite the expensiveness of his clothing. The once sharply ironed lapels now crumpled and disheveled and the pristine white collar of his undershirt stained black with sweat and grease around the rim. As attractive as the stinking cloud of alcohol hovering around him must have made her to his eyes, its effect was quite the opposite to hers. She desperately wanted to be as far away from this man as humanly possible. 

 

"Sou da ne," she said as pleasantly as she could, "If you'll excuse me, I must be going now…"

 

"Hey," the boar interjected before she could leave, "What's the rush?"

 

Then there it was. That unavoidable, unmistakable feeling of an unwanted weight settling on her knee made every other part of her body freeze in horror. Filthy, nasty, ugly, despicable old man! She was going to punch him out, pour the rest of that whisky all over his face and then catch it on fire. Job or no job, she didn't have to take this from anyone. At least the men in the other bar knew their place and she would never have to worry about them trying to touch her. Screw this job. She wasn't going to let anyone get away with invading her personal space.

 

Then, just as she raised her hand to deal the deciding blow, a stronger hand, almost as small as her own caught her fist gently but firmly in its grasp. Angrily she turned to face this new irritation, but as her glittering emerald eyes found the face of the one who held her, she was surprised to see a face that smiled in a manner so pleasant that it might have been meant for a midday service at some small, country church. Add to the fact that the smile was not aimed at her, but the petulant individual who had placed his hand on her knee.

 

"Excuse us," the stranger said pleasantly, "We were just about to head off to the dance floor."

 

The expression in the man's sunken, beady eyes grew more sullen as he looked the newcomer up and down. "I don't think so," he growled, "The lady and I are still talking."

 

Soujiro turned his smile up to a full beam and opened his eyes at the mention of the "l" word. "That's right!" he agreed, "She is a lady. And being one, I'm pretty sure she doesn't approve of you touching her like that, sir. Now, if you'll excuse us…" he repeated, looking meaningfully toward Misao.

 

"Um…sure," she quickly agreed, eager to be saved from the lecherous freak. With one, crisp, neat movement, she brushed the offending hand off and allowed the stranger to steer her toward the crowd of dancers.

 

"Hey," the drunken man growled, placing the selfsame hand on Soujiro's shoulder, "This isn't any of your business insect, so just piss off."

 

There was a brief flash in Soujiro's eyes before that hand was caught just as easily as hers was. The brief flash of anger that crossed the bigger man's face was soon replaced by surprise and then, fear. The smaller hand closed around the other, fingertips digging into various points on its surface as the owner continued to smile benignly into the frightened man's eyes. Before long, a small whimper from the elder of the two accompanied a quiet but distinct crunching noise.

 

All traces of drunkenness gone, the elder man watched in horror as the younger released his hand, its thumb now bent at an awkward angle. A final smile in his direction, and the young man placed his own hand on the small of the young lady's back, to help hasten their retreat to the dancing area.

 

Misao, oblivious to what had happened in the brief three seconds it took to turn her back toward the bar, allowed herself to be gently led into the thick of the dancing crowd.

 

The band had struck up a light, waltz type tune without her voice to guide them in any other direction and they wended their way easily among the gentle sway of the other couples. Once they were properly hidden among the dancers, Misao turned to face her savior.

 

"Um…thanks," she said lamely, unwilling to risk wasting her enthusiasm on another jerk,  "That was very kind of you."

 

Soujiro's smile had long lost its icy edge and now that she was there, in his presence, the queasy uneasiness of self-doubt began to eat at him afresh.

 

"It was nothing," he blurted out quickly in a voice that was squeakier than he would have liked, "I mean…someone as pretty as you shouldn't have to put up with that."

 

"Smooth Casanova," his mind offered dryly, "She barely even knows you're interested."

 

Not the type of person to blush at every cheesy compliment she received, Misao instead offered her deliverer a patient smile, quickly deciding that he wasn't a jerk after all. Just corny. He must have realized it too, his face turning a color that spelled mortification as he tittered nervously to fill the silence between them. Seeing it, her eyes narrowed slightly, her brow furrowing in concentration as she seemed to remember something.

 

"Wait a minute…" she said thoughtfully, "You're…oof!"

 

The force of a dancing couple bumping into her turned back sent her sprawling. Her arms grabbed wildly to find something with which to break her fall, finally finding nothing other than the shoulder of the one who saved her the trouble of a nightclub brawl.

 

Instinctively, Soujiro placed her hands around her waist, easily supporting her weight so that she could find her own feet again. Now, being in the line of work that she was, the one thing that Misao was not accustomed to, was chivalry and two doses of the same in the same night was almost more than she could take.

 

Embarrassed by her own clumsiness, she cleared her throat as she steadied herself on her own two feet again. "It seems if we want to stay here we'll have to keep in step, won't we?" she said matter-of-factly.

 

For a moment Soujiro caught himself blinking as stupidly as a steer facing the farmer's mallet before he found himself following the gentle sway of her hips with the shifting of his own. Before he became consciously aware of what he was doing he was leading their steps, her own dainty stilettos easily following his pace.

 

"I thought I recognized you," she said with a genuine smile, "You and your girlfriend put on quite a show the other night."

 

"Girlfriend?" he repeated dubiously before catching on, "Oh, you must mean Yumi. Thanks for the compliment, but she's my sister, not my girlfriend."

 

Misao raised her eyebrows in a manner that was as flippant as it was apologetic. "Whoops," she softly said, "My mistake."

 

They continued to sway in silence for a few moments more before the song began to wind down and she pulled away.

 

"I've got to get back to work," she said apologetically, "But thanks for the dance…" she trailed off, leaving him room to insert the desired information.

 

"Soujiro," he said, "Seta Soujiro."

 

"Soujiro," she repeated with satisfaction before turning around, "It suits you. Well…see you around Soujiro."

 

"Wait!"

 

She paused and turned toward him again, her face a picture of patience.

 

"Um…I was just wondering, that is I…" he wavered as he fumbled around in his pockets. Eventually he produced a paper napkin from the bar and a ballpoint pen, scribbling hastily upon it before offering the first item to her.

 

"You don't have to call if you don't want to," he said in a manner usually reserved for shy, thirteen year old boys, "But before that loser started on your case, I was actually wondering if I could get you to go out for coffee or something sometime."

 

Misao clutched the napkin in her left hand, close to her chest. Several calculations seemed to run their speedy course in the back of her mind before she finally smiled at him again.

 

"I'll think about it," she promised.

 

He smiled back, his heart sinking inside at the piecrust fragility of her answer. Still, he continued to at least appear to be brave as his hopes fell down all around his ears.

 

"Alright then," he said, "Bye…um…"

 

"Misao," she answered simply.

 

"Pretty name," he found himself thinking as she mounted the stairs of the stage again.

 

 

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Song Used:

 

Some Fun out of Life- Madeline Peyroux.