| Home Back Email The Tally The mission was over. The four of them separated without unnecessary chatter once they reached the Kitty in the House. Yohji retreated immediately into the bathroom, and shortly thereafter the shower went on. The other three knew better than to expect him out before all the hot water in the building had run cold. Ken and Omi---too casually---headed to bed at the same time. Loud music soon spilled from behind Ken's door, while all was silent in Omi's room. The pretense was feeble at best, but no one bothered to shatter it. What Omi and Ken did after missions to wind down was their own business. Aya went to his own room, ignoring the music and the vibrations of the wall his and Ken's room shared, and began his own post-mission ritual. First came the attention to his katana. He sharpened it, polishing out the nick from when his sword had torn through the target's throat and into the wall. That, and oiling the blade and sheath, took several meticulous minutes. Finished, he set the katana on its rack, and began disrobing. First the gloves, pulled off one finger at a time and laid aside neatly. Then the coat, hung on its hook with a mental note that it needed to be cleaned---again. Next, the shirt, sour with sweat and the faintest hint of nervousness (there had been a moment of surging adrenaline as he crouched behind a crate of smuggled guns, hoping that the six bodyguards would miss his huddled form as they searched for intruders). This went into the hamper. Then he sat on the bed, tugging off his boots. These were caked with bloody mud---he'd had ample time later in the mission to revenge himself for the moment of near-fear. The pants went into the hamper, and his socks and underwear as well. Next door, the CD was changed to something mellower than the rock that had covered the sounds Ken and Omi made, and the music was turned down. Aya made absent note of this as he stretched his lean body before settling into a kneel with his legs tucked beneath him. This, then, was his way of finding release after a mission. He counted first, running a finger over each raised line of scar tissue. One, for his mother---made by his inexperienced hand long ago. It wobbled, as did the second, for his father. The third he traced first with a finger, probing at the half-healed scab. Then he traced it a second time, with the edge of a knife kept precisely for this purpose. This was for his sister, hovering between life and death. Then there were the other scars. He counted each, marking off each kill---one thin line for each life taken by his hand, marching down his torso in neat columns. Seventy-eight, all told. Aya meditated on these, and then took up his knife once more, adding for more cuts to the total. The blood flowed well down his pale skin, and he nodded in silent approval. Eighty-two now. Eventually the blood slowed, clotting, and he rose from his meditations. The shower had stopped not too long since, and a cold shower was better than no shower after a mission. He cleaned and sharpened the knife with the same reverence he'd given his katana, and returned it to its special place beneath his katana. Then he grabbed his bathrobe, heading for the bathroom with the night's mission neatly filed away in his own personal tally. ~owari~ Er... Feedback would be nice. |