![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
amethyst-hunter.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
kinkfestTitle: Breathe
Author: Amethyst Hunter
Rating: G
Word count: 1353
Warnings/Spoilers: Just itty-bitty canon spoilers on Himiko's history.
Notes: Based on a springkink prompt – “dating”/Himiko isn’t good at being a teenaged girl; Natsumi is. I know it's not exactly what this prompt probably meant, but I hope I did it justice anyway.
- Please, please accept my apologies for screwing up on the due date! I've had some nasty computer virus problems this past weekend and needless to say I'm pretty stressed out lately. -sad-
Disclaimer: GB isn’t mine and barring divine miraculous intervention, never will be. Ah well.
Summary: People can only be what they are – or could they achieve more?
--
“Wow!” the girl behind the counter sighs as Himiko Kudou finishes telling a rousing story of mayhem. “Being a transporter must be so exciting!” She punctuates this statement with a loud giggle that would be annoying, if she wasn’t so well known to Himiko by now.
It’s impossible to hate Natsumi Mizuki, the ever-affable waitress of the Honky Tonk, the little coffee shop that Himiko sometimes goes to. Hating Natsumi is like kicking a puppy, and no one who knows her has the heart to deny her anything, even if it’s just the opportunity to be a ready audience for their tricks and tales.
“Sometimes,” Himiko replies.
“All the time,” Natsumi insists as she clears away Himiko's used dishes. “You get to go all sorts of places, and you meet the coolest people, and you can do the neatest things with all those perfumes!”
Himiko politely suppresses an impulsive snort of disbelief. It's not that Natsumi is wrong; being a transporter does have its...interesting...moments. But the travel part is balanced out by all the tedious waiting, and the frequent calls from anxiety-prone clients wondering when their cargo is going to show up, and the necessary retreats caused by stubborn retrieval agents and trigger-happy protection services. The social half doesn't count for much when one takes into account that the majority of Himiko's interactions are limited to clients with a chilly disdain, or worse, a penchant for expressing inappropriate physical affections, once they see that their agent for the evening happens to be an attractive young female.
As for her coworkers, well...she'd hardly classify Akabane as 'cool.' Aloof, yes. Repressed, maybe. Psychotic, definitely. Although she will admit that having the ability to shoot knives out of one's body at will would certainly come in handy at times. Particularly when a certain retriever and relative tries to grope her during the wrong time of the month...
Her perfumes are special, she knows, but they carry their own price tag. Not just anyone can wield them – at least, not with the intended effects that Himiko plans whenever she puts one to use. A good deal of those perfumes have lethal consequences far beyond a mere physical death. It was, after all, her brother Yamato who taught her the significance of poisonous weapons, lest she forget how he ended up.
Witchy heritage aside, Himiko can forgive Natsumi's infatuation with her profession. Just as the other cannot fathom the intricacies of transporting, neither can Himiko begin to comprehend the simplicity of waitressing. Fate has assigned them their respective lots, and they can each only be what they were made to be. “Being a waitress has its advantages too, doesn't it?” she says as she checks her available cash.
Finding what she needs, Himiko pays for another drink and waits while it is served. “You have steady employment and you don't have to worry about where your next paycheck is going to come from. And you usually don't have to deal with a lot of scuzzy types.” She's pretty sure Paul Wan, the owner, has a lot to do with that, actually. When one discovers a gem of a coffeemaker and shop help in someone like Natsumi, that one will naturally protect his investment like a dog guards a favorite bone.
Natsumi tilts her head and pauses in the midst of washing the dirty dishes, giving Himiko's words serious consideration. “I do enjoy my job,” she confesses in her usual bubbly tone. “Master's been very good to me about giving me the hours I asked for. And I'm always happy to see you and Ban-san and Gin-chan and everybody else who visits!” She looks up with a megawatt smile, the kind that makes hard-nosed prison veterans melt on sight. “I just wish I could join you all on your adventures sometimes! They always seem so amazing and romantic when you tell me about them...”
Himiko can't help but be touched by the girl's enthusiasm and desire to help, despite Natsumi's obliviousness as to some of the hairier details of the Honky Tonk gang's numerous exploits. Ban's been warned, both by Ginji and Paul, to edit himself accordingly when he returns to describe a notoriously dangerous mission. In a sense, she knows what that blank spot must feel like, because she experiences it every time she runs across someone like Natsumi, someone who is physically her equal but light-years behind – or possibly ahead – of her own level.
Himiko has no clue what it's like to have that kind of carefree wishful mindset. Only teenaged girls are familiar with the illusions of invincibility gifted by youth and innocence. Himiko might be just sweet sixteen herself, but there are days when she feels like she's pushing the better end of middle age; she hasn't seen those qualities since the day her beloved Yamato died. Sometimes she wonders if she ever had them to begin with. But she must have, long ago, surely, if she can still remember a time when she and Yamato and Ban were a family through thick and thin?
But then, if she had had a kind of innocence, an instinct for the ways of youth, shouldn't she be able to navigate the labyrinth of a teenage girl's emotions with the same ease as most of her peers seem capable of? Instead, it's been one stumbling block after another, and anymore Himiko is reluctant to even try in the face of what feels to her like inevitable failure. Why gamble on a risk that's never paid off before?
Something in her expression must be tipping Natsumi off, because the waitress leaves off her chores and approaches Himiko again. “Are you okay, Himiko-san? You seem kind of...down...”
“I don't know how to live. A normal life, I mean,” Himiko answers quietly, not sure why she's allowing her candor to surface. She's trained herself not to show such vulnerability; it invites death twice over: if not the physical, then the emotional. She's not sure which is worse. Though Akabane, helpful sweetheart that he is, would probably be quite happy to explain both to her, in great detail...
Natsumi frowns for a moment as she processes this. Then her face brightens. “I guess it must be hard, getting to know how to deal with all the little things in life when you're used to the wilder stuff. What did you do when you were learning how to be a transporter and work with all those magic perfumes?”
Himiko sips at her second drink. She stares into the tea as though the liquid is capable of divining an answer. “I took it step by step,” she finally replies. “Each lesson led to the next. My brother Yamato told me the trick was to keep breathing no matter what. Eventually...things just sort of...stuck. Crystallized. And I found my place.”
Natsumi smiles. “Maybe ordinary life is kind of like that too. When I'm buried in exams, or there's too much going on around me at home or work, I have to slow down, step back inside my head and take a deep breath. And then I can think straight again.” She tentatively reaches out a hand to touch Himiko's. “Maybe that's all you have to remember the next time you're in a situation you aren't familiar with, Himiko-san. Just keep breathing, one step at a time.”
Himiko looks at the hand, so like her own, slender, mildly callused from hard work although their respective employment sources are vastly different. Its reassuring strength is no less than that once belonging to a treasured brother's, however, and she folds her fingers over Natsumi's and squeezes gently in gratitude for the uncanny advice.
“Just breathe, huh?”
“No matter what. You can do it, Himiko-san. You're a professional!”
They look at each other, and smile, and for the first time in a long time Himiko thinks that just maybe, with a little bit of insight from a friendly waitress, it's not too late for an adult to catch up to her fellow teens.
Author: Amethyst Hunter
Rating: G
Word count: 1353
Warnings/Spoilers: Just itty-bitty canon spoilers on Himiko's history.
Notes: Based on a springkink prompt – “dating”/Himiko isn’t good at being a teenaged girl; Natsumi is. I know it's not exactly what this prompt probably meant, but I hope I did it justice anyway.
- Please, please accept my apologies for screwing up on the due date! I've had some nasty computer virus problems this past weekend and needless to say I'm pretty stressed out lately. -sad-
Disclaimer: GB isn’t mine and barring divine miraculous intervention, never will be. Ah well.
Summary: People can only be what they are – or could they achieve more?
--
“Wow!” the girl behind the counter sighs as Himiko Kudou finishes telling a rousing story of mayhem. “Being a transporter must be so exciting!” She punctuates this statement with a loud giggle that would be annoying, if she wasn’t so well known to Himiko by now.
It’s impossible to hate Natsumi Mizuki, the ever-affable waitress of the Honky Tonk, the little coffee shop that Himiko sometimes goes to. Hating Natsumi is like kicking a puppy, and no one who knows her has the heart to deny her anything, even if it’s just the opportunity to be a ready audience for their tricks and tales.
“Sometimes,” Himiko replies.
“All the time,” Natsumi insists as she clears away Himiko's used dishes. “You get to go all sorts of places, and you meet the coolest people, and you can do the neatest things with all those perfumes!”
Himiko politely suppresses an impulsive snort of disbelief. It's not that Natsumi is wrong; being a transporter does have its...interesting...moments. But the travel part is balanced out by all the tedious waiting, and the frequent calls from anxiety-prone clients wondering when their cargo is going to show up, and the necessary retreats caused by stubborn retrieval agents and trigger-happy protection services. The social half doesn't count for much when one takes into account that the majority of Himiko's interactions are limited to clients with a chilly disdain, or worse, a penchant for expressing inappropriate physical affections, once they see that their agent for the evening happens to be an attractive young female.
As for her coworkers, well...she'd hardly classify Akabane as 'cool.' Aloof, yes. Repressed, maybe. Psychotic, definitely. Although she will admit that having the ability to shoot knives out of one's body at will would certainly come in handy at times. Particularly when a certain retriever and relative tries to grope her during the wrong time of the month...
Her perfumes are special, she knows, but they carry their own price tag. Not just anyone can wield them – at least, not with the intended effects that Himiko plans whenever she puts one to use. A good deal of those perfumes have lethal consequences far beyond a mere physical death. It was, after all, her brother Yamato who taught her the significance of poisonous weapons, lest she forget how he ended up.
Witchy heritage aside, Himiko can forgive Natsumi's infatuation with her profession. Just as the other cannot fathom the intricacies of transporting, neither can Himiko begin to comprehend the simplicity of waitressing. Fate has assigned them their respective lots, and they can each only be what they were made to be. “Being a waitress has its advantages too, doesn't it?” she says as she checks her available cash.
Finding what she needs, Himiko pays for another drink and waits while it is served. “You have steady employment and you don't have to worry about where your next paycheck is going to come from. And you usually don't have to deal with a lot of scuzzy types.” She's pretty sure Paul Wan, the owner, has a lot to do with that, actually. When one discovers a gem of a coffeemaker and shop help in someone like Natsumi, that one will naturally protect his investment like a dog guards a favorite bone.
Natsumi tilts her head and pauses in the midst of washing the dirty dishes, giving Himiko's words serious consideration. “I do enjoy my job,” she confesses in her usual bubbly tone. “Master's been very good to me about giving me the hours I asked for. And I'm always happy to see you and Ban-san and Gin-chan and everybody else who visits!” She looks up with a megawatt smile, the kind that makes hard-nosed prison veterans melt on sight. “I just wish I could join you all on your adventures sometimes! They always seem so amazing and romantic when you tell me about them...”
Himiko can't help but be touched by the girl's enthusiasm and desire to help, despite Natsumi's obliviousness as to some of the hairier details of the Honky Tonk gang's numerous exploits. Ban's been warned, both by Ginji and Paul, to edit himself accordingly when he returns to describe a notoriously dangerous mission. In a sense, she knows what that blank spot must feel like, because she experiences it every time she runs across someone like Natsumi, someone who is physically her equal but light-years behind – or possibly ahead – of her own level.
Himiko has no clue what it's like to have that kind of carefree wishful mindset. Only teenaged girls are familiar with the illusions of invincibility gifted by youth and innocence. Himiko might be just sweet sixteen herself, but there are days when she feels like she's pushing the better end of middle age; she hasn't seen those qualities since the day her beloved Yamato died. Sometimes she wonders if she ever had them to begin with. But she must have, long ago, surely, if she can still remember a time when she and Yamato and Ban were a family through thick and thin?
But then, if she had had a kind of innocence, an instinct for the ways of youth, shouldn't she be able to navigate the labyrinth of a teenage girl's emotions with the same ease as most of her peers seem capable of? Instead, it's been one stumbling block after another, and anymore Himiko is reluctant to even try in the face of what feels to her like inevitable failure. Why gamble on a risk that's never paid off before?
Something in her expression must be tipping Natsumi off, because the waitress leaves off her chores and approaches Himiko again. “Are you okay, Himiko-san? You seem kind of...down...”
“I don't know how to live. A normal life, I mean,” Himiko answers quietly, not sure why she's allowing her candor to surface. She's trained herself not to show such vulnerability; it invites death twice over: if not the physical, then the emotional. She's not sure which is worse. Though Akabane, helpful sweetheart that he is, would probably be quite happy to explain both to her, in great detail...
Natsumi frowns for a moment as she processes this. Then her face brightens. “I guess it must be hard, getting to know how to deal with all the little things in life when you're used to the wilder stuff. What did you do when you were learning how to be a transporter and work with all those magic perfumes?”
Himiko sips at her second drink. She stares into the tea as though the liquid is capable of divining an answer. “I took it step by step,” she finally replies. “Each lesson led to the next. My brother Yamato told me the trick was to keep breathing no matter what. Eventually...things just sort of...stuck. Crystallized. And I found my place.”
Natsumi smiles. “Maybe ordinary life is kind of like that too. When I'm buried in exams, or there's too much going on around me at home or work, I have to slow down, step back inside my head and take a deep breath. And then I can think straight again.” She tentatively reaches out a hand to touch Himiko's. “Maybe that's all you have to remember the next time you're in a situation you aren't familiar with, Himiko-san. Just keep breathing, one step at a time.”
Himiko looks at the hand, so like her own, slender, mildly callused from hard work although their respective employment sources are vastly different. Its reassuring strength is no less than that once belonging to a treasured brother's, however, and she folds her fingers over Natsumi's and squeezes gently in gratitude for the uncanny advice.
“Just breathe, huh?”
“No matter what. You can do it, Himiko-san. You're a professional!”
They look at each other, and smile, and for the first time in a long time Himiko thinks that just maybe, with a little bit of insight from a friendly waitress, it's not too late for an adult to catch up to her fellow teens.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-06-14 11:12 am (UTC)There's no need to stress about being late. I hope everything goes well!
no subject
Date: 2008-06-16 06:15 am (UTC)I do feel kinda bad about being late, if only because it just doesn't look good. The last round I was late as well; that happened because my internet service at the time crapped out on me. So I feel kinda stupid saying I was late again because of computer troubles...even though it really is true, and this time was worse thanks to the scummy spyware. :/ But my luck for the time being really seems to suck, hence my lateness this time around. *hangs head in shame*
no subject
Date: 2008-06-16 11:25 am (UTC)I hear that. I'm running late as well. A storm knocked out my power, and I'm so freaked out about being late that I can't actually *write* any of my late claims!
no subject
Date: 2008-06-17 03:27 am (UTC)(My area recently had about 2 weeks' worth of solid storms, which resulted in serious flooding all around several states, and we had like a whole week's worth of tornado watches/warnings *every. damn. day*. Yeah, I hate summer juuuuuuuuuust a little bit, can't'cha tell.)