K: Midnight

Chapter Nine: Homra

December 9, 2008

Mikoto brought me down a narrow stair to Homra's central bar, where a slew of rough and somewhat gritty looking young men had gathered, all of them laughing and joking like old pals while a tall golden-haired man in glasses stood behind the bar, seemingly above them yet engaging all the same.

Gradually advancing at Mikoto's lazy pace, I found myself entirely aware that I was not at all a tall and powerful woman (or at least taller to make my lack of an aura seem a little less deplorable). I had no charm to lure them with, no might with which to say, 'I'm frightening. Stay away, lest you be stricken by my wrath!' I had nothing of the sort. I had (and, in my mind: was) nothing. Involuntarily, I had stooped (as if my imp-like self could not descend another inch), for I greatly felt the small, delicate child that I was; and without a thought, I snatched the lower hem of Mikoto's jacket. He shifted me a curious glance, impressed that I appeared as that which I had planned, yet somewhat entertained upon discovering that what I'd done was not by my design, but purely by accident.

"Just as I suspected of you, Mikoto," said the man behind the bar. "I see you went and stole your chance to ditch the rest of the boys. Here, I thought you'd come to take a nap, but I see you've got a friend with you," he said, dropping his attention down my microscopic frame hiding behind Mikoto. He chuckled. "Gotta admit, that's not the sort of friend I would have pegged you bringing here. I'd've thought, If anyone, Fujishima'd be the one to do that sort of thing. Not that I'm complaining, of course. We could use a change of scenery."

As he spoke, the others turned and stared, every man surprised that I, a little girl who looked no more than seven years of age, was present in a bar frequented chiefly (I imagined) by a gang of street thugs.

In the midst of these, however, a bright and unconventionally normal-looking man comparatively waltzed into view, sending off a theatrical wave that ended in a bow. "Alas! A person whom I might endeavor to befriend!" He exclaimed, smiling vigorously at me. "And a Princess, no less!"

"Take it down a notch, will ya, Tatara?" A slender teenager in a beanie berated him. "We're not all characters in some lame-ass play, right Saruhiko?"

The somber character in black whom the beanie-boy referred to as Saruhiko, didn't say a word, despite an impromptu nudge by his combative, yet otherwise amicable companion.

The animated one thus defined as Tatara simply beamed at me. There was something about his eyes and the gentle nature of his features, the way his hair fell down about his face and the overall keenness of his stature, that told me he was good. Already, I knew that I liked him.

"Who is she, your sister or somethin'?" A different man, the only heavy set one in the room, remarked.

"Don't be an idiot, Kamamoto," the one in the beanie snarled. He issued a swift punch to Kamamoto's arm, this one clearly centered on aggression. The man let out a sudden grunt of pain. "If Mr. Mikoto had a sister, don't ya think he would have mentioned her by now? He wouldn't keep a secret like that from us! Isn't that right, Mr. Mikoto?"

"But of course, Yata," the man behind the counter answered, a bit of drollery in his voice. He picked a whiskey glass from below the bar and ran a towel over it, polishing it clean. "Mikoto's not the type to keep that kind of valuable info hidden from a group of upstanding guys like you, eh Mikoto?"

Mikoto gave an amused "Humph" and led me into the room.

Tatara met us halfway from the bar and knelt until our heights appeared the same. He looked me in the eye and seemed quite pleased with what he saw. It almost made me wonder for a moment if he saw what Mikoto saw, though something deep inside me told me that it wouldn't have mattered either way if he did.