:: Attempt 24 | Treat You Better (Unedited) ::
"It's all right to love someone who doesn't love you back, as long as they're worth you loving them. As long as they deserve it."
-"The Infernal Devices" Book One: "The Clockwork Angel" by Cassandra Clare
x + x
< Eren L. Basil >
Once upon a time, there was a boy who had everything. He had it all—nice but not perfect parents, and a kid sister who looked up to him and whom he loved the most.
"Baz?"
I look at my sister, and I wince as she dabs the cotton ball against my cheek. It's soaked in alcohol, the touch of it stinging the open wound. She'd offered to help me clean up the cut, but it wasn't a particularly nice act, since it meant she could punish me for being 'stupid'. And punish me, she does.
"Yeah?" I say, and I sigh in relief as Abel pulls the cotton ball of pain away.
She's pouting.
I almost laugh, but I don't. She'd probably get mad at me if I do. And I'm not that cruel. Not really.
She's worse than I am, anyway.
"Why'd ya' protect me?" There's more to that, I can tell, but she doesn't say anything else. And I don't pry.
She'll say it if she needs to; she'll admit it when she wants to. Right now I'm the big brother who's being taken care of by his little sister because he got into another fight.
Again.
So I reach out and ruffle her short brown hair, and I grin. "That's 'cause you're my sister, Bel. Do I need ta' have any other reason?"
She huffs, attacking me again with her fluffy weapon. Pretty weird how one small cotton ball can make a damn good substitute for those horrifying torture weapons back in the Middle Ages, and I yelp, hissing in pain as she laughs like the good ol' torturer she is. "You're an idiot, Baz—ya' really are."
I grin. Well, I can't always let the little sister get away with torturing her older brother, can I? "I don't need ta' be smart to know that I have to protect you." I reach out, attempting to ruffle her hair again. My efforts are put to waste as she swats my hand away and childishly sticks her tongue out at me in victory. Damn. "'Sides, I promised ya' that a long time ago, didn't I?
"I'm always here for ya', Bel."
Abel stares at me, unimpressed. Seriously, where did I go wrong in trying to raise her up to be like her awesome older brother? Where did her respect for me go?
I notice her mouth starting to twitch, and before long she bursts into laughter.
"God, you're such a sap, Baz!"
"Oi!" I protest as she snickers, "At least I'm a 'sap' who knows how to fight pretty damn well!"
"Yeah right," she rolls her eyes, "ya' look like somebody thrashed ya' and left ya to bleed out."
"That ain't true, ya' know that, Bel!"
"He had everything, until he screwed up and nearly lost one of those things he held close to his heart." I whisper under my breath, just enough so I don't disturb the redhead sitting next to me.
"What do you mean she's gone?!? I can help her, I know I can!"
"Look, lad, you're better off not meddling in this business."
"I don't care what happens to me, as long as I can save her—save Abel!"
She's humming softly under her breath, and she barely looks up at me through unfocused eyes. Her head dips, occasionally tipping to one side, try as she might to hide her sleepiness. I try my best not to grin, but it overpowers my control as she finally surrenders, leaning her head against my shoulder.
If only she could be honest with her words as she does with her actions—it'd make communication between us two much easier. But then again, Aoi ain't an easy person to decipher, and it's what makes her, her.
All around us, our 'classmates' continue on with their chatter. It's as if they have worlds of their own, absorbed in their own little planets and talking to those who understand them best.
And if those worlds do exist... I lift a hand, careful not to disturb my parabatai, and slowly pry the book from her hands, setting it on my lap instead. Aoi shifts, just the slightest, and her hair brushes across my jaw.
Then we're in a world of our own, if only in this moment.
I lean my head back, looking to my right as I watch the scenery pass by through the windows. I can still hear the noise, but I don't pay attention.
After class a while back, the government official had pulled Aoi and I aside. He'd looked at us both, as if assessing our skill sets. Aoi didn't seem to mind, and neither did I—we were both used to being analyzed (or scanned like processed meat, as 'Seis' might've said) by the other members of the Sibyl when we were first promoted to become Elite Agents.
We were used to the criticism, the pointed comments, the insults and disbelief. They said we were too young, too naïve, too innocent. As if there was still any left of that after we'd joined the organization. We'd all but torn all that shit away and sent it ahead to the hell we knew we'd come to.
I'd remembered trying to pull my parabatai away from attempting to dismember somebody who'd gone too far. The others learned their lesson from sensing her immense blood lust at that moment.
(Sure, her huge vocabulary of curse words and death threats probably helped too.)
To get to where we were, we had to fight for it, had to prove ourselves. That small examination done by the government agent (Seriously, I probably still hafta figure out what his name is) wasn't something new.
We'd been briefed on the field trip-slash-assassination attempt—a three-day, two-night trip to Kyoto. The Class E students were split up into four groups, and planning their routes so that some sniper hired by the government could put an Anti-Sensei bullet through the target's head, but we weren't part of them. We were on our own, free to either observe the target or come up with an assassination plan of our own.
Aoi chose the former option—"We'll be better off seeing more of the target in question," were her exact words. "Observing his movement patterns and ways of dealing with the students and those around him may prove to give us a hint on how to get rid of it."
She'd narrowed her eyes, crossed her arms beneath her chest as she gave the agent her patented 'Don't mess with me,' look. "Besides, you wouldn't want two mercenaries interfering with the attempts of the assassin the government sent, would you?"
Sometimes, her logic scares me. Not that I'd admit it, 'course.
And so it was: Aoi and I made up Group Five, the additional group to the so-called End Class students, but we had our own things to deal with. We could still roam around Kyoto, but we were free to do whatever we wanted: either mess with the target in some way that won't interfere with the other groups' routes, or just plain observe what happens. But there was a catch: we were also required to give aid to the students if ever there was an unpredicted situation.
Whatever that was, Aoi didn't seem too happy about that condition, a fact I teased her about. (Hey, you just can't ignore a possible chance for teasing!)
And so here we are now, sitting on a train bound for Kyoto, with my usually easily irritated partner-in-crime asleep and resting her head on my shoulder. I look at the other students, watching them being so damn excited for this trip. Jelavic sulks in her seat some ways off, having been scolded by the government official. (Whom I still don't know the name of. Damn, I really should've asked Aoi.. I might ask her once she wakes up—and that's if I remember later on.)
I glance down at the redhead, who's still pretty much in dream land. Looks like she won't be up and about anytime soon.
I sigh, about to reach up and draw a stray lock of her hair away from her face (She hates it when her hair gets into her way), when I hear a suspicious laugh.
"Nurufufufu..."
I look to my left and see the target standing in the aisle. It holds a notebook in one of its tentacles, circular head a shade of pink. As I watch, it writes something down and stares at me with that usual grin.
That smile's really suspicious.. What was this thing, a part-time target-slash-teach, and a part-time octopus stalker? I'd heard the rumors that it had a habit of taking down the 'love stories' of its students, but I didn't really believe it until—
Oh hell no, that can't be why it's here, can it? Fuck, who am I even kidding? Of course it is.
"You seem to be particularly close to Hanazono-san, Eren-san," it says, snickering. "Closer than what one may think for just a pair of 'partners-in-crime'."
Yep, just as I'd guessed. This octopus really has no sense of privacy.
I start to blush, unable to move in fear of being punched senseless by an angry Aoi who's been suddenly pulled out from her sleep. I should know—I'd made that mistake once. And I didn't really want a repeat of that again. (Also, she needs as much rest as she can get, what with that day getting closer.)
"Aoi's my parabatai," I say. Honestly, if this octopus intends to pry into this matter, there probably won't be anybody who'd stop me—heck, Aoi might even help me out with it—from killing this thing just to keep its mouth shut. Problem solved, mission accomplished. "And that's just the extent of whatever 'relationship' ya' think we have. Nothing more, nothing less."
"But Sensei disagrees!" It exclaims, wiggling its other tentacles around in its excitement. Its face turns an even brighter shade of pink, the grin on its face becoming wider. "Ever since Hanazono-san arrived in Class E, she has always been closed off to everyone—cold, you might say, and too formal in the way she spoke. It was like she treated everyone in a manner one might associate with business or someone talking to clientele! But when you came along, she became easier to talk to, more open with her emotions!"
"Don't ya' mean 'easier to show anger'?" I quip, "Aoi's always been pretty professional—it's practically been pounded into us. After all, we're technically on a mission. I just don't show it as much as she does."
At this point, two students who'd come from somewhere in the front of the train car approach us, sliding into the seats across from where Aoi and I sit. One's a boy with orange-brown hair, who grins widely at us, and the other's a girl with long blond hair and a sly smirk.
"Korosensei's right, Eren—hey, mind if I just call you that? Your first name's a little hard to pronounce, what with it being an English name and all." The boy cuts in before I can even get a word in. "Hana-chan's always been really closed off since she came; always alone, ignoring the invites she got to join us for lunch or to go somewhere after school. She even turned me down when I asked her out!" At that, he frowns and gestures a bit too dramatically.
"I still don't get why she did that."
"That's because she already has a boyfriend," the girl interjects before I could speak. Again. She smirks, "the Student Council President, Asano Gakushu."
Ah, so they don't know the truth of the matter.
"Nuya—! Nakamura-san, where did you hear that?" The target says, waving its tentacles wildly.
The girl shrugs. "Aoi-chan didn't deny it when Karma and I asked her during midterms."
'Hana-chan'? 'Aoi-chan'? Last I checked, Aoi isn't particularly close to anybody in the class, or at least not as personal as her assistant—Tsubaki—and I might've been considered as. I might hafta ask her about how she got those nicknames—that sounds like an interesting story, at least.
'Korosensei' seems to deflate at that. "Nuya... Then this means that Eren-san and Hanazono-san aren't together.." it says, furiously writing something in its notebook. "Sensei has to gather more data.." it looks at me, and something glints in its beady eyes.
I feel a shiver go through my spine. This means trouble...
"O-oi! Whatever you're thinking, it ain't true. Aoi and I are just partners-in-crime. She has a boyfriend and childhood friend, who I call Gakushit. That's all you'll get out of me."
"And that's all you'll ever know."
Oh shit. I think as Aoi lifts her head from where she's rested it against my shoulder. From where I'm at, I can see her glaring at our two classmates and the target, blood lust emanating from her tense frame, thick and heavy. She draws two knives out from within her sleeves—one a green Anti-Sensei knife, the other one of her favored serrated blades.
Sometimes I wonder how she manages to conceal all those blades on her person. Sure, she's taught me a few tricks some ways back, but even I can tell that those aren't all she knows. But that's not even the scariest part.
And before I can even start to explain the situation, she's out of her seat, lunging at her prey.
I just hope that I won't be roped into cleaning up the blood on the train car's seats as soon as she's finished with them. Cleaning duty had always been a pain—ever tried mopping up blood or scrubbing it out of fabrics? It ain't fun.
At all.
Unfortunately for us, kills weren't always done neatly and quickly. We'd experienced that more times than we wanted.
And I'm holding up hope that this won't be one of those times.
x + x
Anytime now.
Anytime now I'm close, pretty damn close to renaming Aoi from the original Red-Haired Fire Breathing Demon to the Red-Haired Fire Breathing Dragon Lady Who Came From the Pits. ('Course, those aren't her real nicknames, but I keep them to myself for the sole reason that it amuses me. A guy needs some kind of entertainment in his life, ya' know?)
It ain't exactly everyday that ya' see a teenager bent on killing her classmates just 'cause she hates being teased—but that's Aoi for ya'. I would've found the whole situation just a tad bit hilarious if it wasn't for her pretty obvious bloodlust. Good thing I stopped her just in time.
For all my years in the black market, I've found out that cleaning blood out of something isn't one of the most flattering things in the world. Least of all when it gets on you in the process.
(Don't ask—it was a couple years ago and involved a bucket, a knife, and a funnily murderous Aoi. She still hasn't let go of that incident, even until now.)
"I still can't believe that ya' actually tried ta' kill them." And here I am now, snickering at my still-pretty-much-irritated parabatai.
"They were partaking in the teasing, Eren." She says, casting her gaze along the semi-crowded streets. Aoi glances up, blue eyes narrowing into a glare. "Don't tell me you weren't even bothered by the lies they were spouting about us?"
I lift one shoulder up in a shrug, digging a hand into my pocket. "Not really." I say, still struggling to muffle my laughter. Seriously, Aoi can really be a Dragon Lady when she wants ta' be.
She scowls even more deeply, and before I know it, my left shoulder stings from the sheer strength behind her punch. I choke, effectively cutting off my laughter. I look at her, and she turns away from me, crossing her arms across her torso. "What was that for?"
"You deserved it." She mutters irritably. "Jerk."
"You're seriously blaming me?" I say incredulously.
"Well, you were laughing at me!" She snaps, and if I look closer I see a flush of red coloring her cheeks. Aoi looks away from me though, and speeds up her pace. I start to jog just so I can keep up to her, catching up to her as she stops before one of the markers I'd seen in the area. She looks at it, seeming to be reading what's written on it and thoroughly ignoring me.
It's not long before she starts walking again, taking out her headphones and tapping at her phone. Most likely she's trying to choose a song to listen to as a method of shutting me out. (It's what she usually does—I'm used to it.)
But this time, I can't let that happen.
So I begin to sprint, catching up to her easily. I sling an arm over her shoulders, pulling her into my side as I look over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of her phone. She protests, shoving against me, but I don't let go.
"Huh, I didn't know you listened to music like that," I say, pointing to a particular song in her playlist.
Placed right in between "Traitor" by Flyleaf and "A Trophy Father's Trophy Son" by Sleeping With Sirens was "Treat You Better" by some guy called 'Shawn Mendes'.
"W-what I listen to is none of your business," she says, stammering over the first bit of her protest. I look at her, taking note of the fact that her face flushes an even darker shade of red in her embarrassment.
Huh, so Aoi's the kind who's easily embarrassed by somebody seeing something in her possession which would seem out of character for her. So noted.
"You're lucky I know this song too," I smirk when I see horror dawning on her features. Ya' can't get away from this now, Aoi.
"I won't lie to you, I know he's just not right for you," I start singing along after I grab the phone out of Aoi's hands and press 'Play'. "And you can tell me if I'm off, but I see it on your face, when you say that he's the one that you want. And you're spending all your time in this wrong situation and anytime you want it to stop."
I grin mischievously at the horrified and embarrassed look on her face as I remove my arm from around her shoulders and instead hold her hand, pulling her along after me.
"I know I can treat you better than he can," I continue, and she cringes away, but fails to suppress her amusement. I can see the corners of her mouth twitch, and I smirk, "and any girl like you deserves a gentleman. Tell me, why are we wasting time, all your wasted crying—when you should be with me instead?"
"Oh, díos mio," she says, beginning to burst into laughter. "Stop, Basil!"
"I know I can treat you better.." I trail off, smiling at her, "Better than he can."
Aoi rolls her eyes as I spin her around. (I don't really know how to dance, but screw it.) She's muffling her laughter behind a hand, and I can't stop grinning.
We ignore the stares we're probably getting from passersby as we make our way down the street, and that's when I hear her sing.
"I'll stop time for you, the second you say you'd like me to," she sings, and I join in. Heck, I'm not somebody who'd give up on a challenge. "I just wanna give you the loving that you're missing. Baby, just to wake up with you, would be everything I need, and this could be so different, tell me what you want to do."
"'Cause I know I can treat you better than he can, and any girl like you deserves a gentleman," I continue on, swinging our joined hands back and forth. She doesn't seem to mind, laughing as she sings along with me. "Tell me, why are we wasting time, all your wasted crying—when you should be with me instead? I know I can treat you better," I stop, turning around to face her. "Better than he can."
She looks up at me, a mischievous grin growing on her lips.
"Give me a sign, take my hand, we'll be fine," 'Trust me.' I want to say, but I don't. "Promise I won't let you down. Just know that you don't have to do this alone. Promise I'll never let you down."
Aoi closes her eyes, singing softly, "'Cause I know I can treat you better than he can, and any girl like you deserves a gentleman. Tell me, why are we wasting time, on all your wasted crying—when you should be with me instead?I know I can treat you better,
"Better than he can."
The song ends, and before it can switch to another, I pause the playlist, handing the phone over to Aoi, who takes it and places it into her bag. A stray lock of her hair falls forward, coming loose from her ponytail, and I reach up, carefully tucking it behind her ear.
"So~," I drawl out in a vaguely sing-song tone, to which Aoi slaps me on the arm and shoots me another of her patented glares. (Which I awesomely ignore, by the way. It's lost much of its effect on me after a few years of being her parabatai.) "Didn't 'Quattuor' say he'd meet'cha here in Kyoto or somethin'? Did he say what time and where you'd meet, or do ya' still hafta contact 'im for that?"
She blinks, humming slightly in thought. If I listen closely, it sounds suspiciously like that "Delicious Tomato Song" [1] from the anime we'd binge-watched sometime ago. (Not that I paid much attention to it, anyway—I found that it was more amusing to see Aoi trying [and failing] to hide her fan girl side. She'd dragged me to watch it, saying something about history, so it kinda caught my attention—and why the heck am I even trying to explain this in the first place?)
She doesn't say anything for a few beats, continuing to hum, and before long I can hear her singing under her breath. "Buono! Tomato, buono tomato! Buono, buono, oh, tomato! Aka agete midori sagete, toma-toma-tomato—"
"Aoi," I say, suppressing laughter, "you're singing that song again."
Aoi immediately stops, placing a hand over her mouth. Too late. Her cheeks flush red, probably as red as those tomatoes she's been singing about. Maybe even redder. I immediately laugh, reaching out to ruffle her hair.
"Don't laugh, you bastard," she mutters. She looks away, crossing her arms beneath her chest.
"At least this wasn't like that time you yelled at me in Italian," I snicker, "What didja call me that time again~?" I tease, and she huffs irritably, punching my shoulder again.
"Just shut up, bastardo," she hisses, before she realizes just what she'd said and I burst out laughing at her even more. "Oh bloody hell! Stop laughing at me, you goddamned tosser!"
"First South Italy, then England," I say, practically wheezing by the time she grabs the collar of my shirt. She glares at me, most likely trying ta' scare me into submission, but I'm too far gone in amusement to even think of stopping. "Jesus, you're really too into the Hetalia fandom, Aoi."
"That's not—I'm not—it—it's not my fault I have a fucking English accent when I speak in English!" She snaps, stuttering and tumbling over several start-offs of possible protests before settling on one.
'Course, since I can't resist pushing her buttons even further, I counter, "Don'tcha mean a British accent?"
Tip numéro uno in pissing off a Hanazono Aoi, folks: Tease her about her accent. (And maybe her nationality while you're at it.)
It works like a charm. (And it never gets old.)
"There's a bloody difference!" She yells, and I'm pretty damn sure that people are looking at us funny yet again.
"Right, right, sure, whatever ya' say," I whisper, grinning mischievously. Seriously, this never gets old. "Ya' should probably let go of me now, though. People are staring."
Sure enough, if I tilt my head just so, I can see some curious bystanders staring at us. There's even a couple of girls—one looking as if she's about college-age, the other around middle school or so—whispering and pointing. The older girl seems to notice me looking at them and waves, before grabbing her sister (?)—no, probably a cousin or something—and hissing some kinda thing in the younger's ears. Before long they're both smiling and waving.
Weird.
"And whose fault do you think that is?" Aoi mutters, but she does let go, anyway. I just grin, slinging an arm over her shoulders again. She grumbles something—most likely a curse, since she's pretty damn creative with those. (And I'm also used to that. The things you learn when you have a really hot-headed parabatai: you either gotta be a really patient person, or you hafta learn to just deal with what you got. I did the latter.)
Tip numero dós in pissing off a Hanazono Aoi: Get into her personal space. You could say I'd already become a pro at this, but this only sometimes works. (In my case, anyway.) It's probably 'cause I'd done this too many times, she's already getting used to it.
A good example would be now. Usually Aoi shoves me off or shrugs off my arm when I sling it over her shoulders, but she doesn't this time around. Instead, she just does a huffy little sigh—and glares, but that's beside the point—and just lets it be. I look back as I steer her away from where we'd been for the past few minutes, and see the pair of girls again.
The older girl's still talking to her assumed cousin, who's grinning widely at me and shoots a thumbs up. Really weird.
I shrug, turning back to the Dragon Lady—sorry, red-haired girl walking beside me, who looks up at me with her usual, "You're an idiot and I don't know why I'm suffering due to your presence," look.
"Why did I even agree to being your damn parabatai?" She mutters under her breath.
"'Cause you didn't exactly have a choice in the matter?" I say, and she sighs.
"Point taken."
We continue like that for a few more minutes as we walk along. I occasionally have to steer her away from buying mochi—both the food stuff and really weird plushies of the characters from the anime she's been obsessed with. She grumbles every time, 'specially when I almost hafta literally drag her away from a place selling a pair of the mentioned mochis: two white ones, one with a permanently grumpy expression, thick brows and a black-and-white felt top hat, the other with blue eyes, glasses, and a tuft of yellow felt which was supposedly some sort of cowlick (or ahoge. Whichever.)
"Goddamn it, Basil!" She snaps as I try to persuade her to move away from the place. Aoi glares at me—and this time, I can actually sense the blood lust. Oh shit. "Just this one time, let me buy Mochi-England and Mochi-America!"
Jesus Christ. I let go, seriously afraid of being dismembered if I even try to stop her again. I even move away for good measure.
Lesson learned: Never stop an obsessed fan girl from buying merchandise for her favorite anime. Especially if that fan girl is a trained—read: skilled—assassin by the name of Hanazono Aoi.
She stops scowling, immediately dashing to the inside of the store, grabbing the plushies and setting them down at the cashier's in record time. It's not long before she walks out again, hugging them both to her chest and looking so damn happy it's unnatural.
"...Let it be said that I've been warned. And when you try to buy merchandise, I really shouldn't try to stop ya'." I mutter as I shove my hands into my pockets. Aoi barely looks up as she pushes one of the plushies into my chest with surprising force.
"Keep Mochi-America for me." She says, so quietly that I almost didn't hear it. Wait... Was she asking me to have one of the plushies she was in a rush to buy?
"Wait, what?"
She looks away from me, still cuddling her plushie. (The one who looks grumpy. With the top hat and all.) "I s-said you can have Mochi-America." She mutters, glancing up at me so briefly I might've imagined it. "You're an American idiot, after all."
I hold up the mochi plushie, taking in the blue eyes behind the stitched glasses, the cat-like smile and that yellow tuft of felt which was supposed to be a cowlick.
And I smile.
"Well, I'll take care of 'im for ya' then, Aoi," I say, tucking the toy beneath one arm as I sling my other arm around her shoulders. She doesn't complain. "Since ya' have your own British plushie with you."
I pause, adding as an afterthought, "Ya' didn't hafta do a Green Day reference just to make me accept the plushie, y'know."
"He's Mochi-England." She corrects, "and it's true, isn't it? You're an American idiot."
I fake a pout, setting a hand atop her hair and messing with it. She immediately hisses a barrages of curses, to which I just laugh at. "Don't wanna be an American idiot, don't want a nation under the new media~!"
She scowls, "Oh God, not this again," she mutters. I snicker, patting the top of her head.
"Ya' think so little of me."
Aoi narrows her eyes, and if she only had funnily thicker eyebrows, a felt top hat, and green eyes, she might've looked like a carbon copy of the mochi plushie she's holding. Her grumpy look doesn't last as long as I might've guessed it will, though, and soon enough she's smirking devilishly—an expression she only gets before she says something particularly sharp-tongued.
Inner defense mode against Aoi-sarcasm: on.
"Well..." she drawls, letting the sound trail off, "ya' didn't exactly give me a reason ta' think the opposite." She finishes in a surprisingly accurate copy of my voice, slang and all.
If I don't know any better, I probably would've taken offense. That was actually a pretty damn good burn. But I see the teasing glimmer to those azure eyes, so instead I return her smirk and ruffle her hair, thoroughly messing it up.
Instead of grumbling, though, she mutters, "Oh, ya' think you've got me now, huh—" she looks up, and I barely see a glint of something in those eyes before she stands on her tiptoes and pushes her England mochi plush toy into my face.
"Too bad for ya'!"
She's laughing, singing another song I recognize from Hetalia again, though one from England's character songs.
"Pabu- Pabu- Pabu 'tte GO! Fuisshu ando chippusu! Kirai na aitsu ni noroi wo kakete," she grins, pulling the mochi back into her arms again, "Yousei-san, yousei-san! Aha-ha-ha-ha~! Ware wa yuku~! [2]"
"As I said, you're really obsessed with Hetalia."
"And there ain't anythin' wrong with it," she retorts, still in that imitation of my voice. Aoi just smiles, patting the top of her mochi's 'head' as she turns around and starts walking again. "Now help me look for my brother."
"Never said there was," I reply, casting my gaze up to the sky, before I look back at her. "Alright, I'll help ya'." I call after her, breaking into a sprint just to catch up the redhead.
She continues on, attempting to tuck the plushie into her messenger bag as she walks. It ends up halfway in, halfway out of the bag, making it look like it's peeking out of some kind of hiding place. Stalker mochi, I think.
"Stalker Iggy-Mochi." I mutter out loud, and Aoi looks back to glare at me. I ignore it, nodding to myself. Yeah, I've decided—that's what I'm gonna call that plush toy. I look back at the America-Mochi tucked under my arm, noting the way the felt cowlick bobbed up and down with every step I took. "And you'll be 'Merica-Mochi."
With names decided on—names I'm pretty sure Aoi might kill me for—I follow after my parabatai. She's looking around, taking in everybody around us, while I don't even look anywhere aside from where I'm going. We turn around a corner, just idly walking along, when I see a flash of brown hair.
That shade looks kinda familiar...
I squint, walking just a bit ahead of my partner-in-crime, who doesn't seem to mind. That really looks familiar.. I move forward just a bit more, squinting against the sunlight just enough to make out the figure—no, figures.
'Quattuor's walking along beside a stranger, a guy with black hair and what seems to be blue-gray eyes behind glasses. He's laughing at something the stranger said, looking to be at ease.
I grin mischievously, turning around and—
"Hey, Aoi, I found 'im!" I call out, which earns me the redhead's full attention. I see 'Quattuor' scowl at me, most likely tempted to give me another lecture, when Stranger Guy places a hand on his arm and says something quietly to him, which effectively calms him down—even if it's just a tad bit.
(Seriously, what was it with these siblings? Why were they so easy to piss off? It's pretty damn amusing, to be honest.)
I don't even know when Aoi gets to my side, but I feel the sting of her punch on my shoulder, earning a yelp from me. I rub at my arm—seriously, that's the second time today!—and watch as Aoi tackles her adoptive brother into a hug.
Whoa, since when was she so touchy-feely with those she's close with?
I let my gaze wander over to Stranger Guy, who's observing the sibling reunion with an unreadable expression. "Can't say I expected 'Quattuor' to be datin' somebody," I mutter under my breath, and I see the guy start to blush. "Well, I wasn't really close ta' him, anyway."
Stranger Guy looks at me, opening his mouth to say something, "What are you—"
He's cut off by 'Quattuor', who introduces Aoi to him. (It's seriously weird to see her act civil to somebody she's just met. Usually she just, oh I don't know, beats them to a pulp, maybe?)
Out of boredom—hey, a guy has to be entertained, okay?—I try to balance 'Merica-Mochi on my head, letting it lie there for a bit as they talk. It fails after a moment, though, so I end up cuddling with the mochi as Aoi comes back, immediately elbowing my side, and I hear her introduce me to Stranger Guy as she does so. I wince, tucking the plush toy under one arm as I massage my abused side with a hand.
Why is it that any part of her can be used as a weapon?
Aoi steers me over to one side, away from the obvious couple that is 'Quattuor' and Stranger Guy, not at all looking guilty for assaulting me in front of said stranger. She looks at me as though debating what to say; her brows furrow in that thoughtful way she has, and again I'm reminded of the fact that she almost looks like the mochi plushie in her arms.
I don't tell her that though. She'd probably hit me again if I did.
Finally she sighs a bit, rolling her eyes. "You know that my brother hates you," she says bluntly.
"No shit." I say, and she looks as if she's about to smack my arm again, so I move a bit away.
"It's just that, I don't mind you being there when I talk to Shin-nii," Aoi replies, just a bit exasperated at my response, "but since he doesn't like you—"
A ring tone cuts her off, coming from her messenger bag. With another irritated huff, she reaches in and pulls out her phone, tapping a few times on the screen before she looks up at me with a disgruntled look I know pretty well.
"Apparently, Group Four was compromised—some of the female students were kidnapped by high schoolers."
The look she gives me next says it all.
And sometimes, I just regret being in this business after all.
x + x
"You aren't strong enough, lad. Give it a few more years, and maybe you can even get a hit on me, but not at the state you're in."
He looms over me, like some kinda giant outta some sort of nightmare. But this is reality, not some sick, twisted dream I might've created for myself. This is my reality now, and if it means saving my kid sister, saving Abel from those bastards, then I'll do anything just to get that ability to do it.
By any means necessary.
And if in order to do that meant I have to kick this guy's ass, even in practice—or some kinda 'test', like he'd said, then I'll do it.
"I don't care. I hafta.. I hafta save my sister." I say, getting onto my knees. He looks down at me, all pure white hair hanging over his face enough that I can't see his eyes. He's holding a knife, but he ain't using it against me, just playing around with and tossing it from one hand to the other. His posture, from what I can see, what with me on the ground and all, is relaxed, almost bored.
Like he isn't even taking me seriously.
I can feel my face burn from anger. I'm practically risking my neck here, coming into this organization's headquarters, and this guy—this 'Novem' guy who's apparently one of their top agents—seriously, how screwed up was their 'organization' to have this lazy guy as part of their lins of strongest agents?—isn't even taking his so-called 'entrance test' seriously.
As if this is all some kinda waste of his time.
As if I'm just some dumb kid who isn't even worth his while, who can't even land even a single solid hit on him.
What is he even playing at? As if a thirteen-year-old can do the kinda shit he can!
I'm glaring up at him, on my hands and knees before the arrogant bastard who can't even spare the effort to look directly at me. He's looking straight through me, probably at the glass window some ways behind where I'm kneeling. He'd said that there'll be people who'll be observing—the 'Head', he'd mentioned, and some person he called 'Treis'.
Judging by the fond way he'd said the latter's name (or code name, as it was more likely), he or she was a person who was important to this 'Novem' guy. Probably enough that he won't want 'em to see his ass get kicked by a lanky thirteen-year-old boy.
There's a plan forming in my head, just so I can beat this so-called 'Elite Agent' into submission. Oh, sweet, sweet vengeance.
I lower my head, just enough so he won't see my smirk.
Apparently taking the action as a sign of surrender, I hear 'Novem' sighing heavily, before the shift of his weight reaches my ears. The shadow in front of me darkens, and I see him kneeling in front of me.
He sighs, dropping the knife, which clangs to a stop just before my sneakers. "Bloody hell, mate, you gave in so easily," he mutters, "and here I thought you had more fire in you than I thought I saw at first glance. Seems like I was mistaken 'b—"
Before he can finish, I grab the knife he'd carelessly dropped—didn't he even know to not be careless when in front of an enemy?—and swiping his feet out from under him using my free leg, which I'd braced for the action even before he'd knelt. He falls back, carried by the motion, and I lunge, straddling the guy by the waist, one arm resting heavily on his throat, pressing uncomfortably against his Adam's apple. My other hand holds the knife, letting the sharp point hover over his wide eyes—blue eyes, just like Abel's.
I shove that thought out of my head. This ain't the time to think about her, I tell myself.
'Novem' looks up at me, as if surprised. Ha, ya' got what you deserved, you damn bastard. He takes in a shaky breath, made troublesome by the fact that an arm's pressing down on his throat courtesy of yours truly, and actually laughs.
"Well... What.. do you.. know...?" He gasps out in the middle of his laughter. I grit my teeth, trying not to break out into a scowl. He was the one wasting my time, damn it! I still had to find Abel! He breaks out into a grin, and his hand taps twice on the practice mats. I press even more heavily against his throat, now thoroughly unsure. Seriously, what's he playing at? He coughs, though that grin doesn't fade.
"That's enough." I hear behind me, and I look around to see a red-haired man, probably a decade or so older than 'Novem', with pale blue eyes. He doesn't look happy, I think sarcastically.
"This kid's.. got the most... potential I've seen.. yet, Head," 'Novem' says, and I instinctively tense. So this was who this guy was talking about.
The 'Head'—the leader of the organization.
"I can make that judgment for myself, 'Novem'," the Head replies, and he inclines his head as another figure joins him, still respectfully keeping a distance away from the man. "However, 'Treis' also agrees with your opinion."
'Treis' appears to be a woman around 'Novem's age, with blond hair and dark eyes. On a closer look, they're probably blue. "That's correct." She looks at me as if trying to gauge my worth, and steps closer.
"You may release my idiotic parabatai now, Mr. Basil L. Eren."
I obediently stand, not at all wanting to be skewered by this lady. (Honestly, she deserves to be called 'Ice Queen'.) I even move away from the guy called 'Novem', who sits up and grins at the blond woman.
All three of them look at me with varying expressions: 'Novem' as if he'd won the damn lottery, 'Treis' like she'd eaten something sour (or probably had to see the albino's face, which seemed more logical), and the Head as blank-faced as I'd ever seen a person's face got.
"Welcome to the Sibyl, initiate," the Head says. There's an unreadable glint in his cold blue eyes as he kneels in front of me and takes the knife I'd forgotten that I was holding.
"Know that from the moment you walked into this Headquarters and accepted the test, there is no going back. You might have had good intentions," I don't look away, something compelling me to watch as the Head stabs the knife, blade down, into the mat before his shoes.
"But the road to hell is paved with them."
Apparently, the extent of the condition Aoi and I had for this field trip meant we had to endure the octopus' teasing even in whatever situation the students had gotten into.
I look at said octopus again, which is grinning—no surprises there, since it's always grinning—at both the irritated Dragon Lady by my side and I. She crosses her arms beneath her chest, having left her messenger bag—with Stalker Iggy-Mochi still half inside and half out of it—with her adoptive brother.
"I take it you've been informed of the situation, Eren-san, Hanazono-san?" It says, as if I hadn't caught it writing 'Plan One: Get Eren-san and Hanazono-san Together—' in its notebook earlier on. (I'd had to blackmail the octopus to keep its trap shut and its nonexistent nose away from where it doesn't belong with a bag of Hershey's chocolate. I doubt that it worked much though. Damn it.)
"Yeah," I answer, and it emits one of those suspicious chuckles it was infamous for. "But Aoi won't be comin' with us."
It snaps out of its trance quickly. "Nuya—! But why, Hanazono-san?" It asks curiously, turning its attention to the redhead. "Nagisa-kun, Karma-kun, Okuda-san, Kanzaki-san, Kayano-san and Sugino-kun need our help!"
She rolls her eyes, briefly turning her gaze up to the heavens before she looks back at the target. "I have someplace else to be, and someone important to me whom I have to meet." She says, before adding on, as if in afterthought, "You can ask Eren if you need to—I have to go now."
With that, she shoots me one final look—one which says, 'Don't you dare say anything too personal,'—before she turns on her heel and leaves. The octopus and I watch her go in silence, waiting until she's out of our sight before even one of us speaks up.
"Aren't you bothered that she willingly left you in an unfamiliar city to meet someone else, Eren-san?" It questions, and I eye it suspiciously, seeing that its face had turned into that tell-tale tint of pink. Too damn easy to read, too difficult to avoid its interrogations, I think.
"Nah, not really," I reply, shoving both hands into my pockets. (I'd left 'Merica-Mochi in Aoi's custody, too.) "'Sides, I can always contact her on my phone, or just go back to the inn. I'm not that bad in memorization and figuring out directions, anyway. I trust my parabatai, and I know that she won't do anything stupid—I'm the one who usually does those kinda things. Also, I personally know who she's meeting up with, so I don't have to worry. Not that I ever do in the first place, in any case."
It doesn't seem to be convinced, as proven by the fact that it pipes up again, "And who is she meeting up with, Eren-san?" Its face seems to color an even brighter pink, "Is it her rumored 'boyfriend', the Student Council President, Asano Gakushu-dono?"
Seriously? Gakushit, of all people?
I can't help it—I actually snicker in disbelief. "Gakushit?" I ask incredulously, "Heck no. Aoi would rather help out with this situation with Group Four than go and meet with that bastard."
It seems to be confused at my reply. "But then, who is Hanazono-san meeting up with?"
"Her older brother," I say simply. "She hasn't seen 'im in a few months, so she went to meet up with him." I stop, cocking my head just enough so to regard the octopus. "By the way, shouldn't we get going now?"
It perks up at my suggestion. "Nuyaaah! Right, we should go now, Eren-san! Nagisa-kun and his group mates need our help!"
A couple of tentacles wind around my torso, lifting me up and slightly away from the ground, and before I can even tell what's happening, I've been stuffed into the target's robes, practically clinging to the neckline so I won't be swallowed up by the fabric. What the hell?!?
"Don't worry, Eren-san, I will accelerate slowly so I won't do any harm to your body." It says, and I only manage to tighten my grip before it launches off the ground, the sheer speed blowing my hair into my face.
What did they say this thing's maximum speed was? Mach-20 or something?!
It doesn't even seem like a few minutes had passed before it begins to slow down, landing somewhere in a deserted stretch of a street, just in front of a presumably abandoned warehouse of sorts. I barely register the fact that a couple of tentacles pick me out of the robes again, setting me on my feet just beside the target.
"That was.." I trail off, seeing a bunch of typical punk-looking guys making their way down the street, heading right towards where we were standing. (If you can call the fact that the octopus is somehow balancing itself on those tentacles as 'standing'..)
"Oi, what're ya' doing here? Ya' 'bout to stop us or—" One of the punks begin to say, only to be cut off as a couple tentacles grab him by the end of his dyed hair. "Wh-what the heck—?!?" He screams as the target's tentacles move around the guy in a speed which makes it all blur together.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, huh?!" Another one shouts, charging in. I duck beneath the sloppily thrown punch, grabbing onto the sleeve and the neckline of the guy's uniform, before I throw him to the ground using his own momentum.
Another one bites the dust.
I remember something 'Novem' had told me during that 'entrance test' he'd done before I joined the Sibyl: "You aren't strong enough, lad. Give it a few more years, and maybe you can even get a hit on me, but not at the state you're in."
Who would've thought I'd remember that now, looking at this pathetic 'punk' who'd tried ta' attack me, thinking he could bring me down?
"Ya' need more training," I mutter. "You aren't even strong enough."
When I straighten up, I see the other four guys in the group already tidied up and caught in the octopus' tentacles. If ya' can call being shaved nearly bald and having nerdy glasses on 'tidied up'. I think as I watch the target grab the guy I'd downed and doing the same treatment to the unconscious guy.
"That's over and done with," it says, and I notice some kind of covering hiding its face. I don't pry—I'd seen a few things which were a tad stranger than that. (I'll just say that being in a mercenary organization like the Sibyl means that you get to meet a lot of... weird people in the business. And even that's putting it really lightly.) "Let's go and check on your classmates."
It reaches out with a tentacle, slowly pushing the door to the warehouse open. It enters, dragging the unconscious 'punks' it'd tidied up along with it, and I follow along behind it.
And when I walk into the warehouse, it's just my luck that my brain apparently decides that it's the best opportunity to remind me of that mission. What can I say, I have real amazing luck. (Sarcasm intended.)
"'Venatrix'!" I yell, finally managing to break down the goddamn door. Damn it! "'Venatrix', where the hell are ya'?" I duck behind a stack of crates as gunfire rings out, a bullet piercing through the edge of my hiding place. Several more follow the first, digging into the wall some ways behind me.
I don't give a damn, though—what use would I even have for paying attention to missed shots, anyway? Wasted time, at most, and I didn't even have much of that in the first place. I fire back, not even looking to see if I'd hit the bastard dead on before I sprint around the corner.
When I look up, I see her there, hanging from the rafters.
Her hands had loosened their hold on the noose around her neck, dropping to her sides. She doesn't look as if she's still breathing, swinging slightly to and fro. She's been deprived of most of her clothes, what's left of it hanging in tattered shreds off of her similarly battered figure.
And lying some ways off from where she's hanging is a corpse with a bullet through the forehead, gun still in hand as it bleeds out.
I don't pay any more attention to the dead body, drawing out a knife from the sheath at my belt. I let it fly, cutting the rope, and I catch my so-called parabatai as she falls.
She's barely even breathing, wheezing noises emitting from her throat, eyes tightly closed. I cradle the back of her head and support her when I kneel, careful not to disturb her injuries.
I draw the last of my knives, exhaling through gritted teeth. It's slow progress, but I cut away the noose, throwing the rope to the side. I shrug off the school uniform top, leaving me in my undershirt and bloody slacks, slowly but surely draping it over her as I focus on cutting away the rest of her bloodstained clothing. When the last of it's thrown to the side, I look away as I struggle to put the shirt onto her injured frame, still careful not to disturb—or worsen—her injuries.
I stop, looking around. Gunfire's stopped, and there's a barely audible sound of footsteps around the corner.
Her blood's seeping through the cloth at an alarming rate, and I mutter a curse. She'd been beaten and cut in several places; she's heavily bruised, mostly around her wrists. Somebody had obviously tried to pin her down, keeping her hands immobile so she couldn't even try to fight back. There's dried blood along her hairline, disappearing into her mess of red hair—a cut? Whatever it was, it was worrying.
I swallow back the bile rising in my throat. I shouldn't have let her scout out the place on her own. Sure, she was more skilled, more trained than I was, but that wasn't an excuse for my recklessness. It wasn't an excuse for being careless.
She could die. She could have died, and it would be on my damn conscience. And I can't even do much here, I think to myself, muttering another curse. Goddamnit, why am I so damn useless in these situations?
"'Miles'," I turn around. A single brown eye looks down on me behind dark hair. He slowly kneels beside me, and I catch a look of worry in 'Quattuor's face. Of course he'd be worried—whatever his relationship was with 'Venatrix', they were closer than what I would've thought was possible for agents in the Sibyl. "Status report."
And I say two words which make me feel heavy with guilt.
"Mission failed."
I blink, shaking my head to clear away the memories. I couldn't dwell on that now—that was already a long time ago, several years past. It was over and done with.
So I look at the scene before me, still somewhat hidden behind the octopus.
Two of the Class E girls were bound, sitting on the ground some ways on front of us; about four or so punks standing guard—or maybe pathetically trying to look even slightly intimidating, who knew—before the girls, with one seeming to have been knocked out; four other Class E students holding the seriously thick guidebooks the octopus had given everybody in the class; and the octopus himself. So odds were a five against four fight, six against four if I decide to help out, since that's what I'm supposed to be here for.
I rock back on my heels. Should I or shouldn't I..? I look at the punks again, then shrug my shoulders. Ah, screw it—it was boring and pointless if I stood around while they fought. What would I have come here for if I wasn't even going to help?
So with that done, I push off the wall, taking one of the guidebooks the octopus offers to me after a brief while. Jeez, it really is thick, almost as thick as a hand span or something. Aoi might've found it interesting, but I didn't—not really.
The students look confused when I show myself, though. I grin, raising my free hand and give them a two-fingered salute, "Yo."
"Eto... Eren-san, right?" A girl with black hair in braids and wearing glasses approaches, and I turn to face her. "What are you doing here..?" The others glance at me, seeming to have similiar questions, though they don't say anything.
I lift my shoulders in a shrug, "Helping out. Part of the conditions of this trip, I guess ya' could say."
She nods slowly, probably not really getting the extent of it from my vague answer. (How else was I supposed to explain it, anyway?)
When I turn around, it seems as if the punks had finally snapped out of their surprise upon seeing the octopus. A guy with a scar—yeah, real original, I know—who seems ta' be their leader opens his mouth first. "You're... a teacher?!"
"Wow, they realized that pretty damn quick," I mutter sarcastically. Behind me, I hear someone from the Class E students snicker.
Apparently, the so-called punks didn't like the comment from the awesome me. They charged, most going barehanded, one probably wielding some kind of makeshift weapon.
"Quit screwing around!" They yelled, "All of you bastards, looking down on us!"
They don't even last a chance when the octopus tentacle's whip out at a speed that made everything a blur. Whe the initial assault was over, the punks were on their knees, identical expressions of shock on their faces.
I snort, getting a better grip on the guidebook. They're dealing with a national secret—some alien who's supposed ta' destroy the Earth by March. As if they even stood a chance.
"That's my line." The octopus' face had turned pitch black, practically radiating anger, "Touching my students with those filthy handsand speed equal to that of a grounded fly.. Don't make me laugh."
"Tch. So the elite even have specially prepared teachers, huh." Scarred Guy mutters as he gets to his feet. He smirks, revealing a switchblade he'd pulled out, "You look down on us from your high horse too, don't you. Making fun of us, thinking we're som dumbass high school.."
"We are not elites." The octopus cuts in, "It is true that they are students from a notable school, but within its walls they are referred to as 'leftovers', and their class is the target of discrimination. And yet they face the variety of things encountered there with a truly positive outlook. They do not drag others through the mud like you do. School and status have nothing to do with it. Whether a fish lives in a clear stream or a a water ditch, so long as it continues swimming forward, it will grow up beautifully."
Pretty inspiring speech, I think. Was the fish analogy needed though? It's an octopus.. and the students are the fishes... What's with its fascination with marine creatures?
The octopus seems to grin mischievously, face back to its normal yellow color. "Now then, my students.. let's perform some maintenance on them."
I let a smirk take over my lips when I finally move from where I've been standing the entire time. I follow the other students' lead, but I don't head for the punks. Instead, I move towards the captive girls, gesturing for them not to make a sound. The green-haired girl nods immediately, and I set down the guidebook, pulling out the knife I'd strapped to the inside of my left wrist. (Just like Aoi does.)
Without glancing back to whatever the other students are doing, I start cutting the bonds, starting with the black-haired girl, who was closer. When I finally cut through, I immediately stiffen. It's just like that time... Just like that day.
"It's not yet over. I found them."
"What—?!"
I shake my head, ignoring the concerned look I'm probably getting from the two girls. I turn towards the green-haired girl next, hacking away at her bonds until they fall to the floor. She smiles, then.
"Thank you... eto.." She pauses, furrowing her brow as id she's trying to remember. I just grin in return, sheathing the blade.
"Eren," I say, "My name's Eren L. Basil."
She brightens at that, and as I help her up, she pipes up, "I'm Kayano Kaede! You're Aoi-chan's friend, right?"
I can't help but chuckle at the nickname. "Yeah, that's right. Well, 'parabatai' is the actual term, but I guess ya' can say that we're kinda friends, though she'd deny it."
That's just how Aoi is, anyway. Stubborn, hotheaded, easily provoked and really hard to get along with. It's even a wonder she'd agreed to be my partner-in-crime.
Later on, when we head out of the warehouse, I wave goodbye to the other students, saying that I had to go somewhere else. The octopus didn't seem to mind much, but reminded me to get back to the inn by the time night fell, which I roll my eyes at.
I ain't a kid, I think to myself, shoving both hands into my pockets again. I pull out my phone as I walk along, dodging most of the crowd and weaving through the streets. I press the 'Message' option next to Aoi's name in my list of contacts.
'Aoi—' I begin to type, before I stop, pursing my lips. Should I message her to update her of the things which happened, or should I just tell her later back at the inn..? She's probably busy talking to 'Quattuor' at the moment, probably wouldn't even appreciate the fact that I'd texted her about the rundown of what went down in that warehouse..
I turn off my phone and sigh, speeding up my pace as I walk along, crossing the intersection. I turn around the corner, heading for the familiar street Aoi and I walked by about an hour or so ago.
I gradually pass the store where she bought the mochi plushies, past the marker she'd stared at. I'm about to head straight to the inn, which is a couple streets away from where I'm at, when I hear a familiar voice.
I stiffen, and I don't even have enough time when I turn around and collide with a figure which is utterly familiar. I don't have time to process what's happened before I sense the feeling of hands clutching at my gray uniform blazer.
I look down and see red hair sweeping over trembling shoulders, her ponytail having come undone.
"A-Aoi..?" I whisper her name, and her grip on my jacket tightens even more, and she buries her face into the cloth. She's trembling, refusing to answer, and I hesitantly reach up, placing my hands on her shoulders.
It takes a while before I manage to pull her slightly away from me. She keeps her head lowered, which I find seriously strange.
I've known her for years, and she doesn't lower her head for anyone. She doesn't want to be seen as weak, as someone who'll willingly become obedient for others. So she hides behind an attitude and a persona of a girl who's fearless, never taking any kind of shit from others. The only time she lowers her head..
"Aoi," I say her name, pulling her close. Everything about her's trembling, unable to look at me in the eyes like she always does. "Aoi, tell me what's wrong."
She takes in a deep, shuddering breath.
And she looks up at me with tears falling from her azure eyes.
- To be continued.
[Date written: April 13th-18th, 2017. Word Count: 10,655. (Notes not counted.) 10,975. (Notes counted.) Digital art in multimedia and dedication for this chapter is to my cousin, FayeeeM .]
Author's Corner:
*bows down low* I am so sorry for the delay.
This actually went through three drafts on how I'd start this chapter, and two song choices (Treat You Better by Shawn Mendes and Story by Maroon 5) before I finally settled on this. Also, have a point of view change~ Basil is quite sarcastic, right?
And yes, this is actually more than double the length of the longest Eyes of Azure chapters to date, so I hope you enjoyed this one!
I'm really sorry for losing motivation, getting distracted by life, Hetalia fanfiction and BuzzFeed Unsolved Mysteries before finishing this.. You have my cousin to thank for persuading me to do a 5+k chapter and giving me motivation to finish this. :)
Now onto the notes—I referenced a lot of songs in this chapter xD
[1] 'Delicious Tomato Song' - this is the image song for South Italy/Italy Romano from the anime Hetalia, as sung by Namikawa Daisuke.
[2] "Pabu- Pabu- Pabu 'tte GO! Fuisshu ando chippusu! Kirai na aitsu ni noroi wo kakete, Yousei-san, yousei-san! Aha-ha-ha-ha~! Ware wa yuku~!" - this is from the chorus of the song "Pub and GO!", which is the second character song for England/Britain from the anime Hetalia, as sung by Sugiyama Noriaki. It's translated as follows: "Pub- Pub- Pub and GO! Fish and chips! All those that I hate, a curse is sent your way! Ms. Fairy, Ms. Fairy! Aha-ha-ha-ha~ Here I go again~!" The point of Aoi singing this song is more on the third line, which means she's kind of hoping Basil will be 'cursed' since she 'hates' him. XD
Other songs referenced in the chapter:
"American Idiot" by Green Day.