Lucky Pinōson was anything but what his name implied.
Normally, this would cause one to think that he was clumsy, had gone through some hardcore trauma, something like that. Not quite. It was just that anything that could go wrong tended to around Lucky.
He was clumsy to a degree, sure. But that was normal for most people. What wasn't normal was what else happened when he was present. Around him, lampposts flickered (sometimes unhinged from the ground entirely), park benches broke (or were removed by force along with the nearby soccer goal to the dismay of the local middle school soccer team), seagulls stole chips from tourists (and one time an entire steak and the tablecloth from a forever traumatized waiter), and much, much more. But those incidents involved things. Items. Not people.
People were a different story. Several women had given birth around him, some people choked on their food, playground swings snapped off and left children crying, to name a few. He'd gotten used to these and was now an expert at first aid, and calming hysterical fathers. He'd been to the hospital so many times and had saved so many lives that they'd tried to offer him a medal or a plaque of sorts. He'd refused. He didn't need more publicity or attention, because here was the thing: he was able to help people if they were normal.
Criminals weren't exactly normal. Lucky didn't voluntarily hang around shady characters if he could help it. But he couldn't help it, which was why there were plenty of suspicious losers who hated his guts because he had the unfortunate knack for witnessing their crimes. More publicity meant more means for these people to find him again. Lucky needed every single advantage he could get because he miraculously somehow always managed to pass every single brooding criminal, and happened to walk past every single gang out for blood on the streets.
He'd seen his fair share of robberies, assaults and pickpocketing. Usually, if he could, he would try to help the victims. This has yet resulted in more saving people and even more becoming hated by the criminals of Yorknew. Seeing as he saw a lot of them everyday...
Lucky rubbed his temple with one hand, holding a coffee with six extra shots in the other hand as he dragged himself down a city street at 2:00 am. The lamp lights flickered as he passed by, and one died altogether.
He was too young for this.
Lucky, however unfortunate of a person he may have been, was not stupid. He hadn't been walking in the city in the middle of the night just because.
A kid had broken his arm and knocked himself unconscious while Lucky was present. Lucky had driven both the kid and his dad to the hospital, until everything was fine at 1:00 am. Then the whole "please don't tell anyone about me" conversation had stretched into forty painful minutes before Lucky was finally able to get back to his parking spot... without a car in it.
He'd been unable to call any taxis, and everyone he knew might willingly help him was asleep. So Lucky did the only thing he could. Taking the long way around to make sure he passed through the nicer neighborhoods instead of the shadier ones, he started to trudge back to his apartment.
It was a rental anyway, he reasoned as he walked down the street. Insurance would cover for the theft of the car. The kid he'd driven to the hospital was safe, and he had yet another doting family he could ask favors from. And while he had to walk home, at least he wasn't passing through the more suspicious neighborhoods. At least he could walk relatively in peace. Maybe he'd witness only one mugging today.
As he passed by an alleyway, he accidentally locked eyes with one who seemed to be doing exactly that. His gaze landed on her vibrant pink hair before seeing the person in the shadows she seemed to be tying up. Or strangling. Lucky wanted to care, but he honestly didn't at this point.
"Hey." He downed another gulp of what should have been painfully bitter coffee for his age, but was instead a blissful relief to his mind. He barely tasted anything. "Could you stop mugging that guy–"
She scowled. "Do you want to die too?"
"I'd rather not," he sighed. He looked to the terrified man, who was trying to keep from crying. The man on his knees and tied up in her—were they strings? He was mouthing for help. "But out of curiosity, why is that man at your mercy?"
Pinky looked at him like he was out of his mind, which he probably was. "I'm having a bad day, and he got on my nerves."
Lucky guessed. "Did he start to assault or harass you in a way that made you uncomfortable?"
Her eyes widened a bit before she turned away, which was answer enough.
"Good luck," he stated before continuing his walk home. Ironic wording, but no bother.
The captured man protested as Lucky tiredly slipped out of view. "Wait, no! Don't leave me wit-" his cry was suddenly cut off with a loud thonk.
Lucky almost thought she had killed the man before looking back and catching the sight of a flickering light. Lucky spared a little energy to chuckle at himself before taking another sip of his coffee. Only a few more neighborhoods until he reached his apartment. He could do this.
He thought he could, until he spotted a man with a topknot sliding his katana back into its sheath, the lamplight shining from the blade and reflecting directly into Lucky's eyes.
"Hey," he sighed heavily, stepping closer to the alleyway, but far enough so that the wannabe samurai's sword wouldn't reach him. Lucky glanced at what seemed to be a blood splatter on the otherwise clean wall, though it was hard to tell what it was when the lamps kept flitting between light and darkness. "Did you do anything illegal?"
The man clutched the handle of his katana, ready to draw it out. His sunken eyes pierced though him. "Move and I slice your head off."
"Fair enough. Next question." Lucky eyed the wall, relaxed but unmoving. "Is that blood?"
The light flickered on long enough for him to affirm that the splatter was indeed a dark red.
"What if it is?"
"If it is, I don't exactly see a victim so I can't do anything, can I." Lucky glanced longingly at the coffee cup hanging from his still hand. "Can I move now?" With a nod from the man, he took a long gulp before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"What's up with your Nen?" The man squinted at him.
Lucky shrugged. "I don't know, nor do I want to know, what you're talking about." He turned slowly, making sure the man didn't move to kill him. "I'm going. If you want to discuss your life choices, you can see me the next time you do something illegal. Not that I want to see you, but with how my life has gone so far, I just kind of have a feeling I'm going to end up watching you commit a crime." He left the dark alleyway.
While he had been waiting for the kid to be assured safe, the boy's father had suggested Lucky go take a well-deserved walk, and he had. He'd walked for about twenty minutes before he was met with a building. The building looked like any other; tall, many wide floors, large glass panes. Perfectly normal, except this one was surrounded by fire. And a lot of screaming was coming from it, not to mention the sounds of gunshots and shattering glass. Lucky thought the name of the place was the Cemetery Building, or something like that, but he wasn't sure.
Frankly, upon seeing a giant of a Frankenstein man in the distance, he'd turned around and went straight back to the hospital, not bothering to check.
Then the whole car theft happened, then he met two suspicious people on his way home... he honestly hoped Wannabe Samurai wouldn't try to see him anytime soon. Lucky was too tired to be unknowingly dragged into the base of a crime syndicate or something. He just wanted to sleep, was that too much to ask?
As his eyes met another pair in yet another alleyway, he knew. A normal life for him was way too much to ask. And what was it with dark alleyways? Why couldn't criminals change it up and do stuff on rooftops or in the sewers, or anywhere else Lucky wouldn't likely go?
He could hardly notice the man in the shadows because of his black clothing, but as soon as the lamp flicked on, he saw: long, baggy clothes, a skull marking on a scarf which covered most of his face, angry and sadistic eyes, and... a very short figure.
A cold glare met him. "What you want? Leave or I kill," he hissed.
Emo Loser, Lucky suddenly decided in his sleep-deprived state. Yes, that was a very accurate nickname, he thought amidst the extremely inappropriate circumstances of being threatened.
Apparently, the man was a foreigner, judging by his grammar. But it didn't look like he was lying. If anything, Lucky knew that out of the three he'd seen in this walk, this one was most likely to carry out his death threat, without warning or reason.
Lucky was very fortunate to be alive right now. It was only because of his non-caring manner, his terrible looking physique with his caffeine-run body, bags under his eyes darker than the night sky, and his done-with-life appearance and dress that the three Spiders hadn't killed him. No one was eager to kill anybody who appeared so beaten down without reason. He looked too pitiful and pathetic to be worthy of being murdered on a quick crime spree. Any more spiffy, any more alive and awake and he would have been dead. Of course, Lucky didn't know this. All he knew was that he wanted to go home, and this short man was holding him up.
He shook out his hand, his nails glinting. "I-"
"Let me guess." Lucky drank from his coffee, which was starting to come down to its last few sips. "You're having a bad day, just like that pink head. So you decided that some crime might lighten your mood. It's okay, I won't push if there's no evidence. But let me give you advice." Lucky hoped he wouldn't get killed for what he'd say next. "You have problems. I get it. Everyone does, and society as a whole has tried to fix that. But if you commit crime, society has a tendency to not care. Literally no one cares, because all people want in life is what is good to them, not bad. So why not do some good first, and see where that gets you? Please?" His voice cracked. "I need a break."
The short man blinked, but he still held his hand threateningly. "Your Nen... How old?"
"Eighteen." Lucky sighed. Why was this his life at a mere eighteen?
He quickly left before the man could react, scuffling his way across stone tile, almost tripping twice. Lucky just wanted to get home. He was too young for this.
A few incident-free alleyways later, out of the corner of his eye, Lucky spotted a man sporting a crop top on the roof, eyes glinting at something on the other side of the wall. This time, Lucky just turned away, desperate to go home. He rubbed at his temples again and wished that he'd gotten a large coffee instead of his normal medium-sized cup.
He was really too young for this.
* * *
That punk was lucky he was alive, but Feitan already regretted his lack of action. He should have killed the kid then and there, when he'd first seen him. It was just the bags under his eyes, the way he slumped over and dragged his feet, the way the lights flickered as he walked past, the coffee so strong Feitan could still smell it—needless to say, he had been caught off guard.
At least, caught off guard by some teenager probably crippled with debt who was trying to spout him life advice. If it had been any other person, Feitan would have committed his first murder of the early day.
The kid was trash in many ways. He looked like trash, his attempt at a meaningful conversation was trash, and his sleep routine was most likely trash as well.
But his Nen hadn't been. As soon as Feitan had held out his manipulated hand to attempt to kill him, Feitan's Nen had dissolved. He'd felt it fizzling around the edges for a split second before it faded to nothing in the snap of a finger, leaving him feeling strangely cold and unprotected.
Seemingly unaware of what he'd just done, the kid had started to talk, spouting coherent but meaningless words in his sleep-deprived state. When Feitan had inquired about his Nen for a brief moment, the kid seemed confused before answering with his age and leaving, streetlights flickering as he passed by. It appeared the kid's unique aura affected the other things around him too. It was stunning how the kid didn't know anything about Nen despite the fact that it had an effect on the things around him wherever he went. Feitan wouldn't be surprised if he'd written it off as just bad luck or something stupid like that.
He'd look into having Danchou steal his ability, if he even had an unintended Hatsu yet.
A few points on what the kid said during their brief encounter bothered him.
First, the whole 'if you do crime no one cares' thing was crap. The kid was wrong. Feitan was fine as he was; he had the Troupe to look out for him, to murder with and for him. Rein had even said aloud that she cared.
It was something the kid said before that was what had truly caught Feitan's attention. "You're having a bad day, just like that pink head." Pinkettes certainly existed, but Feitan had only ever known one. Had the kid seen Machi in the city?
After it had been revealed that Rein had run away or had been taken from the Spiders' base, a few of the Troupe members had been disturbed. Two disappearances in less than three days, the first of which had actually been a murder. It made sense they were slightly concerned.
However, Machi, Shalnark, Pakunoda, and even Phinks had been a little different. They explained a theory about how maybe Rein had regained some of her memories, which was indeed plausible. Danchou suggested they wait until the morning to see if Rein would come back on her own.
She'd run off, that idiot. With an irritated scowl he attributed to that annoying mafia man he'd killed, he'd set off into the city to find something to calm him down. He knew Nobunaga was here too for a drink, and Hisoka was always off somewhere in the red light district.
But Machi? He hadn't expected her to follow suit. The theory that Rein could get a grasp of her past memories; Even after years, the concept had always been somewhere in Machi's mind, and now that it had become a reality, Shalnark said she "might experience a change in normal behavior or line of thinking because" and then proceeded to blabber something about brain chemistry. Honestly, Feitan hadn't listened to much and he certainly didn't memorize it.
He just knew that Shalnark, however calm he was acting, was forcing his rational planning and thinking onto others. Shalnark only did that when he was trying to cover up how nervous he was.
Feitan, for one, wasn't all too worried about the possibility that Rein was kidnapped. He'd seen the two boys suspected of disappearing along with her, and their Nen was still new. They would be powerful one day, but for now, they were still saplings. Their Nen skills hadn't been vigorously trained as Rein's had been. So while two against one would be a bit of a struggle, Feitan knew Rein would come back safe eventually.
Everyone was slightly concerned for the missing girl after what had happened with Uvo. Even if Rein had found out about her past, her care for Uvo had been genuine. If they'd taught her right, she would try to avenge him. If the chain user found her and she tried to fight, there was no telling what might happen. Though Feitan didn't think she would die so easily. She was easier to kill than any official member of the Troupe, but she was strong enough. She would find her way back to them. Eventually.
It was just whether she was smart or not. If she found the chain user and tried to engage, she would be beaten. Feitan had touched on the topic before, but Rein couldn't evaluate her opponent's strength properly. She would underestimate him and prepare to fight as she rode on her emotions. Knowing her now, if she didn't hate the Troupe's guts, she would still be in grieving for Uvo. Having witnessed his death and most likely knowing what the chain user looked like, she would try to hunt him down. Then she would try to fight, against the one who was able to win against the physically strongest member of the Phantom Troupe. In short:
If she fought the chain user, she would lose.
...Not that he cared, of course.
I feel like all I did was shove another character in here and make this all filler... unedited too. I'm sorry nothing interesting is happening, but I just started writing about this unlucky dude and well, it lead to this.
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