Akiichi: I like bananas. Yun took forever to write :C
Yun: I am sorry for taking so long, cries, and for neglecting my own oneshots and fanfics. Anyhow, here's chapter one! Please enjoy!
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Chapter One
Watanabe Miyuki hates parties.
She had never seen the pleasure in masking herself as one of the plain girls without a single thought amidst the alcohol or crowds of people, nevertheless actually participate in the abhorring event itself.
The whole thing was ironic really; Miyuki had come to find one certain individual and, simply put, seduce her. A private investigator working with the Kansai police force as a whole, a fairly young woman -- around Miyuki’s age -- by the name of Yamamoto Sayaka was the dreary-looking individual she was being forced to engage with at the party.
If only she could find the damn girl.
Of course, however, in every search, there were difficulties. The difficulties here, however, just happened to be the multitude of people at the party that just had to speak to her. It was the same routine for every guest that was strewn her way: smile, nod, chat (for a few seconds if allowed), and move. Many of the older guests had sent shudders down her back, their eyes glazing over in places their hands yearned to touch. Disgusting, how very disgusting they all were (and how disgusting she was to return their flattery with a smooth tongue and a fluttering touch on the arm as well for her own benefits). When boredom finally eased between the spaces of bumbling questions and offhanded comments, she had escaped to the private sitting room from besides – her target was nowhere to be seen and it was pointless to rehash the overdone drudgery of simple conversation with those unable to see beyond their own pride.
Now here she was in the room, sitting on a chair with a conveniently placed bottle of champagne and a number of cups placed on the stand next to her.
“Might as well.”
The decision takes her a split second and the bottle is popped open in a matter of seconds and in Miyuki’s hand is a glass half-filled with the expensive champagne.
“Care sharing?”
It’s a stranger’s voice, feminine, and Miyuki just motions silently at the seat next to her as she closes her eyes and takes in in the full effect of the champagne. There’s a rustling noise of fabric brushing against fabric (a suit? That was surely what the other was wearing) as the female walks past Miyuki and an unpleasant acrid smell of cigarette smoke that follows.
Disgusting.
Miyuki can only imagine the imaginatively twisted face that her mind produces from said unpleasantries, but what her eyes see is the complete opposite of unpleasant. A stoic expression resting on thin lips that were pulled back into a tight line in addition with a sharp jawline and protruding chin that seemed oddly familiar, and oh--, is this Yamamoto Sayaka? Perhaps her job would be easy after all.
The glass leaves her lips as she sits up a little straight, smoothing out the edges of her tight red dress before leaning ever so slightly in the direction of the private investigator. “Hello, what are you doing here?”
“Throwing back the same question, what are you doing here?” There’s an irritating smile that plays on Sayaka’s lips as she looks pointedly towards her. “Weren’t you the popular girl flirting with all the businessmen out there?”
Irritating, how positively irritating this girl was. Miyuki smiles (although she really wishes she could just shove the knife strapped to her thigh into Sayaka’s chest) and laughs politely. Miyuki’s party invitation had come in hand with an assignment that also had notes attached to it; a threat if the letter was ignored and a cash reward for fulfilling said assignment, truly a one-way deal. Although she had initially scoffed at the whole ordeal, she nevertheless agreed – it is her father after all. So, here she was, dressed in a red dress borrowed from her step-mother (the woman had a closet full of dresses she thought would be perfect for Miyuki), her brown hair brushed neatly, and a necklace of expensive glittering jewels her only décor upon pale skin (obviously discounting the glistening steel knife strapped against her thigh).
Obviously, she can’t say that so instead she settles for, “Normally people would answer before asking a question of their own, it’s rude otherwise.”
The stranger takes a swig of her champagne, fast and without an ounce of grace, before an empty glass is thrusted into Miyuki’s direction with a expectant smirk. “I’m here for the champagne and quiet. Care pouring me another drink?”
No. “My pleasure.”
Their glasses are filled again, but this time Sayaka leans over, scooting to the edge of her chair to face Miyuki.
“And now your reason for being here is?”
To use you. “Same reason,” she says with forced pleasantry, the smile on her face faltering at the sudden proximity. “It’s much more interesting here with you than out there.”
The smile on Sayaka’s face widens and this time, Miyuki has no qualms in believing that the grin is sincere -- although she also can’t help but think that the raven is very pretty with a smile. Good, this is going well.
“What do you do? Occupation,” Miyuki asks offhandedly, leaning closer as though to reciprocate the dallion attempts. A smirk plays on her own lips as her hand slides over briefly, as though to grasp at the champagne bottle, before accidentally bumping into the others -- or perhaps it was done for a reason, Sayaka could be the judge of that.
“A representative for Oshima’s lingerie line, its quite popular, you know. And you?”
Lingerie of all things. Ridiculous.
“Business representative as well. My family runs a shipping company, working mainly with Europe and Americas in shipping grains, soy, and wheat.” The words flow easily, coming verbatim from the countless rehearsals her father had made her endure, to avoid all mishaps. It wasn’t a complete lie; the company really did export and import, sometimes grains and soy, but mainly weaponry and other mechanics that were written off as farming tools. They were classified as the yakuza by the government, an illegal organization Miyuki was born and forced to live through, not like she has much of a choice outside of it anyways. The tattoo of membership -- a small dragon curled no bigger than a coin -- on the nape of her neck prevented anything normal anyways.
That’s why she was here, in the first place. Apprehend the private investigator who seems to be much too close to disclosing the organizations secrets and silence her as quickly as possible. That was Miyuki’s job: charm and kill. Cliched, yes, but what else can she do?
Another glass is poured for the both of them as Miyuki puts back the half-empty bottle of champagne on the stand. Time flies by in idle chatter and there’s suddenly another champagne bottle that’s opened and emptied, Miyuki’s own glass having been filled and refilled a multitude of times (she lost track after four). The rooms a little too hot now, too bright for her narrowed eyes to properly discern. “Excuse me,” she mumbles, getting up to wander to the closest mirror located near the back of the room.
The reflection is twisted, the glass swirling the image of her florid face; red-cheeks and red lips to match. She was never good with alcohol, but this much, she can handle -- or at least, she hopes she can. Twisting her hair upwards, she keeps the ponytail fairly low to cover the tattoo fully, the tips of her hair brushing against the skin of her back.
“My apologies,” Miyuki says as she settles back onto her seat, eyes closed to settle her vision as the ground tilts left and right underneath her. “I don’t drink very often, try to refrain from it, really.”
There’s a whirl of metal that sounds and an all too familiar click of a gun that sounds. The cold barrel of a gun presses against her forehead.
Miyuki’s eyes snap open; Sayaka glares back.
“That’s alright, I should be the one to apologize.”
Topic: Skinny Love (Chapter One) -- Collab [ SayaMilky + Others ] (Read 2341 times)