tampered | Log; Complete

Log; Complete

When; February 22, 2008
Rating; PG-13 [language]
Characters; Anezaki Mamori [

fuckingmanager], Hiruma Yoichi [

fuckingqb]
Summary; Everyone needs a little bit of solidarity in the City. Mamori and Hiruma make unspoken amends.
Log;

There existed very few ways in the world to turn an act of obedience into that of defiance, and yet somehow it seemed that as of late, Mamori had managed to stumble across just that. It wasn't that she really wanted to revert to the mindset of a thirteen-year-old, but there was certainly a underlying message she was trying to get across. Because, in the past couple of days, Mamori had made a greater concession to Hiruma than she had in all of her months as acting manager of the Devilbats--that perhaps she had underestimated an enemy, and perhaps there were times when her kindness was extended to too many. And, indeed, maybe she should have been kept away from the Network, off her computer, given some time alone in her room to think--the only problem was the manner in which Hiruma's guidance was given. The very bullying that she had worked so hard to suppress in him, only intensified, somehow.

She didn't want it to become a habit.

Unfortunately, the only way Mamori could think of in order to prevent this was, ironically enough, strict adherence to his words. Actions which would make him think twice before giving her another order; actions which would take away any sort of satisfaction that he got from pushing her around.

She would liked to have thought that Hiruma wasn't that type of person, but just in case.

Still, staying in her room at all times wasn't the most feasible option, and so Mamori still made sure to come out three times a day, slightly earlier than usual in order to avoid running into Hiruma, to cook their meals. She wasn't sure how long this pattern would keep up--after all, she neither expected nor really wanted an outright apology, not from Hiruma--but maybe it would impress upon him the fact that he couldn't just pin her down like that. Even if it was in her best interest.

The only downside to the plan being, of course, that she missed his company. That the blank walls in her room seemed smaller than before, somehow.

Sighing, Mamori got to her feet, quietly turning the knob on her door and trying to decide on what to make for dinner that night.

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He never would have said it aloud, or even indicated it in action or body language, but things were starting to get to him. Hiruma had the ability to disguise this fact--this and almost everything, so that it was honestly rare that anyone knew precisely what he was thinking. He preferred it this way. But it didn't change the fact that, underneath it all, the whole fucking thing was starting to really get to him.

It was one thing to be in the City, which on its own was bad enough. Had it just been him and Cerberus, Hiruma might not have gotten to this point as fast as he had. Taking care of himself was one thing, and he was perfectly able and ready to do so. But the addition of one other person...one specific person...

The plain truth was that if it were Kurita or Musashi here in the City with him, he wouldn't be thinking like he was right now. The fucking fat ass and the fucking old man could handle themselves, and while Kurita had his moments where he was too stupid and naive for his own good, the lineman was capable of protecting himself if it came down to it, and Hiruma, for whatever reason, wasn't there. Hiruma trusted those two, not only to look out for him, but to look out for themselves as well.

The fucking manager was different. He knew she was perfectly capable of standing up for herself; she didn't let him push her around, and she damn well wasn't going to let anyone else. That wasn't the worry: if all it came down to was verbal bullying Hiruma wouldn't even have bothered to acknowledge anything. The fucking manager got on him all the damned time about his bullying, and she sure wasn't going to take it from anyone else. But it wasn't just verbal bullying; she honestly didn't seem to understand that the City was fucking dangerous, more dangerous than he could even relate to her.

He scowled at the pot on the stove, Cerberus at his feet with his face buried in the bowl Hiruma had set down earlier. It was the only sound in the apartment, and the dog ate so loudly that Hiruma wouldn't be able to hear the damn manager wandering around her room, which she'd taken to hiding in.

Edited 2008-02-23 01:17 (UTC)

Indeed, the padding of Mamori's bare feet on the ground was completely covered by the snorting of the bulldog a few feet away, but it was something that Mamori was glad for, because in the few extra seconds it would take for Hiruma could turn around, she had time to collect herself, to suppress the gasp of surprise which almost slipped from her lips.

It shouldn't have been a big deal, but the City seemed to have a habit of changing dynamics even in the most trivial of situations.

For several moments, Mamori simply stood there, back resting against the wall, as she considered turning tail and retreating to her room, but something seemed to pull at her feet, keeping her rooted. Her eyes traveled down the curve of his spine, held straight and tall--a type of strength seemingly unparalleled by all others Mamori knew.

Her gaze gradually lowered to the ground, coming to a rest on her toes. The coward's way out was too obvious of a trip to take, this time.

He didn't hear her, but he did feel the weight of a new presence in the room. It was an instinct any football player needed to hone, especially a quarterback, who was in danger of being sacked at any moment. He turned to glance at the manager, though she was no longer looking at him. There was apparently something very fascinating about the ground at her feet.

One eyebrow arched as he let his gaze rest on her for another moment longer, and then turned back to the stove, giving the vegetable soup (from a can, Hiruma didn't have the patience to mess around making shit from scratch) another stir before checking on the contents in the oven.

He didn't say anything to her. Not yet. Maybe he would in a moment. For right now he pulled out the baked fish and set it on the unused burners on the stove.

There was something very frustrating about dealing with Hiruma, in that he rarely ever took the first step outside of the football field or practice. Even here, if him making dinner could be considered a concession, he'd found the upper hand in that Mamori was forced to react somehow, to acknowledge him somehow--in effect, he'd managed to take a first step without actually having to give way in principle. Such was probably to be expected of a strategist of his level.

At least that much hadn't changed.

And, Mamori supposed that if she wanted to retain any sort of moral ground, she'd have to follow suit.

Lips tugging into a bit of a forced smile, she looked up in time to watch Hiruma turn towards the stove.

"If you were hungry, you should've let me know. I could've started cooking earlier."

"Tch." He didn't necessarily like cooking but that didn't mean he wasn't capable of it. There was no question that the dinner he'd made wouldn't be nearly as good as the stuff Mamori made; Hiruma did little more than take things out of cans and heat them up. Even the fish he'd baked wasn't going to be very good in terms of taste--when Hiruma cooked it was the barest of efforts expended to get whatever it was that his body needed. So Mamori cooking for them suited him just fine.

Except that this had been an excellent way to get her talking to him again.

He wasn't much on presentation, either, putting the plate of fish on the table, along with the rice and soup. The utensils and bowls were already there, placed in front of two of the chairs, and with an almost negligent air Hiruma sat down to eat. He didn't glance at Mamori as, under the table, he found the leg of one of the chairs and pushed, kicking it away. She would take it as a silent invitation to join him, or she wouldn't.

Wordlessly, Mamori slid into her seat, picking up her pair of chopsticks and giving Hiruma a quick glance before poking at the rice, eyes looking over the food in front of her. Nothing special, nothing extravagant, and Mamori hadn't expected for it to be--Hiruma rarely put out more effort than was necessary, never sought recognition for the sake of being praised alone.

It was something she admired in him, that sincerity, but it also meant that the tension was undoubtedly going to last a while longer, unless she suddenly found herself willing to give way once more.

The gesture in itself, despite how thoughtful it may have been, wasn't enough to build up much of an appetite, and so Mamori spent more time worrying over her food than actually eating, chopsticks breaking pieces of fish apart until it was nearly indistinguishable from the rice itself before finally taking a bite.

Needed more salt. That felt familiar.

He paid less mind to what he was eating than she did; it was bland and boring, but it was what he expected. The vegetable soup was too salty, and it was the low sodium shit. He made a face at it, pouring it over his rice and mixing it together, hoping to thin the taste out. At least the fucking manager's cooking rarely had too much salt.

He ate in silence, chewing and looking off into the living room, where the screen of his computer flickered as it went through his screen saver. At their feet Cerberus finished his dinner, noisily licking his lips as he trotted out of the room. Hiruma listened to the sound of his claws on the linoleum until he reached the carpet and the quiet settled again.

"Heard of the Sket-Dan, fucking manager?"

She jumped slightly at his words, wincing as she bit down on her chopsticks a little too hard; Mamori hadn't really expected Hiruma to speak, not so soon. Berating herself mentally for having overreacted in such a manner, Mamori made sure to swallow carefully before placing her bowl on the table, changing a glance in Hiruma's direction.

"Sket-Dan? ...no? I haven't been on the computer for the past couple of days."

Her hands folded in her lap, fingers grabbing the material of her skirt lightly for reassurance. "Why?"

Hiruma chewed a bit longer, considering what she'd said. Maybe she assumed his intention in talking to her had been to keep her from talking to anyone on the Network ever again. It hadn't been--while that might have been the best way to make sure nothing happened, it was impractical. There were plenty of people in the City that were perfectly normal and just as naively optimistic as she was.

The problem was getting her to recognize the psychotic ones.

He pushed his food around in his bowl, mixing it all together even more thoroughly, before catching another bite on his chopsticks, though he didn't raise it to his mouth.

"They seem to think they can find more members for us." He said with a note of disbelief in his tone. He didn't put much stock in fucking Bossun's assurances, but giving him a week didn't seem like it would harm anything. And if it turned out Hiruma was wrong, well. That would be a completely different story.

Mamori grinned slightly, gaze returning to her bowl once more. "Provided they don't use the same types of tactics that you do, I'm inclined to believe them. Not everyone has to have a gun pointed at their head to be persuaded to do something; in fact, a lot of people are more easily convinced when there isn't one."

She flinched slightly once the words had left her mouth, belatedly realizing that her words could be taken in a variety of different ways; instead of verbally acknowledging it, however, Mamori proceeded to take another bite, chewing slowly and thoughtfully.

"You... haven't been harassing the new members too much, I hope?" Mamori felt a twinge of remorse as she said it; she should have been watching over them more carefully.

Hiruma grinned. That was more like it. Even if she didn't say it as she normally might--with more force, more stubbornness--it was nonetheless her, informing him that he was a bully. It was all at once Mamori reminding him that his tactics were too extreme, that his warning to her had been over the line, that she felt his use of force was unnecessary. He didn't have to agree with her, or even acknowledge it; the point was that she had said it, and it was something she would have said prior to all this.

He kept grinning that wide, sharp smile, looking at her without remorse.

"We'll just see whose tactics work better." He put his chopsticks down, pushing his plate away. He chose to ignore that question about the new members--she could draw her own conclusions, but Mamori might be surprised to learn that the team had almost as much to fear from Atora as they did from Hiruma. She worked them as hard as he did; the two of them together ensured that most of them limped off the field whining about demons and unrealistic expectations.

Except, of course, for those of them that possessed some kind of insane enduarnce. The fucking greenie would have given even Agon a run for his money in terms of sheer staying power.

"We... we will indeed!" Mamori replied resolutely, similarly pushing her bowl and chopsticks away and crossing her arms, looking away, although it wasn't so much a matter of frustration as it was a reflexive action. To meet head-on with Hiruma no matter what the odds.

"I'm sure I can get some of my friends in the City to help set up a normal activity table... maybe with some cream puffs for passerby." Her lips pulled into a grin as Mamori's thoughts turned to those of cream puffs--she hadn't had any yet in the City, which was a shame. "As long as I can explain to people what the game is truly like, and as long as you don't scare them away with your collection of guns, I think a lot of people could legitimately come to love the game. After all, it must be popular in the United States for a reason..."

Edited 2008-02-25 03:13 (UTC)

If possible he grinned more--in reality it was just a change in the light in his eyes, in the eagerness in his expression. Figures the fucking manager would use recruiting as a chance for her to snag herself a puff or two. Not that it didn't seem to be something of a fucking tradition to serve cream puffs during recruiting; if he were going to be completely honest with himself, Hiruma would admit that the cream puffs, the recruiting, all reminded him, sharply, that Kurita wasn't here. The fucking fatty certainly would have agreed with Mamori in this idea, and likely would have helped her run the damned thing. He would have ordered way to fucking many cream puffs, and Hiruma would have tormented them both about sneaking puffs on the side.

Even if he wouldn't admit it to her, or indicate it in any manner whatsoever, Hiruma missed him. But saying it wouldn't change anything, so he kept it to himself.

"Think you can manage not to eat them all yourself?" He cackled, all teeth and wicked eyes.

She was about to reply that she hadn't eaten them all the last time they served cream puffs at recruiting, but the words caught in her throat, somehow--the only reason why she'd been able to hold back was thanks to Kurita, really, and to bring him up hurt, somehow. Knowing that he probably wasn't going to suddenly appear in the City, and knowing furthermore that there was no real way out for both Hiruma and her.

It wasn't only Kurita, either. With each passing day, Mamori found herself longing more and more for home, for the walks with Sena to and from school, for team practices which largely consisted of being chased around by Cerberus. All of it seemed so distant, now.

"I'll have you know that I can, in fact, avoid giving in to temptation," Mamori replied primly. "And that I can keep away from cream puffs much more readily than, for instance, you could from your guns."

"Call yourself a fucking saint then." He said, laughter in every word. It wasn't that he didn't believe her; it was that he did. He knew exactly how capable she was of behaving. Anezaki Mamori was, completely and utterly, a good girl at heart. It was what made those rare moments of disobedience so intriguing. No one could be good all the fucking time, and Hiruma happened to have a few of Mamori's less-than-saintly moments on tape.

He wasn't going to accept that challenge of hers either; putting aside the fact that walking around unarmed was just not a feasible option for Hiruma, he simply enjoyed being able to tease her too much. Which he could have done, eventually, whenever her willpower failed her and she sneaked a puff. But he'd still be able to do that, even without the bet.

"Would have to be in order to offset the devil," Mamori replied, a grin threatening to pull at her lips despite her efforts to prevent it from doing so.

Sighing, Mamori uncrossed her arms, shaking her head slightly to herself before looking down at the spread of dishes once more, knowing that the fact that Hiruma had pushed away his bowl was probably indication enough that he had finished for the night--the guy wasn't the type to waver with small choices like that. Pushing her chair back, Mamori stood, getting ready to gather the dishes and to store the leftovers in the fridge.

"Thanks for the meal. Since you were so generous as to make dinner, I'll assume I'm the one meant to wash the dishes," Mamori said, lips pulling into a bit of a pout.

The comment about the devil made him cackle, as if to emphasize her point, dark amusement playing over the sharp angle of his features. Still snickering he stood, grabbing his bowl and utensils, dumping these in the sink where dishwater was already standing. He hadn't actually started the dishes, and didn't really have any intention of doing so just yet. He simply dumped the dirty dishes in there; if she washed them now, fine, and if she decided not to, he'd eventually get to it. Probably around the time he needed a clean bowl.

"Your choice." He said as he swept past her, snatching up a bag and heading for the door. Cerberus got to his feet to follow, sitting in front of the door as Hiruma bent to put his shoes on.

Mamori raised an eyebrow as Hiruma unceremoniously dumped the dishes in the sink, almost tempted to start on them right then, but instead following Hiruma to the front door. She had the sneaking suspicion that he was heading out for some late night practice--or maybe late night blackmailing, Mamori could never be sure--and while it was certainly nothing out of the ordinary, Mamori couldn't help feeling a little disappointed that he was leaving so soon after they'd made some progress towards getting back on track.

"Where are you heading off to?" She asked, tilting her head and watching his hands tie the laces. "Practice again...?"

"Work." He said shortly. It was a nice general term, covering all manner of things, be they legitimate or not. Mamori would draw the conclusions that she wanted, probably the right ones, considering how well she knew him.

Shoes on he stood, glancing at her as he reached for the doorknob.

She nodded, gaze dropping to the floor briefly before a smile tugged on her lips, however reluctantly.

"I'll see you later, then," Mamori replied, not moving from her place. Maybe there were times when it was appropriate to follow Hiruma, but somehow, this didn't quite feel like one of them.

"Hn." He looked at her, his gaze more of a response than that single sound. He could see that she wanted to smile, something slow at the edges of her lips. Considering the last time they'd talked, she had looked like she might want to cry, Hiruma knew that this was a good sign.

He didn't say as much though. Instead he opened the door, Cerberus padding out into the hallway ahead of him. Turning away without another sound, he left, shutting the door with a click behind him. He paused only long enough to slip his key into the lock and turn it.

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Log; Complete

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