damned_institute | Night 58: Kitchen (Second Floor)

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Night 58: Kitchen (Second Floor)

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At first glance, there seemed little different in this room than there had been in the last one, especially in the dim light cast through the open door, and Sesshoumaru nearly growled in frustration. He felt weak, he felt drained, and if had all been for nothing once again....

But, he saw a moment later, this room was different. It remained to be seen if there was anything useful in the drawers and cupboards that lined the surfaces, but perhaps. After all, the area still smelled of the food that had apparently been prepared here - when he focused the light headache he was beginning to carry began to intensify, but he could nonetheless smell raw ingredients that had been used here - meat, eggs, spices.

Perhaps there would be something useful here after all.

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She was fussing with the spinning side-handle of some jaw-like contraption when her companion spoke; despite the calmness, she almost jumped in surprise. Instead, her reaction was betrayed when she turned, with a screech her boot heel against the slick floor. It took a moment longer to understand the question.

"I can fight with them," she said, her voice level but her expression slowly turning to surprise. Somehow, she knew this this to be true without even the memory of ever holding a dagger in hand. Her teeth pulled at her lower lip to keep from frowning. "But... I can't tell you anything about them. Why?"

"Hn." His voice was thoughtful, but his expression studying and gaze somehow penetrating. It unnerved most people, to be stared at so silently, especially by one whose expression was so unreadable. "There are knives here. They wouldn't be weighted properly for combat, but are sharp nonetheless.

"How well can you fight?"

The girl stared back, uncertain under that steady gaze, looking lost and suddenly vulnerable. "I..." Her voice wavered, the shake of her light betraying her unsteady hand. With a swallow and a shake of her head, the girl forced the words out of her mouth, quiet and hesitant.

"I can't tell you." Like each time before, shame crept into her voice, and the fog in her head seemed to grow ever heavier. "I can't remember anything before last night. I know I can fight. It's... instinctive, but... I can't remember fighting..."

Sesshoumaru looked at her, still steadily, curiously.

"Then it seems you can fight well," he said after a moment, voice simple and direct. It was not questioning, as the voice of most others probably would be. She was either telling the truth - which he suspected - or was lying - which would be profitless, but nonetheless impossible for him to prove. And if they could strip him of his strength, they might well be able to strip this girl of her memories.

He looked at her for a moment longer. "Is there anything else you do know about yourself?"

There was no lighting of curiosity or pity in his tone, and the girl could only feel grateful. Carefully she made her way across the slick floor and the dark island counters to where her companion had stopped, speaking as she moved.

"I don't know. There's people who say they know me, but I don't recognize them... I can't even remember my own name."

Arriving beside him, she moved the flashlight to her left hand and picked up the largest of the knives with her right, fingers wrapping easily around its handle. Overall it was lighter than she expected, despite the fact she should have no expectations at all. "But... in a way, I remember this."

"And so," he said, his voice still as casual as if they were discussing the weather, "you have no way of knowing if they are telling you the truth." He watched her pick up the knife, eyes narrowing just a little as he looked at the way she held it, at the way she stood.

"Hn."

And he struck.

Sesshoumaru moved fast, but not nearly as fast as he could have, his movements expertly executed but entirely blockable. He wasn't looking to fight the girl, even to spar, but merely to test her.

She moved as though she had training, she said this seemed familiar. Very well. It was time to see how well she had been trained.

Her eyes were fixed on the knife, thin and weak. She would have agreed with him -- perhaps expressed just how confused they made her, between Locke's stories about the "Terra" he knew, and the strange not-familiarity she sensed from Edgar -- had she the time. From the corner of her limited vision she saw his single arm move towards her with unmistakeable intent, and before the girl knew what she was doing, she was moving as well.

You need to protect yourself.

There was little room to dodge, and the floor was slick with melted snow. The girl had little choice. The right arm that came at her was parried with her left, her grip tight on the flashlight as she slammed the butt of it against his arm. Her face was twisted for surprise, but concentration as well. Her feet had already moved beneath her for a wider stance, a better balance, squeaking on the tile floor.

The curve of the blade was meant to be rolled upon a flat surface, to chop vegetables: it was not designed for the easy stab of a dagger, or the hard blow of a sword. It turned in her quick hand, pressing and slashing across her attacker's chest, force and speed ripping the blade through fabric and skin.

It was a shallow cut, and would not be enough to stop him from attacking her again if he so tried, but her teeth were clenched, light and blade held firm in each of her hands. The edge of the blade was dark with blood.

He moved quickly, but not quickly enough. His body was not responding as it should. Sesshoumaru's eyes widened a little in annoyance and surprise as he felt the razor sensation of a sharp blade slicing through flesh - she did little more than scratch him, but she shouldn't have been able to touch him. It was this place again.

At least he had learned what he wished. She fought instinctively, and well. Her balance had shifted, she had moved too quickly to have needed to think about it, the movements themselves as graceful as a dance. And she had landed a blow on him. Whether or not this place weakened him, it was an accomplishment of some note.

He had recoiled from her when she struck at him, leaping backwards and landing maybe five feet from where she was standing - it was a small room, which restricted the distance he could travel even more effectively than the limitations imposed by this place. He stood very still, a ghost in what little light was cast upon him so indirectly, considering that for the first time in a very long time he could feel thin lines of blood dripping down his chest.

"You have been trained," he said a few moments of not moving later, his stance casual, his voice calm - interested, if anything. But then, this was what he knew.

Even for how fast the "fight" had been, her heart was pumping for adrenaline; just because he'd put distance between them didn't necessarily mean it was over. The flashlight turned in her hand to follow him, the beam steady against his face.

If it blinded him, all the better. What the hell was he thinking? Maybe the girl had made the wrong choice in taking a companion at all, if trying to take her head off with nails as long and as sharp as the blade of the smaller knife still sitting on the counter.

"Trained? By who?" she asked, searching his well-lit expression for some clue. "Is that why... you attacked me?"

She was regretting now not asking anything about this man's past before requesting his company.

His eyes narrowed a little at the beam of light, but he didn't attempt to shield them or turn away. He seemed almost more like a statue than a man, only the smallest movements showing that he was still alive.

"I have no more idea who trained you than you have," he said. "Only that it has been done, and you have been taught well.

"You said you knew nothing of your past. It seemed prudent to discover at least this much."

Her left hand tilted, the beam of light sliding from his face; the girl wasn't sure what to make of that explanation -- wasn't sure what to make of him at all. She frowned, glancing once toward the knife. It wasn't near enough blood for heavy droplets to roll off blade, but a thin stain still marred its edge.

Even though he hadn't managed to hit her, and she was the one who caused injury to him, she was the one more unsettled by the affair. For a long moment, she had nothing to say.

"... There's two doors on the back wall. Should we split up to check them out?"

Well, she wasn't going to thank him, and certainly not apologize.

He expected neither and so was not disappointed. His eyes left her face for the first time since he had lept from her, as he looked over to the doors she mentioned, seemingly as casually uninterested in them as he had been in being cut.

"If you prefer," he said, voice still almost bored. Then he looked back over at her, raising an eyebrow. Which door would she prefer?

She shrugged her shoulder. What did it matter? They didn't know what was behind either. They could each simply take which door was closer.

Sesshoumaru nodded, a very small gesture, and then walked forwards again. His stance seemed as casual as ever, for all that he was focusing on her very intently now, with all his senses trained on her. He could hear her breath and heartbeat and the small sounds that her shoes made on the wet floor as she moved, he could smell her uncertainty, and as she stood uncertainly in the light of the flashlight he was holding, he'd be able to see if she moved too quickly. He had no intention of being cut again.

He picked up his flashlight when he came back to the drawer and slid it away, then carefully reached into the drawer again. When his hand came back out he was holding a paring knife by its short blade. His eyes flicked over to his companion as he held it out for her. After waiting for her to take it he reached in for the final knife. After a moment of thoughtful silence he slid this under his belt, as he might carry a sword. The handle and a belt loop caught it, keeping it as secure as was likely possible at the moment, and then moved for the closest door.

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She was not at all sure what to make of 'this Sesshoumaru,' but it seemed what little fight had bubbled between them had disintegrated into nothing. She was wary when he approached once more, but the girl did not step back for fear; nor did she lash out. She watched as he took the light, and then a second knife -- for her, she realized, shifting her inventory of hand to take the small thing by its handle. A third knife went with him, the blade longer than either of hers, but it was more uniform in width, and possessed a jagged lower edge. All the blades were single-edged; she knew that none were really all that suited for stabbing or combat.

They'd do.

The smaller knife went carefully into a slim pocket, for it was much too small, narrow, and unevenly balanced to tuck into her belt. She should have kept her beret, she thought now; she could have cut into it with the knife and slipped that firmly onto her belt, and use that to carry such small items as this. Lesson learned.

She waited for her companion to disappear through his own door before moving to hers, reaching for the handle with the knife still in her grip. The handle of the weapon was narrow, and braced on her thumb she could easily manage something as simple as a door.

The girl crossed the threshold.

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Night 58: Kitchen (Second Floor)

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