End of Ties
The light peaked thru the blinds of the room, eventually as the day processed they moved until hitting her eye and waking her. There was no one next to her, but the impression that someone had was still fresh. Though most of the previous night had been a blur, it was pleasant to remember the end of it--something worth remembering. Kira sat up, she scratched her head and noticed her wig and mask were still in place.
Down stairs there was much conversation, gossip given the nature of the people; a salon? Kira gathered her attire of last night and headed out the window, only to appear of the patio of the mansion to displeasure. Funny, for a while Akasha looked and sounded like a scolding mother--badgering their rebellious child for sneaking out. What a joke.
‘Are you even going to tell me where you went?’ Akasha’s eyes burned hot in anger.
“Someone disappointed their little plan failed?”
Shadows broke from all directions, coiling around and sharping to threaten the insolent lie.
“You’re quick to jump to conclusions.” Kira chuckled, “Almost as if you didn’t trust me.”
Her flames sent the shadows quivering back to their master, but they were not armed against the master at all. Does she understand now? Did she think that the Nightraven woman’s appearance might trigger something again--a reversion to the original perhaps? Impossible, you cannot change back if it was never that way to begin with.
Kira’s expression grew solum when away from the Goddess, Beating around the bush is pointless. The clothes were hardly put on when she left the salon, easy to remove, the immortal changed to jeans and a button-up. Her mask followed with the fall of the wig once again being its white base and black skull. Kira ignored Hei as he tried to stop her, leaping from the patio and sliding down the cliff; jumping at its base from rooftop to rooftop until reaching the plaza.
None noticed her sudden appearance, but gradually as she walked toward her destination attention was fixated upon arrival. The One-Eyed Reaper going to a salon? The bell rang when the door hit it, signaling another customer.
‘Welc-’ The receptionist jumped at the sight, followed by the customers who all stared at the white-haired woman.
Kira found an open seat between two woman and picked up a magazine--something titled Okatu USA that entertained her for the meantime. Everyone still fixated their sights on her.
Non-chaletly she spoke, ‘Didn’t your mother teach you its rude to stare?’
Their heads snapped back to their activity prior. She coughed into her mouth, then into handkerchief before skillfully sliding the painted fabric into her pocket and returning to her reading. One who did not mind themselves was a child, small and feeble, she could be no older than seven, but had a mess of curly red hair. She jumped down from the chair, evading her mother’s grip and bumped into the Reaper. The little one lost balance and fell on the floor.
‘Are you hurt?’ The girl asked when looking up to who she ran into.
Gasps throughout the room for a fear of the reaction of Death’s hand. Kira looked up from her magazine and questioned why she would think she is hurt.
She explained when pointing to her own, ‘You always cover your eye.’
Kira smiled under her mask, set aside her reading and had the child come closer. She was not hurt, but couldn’t use her eye, after fighting a monster, so she has to wear this like a pirate. The child giggled saying she also wasn’t able to talk because her throat got hurt by a monster too, but she got better and can talk again. Kira was curious, seeing that this child was immortal the monster she refers to could be anything from human, to a resentful vampire of the Republic.
Kira assured the child that all those monsters were gone and would never hurt her again. Reaching her hand, she rubbed the girl’s head affectionately when opening her other hand.
‘Would you like to see something cool?’
The adults cringed.
Black flames breathed from her palm, taking the form of a ferret and it was explained that she could hold it if she wanted. The girl took it, touched it without burning and like the creature it copied the flame was as animated and ran all around her shoulders then around the salon, terrifying the woman with unexpected cuteness. The girl clapped and laughed, chasing it around until she caught it and returned it to its master.
The adults were surprised.
The girl hugged Kira remarking how she thought her hair was pretty because it reminded her of snow. The compliment was accepted and in turn she was given another flame companion that would last a few hours. Skipping back to her mother, she waved as her appointment called her within allowing Kira to return to her reading.
‘Stare at that.’ She smirked glancing above the article.
The master stylist and owner of the salon leaned in the doorway beside reception, ‘I didn’t believe it till I saw it.’
She folded her arms only surprised at the fact any of that house took this long to come in for a haircut, considering known look as though they’ve had one since the stylist arrived; that was well over two years ago. Now one of them are here, and not just any, but the One-Eyed Reaper herself. A woman who cloaks herself in a black darker than her flames, her power could topple entire nations; she turned an entire organization rooted in ten thousand years of history in a few months and yet she has reserved herself into serving the Goddess of the Moon.
Rumor speculated about the mystery of her origins, seeing as very few have seen her actual face, it was difficult to find people who knew her...or who were willing to say they did. The Queen of the Damned and the Pureblood King were very familiar with her, having been referred to as ‘Kira’--once a member of the now disbanded Syndicate--though there are no documents with any immortal with that name. How old is she? Where did she come from? Everyone in the empire had these same questions, though the stylist herself didn’t care for who ‘Kira’ was, rather she wanted to know the kind of person she is. Heartless and hellbent; gentle and reserved; what does this type of person want in life?
‘You’re lucky my last appointment canceled otherwise I’d have you make one and leave.’
Kira shrugged when leaning forward on her knees, ‘All I have is time, I don’t mind--take care of everyone else and if you can squeeze me in I would compensate you for the trouble.’
The stylist was annoyed with Kira’s complacency for some reason--it was forced, a loss of care, but with a feel of the desire to avoid something. An issue with the Goddess?
‘Alright, hope you’re ready to stay late then.’
The Reaper kept the children from running around the salon, entertaining them with flame-born animals and tricks as their families received their cuts. The majority of the stylists were enjoying the show, but the owner forced herself not to show expression towards it. She was frustrated over the two-faced woman--though in this day the only way to survive is to be two-faced, so that aspect of the Reaper was forgiven.
Threatened with the idea of her salon burning, she snapped at Kira to go outside if she wanted to do anything drastic just to impress the children. As told she did so; complacency again. Every-so-often she glanced outside the salon’s windows and saw the Reaper running around; children were jumping on her, tackling her to the ground...in those short moments of sight she seemed happier than any other time. Progressively the appointments lessened, finishing the last around the early rise of the morning sun. Kira was found on a bench outside the salon door--the receptionist had laid a blanket over her before leaving having the owner be the last to make the decision whether to wake her or not.
It wasn’t like the owner hated her, she had never met her, but a lot of her opinion was greatly influenced with what she has seen the Reaper do. This woman...if hands were wrapped around her throat and squeezed would she suffocate? If a sharp stick was taken and stabbed her thru the heart would she turn to ash and dust? If she died...how many people would be saved...how many would be sacrificed? The owner reached her long, slender fingers--curling them around the Reapers throat. An eye opened.
‘Leaving yourself vulnerable like this; someone with a life as important as yours, treasured and loathed by so many.’
Kira looked at her blankly, ‘What makes you think I treasure my life?’
‘You don’t? Then why fight as hard as you do?’ No one was around them, ‘If you don’t value your life why hold onto it?’
Kira relaxed, allowing the stylist the luxury of a soft jugular to tear with ease.
“Because I made a promise.”
The stylist didn’t understand English, but given the look in her eye it wasn’t an insult. She let go, folding her arms into a sassier position when finally asking why she bothered to come back if she took off yesterday without saying anything. Kira tugged on her mask explaining she only went back to change and returned with the question of if she knew who Kira was why bother letting her stay.
‘You obviously came back for some reason.’
They went inside, Kira sat in a chair and faced the mirror as the master stylist snapped the cover over her.
She spoke in her native tongue when taking the folded marked page in the magazine, ‘Lady Akasha better not kill me for this.’