[Log] Dark Alleys, and the Dangers Within

[cranesandroses]

Characters: Hyuuga Neji (optical_white) and Konan (cranesandroses)
Date: November 27
Location: Street in Cena
Warnings/Notes: More than a little mild violence but nothing much.
Summary: Neji and thugs. Konan and heels. A debt repaid.


It was a street he traveled every day--to and from work. Connected to the street his apartment was located on, it also led to the shopping area where he normally purchased his food and other supplies. Thankfully, by some stroke of luck, Neji had managed to find a path that wound around the damaged street [which still had not been taken care of, unsurprisingly] and cut from his apartment complex to the avenue he so often walked down.

It shouldn't have come as a surprise to him that someone other than he would travel down this road often.

Four times. Four times, had he seen her. How long, Neji wondered, had they been traveling the same street, taking absolutely no notice of each other, until their rather dangerous encounter in the alleyway off the avenue. Now, he couldn't help the touch of agitation every time he glimpsed her hair. Her blue, blue hair. Never before had he encountered an individual with such shade. He wasn't exactly bothered by her passing--she was usually on the juxtaposing corner from he, turning always at the block on Demnit [which had the e replaced crudely with an a in faded red marker, the work of some low-level prankster with nothing better to do with his life] whereas he continued several rows down before reaching the corner he himself would turn down to reach the store--but the sheer coincidence about the situation addled him the slightest.

Lately, when traveling down the avenue, he had taken to forcing his gaze downward when reaching Demnit to avoid catching a glimpse, should she be walking by, but there were choice times when pale Hyuuga eyes would glance up, just long enough to see if the unfamiliar blue-headed woman happened to be passing at the same time as he. Rarely was she actually there.

There was a scuffle currently taking place along the front of his street. Neji frowned, and turned instead down the alley behind the Corner Store, intending to walk around and enter through the back. It would be good to avoid the commotion of Cena on a day like this. [It was not as if Neji had very many good days--some were worse than others, some were downright awful, some even reached tolerable, but precious few he actually considered to not be a chore.] Hands stuffed in his pockets, head bowed, feet swinging in steady rhythm, long, impatient strides, he moved down the dingy alleyway, buried in his thoughts.

Unfortunate for Neji that he did not realize the set of footsteps that had followed him off the path and were currently trailing several metres behind his slouched form.

Quite surprisingly, it did not matter to her as much as she ought it should have when she saw him again. (And again.) Besides, as much as it had not been viewed positively, he had helped her and the least she could repay with what little was left of her honor was to let him go. (Later, she would review her actions. And it would undoubtedly lead to the conclusion that she should not have spared him. But she was going to take her time in doing so because after how much speculation and hours of playing shadow puppets across the walls of her makeshift room, she could not help but ask herself: when was the last time that someone had attempted to save her?)

She had taken to merely ignoring him as he made his way down the road - and it was as much coexistence as it was sparing his life - thus, she did not need to go out of her way to actively avoid him. This night was no different and from the corner of her eye, she saw a figure walking down the street which she immediately attributed as the Hyuuga because no one moved with his head tilted down abjectly. She turned her head to look at him properly - something seemed misplaced. Certainly, he was not the type of person who invited his friends over during weeknights and that would not suddenly change now. Unless he arbitrarily decided that his social skills were to be tested and deemed the three men that were following him worthy of visiting his place--

Her eyes narrowed, if but slightly. The three faces were familiar - these were three of the men she encountered every once in a while, doing the generic deeds men of their statures seemed so keen into doing (i.e. raping women, stealing from street children, et al). And they were certainly not any visitors of his.

That possibility - the chance - of finally being free from the chains of debt was what prompted her to follow them silently, and the air was cold and sharp against her exposed skin - making her wish that she had come in her cloak and not the absurd clothing the client had prompted her to wear.

Fate, it seemed, was on his side today.

Their presence was revealed with near embarrassing ease, when one of them fumbled over an empty can, causing it to rattle. Neji was startled for only a moment, turning on his heel in an elegant spin to face the cluster of three men who had been halfway through the process of circling him. A lanky one, with taunt muscles and a long scar running from his eyebrow to his left cheek, kicked the old beer can at him, and charged forth, fist raised.

While Neji blocked--rather effortlessly, the man was strong, but uncoordinated--another came behind him, attempting to strike for the back of his head. In a smooth motion, Neji swung his arm back and landed his elbow squarely in the middle of the assailant's face. When he pulled back, his sleeve had blood on it, and the man was clutching his nose, fingers red. A knee to the stomach, a punch to the side of the head--the man in front of him staggered away, gasping. From behind him came another punch, and then Neji's hand was wrapped firmly around his wrist, and he bent forward, pulling the man until he had completely flipped over him, slamming his back hard on the pavement. He groaned, and Neji turned his attention to the final man, who had hung back--most likely assessing his skill level.

Interesting. This one would be a challenge.

They faced off, and Neji fell into his stance. The other two were holding back, Neji could only assume, because there were no footsteps behind him, and when he glanced back, they were merely watching. He returned his focus to the apparent leader of the group. Neither moved. Slowly, his opponent began to circle, and Neji mimicked the motion, until they both stopped, and the man looked as if he was about to strike out.

His temporary loss of situational awareness would, in the end, be what did him in--because he had been so intently focusing on the person before him, that he did not take to notice that the man had been moving for a purpose, positioning him specifically. He also neglected to note the small handgun that one of the two thugs had drawn from his coat, that he was slowly raising with intent to point it at his back and shoot. If he was at all a good shot, Neji would be dead before he realized it.

He seemed to be holding out well, and there did not appear to be any need for an interference. With her back pressed against the wall of the alley, blending with the shadows was an uneasy feat that was easily attributed to the sequins and the glittering material of her dress. But it looked as if no one took notice of her, and this was fine, as she would easily slip out if indeed the Hyuuga was able to dispose of his assailants without much hassle.

It was funny how the situation played out, rather different than what she had expected. The Hyuuga had an affinity for guns being pointed at them. The strange girl with equally strange eyes and now this one over here who had been subjected to the same treatment for twice now, all circumstances happening in her presence. From her position, it was easy to see the gun but from the Hyuuga's, with his back turned on the one holding the weapon, it was a safe conclusion that he was wholly unaware of the fact that there was something potentially lethal pointed at his back and that if he did not turn around and face these two, he would be dead. (It would be a useless action, if he did turn around perchance, because before he could make a step, the bullet would be lodged in his body.) What a bizarre turn of events.

If the other thug, the one who stood in front of the Hyuuga, had seen her and cried out earlier, perhaps copious amounts of pain would not have been dealt as the heel of her - rather expensive - stilettos made contact with the gun-wielding wrist and the weapon went flying out of his hands. The other one that stood beside him (she had to give him credit for acting so quickly) made a grab for her and she used those hands gripping her upper arms to support her weight and lift herself, the heels of her shoes running up the torso of the adjacent man, until one of them finally bought purchase on his surprised, right eye, the pointed end easily digging into his cornea and lodging itself in the socket.

The element of surprise at seeing his comrade fall backward with a shoe sticking out of his eye loosened the thug's grip on her and Konan took advantage of this as soon as her feet landed smoothly on the ground, her remaining shoe treading on the man's boot with enough force to sink the heel into his flesh. He gave out a cry of pain, releasing her and staggering backwards, a motion which she used to bring her free foot to deliver a sharp kick to his neck. There was a loud crack and Konan slipped out of her stiletto as the man fell flat on his back, his blank eyes staring straight overhead. She didn't even spare him a glance, thoroughly unfazed by what just happened, and made her way barefoot to the other fallen man. As she bent down to tug it (it was expensive, and she had to return it), Konan turned to look at the other two who were facing off a little ways from where her respective fight had taken place and gave each of them indifferent looks that bellied disregard and a lack of concern to whatever was taking place between them. The Hyuuga could handle this. She had done her part. She had paid her debt.

The heel came free with a hard yank and as she wiped it on the front of the man's overalls.

The presence of another person struggling with the two other men was enough to divert his attention for only a moment, before his opponent took his brief distraction as an opportune moment to strike. Neji forgot to be concerned with the person attacking the other two.

He was fast. Very fast. He had definitely had training in fighting, because no average thug had a hit rate that advanced. Neji knew his arms--which he was holding in front of himself, blocking each raining blow until he could find an opening in which to strike back--would be rather nastily bruised the next day. A pause, only a breath in the unending flurry of punches, and Neji's fist flew out, nearly punching the man in the throat before he dodged. His fist only glanced the side of a muscled neck. Drawing his arm back, the Hyuuga caught the blow directed by the man with his forearm, kicking out and punching at the same time. His boot came in contact with the man's shin--lower than he had aimed; the man barely flinched, and his fist was knocked away.

In his spare time, Neji was something of a scholar. He learned everything he could, whatever he had time to learn, to read. Martial arts--not taught from a master, unfortunately, not since he had been fifteen--were one of his greatest interests, and informative books made up a great portion of his collection. In these books he learned positions, strategies, moves and attack patterns that would help him in combat. [He didn't get to use them often--the majority of Cena attackers were petty and untrained, and very basic fighting methods could easily knock them from the running.] These he practiced with almost religious dedication, looking upon them as both his main source of entertainment, and a potential life-saving skill that would be essential when living where he did. The benefits were good.

It was one of these attack formations that was, well-programmed, playing out in his head when he retracted his punching arm, using the one that had been held in a standard blocking position--[bong sao, kung-fu. Elbow up, shoulder relaxed, arm arcing downwards--often referred to as a "wing." Energy comes from the shoulder, not the arm.]--to catch both of his arms as he moved, flipping forms--[tandar, elbow down, palm up]--lightning fast from hours upon hours of grueling practice, pushing the man's defense to the side in order to land a solid punch on the center of his chest. Neji did not give him a chance to recover, and immediately hit him again.

He struck him only twice more before a kick nearly got him in the side, and when he strained to block it, a fist found his cheek and Neji tasted blood. They both withdrew, breathing somewhat laboured, and took a moment to pause, re-evaluating the other's abilities. Even though he probably should have been worried about being killed or injured, the exhilaration of a good fight was enough to keep the adrenaline rushing through his body, and a look of respectful concentration on his face.

Months had gone by since Neji had been in such light spirits.

A heavy thump diverted both of their attentions, and they turned in time to see a serious-looking--'Blue hair.'--woman bend to pull that which resembled a very bloody shoe out of the eye socket of a man who was, presumably, dead--or very close, if not. Neji's body went cold with something that might have been shock. Surely, their second encounter could not have been so cleanly spread out in the fabric of time. How cliché, how coincidental, that when they first met he had saved her, and when they second met, she had returned the favor.

Fate. It rung in his ears like ten thousand bells, and he could not quell the churning in his stomach when he heard that voice [the practical one that he never liked listening to] warn him of something that was to come. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. Neji did not want such a figure to be one involved with his future destiny.

Her unfortunate opponent was quickly bleeding out, and his leader, observing the woman who, while he was not looking, had eliminated both of his men, took a step back. One opponent he could deal with. Equally matched, they were both trained well. This was a fight worth prolonging. But two? His concentration was strung tight by the long-haired one, and this supposed ally of his would complicate matters in a manner that would be far too unfavorable for his liking. To continue to fight would be potentially fatal. Robbing one person was not worth dying over. Falling back, he turned and ran--legs pumping, lest they deem to follow him--abandoning his dead and dying lackeys as he bolted around a corner, survival instinct screaming loud in his breast.

If only he had known that the strange woman and the talented man did not know so much as the other's name, and far less were they anything that involved camaraderie.

Their respective interventions had been nothing more than deeds for their own comfort: Neji was abiding by the rules he had known since childhood, and Konan was repaying a debt. Each slate had been wiped clean and they were now standing on the rawness of equal ground. This should be the last time they ever payed the other the slightest notice, and yet...

White eyes, darkened by exertion, focused on her. Barefoot, smattered in a few places with flecks of blood, carrying a dripping stiletto in one hand and adorned in a shamefully bright party dress, complete with glistening fabric and frills that Neji found most unbecoming. He observed her dryly, and wondered if she could possibly be the same woman--the one who, upon glancing walking down the street, he had never seen wearing anything other than heavy, practical clothing; boots; a cloak. By such appearance, he would not have doubted anyone of underestimating her, for she looked more like a flimsy party-lady than a weathered fighter. Had his lips not been previously engaged with a tight-lipped, barely-there frown that was hardly a downturn in the corners of his mouth, he might have smirked. "Might" being the key word.

"One could call this a rather unexpected surprise," he deadpanned, arms drawing to fold across his chest. Normally he would have walked away, said nothing, turned and kept going. [He was supposed to be at work, after all.] But, this was not a normal situation, nor was it one that he had ever encountered before. On one-and-a-half hands he could count the times he had aided someone--not an impressive amount, but he could remember the instances [mostly because he had returned from each one injured in some bothersome way]--but never had anyone gone out of their way for him, before. Throughout all his life, Neji had been fighting for himself. When his father was murdered, so was anything hopeful in Neji's heart, and he had thoroughly convinced himself that nobody in the world would care for him again.

Some might have called him foolish, but he could not in good mind let the only person to ever help him walk away without the exchange of a few words. He did not even have so much as a name to acquaint to the face of the strange woman who had quite artfully stepped in to aid him in his fight.

The gun was small and compact, and could be easily hidden in the depths of one's cloak. Konan gave it one look before she erased all thoughts of acquiring it. The barrel had scratches all over the surface and that was not something she needed with her weapon at the moment. She had enough, anyway.

"A surprise," she echoed as she finally shifted her attention to this man she had just helped. Why would he not simply leave the matter, so that they could part ways and pretend that their encounter never happened? That would be the easy way out. People are such masochists. They always craved for that conflict with hopes that it would fill their uneventful lives with excitement. But no. No. That would not be the reason why he was talking to her: she who had nearly killed him. Then why?

"Going through Cena without any weapons is suicidal," Konan added, and there was a slightly questioning tone in her voice overridden by the more prevalent indifferent quality.

"I dislike weapons," he said casually, unwavering in his stance. It was dangerous, but guns were even more so. Neji did not like relying on machines to save his life--his body was enough of a tool for him. A gun would do nothing to protect him that his own hands could not. Besides, while Neji could pinpoint the exact pressure point on one's neck where he could strike to send an aggressor out cold, holding a gun and aiming that was more of a chore than Neji cared to admit. And, so... "Three years in Cena and I am still alive." It wasn't the best point to make, because he had experienced his share of near-death experiences that he supposed could have been handled better if he had more than his hands to work with.

But, then again, Neji had lasted longer on just his fighting skills than most had with their array of weapons and artillery. He supposed it had to balance out somewhere.

"Luck." A simple, casual observation that held more truth if one was to examine the statement carefully.

Three years in Cena without weapons was very lucky indeed. She had barely made it to one when she found out the need for them. Besides, she thought rather ruefully, it was not as if he was exposed to the same dangers that she had been, or perhaps he would have found the need for weapons other than guns to supplement his living immediately. Ah, to each his own. The debt had been paid, and there was nothing more holding her there. She needed to return the shoes, after all.

Close--but not quite.

"Fate," he corrected, raising an eyebrow at her speculatively. There really was no reason why he shouldn't be dead by now. By all rights, going from being a pampered rich boy to living in extreme poverty in a city where there was some form of danger literally around every corner. With only his body and wits to protect him, Neji should have been dead within months. His best reasoning for why he wasn't revolved solely around the fact that it was not yet his destiny to be gone from this world. The wondering of what could possibly be meaningful enough to keep him around and breathing still was one of the few things that ever brought interest into his life. Neji considered many possibilities, but never quite settled on any that sounded at all probable.

It was quite a wonder the way fate worked things in people's lives.

Her eyes fluttered shut and she lowered her head. What a fatalistic mind. Did that mean that he lived on the edge, waiting until providence finally tired of him and death just waited around the corner with its claws and teeth bared? It had its merits, his way of thinking. He would be able to flit through life, guiltless, as he could easily attribute each and every circumstance that had befallen him to this 'fate.' It was...a strangely comforting thought. But that was for cowards, who would not face the consequences of their actions, or even think through them, as what they did was due to 'fate.' They were faultless, because of this destiny. An event would not have happened if it was not fated to do so.

Pitiful way of prevaricating from reality.

She tossed the gun to him and turned on her heel. Konan was a busy woman and she had better things to do than converse with the likes of him.

"Then maybe it is your fate that you take hold of a weapon."

When the gun came towards him, Neji stepped to the side, allowing it to clatter to the ground. It was obviously not a proficient weapon, for the impact jarred it and a loud shot echoed through the air, filling the alleyway with a foreboding sound as the gun smoked and then lay still amongst the gravel and grime. Neji frowned. "I have the only weapon I need," he responded tightly with eyes trained on the gun like it would jump up and attack him. "If I am destined to die, I will die."

Suddenly he lost whatever drive he had harboured inside his breast to maintain conversation. Stepping back, Neji glanced at the woman with vaguely displayed irritation. "Whether I have a gun or not," he added after a moment.

Scowling at her back would do him no good in the long run, so he turned himself, finished as well. Whatever obligation she had had to aid him was now washed away with the blood of his attackers. [It was an odd prospect.] By all rights, they had no reason to see each other again.

Even as he moved in the other direction, worrying faintly about how late he was, and if his boss would be cross, [he most assuredly would be], Neji knew very well that they would see each other again. On the road they both passed nearly every day, the one which always brought them within bounds of each other. In the back of his mind he was positive that fate would dictate something between them--why else the constant sightings, what other reason for the meetings? Neji didn't believe in coincidence. It couldn't be coincidence. He wasn't looking forward to it.