audrey yuna matsuda, twenty one; former trafficked prostitute and formerly better known as 'cherry,' now navigating freedom, love, and family for the first time. the themes on this blog will often be mature and 18+. i will tag all of my posts to the best of my ability! follows/asks/replies from korporxie. ffxiv rper on mateus. sidebar art done by negativesd09.
“Boss, there’s... There’s someone here wanting to talk to you.”
Mori Takahashi leaned back from his desk and exhaled a puff of cigarette smoke, glancing up at the man standing in his doorway.
“Yeah? Tell them I’m busy right now and to make an appointment next time.”
“Uhh, well, sir, we already let them in--”
Mori closed his eyes and slammed his whiskey glass down, causing the newer recruit to flinch a little at the sound.
“And why the hell would you let anyone in here without running it by me first?” he growled up at the younger man, and the young man in question swallowed, his Adam’s apple working with the effort. “Who is it that was so important?”
Before the newbie could answer, Mori could hear the soft clicking of heels coming down the hall, and he paused. The younger man pulled on the collar of his shirt, moving to the side like he was under a spell once the sound of the heels got closer. Mori heard a giggle, something whispered, saw a small, manicured hand reach out to touch the kid’s arm, and then...
Then the rest of her came into view.
She was dressed in a tight black shirt and a tight, short black skirt with the thigh high black boots to match. A fluffy, bright pink jacket was the pop of color, hanging just so off her shoulder to show off her collarbones, the line of her neck. Long black hair was loose, pink hair the same color as her jacket peeking out and streaked through her hime-cut hair. This woman was not tall, but somehow she appeared all legs and a perfectly cut figure, and she was smiling with her full, plush lips wrapped around a lollipop, showing off the dimples in her cheeks.
And Mori didn’t have to question how she had gotten into the building even for a moment. All she’d had to do was bat her long eyelashes and any of those men at the door would have folded. He sure would have.
She was perfect, from head to toe.
“I’m sorry,” she said, scrunching her nose up apologetically and sliding the heart-shaped lollipop out from her painted lips. “I know it’s rude to show up unannounced, but I figure you might make an exception.”
“Ah...? Do we know each other?” Mori asked, blinking slowly as he rose to his feet, adjusting the modernized kimono jacket he wore as he bid himself to not follow at her feet and worship her where she stood.
There was a beauty mark beneath her left eye. Beautiful. So beautiful.
“No, sir, but we have a lot of old mutual friends,” the mystery woman said brightly, and she strode across the room uninvited before extending one of those soft, little hands out to him. “My name is Yuna Matsuda. I’m Hana’s younger sister.”
Fuck.
Mori doesn’t notice the way that Audrey smirks when she watches his face. He doesn’t catch the way that she’s sizing him up and finding him, ultimately, unimpressive. He does know that Laelia would have told her not to come. And he doesn’t know that Audrey had laughed at that and shrugged her pretty shoulders and told Laelia to just trust her.
‘I’d do anything for you and Cato. Trust me on this. I got it.’
‘He’s a gang leader, Audrey.’
‘And I’m married to the artist formerly known as the Butcher. Can’t say I’m too worried about this.’
“Yuna...” Mori breathes, hurriedly taking her hand and shaking it firmly. “Wow. I... I’m sorry, my head is swimming a little. All of us had heard that you were alive and well and coming back, but... I wasn’t expecting a visit. At all.”
“Laelia told you off good, right?” she asks with a little smile, and he doesn’t even realize that it’s her subtle hand gesture that sends the new recruit off and away back down the hall, still looking a little slack-jawed. “Don’t worry about that. She’s just protective. She’s like a big sister to me. But of course I had to meet you, Mr. Takahashi. You probably knew Hana better than most.”
Mori reaches up to try to rub away at a pain that had suddenly developed in his chest. Now that she had said it, he can see bits of Hana in her face. But... her eyes...
She had her cousin’s eyes - dangerously deep and dark, but softer. Less angry, less harsh, less manipulative.
Oh, if he only knew.
“Hana and I were very close,” Mori murmurs, nodding. “All of the girls... Yuna, I’m sorry, I--... Laelia probably told you about my part in it, and it-- I promise, I promise it was a miscalculation. It was an accident. And I am so sorry.”
“I would never believe, Mr. Takahashi, that it was anything else. You loved my sister. Of course. I didn’t come here to scold you or be angry. I came here to meet you. To know the man my big sister had chosen.”
She smells like jasmine, like peach blossoms. Her voice is so soft. Her Hingan is flawless. There’s a silver locket in the shape of a heart around her throat, the locket dangling tantalizingly against the base. And, as she speaks those sweet words, she reaches out. Her hand touches his arm, her eyes stay on his, her head tilted just slightly to the side before she smiles again.
Hells, Mori thinks. Fucking hells. Laelia was right. Xiu was right. I’m a piece of shit. I’m awful. Look at her. Look at her. No. Stop looking at her. Engaged. She’s engaged. Hadn’t Laelia said that? To a former pilus primus--
But everything about her screamed ‘look at me.’ Every glance, every smile, every adjustment to her clothes, the soft, subtle sparkle of her makeup, the way that she looks at him... He cannot look away.
He knows he should. She was talking about Hana - Hana, who he had loved.
‘To know the man my big sister had chosen.’
Fucking hells.
He was a scumbag. He knew that. But he was under her spell, hooked from the first word that she had spoken.
“Ah... Please, take a seat, Miss Matsuda. Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you anything? A cup of tea, or--...?”
“That’s very kind, but I’ll pass for now.” As she speaks, she moves to kneel on the soft cushion across from Mori’s desk, and he takes a quiet breath as he watches her thighs and the way that they touch when she adjusts herself. Soft, he thinks. They look so soft--...
“It’s quite the operation you have running. And in the heart of Kugane, too. It’s very bold,” Yuna muses, watching him with those dark, dark eyes as she twirls her lollipop between her fingers.
“We get on the good side of law enforcement. We try to help them, and then they help us. Mutually beneficial, and all,” Mori replies, smiling at her as he kneels back down on his own cushion. “Goodness... Forgive me, Miss Matsuda, but you really are beautiful. I see a lot of Hana in your face.”
“High praise,” Yuna says, tilting her head just so, revealing the cherry-blossom earrings dangling from her ears. They catch in the light, and Mori feels his breath hitch in his throat as he tries hard to focus on her voice, not on the way she smells or on the line of her neck or her bust. “But, Mr. Takahashi... I can’t stay long today. There are a few things I need to tend to, but... I’m trying to gather people who knew Hana. I’d like... I’d like to know them. The people who knew her and loved her.”
Of course. Of course she’d want that, the poor thing. There’s a sadness in her eyes, Mori thinks. Sweet creature, what have you endured? he wonders. It wasn’t easy for you in Eorzea. And now you’re here and it must feel so strange. You must feel like a piece of you is missing without having known your big sister, right? It must be so hard.
I could help you. The man you’re with, he’s done awful things. Atrocities. War crimes. But I could keep you safe. I could shield your sweetness from anything else that would try to steal it away. There’s a fragility to you. I could protect you, Yuna. Where I could not protect Hana, I could protect you.
“Of course. That makes sense,” Mori says gently, nodding along and looking back up to Audrey’s face. “Of course I can get some of those contacts for you. I understand that things haven’t always been very easy for you. But I’m glad you made it here... Audrey. That’s the name you’re most used to, isn’t it?”
“It is,” she replies easily before winking, and Mori thinks his heart may have stopped. “But it’s easier for my father to think of me as Yuna. I have no problem using the name if it’s more comfortable for the people here.”
Sweet creature. Considerate creature.
What do your lips taste like? You must taste like strawberries, judging by the scent of your lollipop. Your skin must taste like peaches. And your hair looks like silk. Let me run my fingers through it. Let me take care of you.
“But, Mr. Takahashi, there is... a particular person I have in mind. Other than you,” she adds, sweetly and softly. “I understand that there was a young Raen woman who was close to my sister, in a way...?”
“Please, call me Mori,” he says with a broad smile, barely hearing the second part of what she says until she raises her eyebrows a little. “Ah-- Ah? What? Really? Who told you about... Ah.”
Laelia. Of course.
“Laelia has been very helpful,” Audrey explains with a sheepish laugh. “And I understand that there may be a bounty of concerns about contacting this individual in particular, but... I think there are some things she would know that would really bring me some comfort and closure.”
“Miss Matsuda... Respectfully, I do think that contacting her may bring about a bit of a volatile situation. She is... She is a good friend, and her brother is one of my closest friends, but she, herself, can be a difficult person. Not very friendly. And she values her privacy.”
“Mori.”
Audrey says it so softly, so earnestly, and he swallows, looking up into those dark eyes that threaten to swallow him whole.
“You’re the only person who can help me with this. I understand the risks, but... You’ll help me, won’t you?” It’s like she’s singing a siren song, and Mori is helpless to resist it, especially as she starts to lean a little across the desk. He tries to not glance at her cleavage.
He fails.
“Laelia knows that this woman won’t work with her. But you said it yourself. You’re good friends with her-- and her brother? I didn’t know that she had one. Are they close? Maybe I could speak to him, and he could help, if you’re nervous or uncomfortable with doing it yourself. I understand. I don’t want to put you in a difficult position, Mori.”
Xiu would kill him. But oh, kami, what a hell of a reason to go, bending to this miracle of a young woman.
“I... Yes, I can get her contact information from her brother,” Mori murmurs, glancing over Audrey’s hands. Where was the ring?
Did that man not know to mark her, to claim her as his own? Did he not value the angel that he had enough?
His chest feels so tight. He feels like he’s panicking. With Audrey, it had happened so quickly. Xiu was right. He was obsessive. His personality was addictive. And it had been what killed Hana.
But Audrey is safe. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her. She wasn’t in the same position as her sister. He could... He could...
She isn’t yours.
The voice is sharp. It’s an echo, Xiu’s voice layering over Laelia’s layering over Misaki’s.
She isn’t fucking yours. Don’t do it. Don’t you fucking dare. Don’t you ruin another one. Not her. Not Audrey. Not her.
“You have no idea how happy that would make me. It’s been difficult and sort of a lonely adjustment here,” Audrey murmurs, glancing down at her hands. “But learning more about my family would help me, I think. And of course, I’d love to talk to you more, when we have the time. I’m just about out of it for today, but... Once you get that information, could you send it to my father’s estate?”
Don’t leave, Mori wants to beg. Don’t leave. Stay here. Stay with me. Keep talking to me. I want to keep watching your lips. I want to know more. I have a record but it isn’t enough. I need to know you. How many people really know you? I could know you. We would understand each other.
“Of course,” is what he says out loud, his tone warm and genuine. “Anything I can do to help make your transition here easier, I will do. Just name it. There wouldn’t be a task too big if it was to help you, Miss Matsuda.”
Audrey smiles again, flashing the dimples in her cheeks. She twirls that lollipop between her fingers, and her eyes flicker from Mori’s eyes, to his lips, and back up again. He swallows, hard. As he’d been speaking, she had propped her elbow up on the desk, cupped her chin in her hand, listening with utmost attention like he was her lifeline.
Xiu could be angry. Mori would deal with it. Anything for Audrey. Anything at all for this girl dressed in pink with the eyes like a midnight forest and the smile that could end any war.
“Thank you, Mori. Really. It means so much to me. You’re a good man,” she adds, slowly starting to rise to her feet. “I’m only sorry that I can’t stay longer to chat, but... Next time. For now, thank you for letting me take up some of your valuable time. I look forward to hearing from you again.”
The fall of her skirt. The shine of her hair. The curve of her waist to her hip and the length of her legs. The soft definition of her collarbones, the beauty mark beneath her eye, the sweet way her bangs frame her face...
Goddess divine. Shrines should be made to her, Mori thinks. She should be left offerings and men should kneel at her feet when she passes. Kami help him. Kami help him.
The goodbyes are said simply, warmly, with Audrey reminding him that it was a pleasure to finally meet him. And Mori is left reeling, and so are his men, with how Audrey walks - gracefully, poised, with the perfect sway in her hips.
He is left fantasizing when she gets outside, and he watches from the window as she steps out into the street. She lights a pink cigarette from a sparkly case, and he rests his head against the window, unable to look away.
He does not see or hear what she says as she leaves, as the bubbly, soft expression starts to melt away from her face.
“Too easy. What a fucking idiot,” Audrey murmurs to herself, ruffling a hand through her hair before sliding Caius’ signet ring back out from her jacket pocket and puts it around her neck again. “Laelia was right. What a weirdo.”
Come back soon, Mori thinks, knowing full well that his mind would be filled with her for the rest of his life.
Just like he had been sure of it with Hana, with Misaki, with Xiu.
Xiu’s linkpearl is ringing. It shouldn’t be ringing. The hour was late, Jun was away doing his monthly duties, and as far as she knew, she hadn’t angered the oyabun enough to warrant a call. All in all, Xiu had been on her best behavior. The Jade Palace was never uneventful, but it was quieter in recent days. Of course, Xiu knew better than to trust too much quiet.
It was usually hiding something.
With a soft groan, she pushes herself up on her elbows and reaches for the little jade-hued device, laced with gold paint. It was a newer device, this one. It was for secure calls - to her brother, to the prince, to the servant girls if they needed her and she was not within close proximity.
It’s not a voice she recognizes chiming in from the other end.
“This is Tsai Xiu, isn’t it? I hope this isn’t a bad time.”
A pause. A heartbeat, a skip. The Doman is good, but it isn’t perfect. Accented. Not a familiar voice. A feminine voice, but not one she knows. And it’s someone using her… almost real name.
What in the seven hells?
“Who is this?” Xiu asks, eyeing up the walls and the doors, and she can hear the other voice smiling when it replies.
“Oh, silly me. It’s Audrey Matsuda– or Yuna Matsuda, I guess, you may know me better by? Sorry. Still getting used to it. This is probably a big surprise! I’m sorry about that, but I got the contact information from…”
There’s another pause, and Xiu has to wonder why she’s still entertaining this call and why she hasn’t hung up yet.
Audrey lays back on the futon as the linkpearl rolls out of her hand. She can’t wipe the smirk from her face. She cannot resist the urge to laugh.
She was sure people had good reason to be afraid of Tsai Xiu, but she couldn’t find one just yet, if she could be so easily disarmed by words and requests said with puppy dog eyes. It’s almost better than a high. It feels familiar. It feels right. This was her, this was Audrey, no, Cherry - manipulating the people that couldn’t be manipulated, dismantling the people that couldn’t get shaken.
Finally, she does laugh, her head tilting back into the futon.
It wasn’t a selfish request. It was for Cato. But hells. Fucking hells, it felt good. Better than any drug.
Being a miserable piece of existence tasted sweet. It felt sweet. If she had to be the bad guy for a good outcome, so be it. For the Benes family, she could always play the bad guy. She could risk it all. She would risk it all. If she went to this Jade Palace and was eaten alive for trying, that would be okay.
The urge to laugh fades. She stares at the ceiling, timing the sound of her breathing, listening to the water running in Caius’ shower.
What had been the crackle? The explosion? The scream?
Had the priestess been right about Hana? Was she just always... there? Cato had never said anything. He would, right, if he had been able to see her? Maybe her presence in the mortal plane wasn’t as strong as his, but--...
Wait. Wait just a damn minute.
Audrey pushes herself to her feet and grabs her jacket that she’d tossed onto the kotatsu, jamming her feet into the first pair of shoes she found.
“I’ll be right back!” she shouts to Caius. “I need to talk to Arashi!”
There’s a cold drizzle as she stomps outside to their private courtyard. The shrine to Arashi here is smaller than it is at the main wing of the house, but it is, Audrey knows, where he’s more commonly found - because he can never stay out of her business, clearly.
“Arashi!” she yells, kneeling despite the enormous amount of disrespect she was feeling and carefully adjusting the incense from earlier. “You giant, smelly lizard, you better come out and talk to me now--”
With a quiet ‘pop!’, the smaller version of the lizard appears on the stone of the shrine, slowly blinking his yellow eyes up at the glaring girl.
“What did I do?” he asks, his voice as deep and as big as if he was an actual man and not a tiny reptile.
“The priestess said Hana’s ghost is around me--”
“Ah,” Arashi noises, sagely and almost comically nodding. “You know, I’ve been meaning to mention that since you first were able to see me...”
Audrey’s eyes widen, and she thrusts her hands out in disbelief.
“What do you mean? What do you mean by that?”
“She’s not with you all the time,” he explains, like he was discussing the weather. “And she’s not solid at all. Not like our Cato. She’s much weaker, but... Sometimes. Sometimes she visits you. Most of her time is spent elsewhere.”
“Elsewhere,” Audrey echoes, narrowing her eyes now. “And where is that?”
“Mm... No spoilers. Not yet,” Arashi yawns, and Audrey lets out an indignant shout when he starts to disappear. Her hands reach out to throttle, only to fall on the wet stone, and she screams her frustration once more, slapping at the shrine in her outrage.
“Fucking little worm-- doesn’t even come to me in his full size--” There are plenty of choice words and angry words that come out of Audrey’s mouth as she stomps up to her feet, but in truth, her head is swimming.
Sometimes? Where else did Hana go? No spoilers? What did that mean? Why was everything so cryptic? Why was he like this? Always? Sure, she supposed she was supposed to live without a god telling her the answers to everything, but still--
“It is frustrating.” Arashi pops up by her shoulder, and Audrey actually stumbles back a little in shock at the sudden return of his voice. There’s a clap of thunder in the distance, a streak of lightning, as she glares, and the little lizard kami raises his eyes to Audrey and spreads his little lizard hands in apology.
“What? That you won’t answer my question?”
“No, not at all. That you will be granted such easy access to the Jade Palace, where its kami barred me from entry - very rudely and aggressively, might I add. He has positively no manners,” Arashi grumbles. “A pompous, vain, full of himself...”
“Wait-- the Jade Palace has a kami, too?” Audrey asks, faintly.
“Two. But their story is... complicated. I would advise much caution, Yuna. That place is dangerous - especially for pretty young women--...”
“Oh, I’d like to see them fucking try,” she growls, slamming the courtyard door shut as anothe clap of thunder rattles the sky and as the rain pours harder.
The streets are always bustling. There’s always ijin crowding them - and how fuckin’ bold of me, to not consider myself one of them anymore, like I’m not just as much an outsider here as anyone else from La Noscea. I’ve gotten to develop a big fuckin’ chip on my shoulder, because my dad is important here, because no one can touch me here without suffering true consequences.
It’s peaceful. Every day is... peaceful.
It makes me feel like shit.
I spend the days in quiet gardens, in a house that is... not quiet, but it’s not chaotic, either. Not the kind that I’m used to. The loud voices are warm, not angry. It’s all playful. No one is really, truly angry at each other. There’s no risk. Nothing here is a risk. Even the bars are pretty tame compared to the ones that I used to visit in Ul’dah. The people around me are content with their lives. I’m supposed to be content, too. I have every reason to be.
Caius is by my side. We’re gonna get married. He’s the perfect person for me, and I love him more than anything. I met my dad and he’s great. He’s a good man. The rest of my family is great, too. Obviously the Benes folks are amazing. My home life is safe and secure. Dad gave Caius and me our own nice wing of the house where we get all of the privacy we could want, with a big space for Mac to run about and a private entry to our own little corner of beach.
I’ve learned to cook some stuff. I’ve almost completely stopped smoking. Laelia isn’t here, too busy saving the poor souls still in Eorzea and spending some time with Cato that isn’t getting interrupted by us. Laelia, I think, would like this. She would like the peace and quiet and the stillness that would let her think. Laelia needs a break. She needs this reprieve.
But ungrateful little bitch that I am... I don’t. I don’t get it. It’s been a couple of months, but I still don’t get it. When is the other shoe supposed to fall? When am I gonna mess up and when is everyone going to walk out on me? Where’s the risk? Where’s that anxious feeling in my stomach, asking when and how I’m gonna get out of ‘this one,’ this time?
It’s too safe. I feel suffocated and coddled. And I know - I know it’s stupid. I know I’m living the life I always dreamed of having, that anyone would be lucky to have. I... don’t hate it. The sensible part of me - however tiny she may be - is grateful for this opportunity to rest and heal. There’s another, bigger part of me terrified of it, terrified of who I am underneath all of the damage, because... I don’t know her. I don’t know who the fuck ‘Yuna’ is. I barely know who Audrey is, because for so long, it was just Cherry.
Cherry is sultry and seductive and she’s always fun, always the life of the party, always the one to set people at ease. Audrey is fucking angry. She’s wrath and bitterness and wanton violence and exhaustion. And Yuna...
Yuna is who I’m supposed to be now. I’m supposed to find out who she is.
I don’t want her.
I want to crawl back inside of Audrey’s anger, the heart-pounding fury and aching sadness, because I know it. I want Cherry to wrap her arms around me and purr to me that all I’m good for is a fuck and a laugh, to push my head back underwater when I’m trying to catch my breath and remind me that I am nothing. No amount of family or friends can make me anything. I want to be the Audrey that rips herself apart and leaves disaster in her wake. I...
I’m scared. I’m so fucking scared of these changes. I’m so scared of telling anyone that I’m scared. I’m scared of myself for missing the violence and the fear and the uncertainty that I might make it out of that world I was in alive. It’s not fair that I did. Others should have, others that were smarter and nicer and more innocent. Why did I get to win? Why did the person who deserved to survive the least end up being the one who gets everything?
Caius deserves this peace and quiet. Gods help me, does he deserve it. He deserves the healing and the time and to not deal with my shit, to not deal with me throwing bottles of medication out and wishing they were somnus instead. I’m nothing. I’m nothing and he deserves so much better than a damaged fucking junkie who can’t just take a good thing without wishing that it hurt a little more because of how much she hates herself.
I want to break every mirror I look in. I don’t recognize myself. I don’t recognize my eyes when they aren’t exhausted or angry. I don’t recognize the long black hair or the roundness of my cheeks or the weight in my thighs. She makes me feel sick, whoever it is looking back at me. And I have to wonder if I’m losing it. Am I going crazy? Would I even realize it, now, if I was? It felt like I snapped a long time ago. Maybe none of this is even real. Maybe I’m still locked up in that Quiet Room and this has just been a pleasant dream.
You may get out, but you’ll never really recover. Not entirely. At least, I don’t think that I will. I am scared of healing, and I am scared of being stuck. It feels like I’m being ripped in half. It feels like pieces of me are missing, but I can’t tell which pieces. I can’t tell who I am anymore. I can’t tell which part of myself is the one that exists in these rooms and these gardens and at these family dinners.
I want an out. I don’t want this. I don’t want it anymore. How fucking selfish. How fucking insane. I want everything, to hold the world in my hands - and I want the world to forget me. Everything I ever wanted is mine, now. Why aren’t I happy? Why can’t I just be fucking happy? Why can’t I be content with what I have? Why do I crave something that hurts me, why do I want nothing more than to destroy myself so that the people around me see how worthless I am?
[[ disclaimer: this post contains MATURE themes, including strong language, discussion of sex work, abuse, human trafficking including the trafficking of minors, and drug use. please read at your own discretion. ]]
Most of the girls that worked for Alfie weren’t huge fans of Cherry.
But then again, it’s not like she made an effort to endear herself to them.
It was no secret that Cherry was Alfie’s favorite. He made that much clear on a regular basis. Wherever he went, she went with him, like his most cherished pet. And wherever she went, she was dressed to the nines. Cherry was always dripping with diamonds and with gold, with precious gems and fine furs and imported silks that always were tailored to perfection. Sure, she was often sporting bruises or cuts, but they covered by the best makeup that gil could buy.
In the dressing rooms at the club or on the nights we were preparing to make private visits to clients, Cherry wouldn’t speak to anyone. She would do her makeup in silence and then sit and wait, staring at spots in the room with the blankest expression on her face. And her eyes were so dark that it was almost unnerving when they were glassy - as they so often were - because she looked like a... doll. A doll that lived and breathed, that was beautiful, but a doll all the same. And I remember the way she sat, exactly. She would sit deep in a chair with one leg crossed over the other, and both hands were poised on the arms of the chair, her knuckles arched just slightly with her fingertips pressed down.
And her hair, in varying shades of red and pink over the years - there was rarely a strand out of place at the beginning of the night. Her eyeshadow was always pink or else smoky, but always with a little bit of glitter, maybe to add life to how dead they looked most of the time. Sometimes I would check to make sure she was still breathing, that was how still she was. The other girls would scowl in her direction, whisper beneath their breath and make malicious comments with cruel intentions, always just loud enough to be heard.
That was the other thing that made Cherry seem... scary.
She was just so damned hard to predict.
Plenty of times, any nasty comments about her would go ignored or even appear unnoticed. But there were other times when she would slither out of her chair and towards whoever was talking about her, silently, like she was... a phantom, or a ghost, or something equally unsettling. All of a sudden, she’d just be behind you, and you’d see those cold eyes staring at you in your dressing mirror with her hand on your shoulder in a way that was tight but not restrictive, and something about that was worse than her throwing you to the floor.
“I can have you sent back to whatever shithole you crawled out of,” she would murmur when she made eye contact with your reflection. “I’m the favorite, aren’t I? That’s what you like to talk about. So don’t think for a fucking minute that you and I are the same. One word from me and you lose everything. Keep my fucking name out of your mouth.”
Other times, she’d just start laughing as she lit a cigarette, and we didn’t know if she was laughing at nothing or at the gossip being made about her. The first time it happened, the other girls were convinced she’d finally snapped, that she’d gone batshit crazy. I remember that day. Cherry had come in covered in more bruises than she ever had before, with a limp, and Alfie was sporting a new bandage over his cheek and he looked... pissed, in a word.
Cherry had just sat in her usual velvet chair and laughed and laughed as she smoked, red lipstick smeared along the corner of her mouth. Her glossy eyes were alight with something, but it didn’t seem like joy. Nothing in her expression was quite right. Her eyes were shaking, and she was thinner than ever, and everything was funny, that day. Things were often pretty funny to Cherry on the days she came in the most beat up, and I could only assume it was because she was higher than she normally was - self prescribed pain meds.
And then there were the times that Cherry was violent. Everyone knew that she and Alfie would fuck each other up sometimes - their screaming matches were notorious and it never took long for blood to spill, it seemed like - but it was much rarer for her to ever be rough with the other girls. Still... It’s not like it never happened. It’s not like she never lost her shit, and honestly, I can’t blame her for the times that she did.
Sometimes the girls just went too fucking far.
They would say terrible things about her so often that it’s a wonder Cherry didn’t snap more often. She was good at ignoring their goading. Words were words, and I think she’d become an expert at tuning them out, usually. No - it was the times that the girls got brave enough to touch her that we ended up learning a whole hell of a lot about Cherry.
She was brutal. She didn’t hold back a single onze. As soon as hands were put on her, with whoever it was feeling brave and calling her Alfie’s ‘fuck toy, pet, freak, princess-ass-bitch, privileged cunt,’ just to name a few of the awful nicknames she was called, Cherry would go absolutely fucking ballistic.
She weaponized her long fingernails to rip a girl’s fact apart one day, screaming, and her eyes were no longer flat or empty. They were furious, filled with rage, but the rage wasn’t blind. She was very much aware of what was happening, it seemed like. Cherry shed blood and beat the others to a pulp with seemingly no remorse or care for them, or herself. Then again, it was usually hard for the rest of them to get a hit in on her. She knew how to handle herself. And when security would come in to separate them, with whoever had started it looking way worse, it was by the time Cherry had pulled a knife from her shoe and it seemed like things were going to go in the most awful direction.
“You try doing what I do!” I remember her screeching while she grinned the most awful grin. “See if you can live it, baby! You want my place? Come on and FUCKING take it, you stupid fucking junkie!”
The first time she got in a fight, there was a shift in the girls we worked with. The younger ones suddenly no longer engaged in any shit talking. They were scared to try to go near her, but they definitely told the others to shut their mouths, to just leave Cherry alone. For others, it seemed like it just spurred them on. All the punishment she received was three days in the Quiet Room. And that just didn’t feel like justice, for them. They didn’t stop. The glassy stares and screaming fury returned in waves.
For me, though... I had to wonder. I had to wonder just what was happening to her, because I remember her when she first started coming around. I was here. I had been for a while at that point. She was so young - so awfully, horribly, heartbreakingly young. Her hair was black then - her natural color - and her eyes were big and dark, but nowhere near the void that they’d become. When I met her, she had smiled nervously at me, and I noticed that she had the sweetest, prettiest dimples that would become so rarely seen later.
“Alfie doesn’t work for an entertainment agency, does he?” she had asked me with a sad, resigned sort of smile, and I... felt my heart break. I know that Cherry had never truly believed the lie she’d been fed.
But I know how dearly she wanted to, as she sat in that big dressing room surrounded by other young women who were barely dressed, snorting lines off of tables and putting on their own glassy eyes for the day.
What was happening to her that was so terrible? What was Alfie doing to her to turn her into the person she became later? I didn’t want to imagine it. Maybe I should have. Maybe I should have tried to do something - anything. Maybe the other girls didn’t understand that being a pimp’s favorite wasn’t pretty or easy or fun, but I did. I understood, because Cherry was soft with my son - and with me- when I had him. She smiled again, and I saw that young girl again - nervous, but... gentle. Hopeful. Warm, when he wrapped his tiny hand around her finger.
“You’re so strong,” she had told him, and I wished I had told her that she was, too, because how lonely must she have been?
What was hurting her so badly? What was seemingly breaking her, shattering her mental state? She had no friends. None of the other girls liked her. Alfie kept her on too tight a leash for even security or wait staff or bartenders to get close to her. Male employees were fired or worse for trying to get to know her, but it’s not like she was receptive to them, anyway.
Cherry was able to turn her charm up at the drop of a hat, and even that was almost unsettling, but it was so convincing, too. When she was with clients, it looked effortless. Every smile, every touch, every flirtatious glance or subtle movement was intentional, but it never looked that way. There was, at least, no denying that she was good at what she did - the best at what she did, oozing natural charisma and charm in a way that often got her whatever she wanted.
The only time I ever saw her with someone that wasn’t work related was after a particularly bad night, towards the end of things. There were murmurs that she’d been seen frequently with a gorgeous man that was meant to be a client, but the new gossip was that they had developed into a real relationship, and that Alfie was angry about it. That’s why his grip was tightening even more, but... Cherry wasn’t listening to him as much anymore. They had one of those blow out fights, and instead of just doing her makeup and getting ready like she normally would...
I saw her drift off to a corner and make a call on her linkpearl. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but she looked more like a real person than I had seen in a long time. She looked tired. She looked upset and exhausted and like she was in pain. The mask was slipping, even in the way that she held herself.
I didn’t get to see who came to pick her up myself, but I knew that it was a woman. One of the girls who had seen her was a waitress, and she gushed and gushed, speculating that the woman must have been an actress, or an idol, or something else very glamorous, because she was allegedly the most beautiful woman the waitress had ever seen, to the quiet murmurs of agreement from the bouncers that had seen her come inside.
“Bright white hair and eyes like sapphires!” the waitress had sighed. “Still... I think Cherry might be the prettiest, still. Definitely the hottest. She’s gained weight - she even smiled at me the other day. Isn’t she gorgeous?”
“She’s a crazy bitch,” one of the dancers snapped. “Don’t let her fool you with a nice smile. That’s how she gets ya.”
-------
We haven’t really heard much from Cherry since Alfie ended up in gaol, but we all know that it was her who ended up getting him there. Who else could have? She knew everything about him, had been with him for years, and then she completely disappeared. The woman who lead the raid on the club and on Alfie’s estate was named Misaki, and she was nice. Her agents were nice, too. They asked us hard questions and then promised to help us.
And they did.
Kidnapped and trafficked girls were returned to their homes, or if they didn’t have one, they were brought to a home for misplaced women. They’re getting educations and resources and therapy. That’s where my son and me ended up, and it’s so... good. It’s peaceful. There’s music and healing and warm food, and private rooms and private showers, and men aren’t allowed to come in and talk to us unless we say it’s okay.
I did ask Misaki, one day, when she was making her rounds - about Cherry, I mean.
“Is she okay? Did she make it out alright, too? Was it her?”
And Misaki smiled at me a little bit, in a way that reminded me of Cherry, because they had the same lips and the same dimples. Her eyes were almost as dark, too... Really, they looked a lot alike.
“She’s okay. She’s doing well. You might not recognize her now, Violet,” Misaki had said, and her smile grew a little. “But she’ll come and visit, I think. When she feels ready to. There’s a lot she needs to heal from right now.”
“Not here?” I felt like a child with all the questions, but Misaki was patient.
“Not here,” she confirmed. “She’s far away right now, but that’s what she needs. You were the closest with her, weren’t you?”
“I mean... I guess. She wasn’t really close to anyone there...”
“No. But you’re one of the few that’s bothered to ask about her. I think she’ll appreciate that. I’ll let her know, if that’s okay.”
I blinked up at this strange woman, who was elegant and quiet and dignified and intimidating, but not unapproachable. She just seemed like she had her shit together in a way that I could never hope to.
“Y-Yeah. Do. Please do tell her. She always seemed lonely, underneath all the other shit, you know?”
“She was,” Misaki said simply, glancing down at her clipboard. “Not anymore, though. Have you and your little one had enough dinner? You want seconds?”
“Sure. Seconds sound good. Thank you, Misaki.”
And thank you, Cherry, for whatever it is you had to do so that we could be here. Thank you for being stronger than any of us will probably ever know. I hope you’re healing. I know that you must have been hurting so badly. I forgive you. Please be well. Please don’t be a stranger for too long.
I asked my father about my older sister, Hana. I don’t remember her at all, given the fact that we parted ways when I was only a year old. She was a geisha, though, and apparently a pretty well liked one. She was famous in Kugane for being pretty and charming, for being good at her job. Dad says that everyone who met Hana loved her.
They were able to keep in touch, up until the sennight that she died. It was safe, considering that she was in Kugane. They got to have a relationship. Dad knows Hana like the back of his hand, and I am... happy. I’m happy that he got to have a life-long relationship with one of his children, at least, and that Hana wasn’t like Connor. According to him, Hana looked almost exactly like our mother - which means we probably looked similar, too - and that she had our mother’s light, too. Kind to the core, a ray of sunshine, a smile and a laugh that infected...
And I’m happy that she was good, and I’m sad that I didn’t meet her, but I’m also scared. Is that selfish? I’m scared of not being anything like her. I’m scared of the darkness that follows me like a raincloud. I’m afraid of our dad seeing the anger and the pain and the brokenness that I carry and wishing it was Hana instead of me that survived. Messed up, right? Isn’t it? Or is that fear valid?
Hana, by all accounts, was talented, and beautiful, and beloved. Did she ever get so angry that she couldn’t see straight? Was she ever inclined to self destruct just to feel something that she was in control of? I hope not. I hope she was nothing like me. I hope she lived a life full of joy and not hardships. But kami help me...
I am afraid of being the last of the Matsuda children. Connor was garbage, Hana was light. Maybe I can settle for being in between the two, but I’m worried that maybe I don’t have that middle ground, either. I’m scared that there’s something in me that looks like Connor - or Itsuki, I guess, was his real name.
Yuna might have been good. She only lived until she was five, until Audrey took over. And I’m scared that Audrey won’t be anything like her father’s daughters.
HEY EXCUSE ME, THIS IS A FRIENDLY REMINDER THAT @cherrytart-ffxiv IS ONE OF THE MOST AMAZING GALS IN THE WORLD, AND ALSO THE PERSON BEHIND THE CHARACTER IS EVEN MORE AMAZING AND IS A GREAT WRITER AND ONE OF MY VERY BEST FRIENDS IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD AND A WHOLE ENTIRE SWEETHEART
AAAAAAAA?? HEWWO??? I OPEN MY TUMBLR TO THIS SLANDER? AUDREY IS A TINY TRASH GREMLIN AND SO AM I BUT WE BOTH LOVE YOU SO MUCH 😭 GIRL I JUST DID MY MAKEUP AND NOW IT'S GONNA BE RUINEEEEDDDDD
[[ tagging @benes-diction for mentions of her lovely characters!! ]]
People say that everything happens for a reason. They tell you that ‘it’ll all make sense when you’re older.’ They’ll say that there are no mistakes in this world, that everything falls into place as according to fate. There’s a rhyme and reason to everything.
That’s bullshit, though.
It’s bullshit, because I know there’s no reason for the things that happened to me. I was a child. I was a child that wasn’t protected. What could possibly be written in the grand cosmos for any child to survive what I survived? If the Twelve are real, then what kind of fuckin’ game are they playing? If this is my fate, then what the fuck did I do to deserve it?
I look around at the people in my life, and I know - I know none of this shit happens for a good reason. I wake up in the dead of night to Caius getting ready to pace and recite mantras in his head, and my heart aches and aches and aches because there’s only so much I can do to help him. Cato is a dead man walking because of a senseless war that took him away from his family too fast, too soon, when they needed him, and it created a domino effect of pain.
Celia is so convinced she’s a broken, useless doll that no one can convince her otherwise. Laelia hides in her work so that she never looks vulnerable or weak. Tell me - someone, anyone - for what reasons these things happened? These are good people. They have good hearts. I love them, I love them, so tell me why the fuck they suffer as much as they do. Tell me why they ache with each breath they take, just trying to survive their own minds.
Trying to survive what others have done to hurt them.
Tell me why Alfie still writes me letters. He says he’s sorry, he says he’s reforming and working on himself. I should throw them in the trash, I know, but I can’t stop myself from having a panic attack each time I read the words. A restraining order only keeps him away from me physically. He tells me he loves me, and once upon a time, I might have believed that.
Maybe I believed I loved him, too.
It was never that. He loved that I was attractive and that I made him money and that I was something he could exert his control over. I loved him because he said that I did and I didn’t know what else to believe, because he was all I had - or so I thought. He took me and twisted me up and warped the way I see things. I’m still unlearning his abuse, his gaslighting, still learning to not flinch if I see Caius angry because Caius won’t hurt me, but Alfie would. And it makes me hate myself. I hate myself for still struggling to unlearn these old behaviors that helped me survive when I don’t need them anymore.
Fuck whoever said everything happens for a reason.
I was a child. We were all children when the worst of this happened to us. We were manipulated or sold or abused, and they broke us. Alfie expects me, even still, to fix his problems. Rhoda hangs like a shadow over the Benes children. Laelia is running from ghosts even I don’t fully know, because she is so fucking locked up that she can’t talk about them.
Fuck them. Fuck this. Fuck all of this fucking bullshit. I am tired of aching. I am tired of being scared. I am tired of unlearning. And I am tired of the people I love the most having to do the exact same.
Make sure you’ve packed enough clothes. Bring a lot of comfortable shoes, not just the cute ones. Pocket money, and something that smells like home to cuddle into at night, and lots of food for Mac in case you can’t get what he eats out in Hingashi…
I went over the packing checklist in my head as I sat on the sand, watching the waves as they lazily drifted onto shore. My arms were wrapped around my knees, hugging my legs to my chest. The past few days, I had been wearing long wigs, but now my hair was loose and just barely skirting the tops of my shoulders. It blew in the cool, salty morning breeze, dark strands clinging to my lips before I tucked them behind my ear.
Caius had taken Mac for a jog down the other side of the beach. I might have joined them if my stomach wasn’t in anxious knots. We were leaving in just a few days. I was going to be meeting my father. I was going to see our family home that I had no idea existed up until a few moons ago. Caius was going to ask my father for his blessing. The Benes family and the Caelius family would all show up in Hingashi sooner or later, and…
Kami help me, there was simply so much. It was a good sort of stress, but it was stress all the same.
I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I didn’t even hear the next source of my stress approaching.
There’s a spot in Caelia van Ursus’ castrum where you can sneak outside. It would be a liability, I guess, under normal circumstances, but we all know about it. We don’t talk about it, but we know. She knows.
The ground is cold and hard. The snow bites into you, sticks to your hair. If you are’t careful, you might land on some ice and get yourself a few cuts to go with the bruises. We use ceruleum lanterns to see what the hell we’re doing. Money doesn’t change hands, but rations do. It’s colder than my father’s heart out here, and sometimes, there isn’t much choice but to get involved just to keep warm.
The man stands like a fucking mountain. I don’t know what sort of experiments might have made him that way, or if he’s just a hulking monster, but I have to look up at him.
And I hate it.
I hate it so much.
I hate his face and how he doesn’t even have an expression. I hate how he just stands there, waiting.
I can hear cheers and jeers, for both him and me. My arm aches, right at the elbow. I can remember the weight of his damn boot on my arm.
It just pisses me off.
“Put pretty boy in his place, Vocitus!”
“Come on, Benes, you got this!”
He has the power behind a punch to knock me out cold, but I’ve watched him play defensive. That’s just his way. He just defends and wears you out.
The pride of my aunt’s legion. The fucking Wall.
I hate him. I hate him so much.
I see the glow of my aunt’s cigar in the crowd, around Vocitus’ arm. “Keep it clean, boys,” she orders.
She participates. She joins in with the lowborn and the highborn alike. We all get our faces in the mud out here.
I just need to get close. I just need to stay close enough that he can’t throw a full punch.
I think I hear someone asking if we’re ready. Vocitus just changes his stance. I just growl out, “Let’s get this over with.”
I just need one win. Just one.
It won’t make up for anything, but it’ll be one to my name.
