The beauty of the night (part 1/??)
F/F, 3014 words, slight whump.
The last bright red rays of the sun still caressed the streets, but the night was already taking its toll. Offices were emptying, and casinos, brothels, arcades, pachinko parlors, and restaurants were filling up. The choice was wide. Everyone promised something, but no one guaranteed anything. Casinos promised easy money, but often visitors left with nothing. Petty criminals emerged from their holes ready to make deals, sell stolen goods, steal, and even kill someone. The city was waking up for the second time.
The BreakPoint News office was located on the 35th floor of a 40-story building, once one of the first and tallest in Chiba, but now losing ground in this quickly developing area. Nova lost herself daydreaming out the panoramic window. The past few hours she had barely been able to concentrate on writing her article and had spent most of her time simply staring at the monitor. Below, the colorful neon signs of restaurants and shops blossomed, one after another, and the lights of all kinds of transport flickered. Further away, to the northeast, the local red light district was visible, drowning in warm, inviting shades of yellow, orange, and red, standing out from the general picture: skyscrapers of Chiba and its surrounding neighborhood, versus the several-story buildings of Cotai district. Cotai was one of the not-so-fashionable, but quite popular centers of all kinds of entertainment: gambling houses, massage parlors with an “extended” range of services, and much more. Excellent location – from work straight into the abyss of nightlife and entertainments.
Nova tiredly laid her head on the window, glass pleasantly cool against the skin of her abnormally hot forehead. The rhythmic sound of rain outside was soothing, muffled by the glass of the window. It was already nine o'clock in the evening, and there was no one left in the office except her and the director, who was supposed to have dinner with someone important. She shivered in her usual office attire: a black pencil skirt, a creamy, slightly yellowish-white blouse and a black cardigan. She looked pale, probably even too pale, illuminated by the cold, white, slightly bluish light of the desk lamp and the monitor. Another spot of light came from a few ceiling lights in the director's room - essentially a box with glass walls, about the size of two desks.
The journalist grabbed a cup and took a fairly large sip. The liquid was cold. Nova winced - her throat definitely didn’t like it. She glared tiredly, full of irritation and contempt at the special stand that was supposed to keep the drink warm. The small display showed two horizontal red stripes - she had forgotten to turn it on. Nova lightly squeezed the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, sniffed and sighed tiredly. She hadn't felt like usual since the morning, but she found an excuse for everything. Fatigue? No wonder. The past week had been full of events: several sleepless nights in a row due to several parties and the pile of work. The morning tea had a strange, rather cardboard-like taste? It could well have been tea grown on some godforsaken plantation planet. A strange, unpleasant, sticky, itchy-tingling feeling somewhere in the depths of her sinuses? This could well have been a result of accumulated fatigue or the fact that the climate here was significantly different (for the worse) from the terraformed Mars on which she grew up. She was used to super clean and slightly dry air, passed through several levels of filtration. Meanwhile, the local air was notably wetter due to the humidity level, so she was now sniffly and congested from time to time.
However, the symptoms she had brushed off this morning had now evolved into a headache, fatigue that felt like her body was made of cotton wool, fever, decreased concentration, and a runny nose that had appeared out of nowhere and had been tormenting her for the last few hours. In her rather futile fight against the runny nose, she was helped by a red, black polka-dotted handkerchief, which, fortunately, she had found in her purse. At that moment, she thanked her parents and, perhaps, some higher power, that her parents had diligently taught her to always have a handkerchief with her, and that their efforts had not been in vain. There were several reasons for this: firstly, her parents were big shots - her father was the director of the Mars Bank for Reconstruction and Development, a branch of the International Bank for Reconstruction and Development on Earth, and her mother was the press secretary of the United Planets, the UN structure for diplomacy and cooperation at the interplanetary level. That is, both of them were always obliged to look "spic and span". Secondly, tissues never became popular among the inhabitants of the red planet, either because terraforming required a lot of effort and the locals valued vegetation more than earthlings, or because they were imported from Earth, which, together with Martian economic protectionism back then, made them more expensive.
Nova would have sat there staring out the window for who knows how long if her nose hadn’t become active again. The itch in her sinuses, dormant for the last fifteen minutes, seemed to have used that time only to return with double, if not triple, force. Her left hand, which had been leaning sideways on the keyboard, instinctively grabbed her handkerchief, battered but still able to hold out for a while. She raised it just in time to catch the wet and desperate, itchy “Heh-hh… Bheh'kshiew! Huh-b’ktsheew!” that echoed painfully through her head. She sighed tiredly. She would have even groaned, but the pain in her throat made her refrain from that idea. Finally coming to her senses a little and concluding that her efficiency was approximately zero, she disconnected the laptop from the external monitor and slammed it shut, clearly harder than necessary.
She struggled to get out of the building: even though the elevator wasn't far from her office, her fatigue and dizziness made it much more difficult than usual. There were no problems with the elevator call button - there was only one button for this. The problems started inside the elevator. As soon as she stepped inside, a strong, burning itch flared up in the depths of her nose. So burning that her eyes filled with tears. “Huhh…Hh-h… Hihh…”. Just in case, Nova put her hand forward to lean against the wall. The itch danced teasingly on the edge, but still did not cross it. Just a little more and…"40th floor," the mechanical voice announced. The itch disappeared like a frightened animal. This desperate desire to sneeze was so strong, she didn't even notice she’d pressed the wrong button. Nova started pressing the button for the ground floor, but the elevator had already begun to move upward. She rolled her eyes and took a step back.
As the elevator went up, so did the pressure. Her poor nose became even more stuffy. So much so that she could barely breathe. The itching in her nose also increased, but hadn’t reached its peak yet. The 40th floor was the culmination. The pressure in her sinuses was so intense that it felt like her head was about to explode. That relentless, burning, sandstorm-comparable itch finally crossed the point of no return. The slight jolt of the stopped elevator seemed to push it out. “Huhh.... hhHEhschhuhh!!-HehHshhhuh!!... Hehhschhhuh! hhrRSSCHhhheuhw!” She sneezed forcefully, releasing contagious mist into the corridor visible just behind the open elevator doors.
This time she finally managed to press “1”. The elevator jerked and plummeted downward, causing her to almost lose her balance and grab the handrail, and her nose began to itch again. She suspected it was the change in pressure or something, because on the way down her nose wasn’t that blocked. Instead, it became even more runny. Her left hand was busy clutching her handkerchief and the handrail, her right hand was busy clutching her laptop bag, and her head felt like it was filled with cotton wool instead of gray matter. It was excruciatingly difficult to think, so when she found herself completely at the mercy of her nose, desperately demanding a sneeze, the thought of covering it did not even occur to her. She absolutely did not care anymore. “Hehh'Hehhshheeew! Hehh...HEhh...HHhehh'ESshtchheeew! hHHehSst'Ksheew! HhHihh-hihHS'TScheew! Hhd'kschHHEEuuwh! Hh'Tszchiiew! Hih..Hih'ihPttscheww!” The air was filled with a thick, glittering fog of a myriad of tiny splashes, hanging in the air for a moment like dew in a spider web. The only thing missing to complete the picture was a sign saying "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here." The only thought that entered her feverish brain was the picture of her boss, completely unaware, using this elevator and then carrying these germs with him to an expensive restaurant where he was going to dine with some important person; whether it was a business or a romantic dinner, this big shot would wake up the next morning with a terrible cold. In her current state, this thought amused her.
An audible signal, reminiscent of a bell, preceded the opening of the doors, ringing through her ears painfully. As soon as she took an uncertain step outside, her nose started acting up again. “hhd-hDT’TSSCHHuhw! Hh-uh…UTSscchheuuhww!!” She sneezed, harsh enough to scratch her throat and so productive that she had to wipe her nose as quickly as possible. She needed to blow her nose, but that would mean losing such a valuable soldier (her handkerchief), which was not an option. The soft cambric* was pleasant to her delicate skin, but finely woven cloth was designed to combat a slight runny nose, while this insidious cold had decided to “kick the door down” and skip that stage, so the cambric was barely coping now.
Outside, she shivered even more - the air was much colder. After standing for a few seconds under the small canopy above the front door, Nova finally stepped into the cold rain. Although it only took her about two minutes to catch a passing tuk-tuk, she was almost completely soaked during this time. The tuk-tuk was a sphere of metal and glass, held in the air by a jet engine. Nova practically fell inside.
“Kanahashi, 31,” she said as loudly and as clearly as she could through her fatigue, her hoarse voice, her stuffy nose, and the violent trembling that was shaking her.
“It’s a bit far…” the driver said, a bit puzzled.
“I'm paying - you're going, aren't you?” She had absolutely no idea where she found the strength to argue with the taxi driver. She looked at him with her faded, reddened, slightly clouded green eyes, making it clear that she didn't want to hear anything about it. The poor taxi driver felt as if he had a real lioness in a terrible mood sitting behind him, not a girl.
“No, no... I just meant that on this bucket of bolts it will be quite a long time…” he muttered confusedly.
“Do I look like someone who can stand in this goddamn rain and wait for something faster?” she said icily, wondering how abruptly she had behaved and where she had the strength to do it. Nova felt a pang of guilt, snorted, and, not wanting to say another word, pressed a button on the panel recessed into the partition between the passenger and the driver, reaching about halfway up the driver’s seat. There was a soft, whirring hum of electric motors, and the partition clicked softly into the ceiling, cutting them off from each other. The guy behind the wheel scratched the back of his head in confusion and pressed down on the gas.
As soon as the partition separated them, Nova turned on the heating system to warm herself up - she was still shivering. But since the engine of this tin can was weak, there was little to count on. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she fished the communicator out of her bag with some difficulty and held it for a few seconds at the special area on the control panel for non-cash payments. By way of apology, she added a generous tip. Now that the partition hid her from prying eyes, Nova could finally take care of her nose, which seemed to never stop running for a moment, causing her to constantly sniffle. Her poor, already bright pink nose was completely blocked. She barely touched her nostrils with her handkerchief. This touch, although as gentle and careful as possible (which in her current state required a lot of effort), still caused the itch in her nose to wake up again. “Hih…Hih-b’tscheew! Hhh…ah-Bksheew!... Hehh..Ehk’tscheew! Hehhh...Hhhheehh'ESShhsttTSHHU! HessSSHHU!! EtttSSHHusshh! eeH!essschHHHEuuhhw!” Tears welled up in her eyes: every sneeze scratched her throat, the pain seemed to pierce every cell of her body, and her fiery red hair, wet from the rain, was disheveled and almost nothing remained of the perfect hairstyle done this morning. The taxi driver, although he could not see the passenger because of the partition, nevertheless heard everything perfectly well and was surprised that someone could sneeze so much. His surprise grew as similar attacks of 5-7 sneezes were repeated approximately every 10 minutes or so during the next 40 minutes of the journey. At some point, he even wanted to ask if she was okay, but, after thinking for a while, he swallowed his question.
The tuk-tuk shared the fate of the elevator, or even worse. The driver didn't even suspect that tuk-tuk wasn't the first victim, but was sure that the car belonging to the company would turn into a kind of “death sphere” at the very beginning of his shift... a “cold incubator" if you will. According to the sounds coming from the back seat, there was no doubt that all the subsequent passengers tonight would come down with a terrible cold soon after the trip. Accompanied by another fit of sneezing, he scratched the back of his head and sighed in frustration. He probably decided to solve problems as they arose.
The tuk-tuk stopped at a long five-story apartment building. She struggled to get out. The temperature difference made itself felt. Nova was already feeling weak and had difficulty moving, but with the air and seat heating, she had at least warmed up a little. Now, she found herself outside, in noticeably lower air temperature, raindrops stabbing her like ice needles. She felt as if she had been thrown into a snowdrift with minimal clothing and hurried home as quickly as possible in her current state.
On the second floor, at her front door, she almost bumped into her neighbor Trinity, mainly because she was busy gripping the banister with all her might in anticipation of another sneezing fit. The result was unsatisfactory - only one “Hhh...ah-Bksheew!”, which did almost nothing to satisfy her need to rid herself, at least temporarily, of the itching and stuffy nose.
"Look at this," Trinity said, pausing quite long between words, feigning a mixture of exaggerated delight and surprise. Nova looked at her neighbor with a tired look of her reddened, clouded green eyes. Trinity was fascinating in this black, rather sexy, evening dress with a fairly low neckline, long black gloves on her hands, a white fur coat and a wide-brimmed black hat, from under which her platinum-white hair was partially visible. Clearly not her usual style.
“You don’t look so good.” A softly gloved hand touched Nova’s chin, tilting her head up slightly, her long, thin fingers sliding over the journalist’s cheeks and ending with a soft poke at the tip of her red nose. “And how are you going to ‘sniff out’ anything now, considering your obviously stuffy nose?”
Before answering, Nova blew her nose thoroughly into her already quite wet handkerchief to clear her sinuses for a while and sound as coherent as possible. “I don’t know yet, but that’s my job – to ‘sniff out’ things. You don’t look so good either, by the way. Like someone trying to look richer than they actually are,” Nova quipped back. Although it was not maliciously intended, it sounded more caustic than the situation called for. Her usual politeness and meekness had given way to an unusual sharpness.
Trinity chuckled. “Well, that’s my job. The client paid me well to dress like this, and I like it. So it’s a win-win.” It was clear to her that Nova was still struggling with the keys. One look at the journalist was enough to figure out why. She was about to sneeze: her barely open eyes fluttered, her chest rose and fell.
Trinity stepped in, gently pushed Nova's hand away and turned the key. The soft touch made Nova come to her senses, but only enough to turn away, just in time. “HHih-hhzzzsSSHHHihww! HH-hiilTScchhhihww!” She felt Trinity's fingers touch between her shoulder blades, followed by a soft push. Inside, Trinity helped her out of her wet, heavy, clinging cardigan. “What are you doing? I… I really appreciate this of course, but… I swear I’m fi-Hh...h-hihh... Ih'shuhh! Ih'yishuu! heh'ushuu!...”
"Yeah, sure. You're just a little under the weather. Or whatever you were going to say. Just let me take care of you for a bit, if you aren’t good at this.” Trinity followed her into the living room and gently, playfully pushed her into the bean bag chair. Nova, who could barely stand up, fell into the chair.
“Hey! Why?! I'm all wet from the rain…” - she squeaked.
“Change your clothes,”Trinity said softly, her slightly low voice sounded sweeter than usual.
“What?!” Nova tried to protest despite her tiredness, but Trinity wasn't listening. Moving smoothly, like a cat, she was already standing behind Nova. A few movements of her deft long fingers and the wet blouse was carelessly thrown to the floor. Nova could feel Trinity’s breath on her cheek and neck, her perfume. A shiver ran between her shoulder blades as Trinity's slender fingers slid down her shoulders. The soft fabric of Trinity’s gloves brushed over her waist.
-- Don't reblog to non snz blogs--
