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Jul 6, 2023

No Such Thing As Miracles

In which one of Kadokura's servants staff is there for weirdness.

This post can give you general context. Immediate context is here, and then here. Then read on! @unhingedselfships' general masterlists can be found here and here.

When Arimura saw that Kadokura was bringing Kimi down to the basement cells, she quickly arranged for all of the other staff to be elsewhere.

Then she went back to the main kitchen area, one of Kadokura’s most used spaces, and wiped the already-clean counters, and then moved the bowl of fruit a few centimetres to the left.

Really, she was just haunting the space - a pale, severe, ghostly presence, tied down to this kitchen with anxiety. The worry about what might be happening, below.

Maybe resentment, too.

She’d watched that poor girl tripping her way to a swift and unexpected end.

Sometimes Arimura thought she might give anything for Kadokura to dance her down the halls like that, giddy and drunk on the sensation of impending death.

Sometimes she thought she might dance to her own death willingly.

Sometimes she felt she’d come a long way since moving to Hokkaido. But other times she felt she was making the same old mistakes she’d made in Osaka. Always acting out the same stupidities, over and over and over, powerless to fight her nature. Always getting tugged under by the next tide. Taken in by the next selfish man with a strong jawline and a cocky attitude and a vibrant smile.

But when Kadokura returned from the basement with unsteady footsteps and Kimi still alive, hanging on his arm but drenched in blood from head to foot, Arimura’s heart nearly dropped and she couldn’t decide if she was relieved or jealous. Maybe both.

But certainly jealous; for Kadokura, Kadokura whom she’d never known to willingly do anything more than flirt, whom she’d seen tolerate Richardson’s touches and manhandling with, at best, reluctance and resignation and sarcasm, Kadokura’s lips were stained bright red, the color of Arimura’s favorite lipstick - the one she rarely wore, now, for more than a decade, since she’d come to work here. After all, she wasn’t supposed to stand out anymore.

She was a servant.

And Kadokura’s lips were stained with blood, while Kimi’s face was stained with blood. And Kadokura’s arm was around her waist, his other hand gesticulating as he chattered some nonsense, mouth in only a partial smile but eyes fixed on Kimi, fixed on Kimi and shining.

Arimura’s heart broke for the thousandth time.

She was a good actor; she wouldn’t have kept her job so long if she hadn’t been. Kadokura was quick to get rid of staff who exhibited too much of a personal attachment. He didn’t want to be attached.

Yet here he was, with a girl on his arm. Looking completely smitten.

Arimura was a good actor, she reminded herself sternly. A good actor. A good actor.

Just as she opened her mouth to report that the other staff were away and the area was clear, and that Kadokura had no cause to worry, he tripped, just barely regaining his footing without tumbling to the ground by leaning on the counter. It didn’t make his smile falter - he just laughed, with joyful abandon, like almost falling over was just one beautiful facet in the dazzling gem of life, each near-miss with lost footing a sparkling, iridescent gift. Kimi gripped tighter onto his arm, smearing more blood on the sleeve of his shirt, and her mouth opened in a little O, and she said nothing.

“May I help you, Kadokura-san?” Arimura asked, taking a step closer, ready to support him if needed. It wasn’t like she hadn’t done this before when he came home from a night - or day - of revelry. “Where are you headed to, sir?”

He grinned at her, straightened up. There was a flush high on his cheeks, as though he’d been walking out in the cold. Or as though he were feverish. “No, no,” he said. “I don’t need help. Actually, can you get us some absinthe? Thanks, darling.”

He said it vaguely, already turning away to grin back at his favoured companion, but nonetheless the pet name made Arimura’s heart flutter, like it always did; a feeling that had long since grown tinged with bitterness.

If Arimura had been Kadokura’s wife, she might have gently chided him; might have pointed out that he’d always been a rather heavy drinker, but that the last few months had shown a distinct trajectory - if one that was both gradual and punctuated by periods of normalcy - towards a pattern of substance use that nearly anyone, even the other hard-partying businessmen, even yakuza, would consider excessive.

And his… lack of discretion regarding his other hobbies was becoming a problem, too. Arimura was loyal to Kadokura. But not all of the staff knew about all of his idiosyncrasies. As much as they all owed him, she couldn’t be certain that they’d be willing to overlook this.

So much blood, she meant.

And he’d already gotten cleaned up once today.

If Arimura had been his wife, she might have approached him - giving a stiff smile to Kimi, to show them both that she wasn’t bitter - and smoothed his shirt and wiped at his face and gently told him, “Love, you can have your fun, but if you keep this up, people will talk. Come, let’s get you clean. I’ve sent the staff away; you’re safe from prying eyes for now.” And she would lead him away to the master bathroom, and Kimi would cease to exist. Since Arimura was fantasizing anyway.

That’s what Arimura would do if she were his wife.

But she wasn’t his wife, and she was a servant. And Kadokura was stumblingly leading his blood-soaked chosen one into the sitting room past the kitchen.

Arimura bowed slightly, to their turned backs, and removed herself to the bar. Hand steady - years of practise at swallowing the sweet and bitter alike - she poured out two glasses of absinthe. Then she prepared a crystal pitcher of ice water and set it with sugar cubes and two slotted spoons on a tray. Finally she set down the bottle.

Returning to the sitting room with the tray, Arimura saw with dismay that Kadokura and Kimi were sitting on the couch. Which would now need to be replaced. Or reupholstered, at least. Arimura decided that was it. Kadokura was getting fake leather - plastic - on his furniture from now on if he couldn’t figure out how to avoid getting blood all over it.

Kimi looked completely dazed now, and almost like she was passing out. Her eyes were glazed, lidded, and she wasn’t saying anything back to Kadokura’s enthusiastic chatter, not that he seemed bothered. Once, this kind of scene would have set a flare of anger in Arimura’s heart. She’d seen so many girls taken advantage of, in her old line of work. But her heart had been hard for decades, now; it wasn’t her place to forgive Kadokura for murder and not for whatever else he wanted to do. He was forgiven for everything; always and already.

She was surprised at him for this, though. Killing Kimi would have been understandable; whatever this was, was… odd. Unexpected.

It hurt.

Kadokura noticed that Arimura was standing there, and his eyes lit up. “Thank you, thank you, darling,” he crooned, taking the glasses from the tray and setting them aside none too carefully. “Leave the bottle, leave the bottle.” He took it, too, winding his fingers around its neck. He didn’t try to give a glass to Kimi, who was still pressed into his side, silent, her touch leaving streaks of drying blood on his white shirt. He ignored the pitcher of ice water, but he did grab a sugar cube and stick it directly in his mouth. For a moment he sucked, hollowing his cheeks, and then rolled the cube to the other side of his mouth. “Beautiful, darling,” he mumbled, absently stroking Kimi’s hair. “Can you go get some stuff from the dayroom, now?”

Some stuff. At this Arimura hesitated, not because the command wasn’t clear, but because she didn’t think it was a good idea to obey. She’d seen Kadokura intoxicated a thousand times, but this - coming back from a murder and then doing drugs all by himself, and then killing again and continuing - no. She didn’t like it. It wasn’t good for him. She’d never known him to have any close calls related to his penchant for partying, but she’d never seen this before. And she’d seen enough.

Inclining her head in acquiescence, she left and walked down the hall to the dayroom.

Ignoring the panoply of substances still strewn across the coffee table, Arimura grabbed a pack of his unfiltered cigarettes. Patting her pocket to check that she still had her lighter, she returned to her boss.

Kadokura had his arms draped over the back of the sofa and his head leaned way back, as though he were offering his throat up to sacrifice. Or daring a predator to try and tear it out. For a moment Arimura thought he might have passed out, but that little self-satisfied smile was still playing around his lips. He was conscious, just still revelling in whatever intoxicating feelings had taken over his mind. Kimi, curled up under one of his arms - it wasn’t clear whether she was conscious or not.

No - she was conscious. Her arm was under his shirt. Pressing so close it was like she was afraid that any part of her touching the air would oxidize. Arimura had never seen him so comfortable with being groped.

Kadokura raised his head up, as Arimura approached, the smile stretching lazily wider. “Good girl,” he said, voice low and slow, dragging out the sounds, somehow sincere and condescending at the same time. A thrill ran through Arimura. But quickly, before Kadokura had a chance to inquire as to what she’d brought, Arimura handed him the pack of cigarettes and, bowing, held out a light.

Humming in pleasure, Kadokura pulled out a cigarette - with a little more difficulty than usual - and stuck it in his mouth. He leaned forward and took his time letting the tip catch. Then he leaned back again, sprawling confidently against the couch, and took a long drag. He seemed satisfied enough; he’d forgotten about the mess of other substances he’d left behind on the dayroom coffee table. Good. Better for him to have nicotine now rather than more of whatever had made him like this. Arimura would send someone trustworthy to clean up the dayroom as soon as she finished dealing with Kadokura.

One of the glasses of absinthe was already empty, and it was set on the side table by Kadokura, alongside the other glass - half-finished - and the fresh bottle. Both glasses had smears of blood on the rim. But he probably hadn’t even offered any to Kimi.

How very selfish of him.

One of Kimi’s bloody hands was curled in the fabric of Kadokura’s shirt, like a baby’s fist around a blanket. The other climbing higher, against his skin, as though reaching for his heart. Making the shirt ride up, exposing the corner of one hipbone.

Kadokura said something Arimura didn’t catch.

“Pardon me, sir?” she said quickly.

Kadokura said something again, and - the problem wasn’t with Arimura’s hearing, or her attention. He was speaking gibberish. Or - no, she caught one familiar word. It was English? But the accent didn’t sound like English to her.

“I don’t speak English, sir,”

He blinked at her, and then laughed softly, and said something else in normal-accented English. And then, back to Japanese, though a little slurred now as he topped off the new glass of absinthe, the cigarette still smoking between his fingers: “You can go, Chika-chan. Leave us be.”

Arimura hesitated, rising on the balls of her feet. “Sir, would you like me to take Kimi-san to get cleaned up? I’ve sent the other staff away, but they-“

Kadokura let out a laugh, the sound somewhere in between amused and incredulous. “What does it matter?” he asked, voice oddly sing-song. “What do you think will happen?” He threw back the absinthe and tried to pour himself even more, and poured it partially onto his lap. He jolted, cursing, looking down at the spill.

Kimi stirred a little, and lifted her face to stare up at Kadokura, her eyes wide, glazed, reverent.

As Arimura turned away to fetch paper towels, she privately remarked that she didn’t know whose pupils were blown wider - Kimi’s, or Kadokura’s. Whatever he’d taken, whatever he’d given her, it was a hell of a drug.

By the time she returned with the paper towels twenty seconds later, Kadokura had evidently forgotten about the spill. Cigarette dangling from his mouth, he was painstakingly trying to pour himself more absinthe with hands that were visibly trembling now. Arimura crouched down and slipped a paper towel under his arm to rest on his leg, and -

But oh. How close she was. Kneeling down below him like this. Any other man, and he surely would have wanted her by now. He would have asked her, even if he didn’t care about her, her nose level with his knees, if she liked the view. Tangle a hand in her hair, maybe. If he had been any other man.

Arimura swallowed, and very slowly reached out to grab the paper towel over his knee, and very slowly pushed it up his thigh, following the absinthe that had soaked into his pant leg. The scent of blood and alcohol and anise and cigarette smoke was overpowering. Kadokura’s leg was warm. Arimura’s face heated up, and she let out a shaky breath, as quietly as she was able.

Ash fell on his leg, right in front of her. She flinched in surprise, and stole a glance upward.

Kadokura was looking down at her. He looked slightly ill. The odd flush in his cheeks had gone and he was now pale and almost greenish. Suddenly Arimura felt very silly, kneeling on the ground with her hand clutching the damp paper towel halfway up his thigh. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, withdrawing her hand.

Wordlessly Kadokura held out the bottle of absinthe. Clambering to her feet, bowing slightly, Arimura took it. Kadokura plucked the cigarette from his lips and threw back the glass he’d apparently succeeded in pouring while Arimura had been distracted. With one listless movement, Kadokura swept the paper towel and ash on his leg onto the floor. Where his hand passed, a streak of clotted blood was left behind. He set the glass aside.

“You fucking looking at?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Arimura said. “I’ll return this to the bar, sir.” She turned to go, clutching the absinthe tightly.

“No,” Kadokura said. He took a long, shaky drag on the cigarette. Where his mouth touched it, the paper was pink. “Kimberly,” he said. He pronounced it in proper English, the r and l flowing off his tongue like an American.

Arimura’s eyes flicked to Kimi. Her fist curled tighter, but her eyes were closed now. She was out of it.

“Kimberly!” Kadokura said louder, voice cracking.

Now at last she raised her head. “Kenshi-kamisama,” she said, a soft tone that was at once bewildered and regretful and reverent.

Arimura was a good actor. She concealed her surprise. Something tightened momentarily in Kadokura’s expression, but it released just as quickly and he gently cupped the side of Kimi’s face.

He said something in rapid fire English, to which Kimi returned a one-syllable answer, turned up at the end like a question.

“Go on, go on!” Kadokura said in Japanese. “Arimura-san will take care of you. You need to get cleaned up, my d- darling. Go on. I’ll catch up.”

“But I don’t want to leave you, Kenshi-kamisama. I want-“

“Shh, shh, shh,” Kadokura crooned. “Do this for me, alright? Go with Chika-chan. She’ll prepare you for me. I’ll be right there. Just get cleaned up and get some rest and I’ll be right there, and then you’ll see what nice things I have planned for you. My perfect little…” he petered off, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. Rapture? Or perhaps fighting off a headache.

“I want to stay, Kenshi-kamisama. I want to serve you.” Kimi clung to him tighter. Her hand had wound all the way around the front of his torso, under his shirt, and there was blood soaking through from below, as though he’d suffered a gut wound. He opened his eyes and turned to Kimi again, an indulgent little smile.

“No, darling, go get cleaned up.” He stroked her hair back from her blood-soaked brow. “For me? I know you’d do anything for me. You can’t help it… go with Chika-chan.”

Arimura placed the absinthe down again, and reached out as Kadokura prodded a very reluctant Kimi into standing.

“Go on,” Kadokura said again, pulling back from Kimi’s hand, leaving her looking utterly bereft.

“Let’s go,” Arimura said. “Kadokura-san wants you to come get cleaned up.” She guided Kimi by an elbow, trying not to get too much in the mess of blood. As she tugged Kimi lightly toward the hallway, Kimi kept giving forlorn looks back at Kadokura.

Arimura stole a glance over her shoulder. He was leaning way back, one arm draped over his eyes. He didn’t look well.

She’d return as quickly as she could.

“Come on, Kimi-san.” She ushered Kimi down the hall and up the stairs.

“Is Kenshi-kamisama coming?” Kimi asked. Her voice still sounded dreamlike. Detached. But also a tinge of desperateness. A little rowboat, losing sight of land. An asteroid slipping out of the grip of its star, slipping out into empty space, robbed of an orbit.

“He’s coming. He’ll be right up, as soon as you wash and fall asleep. You’ll see. He won’t come until after you’ve slept.”

“I see.” Just then Kimi stumbled, and gripped onto Arimura’s arm, streaks of red on the starched white sleeve. “Oh,” Kimi said. “I envy you, Arimura. You knew him before I did. But also…” She paused, and when she spoke again, it was quiet. “Only I worship him like he deserves. He must like me the best.” And then, even quieter, barely a whisper: “Do you think he likes me the best?”

Well. Arimura had never been invited down to the basement to get slathered in blood like a virgin sacrifice. “I think he likes you the best,” Arimura said, and Kimi gave a gentle sigh of relief.

“I hope so…” she breathed, and fell quiet.

Arimura elected to bring Kimi to a guest room; that way when Kimi was clean and put to bed in her own room, someone could clean up any mess in the bathroom without disturbing her.

“Would you like me to fetch any products from your bathroom?” Arimura asked, turning on the shower and sticking a hand in to check the water temperature.

No answer. Annoyed, Arimura looked over her shoulder. Kimi was staring longingly out the door towards the stairs. No doubt in the absence of clear instructions, she’d have long abandoned this and gone back to him. “Kimi-san!” Arimura called.

“I want to be with Kenshi-kamisama…”

“…Soon,” Arimura said. “First you have to wash. The water’s warm now; you can get in. Are you good on your own, Kimi-san? You can get cleaned up and get into bed?”

No answer.

“Kadokura-san ordered you…”

Kimi nodded. “Alright,” she said, very quietly, and moved toward the shower.

Arimura left, and hurried back downstairs.

Kadokura wasn’t on the couch anymore. He was in the kitchen, white-knuckling the edge of the sink, and half bent over it. Even from behind Arimura could tell he wasn’t well; his shoulders were shaking.

If he was crying, she’d be sent away, most likely; and she’d regret having spoken.

She was no stranger to regret. It was her element. “Kadokura-san?“ she asked tentatively, moving closer to his side. His face came to view in profile, a tight, rigid expression on his features.

“Kadokura-san? Are you alright?”

“‘M done,” he mumbled, wiping his mouth with a sleeve. The pink smear across his chin.

“A little too much of a good thing, sir?” Arimura quipped dryly, remarking on the green bile in the sink. Ordinarily she didn’t tease, but-

He convulsed and retched, gagging into the sink once more, and nothing came out.

“What can I do to help, Kadokura-san?”

“I’m - so alone. Everything down at my feet, and now I’m naked and scared-“ He let out a bitter, shaky little laugh, bordering on hysterical.

Nonsense. Or, rather - he was describing what he was feeling now. The comedown, from what must have been a godly high.

“What should we do now?” Arimura asked. She wanted to reach out, place a comforting hand on his shoulder, but-

“Need to make some calls… I fucked up.”

“No calls,” Arimura said quickly. That would be a mistake.

“Fuck… you’re right, I suppose.” He ran a hand raggedly through his hair, leaving a steak of clotting blood by his brow. “Shit…”

“Kadokura-san, why don’t you get cleaned up first, and worry about the rest later? You could also use something to eat.”

He pulled a face, and reached out to turn on the faucet and rinse away the previous contents of his stomach.

“…Maybe no snack,” Arimura agreed. “But could I draw you a bath?”

He hummed, apparently thinking.

“Sir?”

“Yeah,” he said faintly. “A bath would be good. Then rest. Then phone calls… really shouldn’t have killed that guy. I was holding him for…”

Arimura didn’t catch the last muttered words, but it was for the best. The less she knew about the less-than-legitimate side of Kadokura’s affairs, the safer for both of them. She didn’t want to give him any reason to send her away or eliminate her.

“I’ll go draw a bath, then?”

Absently he nodded. “I’ll be up in a minute,” he mumbled.

She left.

The bathtub was nearly full by the time he arrived, only a little unsteady on his feet. He had a lollipop stick poking out of his mouth.

“I put in the bubble bath Kimi-san got for you,” Arimura said. Pointless, really, since the entire room smelled like balsam.

Kadokura took the lollipop out of his mouth. “Thanks,” he said. His tongue was dark purple. Blackberry. Another gift from Kimi.

Arimura turned off the faucet, and the room went quiet. Warm, wet, boreal. She stood up, and moved past him, stopping just outside he doorway. “I can come collect your laundry when you’re done,” she said.

“…No, I’ll just throw them out,” he said. “The rest can wait.” He stuck the lollipop back in his mouth, and started working the buttons of his shirt open. “Thanks, Arimura,” he mumbled around the candy. He sounded exhausted.

She swallowed. “Kadokura-san, why don’t I help you get-“

And the bathroom door closed in her face.

#Kadokura Kenshi #kimiverse #yakuza oc #chika arimura #memecomradeoriginal #i have a old WIP explaining how Chika came to work for him

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