Utena, Revolutionary Girl Fan Fiction ❯ Silver Pistol ❯ Chapter 1

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Silver Pistol
Anime: Utena
Pairing: Juri x Kozue
Rating: R
Written: 20 November 2003
Poetry is mine.

***** ***** *****


Arisugawa Juri, the resident heartthrob and playboy of Ohtori, sat silently
drowning in her own pain and wished she could bring herself to drink something
more intoxicating than cola. For cola it was in the glass that she had spent the
last hour staring into, thinking about the girl who seemed to so enjoy causing her
pain. She had asked once, why the younger girl hurt her so much, so
deliberately. The reply still burned in her mind, months later.

'I hurt you because you're so beautiful when your eyes shine with tears that I
know only I can make you shed. I hurt you because you're the knight in shining
armour and I don't deserve one. But mostly, I hurt you...because you let me.'


Won't you let me touch you?
Won't you let me
Drag my nails across your skin?
Won't you let me kiss you?
Won't you let me
Poison your very breath?
Won't you let me do all this
And smile as you bleed?

And it was true. Juri had had a thousand, a million opportunities and even
more reasons to end it with the girl, but she could never bring herself to do it.
She kept holding on, hoping against the possibility of hope that the cruel,
devilish girl would mysteriously stop wanting to hurt the one who loved her. She
remembered something someone had said to her, a long time ago.

'You live to make her happy, but she's only happy when she's hurting you.
Eventually she'll break you, Juri, and nobody will be there to pick up the pieces.'

Please
Break me
Please break me
Shatter myself
Scatter the pieces
Shatter myself
Please break me
Break me
Please

But it didn't matter anymore. Because Shiori was playing with one of her
many little boys that night, and without her around, Juri could gather the courage
to finish what the butterfly had started. She thought, almost fondly, of the spot
she'd scoped out for her purpose, of the rosebushes as tall as a man, of the
little silver pistol lying in a little silver case, sitting on the spot where Juri would
die. And for the first time since the violet-haired girl had confronted her with the
locket and its picture, she felt free.

She's coming, so be afraid
She's coming to steal your soul
She's coming, to feed on your fears
She's coming to make you her slave
She's here, you should have run
She's here and you'll not escape
She's here, to break your heart
She's here to save your life

So wrapped up in the thoughts of her own upcoming death, Juri almost didn’t
notice the girl who seated herself beside the dying panther. Looking up from her
drink, she encountered amused blue eyes under a short mop of matching hair.
Kozue's mouth twitched into a smirk as Juri's eyes widened at her outfit. The
wild child was wearing a black leather skirt that would have served as a belt, a
blood-red thong clearly evident underneath, and a red bustier that pushed the
majority of her ample charms into view, with knee-high black boots and quite a
bit of silver jewelry. Propping her elbows up on the bar and turning to Juri,
Kozue smiled slowly.

"You don't look much like yourself tonight, Juri-sama."

Hiding 'neath smoke-coloured lenses
Your hair tucked up in a cap
A coat conceals your shape
Who are you hiding from?
Gloves over graceful hands
Long pants on your legs
Long sleeves on your arms
Please don't be hiding from me.

Juri shrugged. Kozue was right, she didn't look like her usual self. And it was
deliberate. She wore snug-fitting black slacks and a loose white blouse, her
long auburn curls neatly braided and hanging down her back. She looked rather
masculine, and she doubted that even her most enthusiastic groupies, namely
Shiori, would recognize her on first glance. But Kozue was a very sharp girl.
She had to be; otherwise she'd have been expelled long before, for her
misdemeanors were legendary.

"Maybe I'm not me, tonight. Maybe I'm somebody else."

If you could be anyone
Anybody else in the world
Who would you be?
Would you be her, maybe?
Would you be him, maybe?
Would you maybe be me?
Who would you be?
I know you don't want to be you.

Kozue raised an eyebrow, "Somebody else? Like who? Besides..." she
waved at Juri's form, "Who would want to be anyone but you?" A glare was her
first answer, following a moment later by reluctant words.

"I want to be somebody other than me. I don't know who...just not me. Not
right now." Kozue shrugged.

"Your choice."

When it's you
And it's me
She doesn't matter
None of them matter
Only us
Just you
Just me
Just our feelings on a lonely night

The two of them sat together for a while longer, talking over many subjects,
some of them mundane, some of them downright mysterious. All of it was
loaded with double meanings and, from the Kozue's end, innuendo. It wasn't as
if she could help that the noble pantherine girl was achingly beautiful, especially
when a sarcastic remark or a cutting commentary on some of their former
schoolmates brought a smile to those perfect coral lips. Aqua eyes sparkled
and her rare, rich laugh hit the ocean-eyed girl right where it counted.

Can you see?
Can you see the sun?
Coming up over that way
Coming up from the west?
Normally it doesn't do that
But for you, I made it.
Smile for me, darling
As the sun rises over in the west.

Before they knew it, the sun was rising and the bar was closing. They had
talked the night away, and Juri had forgotten all her plans in a haze of previously
unknown companionship and a rising tide of desire. Somewhere in the back of
her mind, Juri felt guilty, because she knew she was about to betray Shiori, but
the vast part of her mind pushed that little bit away and urged her to just say, to
just break the chains that the revolution hadn't been able to. Raising her eyes to
Kozue's, Juri took a deep breath.

"Your place or mine?"

Tears for her
And tears for you
Tears of pain
And of pleasure
Tears of sadness
And of joy
She made me cry
You help me to cry

As they fell onto Juri's bed, their clothes scattered haphazardly around the
room, she had another brief flash of guilt. But when talented ruby-red lips found
hers again and their tongues began that quick, rhythmic dance as old as time, it
disappeared like the mirage it was. During that enchanted Sunday morning, Juri
learned that there were many reasons to cry, and not all of them were painful.
She never did go back for the little silver pistol.