Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Roses ❯ Prologue ( Prologue )

I do not own Weiss Kreuz characters. Not even one of Aya's pretty hairs. This fic is totally and completely of my own creation. I've never even seen the show, so all information is gathered from what I've read on web pages and in fan fiction. Because of my ignorance, I can assure you that there are differences between the anime and the world I've created. Some I am even aware of and just felt the need to change it! For example, I'm well aware of the boys working in a flower shop, but let's face it, how manly can a guy be (even an assassin) when he's running about in an apron and arranging bouquets? So I made their cover a bookstore. Deal with it.

Basically, I borrowed the guys (what I know of them, that is) and the basic idea that they're assassins. Then I made up this lovely bit of fluff because I was in the mood. It's light, it's simple, and in my opinion (and a few others), it's well-written.

If you feel obligated to inform me of every little difference you come across, feel free! But while you're at it, why not let me know what you think about the actual story?

^^^

The alarm clock went off at six-thirty a.m. like it did every weekday from late August to mid-May. The same music that had been waking her for the past month lulled her from the warm cocoon of blankets, making it infinitely worse to be awake at such an hour. It would seem logical that the radio stations would find more than just ten songs to play on an endless cycle for their listeners, but apparently logic had very little to do with it. But even the horrible, repetitive pop music was better than the high-pitched squeal that was supposed to be the buzzer-her only other option.

It would have been nice to have someone wake her every morning, even if it was so early that not even the sun chose to make an appearance, but the chances of that happening were just slightly greater than the odds that she would one day wake up to a normal teenage life complete with caring parents, party-loving friends, and the ever-popular teen angst. Just once, she'd like to know what it was like to worry about the possibility of showing a bad report card to a strict father, or maybe experience of the trepidation of making the phone call that would end a souring relationship.

Those were the things she had to listen to the other girls and guys talk about when spending the mandatory eight hours trapped inside the stone walls of Arden High School. Sometimes she just wanted to scream at them to be happy that that was all they had to worry about. That while they were in their nice, safe homes, she was on the streets shadowing targets. She would never give into the urges, though. Instead, she'd nod her head with the correct amount of sympathy, and agree as sincerely as any other listener.

The burst of hot water jolted her back to the present and wiped away all resenting thoughts. She'd gone through half of her morning routine on auto-pilot, and had ended up in the shower with her hands already beginning the process of shampooing her long hair while the soothing liquid massaged her shoulders and back then trickled down to her butt and hips and on to her thighs and legs.

Whatever trace of sleep that had survived the whining of the pop-singer and the chill morning air on her bare skin was quickly and efficiently wiped out of existence. And with the return of wakefulness, her thoughts were immediately yanked into the necessary duties of remembering and prioritizing everything that would be required of her that day.

She would be dressed and ready by seven-ten at the latest. Coffee was prepared and consumed while flipping through the morning paper for the next hour. At eight-ten she would leave and arrive at school with five minutes before the first bell to participate in small-talk with her crowd. She would be invited to parties that she would never have the time to attend, dates with boys that knew little more about her than her age, height, and gender, and shopping sprees that were both redundant and money-consuming. At eight-thirty, she would be seated in AP US Government. An hour and a half later would bring her to AP Calculus. Next was Japanese IV with lunch bisecting the period. Her last class was AP Psychology, which could on occasion provide some interesting new bit of information.

After school she would be "encouraged" to remain an extra twenty minutes to partake in more small-talk about things that had little to no effect on her. Twenty minutes after that would find her at the bookstore, changing into a moderate uniform to begin her shift, which would last until closing time at nine o'clock. She would return home to eat dinner, watch a little TV, and complete any homework that had been assigned. From ten o'clock to midnight, depending on whether she had an assignment or not, she could relax. Then it was off to bed to begin the cycle all over again.

She was beginning to feel hypocritical for her earlier thoughts about the radio stations.

The shower was cut off and, once again, she switched from auto-pilot to manual in order to dry off and brush her teeth. Her school uniform was hanging neatly in her closet, separated a bit from the rest of the outfits, and consisted of a black and gray pleated skirt, a white dress shirt with long sleeves, and a black blazer with matching tie. If she had to pick one thing she hated most about playing the role of an ordinary student, it was the uniform she was obligated to wear every day. She would have gladly endured the slacks the boys had to wear, but because she was a girl, and because a good portion of the ISD was stuck in their sexist ways, she had to wear the skirt.

Looking in the full-length mirror suspended on her closet door, she didn't care how nice the bit of cloth made her slim legs look, or how the coloring accented her fair complexion. Running, jumping, bending over to retrieve a dropped pen, and every other activity other than sitting in a "lady-like" fashion with her knees crossed politely over each other were out of the question.

Four silver hoops were slipped into each earlobe and one smaller one was hung from the upper shell of her left ear as a final touch. Her wet hair-brushed back and away from her face-would dry quickly enough on its own during the next hour. Heavy with the moisture, the dark strands hung down to her tail bone. When it was dry, she would braid it and tie it up into a bun in the back of her head.

She would have looked like a typical teenager if not for one small detail. Her eyes, dark enough to almost be black except for the golden star bursts surrounding each pupil, held too much knowledge and were already dull with experiences that no one, now matter what age, should ever have to go through. With practiced ease she forced her expression into a mask of adolescent ignorance with just enough mystery to make her popular on campus, and hid the immediate disgust at such shallowness. Even knowing it was an act performed out of necessity, she couldn't bring herself to fully block out the underlying distaste at her own face. Not that it mattered to the people she would encounter at school. They thought she was just a quiet, pretty girl that had some harmless secrets, which she didn't want to ever be found out by the general population. Harmless or not, the fact that even her own clique didn't know the whole story behind her calm exterior made her instantly accepted into the high school hierarchy.

The mask dropped as suddenly as it had appeared. She would put it back on before she left, but for the time being, she could be herself.

Once outside her bedroom, which was situated at the very back of the house and tucked away into a corner, she stepped carefully on the carpeted floor in the spots she knew wouldn't elicit a loud creek from the old floorboards and walked quietly and quickly down the hall to the stairs, swinging over entire steps in an effort to not wake the sleeping occupant beneath her feet. The stairwell bent in a ninety degree angle halfway down, and after a few steps she leapt over the remaining four completely. Even with her heavy black boots, no more than a soft tap was heard as she landed on the pale tile, bending into a slight crouch to lessen the impact for her ankles and knees.

The kitchen lay to the left, as well as the coffee maker. While the percolator worked its magic to create the oh-so-lovely beverage, filling the room with its heady aroma and soft gurgling noises, she slipped out into the chill morning to make the ritual trek down to the end of the driveway to retrieve the paper. A strong breeze played with the hem of her skirt, tricking her into believing it would reveal a little more than she'd like with the next gust. A few houses stood to either side with a decent amount of space dividing each structure, but no lights were on, and more importantly, no one else was out to see her bend to pick up the dew-soaked, plastic-wrapped newspaper. Chilly air tickled the backs of her thighs as she did so, as if the wind were teasing her again.

The coffee would be ready by the time she had the favored sections organized on the wooden table and the cream set out with a spoon at her habitual place at the end. Her plain black mug was filled, a splash of the milky substance stirred in to lighten the bitter but addictive taste, and she seated herself on the hard chair in silence.

It wasn't until about seven-forty-five that she heard the first tell-tale sound of other life in the house. Ken would be getting up to take a quick shower. She would prefer to be gone by the time he reached the kitchen, seeing how she wasn't big on morning conversation, but it was better to face him rather than the shallow mob at school that called themselves her friends.

At eight the brown-haired man came in, honey-colored eyes still heavy with sleep, and dressed in khakis with a light-colored polo shirt. He poured himself a cup of coffee, added enough sugar to give an elephant a buzz, and sat down at the long side of the table to take up the sections she'd finished with.

"Did Aya get back last night?"

It wasn't so much concern that prompted the question, but more the fact that the young man couldn't stand silence for long periods of time. It was a conversation starter; one that just happened to include the whereabouts of one of their team members.

"Not before I went to bed. It's not unusual for him to be out later than midnight for an assignment." What the assignment was they didn't know, and probably wouldn't unless the person currently being discussed thought it important for them to know, which he wouldn't.

"Yeah."

The topic was closed and it would be a moment before Ken introduced another to keep the impending silence away. Five more minutes and any further conversations would have to be held with himself.

"He's got the afternoon shift. If he was out all night he's not going to want to work."

"So have Yohji or Omi fill in for him."

The only answer was the rustle of paper as she turned a few pages to in search of the continuation of one particular article that had caught her eye. When the silence continued for another few paragraphs, she looked up to meet the uncomfortable honey-eyed gaze. "What?"

"Yohji mentioned something about going into town to visit a source that would only be available for the day. Omi's got a meeting with Weiss."

That presented minor difficulties; minor difficulties that could alter her schedule and disrupt her routine. She hated last minute changes and unplanned-for situations, and Ken knew that. She repressed the sigh that seemed so intent on making itself known and flicked her eyes back to the miniscule typing of the article. "Call home at eleven-thirty. If Aya doesn't answer or says he's not up for work, call me on my cell. I'll be there by noon. If he picks up, tell him to be at the store by five to do the night shift. If no one answers you can tell him when you go home."

Japanese and Psychology would have to be sacrificed, which would mean there would be make-up work for next week. If she was able, she would get the assignments before she left and could do them in the extra time allotted for the earlier shift.

"Thanks, Lena, I'll tell him."

Eight-ten. Time to go.

^^^

TBC (And soon! Unless you don't like it . . . . But I refuse to believe that not a single person will like this, so if you are that single person, you must encourage me and review! Please?)