Androgyny: Prologue

PROLOGUE:

TOTALITY

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Wild and free.

Free…

It was being among a crowd that gave the feeling of liberation.

A feeling of indifference.

And of solitude.

A crowd of total strangers could provide such.

There was nothing to compare the freedom it gave among a writhing mass of bodies closely meshed together to be considered indecent. Every movement a prelude to seduction. Every eye contact a claim for possession. Every touch a demand for complete satisfaction.

And every movement a demand for release.

Amongst a crowd, everyone was anyone. And anyone was someone… or no one. There were no names and identities to be remembered.

Because amongst a crowd all were strangers.

And amongst a crowd of strangers in a dark environment, appearances were oblivious…

It was a feeling of momentary escape from all that was known and familiar.

Droplets of perspiration trickled down her temple, she barely noticed it.

Everything would be wild tonight. No restraints. This was just the beginning.  The start of everything. It was in her gut as she moved to the beat of the music.

It was a frenzied night, uncontrollable and untamed, in perfect synch with the upbeat rhythm playing over the loudspeakers on each corner of the dimly lit dance floor. The place was supposedly renowned for being the biggest establishment, but tonight it was too full to barely have enough space to move.

The rhythm picked up pace and the heated atmosphere followed to the deafening pounding of sounds too chaotic to be considered music. But the crowd loved it…

A slight brush of a hand on her shoulder made her drew back her head to one side before she heard her name whispered just close to her ear.  “Murasaki…”

She stared straight at a pair of gray eyes boring into hers with a hint of mischief and something else she daren’t name. It was quite awkward actually, since she was taller than the person who was looking at her, but that didn’t bother anyone now.

“Sento-kun.” She mumbled huskily, knowing she should be afraid as her instinct often warned her when around this dynamite personality but the mood tonight had everyone in harmony — of a different sort.

The change in attitude over Sento, infamous for being a hothead, and an explosive one at that, had bugged her all night. Sento was actually friendly tonight, something that didn’t always happen.

Rarely happens to be exact.

It was a miracle that Murasaki didn’t appear tonight with a bruise or two on her face from one of the female gangster’s fists. What was still a puzzle was that they didn’t get along quite well yet.

That was an understatement. Sento never got along with anyone.

But tonight she didn’t care what would happen, didn’t want to think what tomorrow may bring. Tonight was a night for inhibitions, their bodies swaying to the wild rhythm, jumping, swerving, leaning… all manner of movement as they blocked out the world save for the sounds, until she was lost in her own world.

Last she noticed was Sento beside her. She checked.

Sento was still there but not alone. She was locked between two guys Murasaki preferred to avoid at all cost —  gang leader, Kazuhide “Hyô” Gira, and his eerily mysterious right hand Kino Kouhei. Another addition to the number of people who, for some reason, found amusement in making her suffer.

Tonight, their attentions were on one person, and only one. Tatsuki Sento. Beyond than that they would have faced her fist if they turned somewhere else.

The trio were too into the mood, uncaring at all as they moved together, almost one body. Anyone who attempted to join in their atmosphere were firmly left out. It was just the three of them, in total possession of each other.

A hand had slipped inside Murasaki’s shirt snapping her out of her dazed thoughts. Without a second’s reconsideration, she twisted away and moved out of the dance floor, through a throng of people watching the show — she could pretty much guess the center of attraction — and towards the bar where she caught sight of another familiar face, Sento’s sister, the elder twin.

“Seireki-san, aren’t you going to dance?” She asked, practically shouting over the din.

She wasn’t sure but she thought she heard the sound “Tse!” come from Sento’s twin as she moved beside her.

A few months ago she had found the elder of the twins cold and intimidating with little to say of anything but constantly keeping an eye on everything. She never missed anything that went on around her. Now eight months after all that feeling of estrangement long dispersed as they were thrown together in a life they were forced to live.

No one had questioned when she took the role as acting leader for the group. She had simply stood up and had everyone following her orders. With Sento, it was understandable. She would rather bloody her fists than turn against her sister. But then again Murasaki could guess why Gira and his gang went along.

Either they obeyed or Sento was to pound them to a pulp. And Seireki wasn’t bad with a knife.. so it was more like a silent threat than voluntary consent that got them all together.

The past eight months hadn’t all been that easy on them, but they were finally able to get along well, and as a result they often went here on their free times. To this place…

TOTALITY. The final destination. The name of the club.

She took the empty stool beside Seireki and nearly shivered, darting a glance at the older girl and taking notice that everyone was at least keeping two feet away from her. She sighed, calling for the bartender who completely ignored her as he continued flirting with a woman whose bosom threatened to spill out of the V-neck of her skin tight blouse.

She frowned and was about to holler when a cold glass of gin and vodka on ice slid on the bar top to stop against her arm. She looked towards the other side and wasn’t surprised to see Kazue, someone she’s only met a few times but had close ties with the Tatsuki sisters. She liked Kazue, he was different than everyone she had met so far. Gentle and kind, he was father, mother, brother and sister to the Tatsuki sisters, and just as soon took Murasaki under his wing as well.

He came in front of them, about to replace Seireki’s drink when he suddenly flinched at some coarse remark the other bartender threw at him, making the other guests laugh at the rudely made joke. Murasaki swerved on her seat, glaring, about to make a comeback in behalf of her friend but Seireki beat her to it, and without even saying a word.

The bartender, the one who ignored Murasaki, halted his vulgar litany against fags when a pair of steely silver eyes pierced him before Seireki turned around, lightly slapped the back of her palm against Kazue’s chest. The effeminate man managed a small smile before beaming brightly.

Murasaki watched the exchange between them. The casual smiles of reassurance, the carefree touches of those who were comfortable with each other. She never had anyone to share her affections with. Kazue had been nice to her, but any intimate contacts still frightened the daylights out of her as she tried to bury past memories.

Glaring intently at her glass, before she realized she just held it. Kazue knew how old she was, as did the rest of the group, or they were taking it lightly tonight, but she wasn’t going to remind any of them she was still underage to be drinking. She gulped down a good amount of the alcohol, earning a praise or two from those who saw her do so.

It wasn’t like she was the only underage kid present in the club. She could guess that half the people around were even younger than her.

“Hell, I’m gonna get drunk again tonight.” Murasaki muttered, wiping at her mouth with her hand. “Or Sento-kun is gonna be challenging me to another contest.” She grimaced, noting how she could so easily talk about it. Long before she would have thought better of uttering any of their names if she wanted to remain in one piece.

Thinking back to those days, Murasaki could remember everything in crystal clarity. How they came to be, how she came to be with them, how it all started, and none of them had been willing…

* * *

Music blared out into the damp and musky streets of the slum area of Garden, scaring the smallest of critters back into whatever hole they had crawled out from. The more tolerant Scoundrels ignored it and went about their business while other criticizing locals yelled back at what they considered as noise destroying their piece of minds.

Making his way down one dump-filled alley, with his feet sloshing at mud and grime, Katamari Yodda spat on the dark soil as he dragged a skinny and half-conscious little imp behind him.

That little scamp stumbled and nearly fell; possessively grasping a small sack of whatever meager belongings he brought along with him. The shoelaces of the old and worn out rubber shoes dangled on the side as grime clung onto the ends, whipping about and adding filth to the leg of the torn jeans.

“Who ya got there, old man?” Sneered a spike-haired punk as they passed by him and his comrades who were lazing about at the mouth of an alley.

“Anything for us, ojisan?” Called out a girl leaning against the wall, the left corner of her eyebrow glinting vividly from a loop protruding on her flesh.

Her companions snickered at them. They looked liked any other local punks found in Blight, their hairs dyed or bleached and teased into incredulous arrangements, the strands greasy from ignorance of a daily wash, their faces lined and painted with deep-set make up, mostly of eyeliners and mascara for a more menacing look preferred by the Scoundrels. An assortment of piercing, ranging from studs to safety pins, punctured through their ears to lobes, eyebrows, noses, lips chin… there was no part of their body that was not violated.

The girl was very persistent. She pushed herself away from the dirt-crusted wall and followed after them, tugging on the imp’s arm as Yodda and the thin figure continued to ignore her. Her comrades hooted encouragingly.

“Who’s this little piece of juicy meat?” She asked, peering under the hood of the dirty sweatshirt. Her surprise was evident with the way her dark eyes became round when she saw a strand of blonde hair peeking out. “What the—”

She nearly yanked off the hood in her surprise but Yodda slapped her hands away, sending her sprawling to the ground, her rear skidding against slippery mud.

“Hands off, bitch! The brat’s not to be touched by the likes of you.” He snapped, his grip tightening on the skinny arm he held. “How many times do I have to tell you not to draw attention to yourself, you stupid gaki!”

No reply. Not one was needed as Yodda tugged on the arm roughly as they continued down in a hurried pace towards an old building. Its paints were peeling off from old age. Planks replaced the glass on the windows. The front door was teetering from its rusted hinges. Like all the buildings in that area, this one didn’t escape the vandals. Vandalisms were clearly etched all over all four outer corners of the building.

The music that had been blaring all over the neighborhood now suddenly stopped as they drew near. Their listening audience a moment ago now dispersed, going back to whatever they had been doing. Noises that had been shrouded by music before could now be heard. A cat was screeching nearby as a stray dog went after it, followed by loud laughter from a group of punks. They were surely betting who was smarter between the two creatures. The smart one would live of course. And then there was the sound of an empty can being kicked into a distance, and of women bickering in the background and then a crash came, echoed by more unnoticeable noises.

Blight was just full of conflicts if not riots.

This was the slum. The world of a Scoundrel. Their territory, Blight. Nothing was ever at peace here. But none had ever complained so far of the way they were living. The Scoundrels were proud people.

“Damn those brats. I told them no slacking off when I’m not around.” Yodda cursed under his breath and spat again, his grip tightening in his infuriation. The youth winced painfully, feeling his hand gone numb.

“Otosan--” It was barely above a whisper.

“Shut up. Not right now.”

Yodda yanked the front door of the building open and slammed it against the outer wall, causing splinters to fly in different directions. He paid it no mind as he dragged his burden along, up the creaking flight of stairs, passing outside empty rooms, some with doors, some with none, and in front of a closed room where voices were heard, muffled, inside. The door that was blocking his way was also yanked open and he glared at the three occupants who stared back at him warily. The room was strife with silence and tension.

Each of them was geared for heavy labor— ragged overalls, thick work gloves, tightly strapped boots… The room was filled with boxes and crates from wall to wall. Several were stacked in disorder, some almost teetering at the merest shake of the floor but somehow still remained standing. The only few objects out of place were a pair of large speakers, one on each side of the entrance door, a beat-up old radio playing some inaudible music in low volume, and several lumps of dirty pillows scattered on one side.

One of the occupants with a crowbar gave them a glance before turning around, pulling the cap more securely over his head. The other one, a handsome girl, brushed her fingers over her coiling, auburn hair as she stared at them with raised eyebrows. The third person was a guy who was slouching on a used-out beanbag beside an open crate, an assortment of canned good loitered around him. He was picking them up one by one, surveying the labels before dropping them into a different container, paying them no mind, a faintly sardonic smile on his thin but slender lips.

“I told you to not to idle about unless I tell you otherwise!” He barked at them.

The first person gave an unpleasant snort; the second one just shrugged but provided them with a plausible answer. “Gira had to take a leak.” Snickering as she said so.

“Don’t play smart with me, you little runt!” Yodda snapped, instantly standing in front of her with his hand raised and suddenly she was sprawled out on the floor beside a pile of empty canisters that had been behind her moments ago. She immediately struggled to sit up and glared up at him, a small trickle of blood appearing from one corner of her lips.

“Yamete, otosan!”

That single outburst stopped all action in the room but everyone was far from noticing the sudden stiffening of shoulders as all eyes turned to the lanky kid standing between the door frames.

Only Yodda was not distracted. For a brief moment he was, but being told what to do was something he didn’t like to live with. “Don’t tell me what to do, you damn bitch!” With that, he yanked the little imp forward and threw him on the floor right beside the girl.

The hood, which had been hiding the hair and face, now fell off, spilling a long mane of blonde hair for all eyes to see and he was no boy. The three occupants of the room didn’t react as if they were surprised to have realized it, in fact, they just scowled deeper.

“What’s this? Just how many are there, Yodda?” Gira dared to ask. “Glad to see she’s more handsome than you are.” He had to add, snickering.

“She’s your new member, punks,” He said with a glare darted at Gira. “Seireki, I’ll leave you to teach her all the tricks she needs to know.” The same scowl was shot towards the person wearing the bull cap whose back was turned towards them the whole time. “Is that clear, girl!” He bellowed.

“Hai.” Came the barely audible answer.

Giving them one last glare, Yodda turned and strode over to the door. When he reached it, an ear-piercing, shrill sound reverberated from the speakers. They saw Yodda jerk up and clutch his ears, but that was all they saw. For when he doubled over against the rails around the stairs, the wooden fence gave over and they heard him tumbling down the rest of the way, and on turning their attention to one side, saw the silent girl with her hand on the radio, the volume knob twisted at full blast.

Gira let out a low whistle, rubbing his left ear at the same time. “Nice move, Seireki, but you could have warned me about that one first.” He said, tapping the speaker beside him. “You okay, Sento?” He asked to the girl sprawled across from him, her hand wiping away the blood.

She just snorted, pushing herself up and then stared down at the newcomer, her stormy gray eyes hooding her emotions. All humor or whatever show they had been putting up awhile back there were all gone now, replaced by deep seething anger.

“So he’s your father too, huh.” It was more like a statement than a question.

“Na… ni?”

Sento let out a grating laugh that sounded too hoarse to have belonged to a female. She went down and squatted before the newcomer, their faces inches apart, and hers was taking on a mask of cold nothingness. Her callous hands moved up to frame the other’s face. “Welcome to hell, little girl.” She hissed. “One way in and no way out.”

“That’s enough, Sento.”

“Onesama—”

“I told you to stop calling me that.” Seireki interrupted her, sounding annoyed.

“Hai, hai. But still, what are we going to do about her?” Sento asked, nodding her head at the newcomer as if she wasn’t even there. Seireki was obviously the acting leader among them.

All eyes turned to her for the second time again; she instinctively shrank back at their intense gazes, two pairs of crystal gray and one pair of startling green. All of them boring into her clouded, purple ones.

“What’s your name?” Seireki asked.

“Takajirou. Murasaki Takajirou.”

“Well, Murasaki Takajirou, what are we going to do with you?” Sento asked again, standing up and looking down at her as if she were no more than a spineless insect.

“Nothing.” It was Seireki who answered, taking off her cap to reveal the same identical auburn hair as Sento’s only hers was shorter and more boyish. Murasaki found herself staring at a pair of images mirroring each other and if it weren’t for the difference of each of the clothes they were wearing, or the expressions on their faces— one was hostile and scowling, the other was cold and… nothing— she would have thought of them as perfect replicas of the other. “We’re not going to do anything to her because she’s already in it with us.”

Her scowling reflection would have argued back at that but the point of her statement must have hit her for she closed her mouth almost as suddenly as she had opened it. Her scowl grew deeper as she clenched her fists tighter.

“So what now?” Gira asked, breaking the silence that had now drifted amidst them. His fingers were tapping gently against the open crate, running along the rough wood, those long, slender digits somewhat sensual in their movement, like a caress. At that moment he was thinking of someone else he would like on his lap with his fingers doing something else.

Thinking so, he took a quick glance at Sento and saw the girl was scowling darkly. Not a good time to bring up such a subject. She would be more inclined to bite him off than play along his little fantasy.

Seireki walked over to the back door and disappeared in a small room behind it while Murasaki darted nervous glances between the remaining two with her. Gira, as it was now obvious, was the only guy there and he was watching her with bored interest. As for Sento, she had now completely ignored her altogether.

“Seireki? He left you in charge.” Gira reminded to the girl who now came back with a small knife in one hand and was headed straight for Murasaki.

She fell down on her knees in front of the younger girl, grabbed a handful of Murasaki’s fair mane when the blonde would have cowered away and ignored the yelp of pain that escaped from Murasaki as she yanked it up, none too gently.

“He did.” She confirmed, raising the knife up in the air and slashed down, the sharp blade glinting ominously as it caught light for the briefest of moments.

Sento sneered and Gira was looking amused.