Chapter 09
"This was a bad idea," Chaska scolded him for the answer he'd given Anya about sticking with her and her group.
"I know," he said simply.
"Then why?"
"What are our alternatives? Continuing straight to the city without rest is one option, but we'd likely run into reinforcements from that group looking for retribution.
Or maybe you're thinking we could rest further ahead instead, but we'd probably end up in the same situation, still likely to cross paths with them.
So what's the suggestion? Avoiding this direct path to the city is basically their offer.
The only difference is doing it exhausted on foot instead of taking the opportunity to do it comfortably in a wagon. "
From her silence, and the look she gave him, she conceded the point, begrudgingly. "I don't trust those people."
He didn't answer that. He could see why she wouldn't. From the quick rundown they'd been given, the catgirl sisters were merchants, gun-merchants from another city, who'd apparently arranged to sell their unique wares in bulk to a buyer.
Most likely a noble from that city, someone who'd set up the meeting and exchange here specifically for its discretion.
The underhanded deal clearly hadn't gone as planned, so badly it had escalated into what they'd stumbled onto, with Anya insisting they'd been the ones wronged.
"Whoever wants to buy what they're selling aren't good people."
It would take a genuinely optimistic fool to imagine guns purchased under those circumstances being used for anything good. "Are you blaming them for wanting to sell their wares despite possibly knowing that?"
Chaska didn't answer. She just watched, same as him, as Anya's people loaded crate after heavy crate of guns onto the wagons. There were enough of them in there to start a whole revolution.
That was when one of the two sisters interrupted them, bringing over a plate of food. It was the younger, taller, more handsome-but-pretty-looking one. "We'll be setting off soon. You should eat before that," she offered, handing the plate to Chaska.
"I'm not hungry," Chaska dismissed.
"I'll take it instead," Shiro suggested, reaching for the plate, but the catgirl pulled it back out of his reach.
"This is for her," she said, pushing the plate toward Chaska in a way so pointed that Chaska, with her one good hand, had to reluctantly accept it.
"There's food for you too, with Anya," she added, pointing up the tower.
It became clear then why she hadn't wanted him taking Chaska's plate.
She wanted him up there with her sister instead.
After exchanging a look with a clearly annoyed Chaska, he followed the girl, Vanya, who led him up the tower. She didn't follow him all the way to the top, where he found Anya.
"We're doing our best. It'll be soon before we hit the road," she said, greeting him at what looked like a decent spot for both shooting hooded men and stargazing.
"I could see that," he said. "Take it easy," he added, though he didn't mean it. The faster they packed, the sooner they'd all be away from this place.
"I can't really do that, can I?" she said. "That would disappoint your tall girlfriend."
"Chaska isn't my girlfriend."
"Oh," she mused, wide-eyed. "What is she then?"
"A fellow traveler."
"Hm," she said, retrieving a stool for him to sit on.
"There's not much to say about how we met, aside from the fact that we just kind of stumbled into each other," he said. The words reminded him how, aside from Nazim, nearly every interaction he'd had since waking had started somewhat hostile.
"I noticed she's injured. I have people who can check on her," Anya said, clearly probing.
"I'd appreciate that."
He considered himself something of an expert at handling injuries, so much so that if he hadn't been the one who'd caused this one, he might have guessed he used to be a doctor. When knocked, he'd thought of several ways to treat the wound properly, but his limited supplies had tied his hands.
"They're not healers, though," she warned. "But they're familiar with handling injuries of many kinds. Mind telling me what happened, so my people know what to do?"
He chuckled at that, not entirely by accident.
He'd caught the sisters' earlier conversation, spoken in a tongue they assumed he couldn't understand.
He could. Chaska wasn't the only wary one here.
It was mutual. More precisely, the sisters were wary of him too, thanks to the mark on Chaska's face, one they'd recognized as coming from a gun. His gun.
"On her face, as you've probably guessed, a pistol whip," he said, motioning to demonstrate. "She also has a broken collarbone, from a downward swing, like this." He noticed someone joining them then, the younger sister, who from the glare she shot him had clearly overheard.
She looked about to say something when a scolding look from Anya cut her off.
"I stabilized the injury with a sling to keep the strain off it, but all I had were old clothes to work with," Shiro explained. "So if you've got anything better structurally, and something for the pain, that'd be great."
"I think we have that," Anya said. "Vanya, go have someone check on Miss Chaska's injuries." Not without some visible reluctance, Vanya headed back down the tower stairs. Once she'd gone, he couldn't help but chuckle.
"What's funny?"
"Come on now. I know what you do for a living.
I saw the look you gave my gun earlier. We both know you don't actually care about her healthcare, so let's not pretend the reason you're happy to stand here alone with a man who just described himself as a potentially dangerous, women-hitting killer is anything other than your interest in what's in my holster. "
For a moment she just stared at him, her amber eyes looking almost golden in the dark. "Alright," she said, smiling in concession. "If that's the case, let's talk straight. I'm curious about your gun. Can I have a look at it?"
"I'm tempted not to say no to a pretty girl, but," he caught himself before getting too blunt, softening the approach instead, "as a merchant, you should understand I need more motivation than that to do you a favor for free."
"For a mere look at your gun? I'm not asking you to give it to me."
"I know. We both know you're after more than idle curiosity. I can see the greed in your eyes."
She didn't deny it. If anything, she leaned into it. "Alright then. How much do you want, for me to take a look?"
"I don't think I want money," he said.
"What do you want, then?" She frowned, wary.
"What I want is fairly simple, though I'll admit the answer depends on a few things, which is why I have to ask first. Are you married, or engaged?"
"Huh?" She looked thoroughly baffled. "Why are you asking me that?"
"Because it decides whether or not I can even ask you what I want to ask. So?"
She seemed to want to push back, but steeled herself and answered. "No."
He fought back a smile.
"No husband? No fiancé?"
"No."
The smile won.
"Boyfriend?"
"No."
"In that case," he said, smiling wide, "here's my question. On a scale of one to ten, how do you feel about chastity? Zero being devoutly practicing, ten being you don't believe in it at all."
"What? Why are you asking me that? Are you trying to bargain a sexual favor for just looking at your gun?"
"That's—okay, that does sound like what I was about to do, but I promise you, I wasn't going to ask for sex."
"Then what?"
"I was..." He took a breath. "The favor I was going to ask is this.
I haven't been with anyone in a long time.
I can't even say how long. So I need to check if everything's working right, and that's something a pretty girl like you could help me with.
No, don't look at me like that. I said it's not sex. "
She gave him a look that made him want to abandon the whole plan, but he was too deep in now.
"I just need to know if something's wrong with me, down there. You know what I mean. So I was thinking, could you say things to me until I, you know, get a reaction?"
Her gaze dropped toward that area of his body, the most judgmental look he’s ever seen someone give him.
"I think you whispering things in my ears should do the trick," he added.
"I'll back off the second it happens. And of course, I'll hold up my end of the vanguard. A long look at my precious Vanguard."
This request was something he would normally not ask just about anyone, but seeing the interest she'd shown in his gun, and the boldness she displayed to just get a look at it, he believed she would be the perfect person to give him the confirmation he needed.
Just as he was accepting that he'd read her wrong, she closed the distance between them.
Her sudden proximity allowed him to catch a distinct, captivating glimpse of her scent—a mix of sharp gunpowder, honest sweat, and a warm, sun-baked sweetness, like a house cat that had just been sleeping in a sunbeam. With her face inches from his, she whispered, "Like this?"
A chill ran down his spine, one that told him this had, in fact, been a good idea. It had an effect, a real one, but not quite the effect he'd been hoping for.
"What do you want me to say?" she whispered, her tone entrancing.
"I don't... actually—could you call me 'my little cauliflower'? I don't know why, but I feel like that would do something to me."
"Shiro," she said, blessing him to hear his own name in a way never had heard before. "Ah, look at how you tremble. You look so delicious when you are flustered like this... I think I could just eat you up, my little cauliflower."
"Hm," he melted, though melting wasn't exactly the goal, quite the opposite, in fact.
She continued speaking, making him feel wise for deciding to come to her with this request. After a moment, she pulled away from his ear with a partly amused, partly inquisitive expression.
Her face made him feel a little guilty that, despite her efforts, he had to report, “Nothing yet. Can you… like, murmur into my right ear this time? I might be a little more receptive on this side,” he said.
She hesitated, then said, "How about this instead?" reaching for his hand and guiding it somewhere that made him take a step back. Her hands stayed wrapped around his, guiding it over something pleasant to the touch. "How about now?" she asked, teasing.
Still no response from the part of him in question, which told him it hadn't worked yet.
He leaned into the opening she'd given him, and for a moment let himself explore what he could vaguely make out through the fabric of her clothes, thicker than he'd have liked, but not so thick it failed to draw another small reaction out of her, one she seemed to genuinely enjoy.
Caught up in her enthusiasm, he felt his other hand growing jealous, but he held back, keeping to what was offered.
"How is it?" she asked, after a minute.
He shook his head. Still nothing. Reluctantly, she pulled back, and the look she gave him forced him to confront something he'd already suspected since his attempt with those magazines. Something was wrong, down there.
"It's not reacting," he confessed, dropping to his knees. "It's not reacting."
In that moment he wanted to disappear into the ground. Losing his memories was one thing. Without them, he was still a man. Without this, he felt like something less, a man who couldn't stand as proud as other men could.
"Come on," Anya said, trying to reassure him, "this isn't the end of the world." He looked up to find her smiling, flustered but clearly amused. Amused, by this!
How dare she laugh at him. He stood up, and as he did, his annoyance at the distance between them gave way to a strange physical urge, strange because it didn't come paired with the thing it usually would.
It had been building since earlier, and now, the same way it had made his other hand jealous, it made him want to act on what that hand was teasing her with.
One of his hands reached out and closed around her waist, pulling her flush against him.
Holding her chin for his arrival, he closed the last of the distance, taking her lips.
She resisted about as much as before, which was to say barely, before giving in to a man with no intention of stopping there.
His hands, in the meantime, appointed themselves the vessel for a strange, boner-less but very real desire.