Yu-Gi-Oh! Reaper - Chapter Five

I hadn't realized how long it had been since I posted a chapter of Reaper until I looked back before posting this one. I'm scheduling this to post on January 29th, so this won't actually go up for another week! And I already feel kind of bad! I mean I'm gonna post whenever I want because this is my blog, but still, geeze.

Anyway, here is the chapter. This is only chapter five, so at least two more chapters of DF7 will go up before the next chapter of this does. There may also be a short story in there somewhere as well. But I feel like I need to take my time with this one. I love the characters I write, and it's hard for me to write them in crappy situations. But that is the theme of this book. Max is in a crappy situation as he struggles over his identity, over who he wants to be and who he feels he has a responsibility to be. That's why I gave him the character of the Archer to bond with. She is clearly the kindred spirit referred to in the chapter title. Sometimes only two people who have been through similar circumstances can help each other heal.

But this portion of the story is bleak, and so, even though I want to write these characters riding unicorns and kissing puppies, I can't. I always intended to take real risks with the characters in this book, and it will get so much more screwed up than this before it gets better, if it gets better at all (I won't say whether it does or not).

So, put simply, this book is hard for me to write, and so I need to take my time. This book is now about one fourth of the way complete. I can't rush it. This means that yes, unfortunately updates will come few and far between as far as Reaper is concerned. At least the last one wasn't too much of a cliffhanger, and we at least get a portion of the Archer's story here to tide us over until next time. I'd also be way more worried about my crappy upload schedule if I had, like, any readers, so ya know.

Oh, also, if anyone does read this, how did I do writing sexual tension? This is the first time I've tried to be so overt with it and I'm not sure I pulled it off.

Chapter Five

Kindred Spirits

Reaper stood with the Archer for a few moments before either of them spoke. The concept of having an ally was just so foreign to both of them that they had to actually stop and consider how to proceed. Even though the Reaper had had allies as recently as a few years prior, and it seemed that the Archer had been alone for far longer, the Reaper had always felt alone. Still, he had more recent experience with dealing with friendly people, so he was the first to speak.

“I think we need to discuss this further,” he said. “Do you have some place where we can go and talk? I’ll be honest: I feel vulnerable out in the open like this.”

“I don’t have anywhere,” the Archer said, maintaining her strong façade, unaware that the Reaper had already seen through it, as she stepped back from him again and crossed her arms in subconsciously defensive posture. “I’m pretty transient in terms of my living conditions. Everything I have I keep in a backpack, which I stash out of the way before any confrontation.”

She paused, “Do you have somewhere? It might be nice to actually hole up somewhere lived in, at least for one night.”

Then, as if she realized what she’d said, she added quickly, “Not that I’m suggesting I, uh, come home with you. Just that maybe I can crash with you rather than find a different place to stay tonight.”

The Reaper was apprehensive. He rarely, is ever, found a woman attractive. The nature of his chosen lifestyle relegated any thoughts of sex to the very back of his mind, buried so deep that he could only recall considering it once before, years ago. And yet, here was a young woman who he found very appealing, who was asking if she could stay with him. It was intimate, and it made him uncomfortable. He was, however, anxious to find an ally in his struggle, especially one who could help him solve the mystery he was facing. It would be worth it to be uncomfortable for a single night if it meant hearing more of what the Archer knew. Besides, the Archer seemed even less concerned with physical intimacy than he did.

“I have something akin to a home base,” the Reaper told her, finally. “It isn’t much, but it should be acceptable for us to have a conversation. I’m not sure, though, if I want it getting out where I’m staying. Before we go there, I’ll need my things back. My magic item can get us there fast, and it can shroud the location from your mind.”

This was a moment of truth for Reaper. He wanted this woman’s help, but there were certain things that he refused to budge on. He didn’t know how far he could trust the Archer yet, and though he knew she was in a similar position and might not agree to being whisked away a man she barely knew, he refused to show her where he lived. If she wasn’t okay with this, then their alliance would end before it even began.

The Archer looked thoughtful. Reaper frowned beneath the shadow of his hood, convinced that she would refuse. He watched her go and stand next to her armor, looking out over the city, and he waited, and to his surprise, she picked up his belt and tossed it to him. He caught it in his right hand and, unable to put it back on with his arm in a sling, he draped it over his shoulder. Then the Archer gave the Reaper’s amber crystal one last look, and she stepped right up to the Reaper, standing close enough that he could feel her breath, and replaced the crystal in his clasp, before stepping over and picking up her own gear and supplies.

“Alright,” she said with an uncertain half smile playing at her lips, “let’s get going. I have a feeling that he have a lot to talk about.”

The Reaper, blushing beneath his hood, collected himself and said, “Brace yourself, this can be pretty jarring. I’d say hang on, but, well, you’ll see.”

He concentrated, extending his concentration to a second person for only the second time since he’d discovered the ability to travel as smoke, for the first time intending to travel more than a few yards' distance, unsure for a moment if he could even do what he meant to do. After a moment of delay where he thought that he in fact could not use his magic in such a way, both the Reaper and the Archer dissolved into smoke and poured into the sky together.

As the Reaper and the Archer re-materialized in the Reaper’s makeshift home, the Reaper was struck instantly by how strenuous the journey had been. He had seen his allies use similar magic to accomplish similar feats with seemingly no effort, and it was relatively effortless just to cast his magic upon himself, so he’d imagined that it would only be as tiring as walking the distance, as it usually was. However, not only did the Reaper feel that he had walked the distance for two people, his injury had increased the strain on his body, and it was in as much pain now as it had been when he’d first sustained it.

The Archer wasn’t much better off. Just as the Reaper had when he’d first used his magic to travel this way, she felt sick to her stomach. She clutched her midsection and doubled over. Despite his pain, the Reaper sprung forward, wanting to help her, but unsure what to do. She saw him, and raised a hand to stop him.

“I’m fine,” she practically choked, taking a deep breath, bringing some color back to her soft cheeks. She stood upright, and her eyes fell upon the Reaper’s shoulder. “You’re not, though. You’re bleeding again.”

Reaper looked over at his shoulder. The strain of the trip had reopened the wound and undone what little healing it had already accomplished. He ignored it, though, as he had before, even going so far as to remove his arms from the sling, “I’ll be fine.”

“No,” the Archer said, “you won’t. Do you do this a lot? Just ignore your wounds?”

Unsure of why the Archer was taking this so seriously, the Reaper replied, “Yeah, mostly.”

The Archer shook her head, “Sit down somewhere, will ya?”

Obediently the Reaper took a step back and sat down on his mattress. The Archer sat down next to him and started poking at his shoulder. It hurt, and he couldn’t help but wince. The Archer frowned, “I didn’t get a good enough look at this earlier. I could tell I didn’t break anything, but I think I damaged your shoulder muscle. I need to see it.”

Reaper looked at her, puzzled.

“Without the clothes over it,” the Archer added when she realized that he was unclear as to what she was saying. He blushed again, and he suspected that the red in the Archer’s cheeks wasn’t a result of her abating nausea. After a moment of hesitation, his heart racing, the Reaper unclasped his cloak and, with considerable effort, peeled his dark shirt off over his head.

“Good God,” the Archer exclaimed, peering at his slight torso in the dim light, at all of the scars there, and the large bruise which remained from his injury only one night before. “It’s a miracle that you’re alive.”

She opened up her bag and removed some gauze, a rag, and a bottle of a clear liquid from one of the compartments. She poured some of the liquid out onto the rag and began dabbing at the Reaper’s shoulder. He recoiled.

“I prefer not to be touched,” he told her in a matter of fact tone, not meeting her eyes. It had been years since he’d spoken to anyone without his hood, and he didn’t know how to act in such a situation. He tried to stand, but the Archer put her hand on his arm.

“I’m not really concerned with what you prefer. This is a bad injury. It needs to be treated, and I assume that you’d prefer if it was taken care of here rather than at a hospital. Come on, I’ll be gentle.”

Reaper tried to move his arm, to prove that the Archer’s concerns were unfounded, but he winced again, visibly. With a sigh, he decided to just allow the wound to be treated. He sat forward and allowed the Archer to dab the wound clean with her rag, ignoring the pain which accompanied the action.

“This is weird,” the Archer said as she began to examine the wound properly, “you’ve definitely reopened the wound and started it bleeding again, but it looks like it was healed more than it should have been, like it’s a few days old, rather than brand new.”

“That happens to me,” the Reaper replied, still looking away from the Archer, avoiding her intense eyes. “My magic, it comes from something called the Soul of Life. I don’t know the full extent of what it can do, but it seems to have the inherent power to restore organic things, including myself. So I heal a little faster than other people.”

“Convenient,” the Archer chastised him, “that you can heal fast when you don’t seem to care much about your own well-being. It’s probably the only reason why you’re still alive after the injuries I see evidence of here.”

“Hey,” the Reaper replied hostilely, “remember, you caused one of these injuries.”

He instantly regretted it, though, as, even out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Archer turn sad and begin to pull away.

Hastily, the Reaper tried to play his statement off as a joke. He choked out a laugh and added, “I guess even by accident you have perfect aim, since the wound could have been a lot worse, like you said.”

Entirely aware of the Reaper’s charade, the Archer donned a very false smile, “Perfect, maybe, but your aim with those knives is just as impressive. I kind of wish I’d hit your right shoulder.”

“I’m actually left handed,” Reaper said, before he could stop himself.

“You’re kidding,” the Archer replied, no longer faking a more positive attitude. She resumed cleaning and examining the wound, an impressed smile playing at her lips. “I thought you had me more than once there, and you’re saying you were fighting with your off hand? That’s impressive.”

“No,” Reaper said, smiling genuinely as he spoke, “you were the impressive one. You outmaneuvered me, and got me fighting in close quarters. That’s my downfall. Without my magic I’m rubbish in a hand-to-hand fight.”

“You don’t have the experience,” the Archer replied, “but you have talent. I thought you had me once or twice, and I think that if you’d had both arms you might have caused me some trouble. Why didn’t you use your magic anyway?”

The smile disappeared from Reaper’s lips. He remembered the previous night, and his struggle with Martin. He was sure now that he hadn’t killed Martin in that alleyway, but he couldn’t ignore that he had seriously considered it, that a part of him had wanted to, and even advised him to by speaking in his mind. That wasn’t something he wanted to share, and he would have to share if he spoke up about his real reason for waiting to escalate the confrontation on the roof. Thankfully there was a believable alternative reason gift-wrapped in obviousness.

“I didn’t know who you were,” he replied simply. “I didn’t want to risk using more force than I thought I needed until I did, in case the attack was a misunderstanding. I guess I made a good call.”

The Archer smiled, “It would seem so. I guess I should thank you.”

She didn’t, though. She just kept poking at his shoulder, until, finally, she seemed satisfied that she could do no more. “I’d like to stitch it,” she said as she wrapped the wound tightly with the gauze, “but I imagine that, as long as you’re careful, now that you have your magic Soul back, I won’t have to. But keep the sling on for now, will ya?”

With a frown Reaper nodded, and the Archer finally began to look around.

“Do you have something else to wear? Your shirt is a little bloody, if you didn’t notice.”

Reaper rose form the mattress, “Just this.” He reached into the box of miscellaneous items which sat on the table beside his police scanner and removed an old hooded sweatshirt. It was faded, and greatly oversized, but the Reaper had been unable to part with it. He’d worn it more than anything else in his previous life, and he was rather attached to it. Besides, he sometimes needed civilian clothes which still allowed him to hide his identity. Careful not to disturb his new bandages, the Reaper put the sweatshirt on and almost instinctively raised his hood. Them, realizing what he’d done, he looked back at the Archer. She didn’t seem insulted.

“It’s fine,” she told him. “I don’t like being exposed either. Having my armor off for so long around another person has been making my skin crawl.”

She helped Reaper replace his sling, and then she stood apart from him, her stance guarded again. After a few moments of awkward silence, she spoke first, “Well, I know you’re called the Reaper, but I guess you need something to call me.”

She seemed to ponder this for a second, and then said, “Aw hell, I’ve already seen you with your mask and your shirt off. In exchange you can use my real name.”

She offered him her hand, “I’m Ellie.”

She pronounced it like Ay-lee.

“Interesting name,” Reaper replied, more confident again, now that his face was hidden.

“My parents were historians,” Ellie replied, sounding somewhere between reluctant to share, and relieved to have someone to talk to. “My dad was an Egyptologist, my mom was an expert on Greece and the Middle East, and they’d both studied Europe. They fought for a long time over what to call me, and finally settled on an American version of a Scottish name which is still used sometimes in Greece and Egypt, since its roots are Greek. Probably. E-i-l-i-d-h. It’s pronounced the same way. I think it means torch bearer.”

She laughed, “Clearly I have no idea how to talk to people. Care to have a go at conversation and completely show me up?” Exasperated, she sat back down on the mattress, and the Reaper sat once again next to her, on the mattress corner.

“I promise,” the Reaper replied, “that I’m worse. I don’t remember the last time I actually made small talk.”

He paused. Irrationally he wanted to reciprocate, to share his name as well, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead he gestured to the room around him, “Well, this is it. This is where I live, for now. I change every time I relocate a significant geographic distance. There isn’t much, but you’re welcome to stay here tonight. I’m not sure how we’ll handle sleeping arrangements.”

In that moment, he was worried that Ellie would suggest that they share the mattress, surprised that a part of him actually wanted her to. He blushed again, but, of course, her actual suggestion was more practical.

“I have a compact bedroll,” she told him, detaching a rolled up section of foam padding from her pack and unrolling it, “and a thermal blanket. I’ll be fine.”

“That’s all?” the Reaper asked. He looked at this girl with genuine surprise. Again, it wasn’t so much that he didn’t think a girl could make it for so long with so little, that women needed comfort, and shied away from hardship, but still he found it hard to accept that this particular girl had led such an uncomfortable existence.

“It’s enough,” Ellie replied with a bitter smile, “and I get to sleep in beds from time to time. There was a mattress showroom in L.A. that didn’t keep its back door locked. And it’s better than some people get. I have to remember that.”

“Do you want to sleep on the mattress tonight?” the Reaper asked, surprising himself with his level of concern. “Or you might be able to find another mattress in the factory that’s in good shape.”

“So you’re living in a mattress factory,” Ellie replied with a smirk. “I though you didn’t want me to know where we were.”

Taken aback by his mistake, Reaper tried to save face. “There are a lot of old mattress factories in the city,” he said in a convincing, matter of fact tone. “I didn’t say which one.”

“Fair enough,” Ellie replied with a chuckle, “we’ll pretend that you aren’t flustered. I’m just as weirded out by this, you know. I just deal with it differently than you do. You get defensive. I get pushy. But deep down you and I are a lot alike. It’s refreshing. Even if our little team-up doesn’t work out, I’m thankful to have met someone as messed up as me.”

Reaper didn’t know how to take that, so he put it out of mind. “Speaking of team-ups, I think it’s time that we do what we came here to do. Tell me what you know about the man who committed the attack in the alley. Who is he? How do you know him? Why are you after him?”

He was curious, so much so that he didn’t see the obvious answer coming. And he should have. Ellie was so much like him that he’d noticed it as well. He should have guessed that her story would so resemble his own, but his zealousness to hear what she had to say had overridden his good sense. So he was surprised by Ellie’s answer, even if the Whisper wasn't, warning the Reaper in the back of his mind of how insensitive he was being as Ellie began to talk.

“Well,” she said in the false confident tone which was already so characteristic of her in Reaper’s eyes, even after such a short time together, “I guess to answer that I should tell you a story. It’s called How My Parents Died.”

Suddenly all semblance of playfulness sprung from the room, leaving a void behind which was swiftly replaced by a rush of uncomfortable tension and despair which was familiar to Reaper, and yet different since this despair belonged to someone else. He saw a tear in Ellie’s eye, which she blinked away as her story began.

“It started when I was just a kid,” she told him. “I was in Egypt with my parents. I don’t remember what they were doing. I do remember hiding under a table while a man used a magic knife to cut them to pieces right in front of me. I don't know exactly who he was, but my parents acted like they knew him. I think he was someone who they thought of as a friend. The only part of his face that I saw through the smoke as he burned our tent down for good measure was his eyes. I'll never forget the murderous look I saw in them. He’s the man I’m after, and he’s the one who killed that man in the alley, I’m sure of it.”

“H-how do you know?” Reaper asked, reluctant to hear the answer, worried what saying it aloud might do to this girl who the Reaper had already come to care about.

“Because,” she said, unable to meet the Reaper's eyes, more than a lone tear streaking from her now-bloodshot eyes, “They looked the same way after he was done with them. Exactly the same.”

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