Path of the Vampire forum

Obsidian eyes stared at the phone in his hand, willing it to beep or chirp or anything but stare vacantly back at him. A cold breeze stirred the unrepressed lengths of his hair – too short to be folded into the braid that trailed down his back – leaving the dark strands to whip around his features. With a gloved hand, Shiro pushed the strands back over his ear; a vain attempt to keep control, much like staring at his phone. There was more of a chance of him catching hypothermia than there was in actually getting a response to his text message. It was still early in the evening and Levi was probably too busy or otherwise engaged with his reflection to answer. Levi generally was a busy man, or, at least he did well to feign such. It was difficult to tell with the Italian because he was always so secretive; a trait that was both a humungous frustration and perfectly admirable strength.

Shiro didn’t mind that Levi was a skilled liar, only that he was often the target for such bold-faced deceits. A part of him understood this just to be the man’s way of keeping everyone at a distance and away from learning too much about him, unveiling his weaknesses as a result. He knew how much Levi craved power and control over things and he watched him lie, cheat, steal and manipulate his way into getting exactly what he wanted. Perhaps Shiro should have known better than to trust anything the man had to say with this in mind, but it was difficult for Shiro to keep a level head around the man. Besides, Shiro was arrogant too and a perfectly credible liar; he convinced himself on an almost daily basis that he didn’t mind how shitty the Italian treated him.

After letting loose a sigh, Shiro returned his phone to his coat pocket and drew the long, fur-trimmed lapels over to shield him from yet another cold breath of wind. Canada was quickly becoming his least favourite place in the world. If it weren’t for business, he wouldn’t have come at all, though that didn’t mean he was in a rush to get to the office. His text to Levi detailed such, informing the Italian that his plane had been delayed due to bad weather when in actual fact he’d arrived a day before planned. Shiro just needed some time to himself, some time to think without being pestered, and he was sure that Levi wouldn’t mind it if the Japanese man was a few hours off schedule; it would give him something to gloat about later, something new to throw in the shark’s face.

On that irritated thought, Shiro’s attention lifted to the world around him again. He was about to kick off from the wall he’d been leaning against to take a stroll around the city when he heard a voice to his left and then saw a few mushrooms and vegetables and fruits cascading down the path toward him. Slender brows knitted themselves into a frown and he bent over to collect the unruly food items that had tried to make a break for it. He followed the trail to the woman in the teal sundress who’d exclaimed something odd to his ears, and tapped her lightly on the shoulder to get her attention. Shiro put on a small smile – too easy for him to look unintimidating – and he bestowed the gathering of food he’d balanced in his arms.

“Excuse me. I think these are yours?” he said, his voice light and cheerful. Obsidian eyes looked down at this offering and then back to the blonde with the bright blue eyes.

The gratitude was appreciated, causing Shiro’s soft lips to form a smile. Usually when people thanked others the words were said through gritted teeth. This woman, however, appeared to shrink inward and her gratefulness was offered in a nervous, timid voice. The Japanese man didn’t mind. Shiro looked to the collection of food items in the woman’s arms as she mentioned having no way of receiving the food he’d held out to her and he smiled again, bowing his head briefly with understanding. Of course she couldn’t just accept what he was offering – she physically couldn’t. Since he’d burdened himself with helping her this much, it only seemed right to continue with that obligation. He’d scheduled time to burn after all, so helping some young woman carry groceries to her apartment was just as good a way to spend his time as it was to sulk and brood. In fact, it could even be argued that it was a better use of his time. Shirosame Hiroumi might have been the son of the Yamaguchi-gumi’s oyuban – the Yakuza equivalent of a Mafia Family’s don – but that didn’t mean he was without manners, sentiment and integrity. If anything, Shiro was quite forgiving and sympathetic; when he wasn’t being sharp-toothed at any rate. Sharks were often so misunderstood.

“No need to pay me,” Shiro said brightly as he stepped to her side to follow where she would lead. “Your gratitude is payment enough.” There was a pause and he jostled with the items balanced in his crossed arms so they wouldn’t escape as they walked, then he asked, “Where are we headed?”

The question was asked partially because he was curious and partially because he was suspicious. After all, just because someone looked harmless didn’t mean that they were. Shiro was a living example of that rationality. The 5’9” Japanese man had a sweet façade; his features were soft and fragile-looking with hip-length black hair that emphasised this elegant, fragile, feminine appearance. Shiro dressed consciously, to reflect what he wanted people to perceive. In this instance, the casual attire meant that he wasn’t working and he didn’t want you to find him intimidating. Still, beneath the façade there was the heart and mind of a shark, and the knowledge and intent which served to protect itself and devour whatever it wanted. Shiro didn’t want to think ill of anyone, but he couldn’t be oblivious to threats because of it. Ironically, he was happy to wave that knowledge in the case of Levi and even in the case of some of his other, highly respected companions or associates. Some might think he was too soft to live in the world he did, but the chances of anyone taking advantage were slim nevertheless. The Yamaguchi-gumi were, after all, Japan’s largest criminal organisation. If anything ever happened to Shiro, there would be blood to pay…

She wasn’t forthcoming with the actual address, which in reality wasn’t that unusual, so Shiro was willing to shrug it off and follow her to where she needed to be. Yet, something seemed off about this woman. She babbled as if she was nervous, as if like some worried vole expecting to be snatched up by the sky at any moment. Caution pulled the Japanese man’s brows into a gentle frown – gentle because he wasn’t overly alarmed, but bemused by this woman nevertheless. Of course she looked pleasant enough, but why was she so nervous? She didn’t know who he was to be afraid of him, and since no vulgar thoughts ever crossed his mind, it wasn’t like he suspected that she suspected he was some rapist. Murderer, maybe, but it wasn’t that he liked killing people per say. It was just one part of the world he lived in and if he could help it, he often did. Death seemed like such a last resort to Shiro, not because he held onto too much of an appreciation for life, just that when someone was gone, their usefulness was entirely spent. There were millions of possibilities, millions of perspectives, and this woman could have been nervous for a million reasons too. Shiro decided to let it go, to smile and nod and be polite.

“No, not at all,” he said, adding an airy laugh as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m happy to help.”

Shiro’s attention lifted from the woman beside him as he surveyed the contents of his crossed arms. Obviously he knew what he’d picked up from the floor, but he hadn’t looked at them as anything more than what they were: fruits, vegetables, and mushrooms. Now that he had the time, he was looking at them from a cook’s point of view. The Japanese man was fairly handy in the kitchen, but he was certainly more a theorist than a physician in the kitchen. Shiro knew a lot about food. He was fascinated with the culinary arts and when he had the time to indulge in his hobbies, he did so by reading cook books, magazines, watching food programmes on the television and even searching online for any blog posts and restaurant reviews. Shiro was a better consumer than a chef as well, so he forever opted to go to restaurants when that welcomed grumble occurred in his stomach. The way to a man’s heart was most certainly through the stomach as far as Shiro was concerned, which gave him another reason to look over the items in his arms and wonder about their purpose. The lack of any protein was curious to say the least, only because it wasn’t typical in his understanding of the Western diet, and he looked across to the woman’s collection of items to confirm he hadn’t missed it.

“So, are you just stocking up or are you planning something special tonight?” he asked casually, not really concerned that it wasn’t any of his business.

Shiro didn’t really like walking in silence, so he rather hoped she would indulge him and chat a while. As a matter of fact, Shiro didn’t really like to do anything in silence. He wasn’t one for people ordinarily, or rather, people didn’t like him, but he did like to talk. You didn’t have to know Shiro for very long to recognise that trait either. Even Yamamoto, Shiro’s long-suffering and obedient companion, would comment on how chatty Shiro was. The shark took it as an insult, obviously, but he wasn’t going to change just because people found him annoying. If he was so hard to tolerate then all they had to do was **** off. Those people wouldn't be missed.

Hearing the woman go on about her boyfriend and how much of a jerk he seemed to be made Shiro frown. He never did understand women; they were like a completely different species to him. Perhaps it was because of the biased and sexist nature of the world, but, women seemed to have this peculiar way of thinking that Shiro simply couldn’t comprehend. It seemed as if they couldn’t function as a person without a man by their side. It seemed that it was all girls could ever think about and talk about and act upon when they were in school; getting a boyfriend. If they didn’t have one, they were nobodies, loners, pathetic and useless. Even as they matured into women, they still would find themselves frowned upon by others if they didn’t have a steady man in their life. If they didn’t have children by the time they’re 30 too then there was clearly something wrong with them. Men weren’t judged by the same harsh tokens, though they were expected to marry a girl eventually and sprout heirs – males preferably. Either way, Shiro didn’t understand it.

Ambitions for men seemed to be about careers, politics, and finding influence and power in the world, with family life coming somewhere down the line. As women fussed over how much more beautiful they were to the ***** beside them, they’re condescended to and given mixed messages over their power as sexual beings. The pursuit of life when you had a vagina seemed to consist of attracting a male and keeping him as all the while being ridiculed and slut-shamed for ever being with more than two or three men in your entire life. Sure, men are often judged by their encounters with the opposite sex, but they are in fact praised for the volume of their sexual encounters – called studs if they’ve been with plenty of women. Ironically, being with few women or none at all automatically classed him as a lesser being, or gay – which naturally had its own negative connotations. That, however, was a completely other problem all together.

One other problem in women’s presumed dependence on the opposite sex, as far as Shiro saw it, was their inability to see or deal with the flaws in their chosen boyfriend or husband. No matter how much of a jerk these men were, she would be beside him through thick and thin. Of course it was just a shallow assumption of Shiro’s, but if there was any truth in it, it was completely ludicrous. He had only known this lady he was walking home but for a couple of minutes, yet he had already began to classify her and had decided that she was likely one of those unfortunate young women stuck in a relationship with a jerk because he didn’t know how to be independent. Shiro sighed under his breath, but he didn’t want to voice his opinion and offend her. Despite his occupational stereotype, he wasn’t actually in the business of upsetting people and pissing them off.

“He should at least appreciate the effort you’re going to,” Shiro said finally. “And I’m sure he probably will. So don’t worry so much.” Eventually he smiled at her again and then, came up with something stupid. “If you want, I can help you prepare for tonight.”

Where the hell had that come from? He wanted to bite off his own tongue. Still, you wouldn’t know it to look at him that he was having an internal screaming contest with himself concerning why he had offered and why he shouldn’t have offered. Shiro did feel pity toward this girl and he did have a few hours to kill. Besides that, if her good-for-nothing boyfriend just happened to show up and be a complete jerk about things, maybe Shiro could lend her a hand there too. What the hell.

Shiro found her blurted statement amusing rather than insulting. After all, he’d heard a lot worse in his years.

“Well, I’m not bad in the kitchen,” he chuckled.

As the two were walking and talking, the wind kicked up a small tantrum and howled at the pair. Blonde hair whipped into a fury, concealing peachy skin that blushed a more wholesome shade of rose. The shorter portions of jet hair that couldn’t be tucked into the brain whipped about Shiro’s features as well. He would normally motion to brush the unruly strands behind his ears, but like her, he was too encumbered to act. Shiro took a deep breath and gave his head a few swift shakes to get the most stubbornly clingy hairs from out of his eyes so he could see where he was going. He had to imagine that the woman was having a harder job than he was, however. She’d not restrained any of her of blonde waves and they crashed upon and swathed her features like the tide against golden shores. Yet, being hidden like that seemed to give the woman strength to crawl out of her embarrassment. Shiro had to laugh, and he shook his head more perceptibly as she apologised. He would have made a more vocal mention of this sentiment, but he was soon cut off by an introduction of sorts. He smiled, obsidian eyes smiling as well, and he nodded in understanding.

“Yes, you’re quite right. Maybe some other time then, but it is nice to meet you, Lorelai. You can call me Shiro.”

Although he was smiling on the outside, internally he was feeling uncomfortable again. Introducing himself to foreigners was always a difficult moment for him. He never did quite know how they would react and despite his ordinarily calm and composed nature, his pride would regularly get him into trouble. His name was something of a sore topic. The West did things a lot differently to the East and there seemed to be this assumption that one way was somehow superior to others. Friction was inevitable under such circumstances and all from something as simple as a name. Shiro didn’t notice Lorelai’s brooding because he was busy with brooding of his own. It wasn’t quite the internal conflict, the mental tug-of-war between two halves of a psyche, because he’d probably had a lot more experience making tough decisions and deciding whether he could live with himself. Shiro had found that he could. In fact, the only thing that he seemed to be in two minds about lately was how he should deal with the chaos that was Levi. That wasn’t something he was considering at the moment and obsidian eyes pulled out of the blankness of space and back to the blonde when he heard her question.

“It’s nice of you to give me an out, but I don’t need one. I’d be delighted to help you, but you’re not obliged to accept,” he said, half-smiling. Only now had it occurred to him that she might consider him a threat. “If it makes you more comfortable, we’ll walk someplace else, find you a new bag to carry your goods and you can continue your night as planned… I... It's not really my intention to make you uncomfortable, Lorelai.”