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Homeplot (2)
The Empty Room in Osaka
Apartment 217, in a nondescript block of an apartment building on the outskirts of downtown Osaka, Japan.
Laying on a bare floor, a clunky mobile phone began to ring. Despite the amount of money such a phone would cost in the late part of the eighties, before the big rush really began, it wasn't even the most expensive item in the room. The real treasures in this tiny, bare apartment had to do with what was in the closet, which bore a simple combination lock.
The ringing seeped into O-Ren's consciousness even as she struggled to wake up. How late had she been out last night? That wasn't like her, and surely Angua and Dean would have had questions. Was she sick, then? Why the heavy haze around her? The fucking ringing was beginning to wear itself out, too.
O-Ren snapped up from her futon so quickly that she had to brace against the window. She was no longer even a bit sleepy, so aware she couldn't keep her hands from shaking as she patted herself down. Same self that had gone to bed the night before.
But a look around confirmed this was her old apartment. Only a few pots to boil ramen in. Blood spots she'd never bothered to clean up. Locked closet. Mobile phone ringing on the ground. She'd cut the regular telephone line herself, preferring this.
It stopped ringing, and O-Ren took a deep breath. "What the fuck."
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She did, she supposed, appreciate the presence of someone she knew. She didn't feel as lost. But still...
"How should I know? I don't even know what's going on," she said, but even as she said it she watched the way O-Ren moved to the closet, with the ease of someone familiar with their surroundings. "Is this Japan?"
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She stopped where she stood, crossing her arms over her middle, and turned. But when she opened her mouth to speak, the phone rang again.
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When the noise started again, her head tracked around until she found the source; she couldn't immediately place that, either, and that fact increased the amount she was on edge.
If she'd seen or heard one before, she couldn't place it; it certainly wasn't anything you caught people with around the island.
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She listened for not more than ten seconds before the phone clattered out of her hands. "Fuck," she said numbly, and then kicked the damn thing under the bed, the dial tone fading away. "Okay. How's your lying?"
Quickly now, she headed back to the closet, undoing the lock.
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"It's excellent," she added, "What's going on?"
She didn't just mean that they were in Japan and not the island; she hadn't fully processed that yet. There was clearly something more immediately pressing on O-Ren's mind.
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"English here. It's harder for anyone listening." She popped the lock off of the closet door, and slid the door open. Inside the closet was an array of nearly twenty outfits, each neatly kept on a hanger with a plastic bag over it. There were a couple kimono, and even a street outfit.
But mostly, there were school uniforms. A rainbow of colors, a representation for each season, a number of schools that ranged from expensive and strict to the sort that only the poorest students could attend. O-Ren skimmed her fingertips over the collection until she found just the right one, which she pulled out and handed to Arya.
"Get dressed. Right now, you're the daughter of an American soldier at a nearby military base. He's sending you to school in the city because the education is better."
As she turned to find her own clothes, she said, "The yakuza have figured it out I was the one who killed Matsumoto. We have about ten minutes, maybe fifteen."
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The severity of the situation was not lost on her, but she still could not help but ask, "Really? This?" This was not Japanese; she just really did not approve. There was a bow. There were frills.
But ten minutes, and every moment she stood around staring at this was less time.
She sighed, deeply, and then began getting efficiently and unselfconsciously changed from what she had on into the uniform.
"Does Arya sound enough like an American name?" She could change it. That was much easier than the frill and the bow and the skirt.
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She pulled a basket out, one with some brushes and tubes of lip gloss and a couple of trinkets. "Brush your hair, put the lip gloss on," she directed, "and then tell me what you know about shooting a gun."
That said, O-Ren opened the other half of the closet, which was stocked ceiling to floor with weapons.
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Then she stared at the lip gloss as if it were unfamiliar and poisonous to boot, but she knew the theory, at least. She put it on.
"I have an M9 at home," Arya said, halting briefly on the concept of home before plunging on, "and I've shot a P90 submachine gun before. I know enough."
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"You watched the movie, right?"
She began the process of wrapping her katana in a colorful cloth, so that it would draw little notice. Her other, shorter sword, went under her uniform jacket.
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She thought back to the movie, but of course this bit hadn't been in it. She hadn't been in it at all. She would have liked some idea of whereabouts they'd go from here.
But then, she'd started getting used to never getting where she meant to go, anyway.
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From there, O-Ren strapped on a thigh holster, one of her own that had been made with her size particularly in mind.
"We don't have a lot of options. Right now, we just need to run. We'll take the train to Tokyo."
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"Do you know how many are coming?" she asked, moving to press her ear to the door.
The problem was that she didn't know what events in a building like this typically sounded like, so it was harder to pick out something odd. She'd hear running, though, she thought.
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O-Ren opened the window. "Lock the door, and we'll go this way."
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Then again, the space did feel almost cornered. For all she knew, they'd just shoot through the door and walls and then check.
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She took the safety off her handiest gun, just in case.
"Area's too populated anyway."
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"Right," she said, discreetly holding onto a rail to steady herself. "Down?"
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With a little tug, she began the descent.
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And her ears open for any sound from the apartment they'd just vacated, although that was hard; this place was loud. Compared to the island, certainly, but she thought maybe louder than Braavos, too, although it was hard to be sure. That had been so long ago.
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I can do this.
"Ganbarou," she whispered cheerfully to Arya, and was gratified when her feet hit the pavement.
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She mentally shook herself. "Which way?"
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She blinked, finally seeming to realize something. The way Arya had looked at that car.... "Have you ever seen a train?"
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"Where would I have seen a train?" she said defensively; she'd gotten so used to knowing every corner and feature of the island, to being Arya Underfoot again, that suddenly being somewhere entirely strange and new again, being lost, rankled some.
So she didn't add that she wasn't sure what a train was, precisely. Something like cars, only you couldn't steer, she thought.
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She pulled a small, bright Hello Kitty wallet from her skirt pocket, and counted out the money. "If we get separated, use this to get to Tokyo." Realizing that she'd been more bossy than usual, she flushed a little. "You're not the one they're trying to kill. I... I'd rather have you chance it on your own, if we need to, than see anything happen."
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But she'd always survived, anyway. The words were mostly for O-Ren. Arya knew what it was like to be alone in the world and then have the people you thought would stick with you leave you to fend for yourself.
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