A brisk chill spun through the paved streets in a web of glittering snow, the flakes drifting from the gray heavens as they caked the ground in a white blanket that shifted unsteadily under the trudging feet of hurried men and women; street lamps cast the world in a wealth of gold.

A girl strode carefully along the street side, shifting the weight of her backpack to a more comfortable position while she tightened her grasp on the cup of coffee cradled in her warm cocoa hands; the long slender fingers heedless of the buzzed sensation of what could only be burning.

Russet eyes tracked the idle flight of glittering snowflakes through black glasses, the lenses fogged up from the breath that escaped her in soft puffs, uncaring and indifference in her gait.

People that recognized her tried to walk the other way, a few cringing at the sight of the bandaged wrist of her right hand- a smirk curled her torn and bitten lips, and she tightened her garnet scarf with a glimmer of dark, amused pride that reflected itself back to her as she caught a glimpse of her reflection from the handle of the bookshop she had pushed open.

Rolling her eyes, she soon lost herself amongst the shelves, her mane of black hair wet with melted snow that soaked her in glimmering crystals as she hurled her bag down next to an arm chair and dropped down into it with a soft sigh of annoyance.

Time stilled for her in that moment, and she cracked her almond shaped eyes open to squint at the cream-colored ceiling- somewhere, a wind chime sang softly to her. Lazily dragging her limp right hand from its clutch at her coffee, she held it up to the tilted world as though admiring the way it was emboldened by sharp shadows.

Shouts echoed distantly in the background as her eyes widened to observe the dust particles that curled around her still form in the dull gray sunlight, scarf slipping down to pool on the carpeted ground like a puddle of blood; long legs draped over the left arm of the highbacked chair, crossed at the ankles as her upper body dangled over the right arm, her slowly cooling coffee forgotten in the left hand draped easily in her lap.

Tilting her hand to better see the bandage, she flexed her fingers a few times, still feeling the rush of adrenaline and then blinding pain as it had cracked against warm flesh, cartridge and blood giving way to her unbalanced swing; able to experience the sensation of blood congealing between her fingers as the boy she had assaulted collapsed to the ground, shrieking to high heaven as he clutched desperately at his nose, trying not to inhale his own blood. It had been his fault. She hated it when people interrupted her cycle, everything had been on time until he had delayed her.

Tilting her lips into a lopsided grin, she began to click her tongue in a way reminiscent of the repetitive cluck of a clock; unaware or uncaring of the screams that suffused the panic thick air, punctuated by the screech of tires sliding across iced ground in a despairing fight for control, of the way the atmosphere stilled in inevitability around her; bright russet eyes focused eerily on the horrified expression of the trucker careening towards the floor length window; her view of it lopsided from the angle of her head.

And as the glass shattered from the force of the eighteen wheeler, the rubber tires keening horribly, all she could think of was that her coffee wasn't as hot as it should be; she could tell because it had split open in her lap, body folded awkwardly over itself as her legs had flipped from the end of the now splintered chair, crushed under the sideways vehicle as (redredredredred) blood slid down her mangled form and into her hair, dripping down to mingle with the organs that had been exposed by the beam of wood (perhaps it had once been part of a bookshelf?) that had ruptured her stomach like a overripe pumpkin.

Maybe that's why all she could feel was a horrible buzz; a cacophony of agony melded into discordant white noise, and she didn't think she could feel the heat of her coffee anymore.

That was a shame, but at least all this (redredredredredredredredredrED) seemed warm enough.

Her eyes unfocused, and she found she couldn't bring her tongue to click that final time- well, that was just no good- after all, she hadn't finished her pattern yet. Why couldn't she finish her pattern? Maybe that was why everything had started to flicker and slow?

No, no, that wasn't right- everything had to keep moving (steadysteadyjustlikeaclock) but iT WasN'T AnD she didn't LiKe it. Asperger's syndrome, those doctors had said, combined with a mental instability-they had wanted to lock her away somewhere cold but she didn't like the cold, so WhY WaS IT CoLd?!

Something crackled, and exploded in an inferno, and her vision ripped apart into black and flesh red.

In the numb, she fancied she could hear something clang like the final stroke of midnight. She smiled, (Oratleastshethoughtshedid), and decided that it would have to do. It really was just no good that she couldn't feel her-self anymore.

What a pity.

…

The Void, she mused, wasn't very void-like. She walked barefoot across a glimmering mosaic of color that shifted and spun beneath her feet, occasionally bursting into fireworks of shattered glass and stars that soon melded together only to fit right back into the artwork that was this plane; another piece of a puzzle.

The velvety canvas that spanned above her was studded with silver lights and golden mist, reflecting the multicolored blaze that spilled from beneath the mosaic she walked upon, tendrils of pure white fog wrapping around her bodice the further she strode.

A clock murmured in the background, the repeating tics swaddling her in a warm embrace that she was content to listen to, slowly allowing her hyper aware mind to dull with the calm that was this mist. As such, she was rightfully startled when the ticking translated into the strong throb of a heartbeat, stilling her monotonous movement in unease.

The sound thrummed through the air, wakening a weak pulse in her, one that slowly uncurled a tentative touch of warmth through her (coldcoldcold) chest. The fog had turned thick without her noticing, clinging to her body like a second skin, and what had once been warm and comforting turned confused and cold in agitation.

A primal instinct surged her limbs into motion, and she ran.

The fog contracted and pulled around her, constricting like narrowed walls, further serving to sharpen her mind as memories she had almost forgotten thrashed within her like an untamed beast, the blinding pain making her once smooth run stutter and falter.

The constant throb of the second (stronger) heart began to slow.

Screaming out in fear and (idontknowwhattodopleaseidontknowWHY-) she forced herself onwards, unsure of when her eyes had shut as defense to the wild white light that intruded upon her, and for a moment she hung in space; mind clear from the utter panic that had suffused her- and then she was FALLING.

…

Her scream split the cold air as it ripped at her body, shouts of urgency only serving to terrify her as she unintentionally choked on something slimy that was being pulled away from her nose and mouth- her limbs felt heavy and it was all she could do to kick them out in petulance, mind spinning and barely registering the drawn-out beep that was met with cries of disbelief and horror, a grimness gripping her until she knew with utter certainty something had gone horribly wrong.

Her eyes pulled open barely, and she felt confusion hum through her mind as all she could perceive was a mesh of color that tripped around her blindly as she was moved from her previous position.

Dully aware that she had not ceased her wailing sob, her ears cleared, and suddenly she realized she had been picked up and was currently moving at a brisk pace while being cradled in someone's arms.

Her body had been restrained, so she freed what she thought to be her hand and tried her best to smack at whoever was carrying her, because she wasn't an invalid dammit!

Her thought processes blanked as she realized her finger tips barely brushed the person's chin, when she had always had a long-limbed figure.

Uncertainly, she sucked in a breath, and with a thought response that seemed too slow for her liking, utilized her retained memories to analyze the smell- disinfectant and blood was the most prominent, and with the blur of white and blue that was her vision, she belatedly noted that she was, indeed, in a hospital.

Her arm flopped down weakly and she opted instead to stare at the underside of the jaw of whoever was carrying her-or at-least until she was set down in a cushion of soft, what she assumed to be, pink blankets. Furrowing her brow, she attempted to say something- she didn't know what, but anything to prove that she hadn't felt glass pierce her throat; no matter how realistic that distanced memory felt.

"Grawwwh!"

The yelp tore itself from her throat, and she heard someone coo and tap at her cheek. Startling, because she hadn't noticed anyone approach, as well as what the hell was that sound, she forced herself to focus properly on her situation, irritably batting at the intrusive hand as she struggled to make sense of her situation.

It wasn't until she registered the familiar tone of Japanese flow over her as she was in the middle of realizing she had no teeth (what the hell, she hadn't been hit THAT hard-), that she made the idle observation that she felt remarkably like a baby.

….

Oh.

…

She Screamed, and was gratified to hear someone screech in alarm and drop something heavy with a painful sounding 'thunk'.

Godric DAMMIT, Reincarnation wasn't on her bucket list!

...

Everything from that point on had faded into a buzzed blur, her body rarely coherent enough to take note of her surroundings or situation- the most she had been able to understand was that she was in some sort of orphanage, leading her to the conclusion that her mother had most probably died in labor. (And she couldn't help but think, if she hadn't hesitated to run into the white fog, would the leading heartbeat still thrive?)

The moments she did spend awake were filled with the sight of water damaged walls and ceilings, caging in a room full of shrieking infants and battered cribs- she could still recall, with alarming clarity, when one of the toddlers had found their way into the nursery and promptly proceeded to tip her crib over-where she had quickly developed an irrational fear of closed off places.

Being trapped under thick woolen blankets that stank of piss; while you tried desperately to breathe through the wooden slats of the crib upended over you; could do that to a woman.

Thankfully, the crib had already been on ground level so apart from a sharp throbbing pain along her legs and left arm, she was able to conclude she hadn't been injured too severely.

A small mercy, considering it had taken the nurses an entire hour to realize her predicament, according to her internal clock- although that might have been her fault, she conceded, since one would normally expect a child to scream when put into such a situation- not have their mind blank out and begin to focus on simply breathing. (A mental fall back, she presumed, from when her Asperger syndrome had become enough of a set-back that she had to have had a therapist fond of breathing exercises forced onto her. In. Out. In. Out. In-)

That having been said, she had made a habit of carefully untangling herself from her blankets and pointedly refusing to sleep under them, even on winter nights, where a sharp chill would creep through the walls and send her small body into a shivering mess of dribbling snot and sickness.

After the first few times of this happening, the underpaid nurses and rare volunteers had given up on trying to smother her in warmth, and had slowly cut off the amount of medication and antibiotics wasted on her.

It hadn't taken longer than the few hours she was awake for her hackles to raise at her situation.

humiliation at her dependence on people, bitter wrath at her reincarnation, and pure, undiluted irritation at how easily the nurses had given up on her, had left her to die-

(And maybe there had been an amount of hurt festering under the surface, because perhaps she had expected care and a brush of concern where it was undue. Stockholm syndrome, she had concluded fiercely- and when, indeed, had she begun to view these men and women as her jailors?)

– and the thought had sent her into a silent fury that ripped at the nausea, yet another effect of the disease that had quickly begun to kill her off.

After all, her immunity system was nothing in the face of an infection, one that clung to the nurses and the thick grime that coated the corners of the rooms. (The orphanage had reeked of death and silence those days.)

Irony however, seemed determined to not be underestimated- for what else could it be called when the previously healthy children fell to the Shinigami, and the one child who should have died long ago from the same infection, was kept alive by the feel of a burning inferno under her skin?

But even when the infection had passed and old faces were replaced by new ones; and yet more children were carted into the orphanage; the inferno didn't fade.

It kept her warm through frigid nights and days, soon turning into something that she found she could channel carefully into different parts of her body, curiosity beckoning her to pass her days slowly manipulating the fleeting fire until she could do it almost naturally- the exercises kept her mind stimulated, and she began to time the flares of flame under her skin with a growing excitement, using them to create a pattern that hummed in her veins and pulled her into a deep calm that allowed her to think through her new life, if not accept it.

Reincarnated into a country where the main language is one you've heard only in passing during your old life? That's okay. Conform to it. Learn it. Adapt. And move on.

She found she still fell asleep inconsistently, which annoyed her, but until her brain was developed enough to accept a solid routine, she turned her attention to her motor skills, which were, in short, abysmal.

On that note, she was the first infant in the nursery to raise her head without help, and the drifting seasons found her beginning to hone her finger dexterity by carefully practicing putting them into a series of symbols, until she could do them at an acceptable pace, while she flung her legs randomly in the air- or so it looked.

Saying that, it would take her until she was at least a year old before she could do anything remotely resembling a proper bicycle kick, or until her finger exercises progressed from crossing her fingers, as well as closing and opening her fist, to something more complex.

…

Growing up hadn't been anything special to her, lost in her mind as she was- always planning, always experimenting, always moving- and while this may not have been something of concern in a child, her movements weren't the gleeful tumbling of an infant, or the stumbling run of a child; no, they were much too refined for that. No movement was wasted, each step chosen with a deliberation that tended to get her to her goal much faster than her peers, in ways that would be classified as 'thinking outside of the box'; ("No, she didn't cheat in the race Misaki, what do you mean? No, of course no one said she couldn't just run backwards, all they said was that who-ever reached the tree first won!") and if that wasn't a point of interest enough, she stuck out like a wolf amongst sheep.

It was part of the fact that she would drown herself in books and any texts she could find for hours on end, whether it be a torn and forgotten manuscript missing its back cover, or a Japanese to Mandarin guide book, her young mind soaked it all up like a sponge- That did, of course, lead to some difficulties on her end. She really shouldn't have tried to learn a new language while she wasn't even proficient at the one spoken natively in her country, since it nominally leads to her trying to practice her kanji, only to accidently slip into using English phrases and mandarin characters where her desired translations wouldn't fit into Kanji.

The other reason that made her an isolated form amongst the orphanage was that where most of the children were at-least distinctly Japanese in appearance, with saffron tinged pallor's, doe-like dark eyes, and a vary of warm hair colors, she had a complexion that slapped an instant label of 'Bastard Child' upon her.

After all, as far as the staffs gossip reached, her mother had been Japanese, married to a British foreigner that had long since passed- so why, indeed, did their child have a medium olive complexion, with pitch dark hair and eyes that were prominently almond in shape, a feature both of her parents had been deprived of?

Her jaw was already an angular outline, with a straight nose and full, crooked, lips that gave her the impression of an asymmetrical face, the unbalance made more noticeable by her central heterochromia- her irises were both a burning cognac, intruded on by the rust red tone that seethed around her pupils, making them seem darker (deeper) than they were.

(And if no-one could quite look straight into her eyes because of the quick-to-catch-fire embers of irritation that smoldered in their depths, well, the adults were the same, so maybe it didn't matter that much?)

It must have been when she was around 6 years old, and had already garnered a reputation of being obsessive about routine, as well as never staying still long enough for anyone to crowd her, that the first signs of change encroached itself upon her life. It had started small at first, the building deteriorating until rooms had to be cordoned off under the charges of no longer being structurally sound, or until cleaning supplies became a luxury and water was scarcely used to rinse the floors. Then the poverty had hit the food stores, and at a bad time as well.

she had long since realized the orphanage was situated amongst the dirtied backstreets of a large city, where it was hard to traverse the tight streets without coming across some aspect of the thriving night life that bled over into day-light hours. Disease and Turf wars were the norm, and both had been in full swing; albeit the latter wasn't as noticeable; when there had been simply too many children to feed as the funds that were put into supplying the orphanage steadily dwindled.

She hadn't even noticed what had started to happen, not until the smiles of the staff had turned strained, eyes haunted with unrepentant guilt, until the healthier children began to taper down to a few of the younger ones, until the innocent question of "Ne, where did Misaki-San go?" made the staff turn shifty eyed and cautious.

After that, she had begun to finally tune into the wavelength the lives around her seemed to operate on, spending more time observing the tattooed men that occasionally walked through the doors and cast a look about the children as though they were naught but cattle. It really didn't take long to connect the dots after that. Selling children to the local Yakuza, and wasn't that a horror?

Her lip curled in disgust (fear) as more and more children disappeared, until the others seemed to cotton on and started keeping their heads down, trying not to stand out. This was the part she hated- where the others could easily blend into the crowd of muted and subdued children, suppressing themselves until they were unremarkable; she couldn't cue up to get food from the care-takers without drawing attention to her looks- somehow, she reflected as she pressed herself into the wood of the wall behind the open door of the lounge area, this had led to her stealing food from the kitchens when there was the least activity around.

Now, as she bore witness to one of the dealings, she found herself regretting the choice. It sounded like they hadn't selected any one yet, but were paying for the ones they had taken before- (After all, it was so easy to hand someone a gun and say 'shoot' -) But had come with a special quota this time around. She slipped away before anything could be said, unwilling to tangle herself with the yakuza, no matter how indirectly. No, she had much too much will to live for that.

The next day found her cowering pathetically in the shadows of her assigned and shared room, glaring balefully at the sunlight drifting through the windows; open to let any whispers of breeze in. Sweat ran down her skin in rivulets despite her lack of physical exertion, herself breathing shallowly through her mouth- she would have been all out panting if not for her pride. The inferno pulsing within her skin made her flushed and bothered, and she found herself cradling the glass of water reluctantly given to her as though it were a life line. Dammit, this was why she hated the summers.

"I wasn't aware this particular room had been hit by a heat wave."

The old man sitting on the smallest bed in the room mused aloud finally, after having been simply sitting there and observing her struggle in a thoughtful silence for what, to her inexplicable grasp of time, told her had been over 30 minutes. He was a slight figure, dressed in a traditional hakama that, to her calculating eyes, seemed to swamp him. His face was pockmarked, eyes squinted in a way that made her think of a mixed, Chinese heritage, with balding silver hairs combed thinly over his spotted scalp.

She twitched from where she was slumped against the wall, lips turning down in displeasure, the right corner of her mouth further so than the left. Even so, she refused to acknowledge him, instead stretching out further in hopes of reducing her body heat- the motion was quickly aborted as she reflexively jerked into the fetal position, the cramp in her side burning viciously.

She was aware of the old man frowning in thought, even as she increased the circulating of her Fire in hopes of easing the pain- if anything it got worse.

"Shit…."
she hissed breathlessly, uncomfortably aware of the short black hair sticking wetly to the back of her neck as the floor boards creaked under the weight of the old man standing- a moment later his frail hand was pressed firmly against her forehead, and she instinctively batted away his hand at the same moment as her Fire was coursing through the arm she had used. His eye-brow quirked in surprise, even as he moved his hand with the motion to presumably avoid taking damage- even so, he rubbed absent mindedly at it.

"You're going to die of dehydration or overheating in a few minutes."

He informed her cheerily, and her lips curled into a snarl- the fact that her lips were unaligned enough to expose a glimpse of her rather noticeable canines did nothing to deter his abruptly cheerful aura.

"I…wo…will…. n-…. -ot…"

She snarled shallowly, and he patted her head in a patronizing manner- if she had the strength to bite him, she would. As it was, she settled for a horribly offended expression.

He chuckles, and picks her up in a bridal carry- immediately, she stiffens, and attempts to jerk out of his grip- a cold sense of shock descends upon her as she realizes that his seemingly frail arms are holding her tightly enough that her arms are pinned uselessly against his chest. Her jaw tightens in rage, and she does her best to thrash in his grip- and would have, if her limbs weren't deadening with a fatigue that made her dry throat crack from her internal heat. She blacks out briefly as he casually strolls outside into a patch of sunlight, making her burn; and stutters awake just as he moves quickly through winding back streets. Panic jerks in her chest, and if her vision wasn't swimming, she would most probably have done something rash.

They come to a stop, and the old man leans down into her personal space, eyes curved into a shit eating smile- she squints sluggishly at him, a moment before he heaves and she's flung through the air. Her limbs spasm in shock, and her eyes widen a moment before she hits the surface of a water source and is submerged. The fresh water burns her eyes, and she shutters them closed, inhaling water- in that moment, her Fire desserts her as sheer terror disrupts her routine, and she's aware she's sinking like a stone. Her lungs and chest burn with the pain of being weighted by water and she's choking on it in a way that makes her vision flicker black.

(She's scared)

(SherememberstheredredredredrED)

Desperately, because she's so cold, she calls upon her Fire and it swirls confusedly in her veins.

(sHe DOeSn'T WaNt to DiE)

(She's….so…. AnGRy-)

(HerFlamesSurge)

She kicks upward with strength that should have left her, and she's familiar enough with her Fire that she feels it pulsing solely within her legs, a sliver forcefully making her heart beat as though it were a voluntary muscle. She forces her eyes open, squints at the murky surface of the water, and her thighs burn with the amount of Flames she forces into the muscles- another kick, and this one shoots her upward rather than propel her, and she's breaking the surface with enough force that her entire upper body is thrown upward rather than just her head, before gravity jerks her down again.

She spends a moment hacking out enough water to breathe, before her memories from her past life kick in, and she allows the current of what she recognizes to be a river to sweep her downstream even as she cuts diagonally towards the banks in an awkward breast-stroke.

She crawls out on her knees, shivering as she heaves and hacks out lung-fulls of water, her Fire forcefully pushing her lungs into choking out the water even if it should need external pressure to get that much out. She takes a moment to examine in awe as her Fire continues pumping her heart for her, until the muscle stutters back to life and allows it to thread itself away slowly. The crunch of gravel brings her attention to the old man who looks cheerfully down at her, eyes razor sharp.

"At least now you won't die of de-hydration."
he comments as though it's the weather and he hadn't just attempted to drown a three-year-old child, and she spares a moment to realize and marvel that this man is a complete and utter retard, before she stumbles to her bare feet, white dress plastered to her skin.

She eyes his sandals, then the dirty streets covered in broken glass and what not, decides she can just burn away any infections with her Fire, and walks in the direction she knows the orphanage is.

"What, no comment to spare for an old man like me on this fine day?"

"Your more insane than I am."
She mutters under her breath in English as she tries her best to avoid dirty water and bent needle tips.

(That, she finds, is the wrong thing to say since he follows her for the rest of the after-noon with open curiosity.)

…

'The girl is strange', Hibari Hajime thinks as he follows her through the orphanage. She's an exotic little thing, all firm lines and sharp edges, where many praised the Japanese for their soft lines and calm countenances. She's certainly insane, in a way that has him chewing over her behavior like a particularly hard puzzle. Its pleasantly refreshing. Where most children would have died, she rose with enough force to startle him- where other children would have been traumatized by the events and possibly had a mental break down, she simply got up and made her way back to the orphanage to continue her routine. And that's not even getting into the fact that she shouldn't have known how to swim, or how to speak in English, since none of the staff here seemed to speak it proficiently- a genius maybe?

What further amused him was that she showed absolutely no signs of fear or terror when faced with the man who had almost killed her following her around like clockwork, except for a wary glance at his hands, which he had used to restrain her; or that she kept conveniently out of grabbing range. Not that it would have stopped him if he was really trying, but the point still stands. What was even more curious was that, giving no though to propriety, she had walked around in the dripping wet dress without care, despite the fact it couldn't have been comfortable. When admonished by a care taker, she had glanced at him and said with wry sarcasm-

"I'd rather not after he went through all the trouble of helping me in this heat."

How strange.

He observed her eat her dinner, rubbing idly at the stinging sensation burning at the back of his hand- glancing down at it, he raised his eye-brow at the yellow black bruise, and was quietly glad he hadn't tried to take her hitting his hand away head on. God knows the girl didn't know her own strength- no, your wooden chop stick wasn't supposed to dent the metal table on accident. The thought found him wondering how the Yakuza that had come before him had missed the sheer opportunity in the girl. Granted, she was about as much use as a dying goat if you left her in the heat, but she was still something. The fact she seemed perfectly willing to stare the staff members into submission for more food was just a bonus.

Smiling in the way he knew unnerved his men, he turned to the bulky man beside him, all ripped muscle and thinly veiled guns in holsters, and gestured gracefully at the little girl who had grabbed the boy trying to take her food's hand in her own and was squeezing it, and said-

"I want that one."

There was a short scream, and the sound of bone crunching.

"…. Of course, Wakagashira-san. *"

(*Second in command within a Yakuza Family.)

…

She stilled in her bed as the door creaked open, and one of the women from the staff fluttered in, long skirts swishing in the lantern light that filtered through the door way. The intruder strode uneasily towards her bed, tapping her lightly on the shoulder. She cracked her eyes open fully in acquiesce, and was greeted by eyes that slid away from hers, unable to keep eye-contact.

….

….

Oh, was it her turn then?

She sucked on her left canine in a nervous tic as she followed the woman- it wasn't as though she was getting any sleep anyways. Her mind seemed keen on replaying her near drowning until it had burnt the vision into the back of her eye-lids- it was strange, because she hadn't thought herself affected by it. Perhaps it was her adult subconscious bending under the realization she had almost died, once again?

She found that happening a lot- where when she was awake she was perfectly content to drift along at her own pace and wasn't unduly concerned over the mind-numbing language books she read; she would fall asleep to a bone deep fatigue that told her that the ease of which she took up linguistics came with a price that taxed her adult mentality and understanding.

She squinted her eyes against the sudden glare of light as the woman swung the lounge door open, and blinked rapidly to adjust to the lighting, even as her gaze swept over the men in the room- she took in that they were all standing in the way of possible exits, angled in a way that they could easily make their way to the focus of the room. Professionals, then, yet not subtle enough about it to the point an untrained civilian could pick it up.

Her lips tightened as her jaw locked at the sight of the familiar old man sitting easily in the middle of the room, eyes curved into what she was beginning to see as his signature smile.

"This is Hibari-san, he'll…be your new care taker from now on, okay?"

She twitched, eyes flicking over the men once again like a cornered animal- it eased her somewhat that her Fire only stuttered once at the disruption before reluctantly continuing its routine, calming her to a certain degree. Even so, she didn't move forwards despite the staff member's gentle shove between the shoulder-blades- moving forward would effectively box her in within the range of all the men.

Chuckling, Tanesha stood up with the aid of a 5-foot-long staff, using it a bit like one would a cane as he made his way out of the orphanage. Seeing that she was expected to follow him, she strode briskly forwards into the middle of the formation that picked up casually around the man. She was uncomfortable knowing she was within easy grabbing range, but there was a spark of morbid curiosity that moved her onward toward the black vehicle parked beside a street-lamp.

How curious.

…

They eventually ended up in a Dojo. It was traditional to say the least, all tatami floors and patterned shoji, with a passage way connecting to what seemed to be the main house, situated in a rather large compound.

It was in a considerably open area, despite how close it was to what seemed to be the red-light district- she supposed that was attributed to being on the edges of the city, leading to acres of private property around the complex in way of fields and an old out of works canal; the main road they had broken off far away from the slightly contrite mansion.

She stood warily in front of her new guardian, experiencing a surprising lack of fear- it was more of a detached amusement that would remain in that state unless her timed schedule was prodded too far off track, which was…. she noted idly that she was dangerously close to her tipping point. Too many interruptions in a condensed time span? So perhaps this is what the calm before the storm felt like.

She stared at the man, waiting coolly for him to speak. She hadn't been brought to what seemed to be the main compound, nor tied up or restricted in any manner, meaning there wasn't any malicious intent focused on her while she continued being less than a threat to their system- the fact the old man had singled her out specifically and not bought the children in bulk hinted at him having his own agenda for her. Her Fire flared in annoyance as he calmly watched her, having folded himself into a seiza position in front of a low table decked out with calligraphy brushes and ink wells. (What was he waiting for?! hE WaS wAsTinG HeR TiMe!)

after a moment, she realized she was waiting for her to join him, and she bristled like a cat stroked the wrong way. Her jaw set stubbornly and her Flames purred in agreement, even if it felt like its metaphorical hackles had been raised as well. She was hardly going to defer to him with a respect he had not earned. And if there was a fair bit of childish spite in the action, well, she was hardly going to admit to it.

The man smirked in a satisfied manner, as though she had passed some sort of expectation- the thought made her lips curl into a scowl, the misalignment of them flashing her overly sharp canines warningly.

"Temperamental, aren't you child? My given name is Hibari Hajime, what is yours?"
She stilled at the mention of the name, and her Flames jolted in time with her startling. Hibari….?

"…. I never bothered to learn mine."

She responded after a few minutes of studying the growing dread of realization that had curled up in her stomach. Her Fire….

"How unfortunate. Hm…. I shall call you Mirai."

He decided, and she off handedly noticed and appreciated how he didn't claim it to be her new name, a phrasing which would have implied his trying to decide something for her, thus stating he was superior to her and expected her obedience. She allowed a grudging respect to surface, and her scowl faded minutely. From the cheery smirk the old man shot her, he noticed it.

"…Do you expect me to join the Yakuza?"

She questioned, at the same time she tuned into the frequency of her Fire. It couldn't be…. (Aneyesearingvioletflashedbehindhereyelids.)

"I expect you to be my chosen heir to my fighting style. My wife taught our daughter hers, but before I could pass on my teachings to our next child, my partner died and my daughter has already wandered off with some police officer."

He drawled, offering a seemingly useless bit of information. If she hadn't seen his dark eyes flash an in-depth indigo, and felt something try to slip into her Fire, she might have dismissed it as well.

'Mist Flames,' She thought, and then wondered why the term had come to mind.

Her Fire flared angrily in response, yet the foreign flickers slipped past them, like trying to catch water in a net.

(Hibari Hajime. His daughter's lover could have taken her name? Hibari Kyoya had Cloud Flames with a secondary mist, the mist passed on through his mother's side? Cloud Flames…. Dying Will Flames of the Cloud…. Dying will?)
The pieces flickered through her mind like pieces of a puzzle, and she latched onto it with all the desperation of a drowning woman.

(Will.)

Before the, now recognized, Mist Flames, could move further into her body, she delved into her Flames, welcoming the piercing Violet that flared behind her closed eye lids (When had she closed her eyes?) with none of the previous confusion, Mind detaching itself from her emotions and slipping into an analytical thought process. It was an old coping mechanism, from Before. Realizing she couldn't identify the intrusive flames that masqueraded as her own, she carefully curled her control (will) around what was hers, halting its erratic pulsating. She forced the unstable Flames into a timed beat, soothing herself with the repetitive ticks. The mist flames didn't catch on to the now uniform Flame pattern, and she purged it from her system instinctively.

She slipped back into her mind, and noted idly that she was on her back, and couldn't seem to rise from the lethargic weight of her body. Suddenly, the thought of reincarnation she had carefully repressed came down on her with all the unceremonious grace of a tap dancing whale, and she passed out for real.

'Of all the worlds, why the one with the technicolored Mafia, murderous Skylarks, and Retarded pineapples?'

…

She watched her class from her seat in the corner, her fingers flipping a black ink-pen in a dulling motion- her hands and arms were stained randomly with ink from where she had dropped or stabbed herself with her writing utensils; the profits of which were splayed out in-front of her in the form of mini-caricatures. Most were chibi versions of her favorite anime characters, with the rare few full body sketches of their gender-bent versions.

Her eyes drifted to a clean lined sketch of a female Hibari Kyoya and Rokudo Mukuro standing back to back, weapons held defensively, before she swept them all into a pile and out of sight.

A moment later, the lunch bell rang and her only, and closest, friend in the university jogged in, grin cheery as she waved at someone out of sight. Someone from her other friend circles.

She pursed her lips and looked away, feeling a prickle of ice wrap around her chest- it wasn't jealously per-say, but she hated being second best; a side dish if you will. Something you attended to with much less vigor than you had the main dish. An afterthought.

Her friend dropped into the seat beside her, and excitedly began to blubber on about her day- she gave plastic smiles in response, humming where necessary to seem interested, and waited patiently for her turn to speak. It never came. Her smile slipped off her face, and she knew if she attempted conversation at all, she would come off as passive aggressive. Looking towards the teacher that had entered the class, her lip curled back into a minute snarl. Yes, she rather hated those who couldn't give her their complete loyalty. It wasn't as though she needed a companion to finish her university courses anyways….

Needy. Selfish. Childish. Immature. Jealous. Creepy. Unloved. Freak. Different.

Those were her labels, but their barbed words never pierced her thick skin.

(or maybe she just didn't let them see her bleed?)

…

Her breath shuddered out of her chest, hitching as she woke to the feeling of her eyes burning uncomfortably behind her eye lids. Everything was going wrong, and she couldn't do anything about it. Hiding her intelligence was out of the question- if the old man knew she understood enough that telling her the truth of her presence would unbalance her, then holding back now wouldn't help her in any shape or form. Not that she would give him her knowledge, but she wasn't going to pretend to be slow.

The burning intensified, and after confirming that her Flames were currently cycling through her legs, she came to the horrified realization that she was moments away from crying. Okay, calm down, and take inventory.

Location-Yakuza complex, presumably within a dojo. Close to the Red-Light district of a city.

Situation-In the care of Hibari Hajime, who expects her to carry on his fighting style. Seems highly implausible, as considering her knowledge of Hibari Kyoya, he wouldn't go out of his way to help a 'Herbivore' as it was. But then again…the old man is a mist, and the future skylark would be a cloud.

Most likely conclusion-Simply put, the Old man was bored. If so, screw him.

Personal State-She had been using Cloud Flames (At least she thought so, going by the coloring-) her whole life, most likely awakened by her unholy rage at being reincarnated.

Might have secondary Flames, although that was unlikely. She could feel tatami under her, meaning she had probably collapsed in the Dojo, and he had left her there. That's good, meant the world wasn't going to fall apart completely- If a Hibari could still be sadistic, the world would continue turning.

Intentions- She didn't have a choice. Running away was out of the question, if he wanted an heir this badly he wasn't going to let her run off. She had a higher chance of surviving if she complied and learnt his combat style.

Notes-She was pissed at being placed into the situation of any SI ever. Unluckily, every SI ever, never got to live a peaceful life as a farmer. She was probably going to end up in the Mafia; come hell or high water; or even her fighting tooth and nail. Dammit.

Most Likely Conclusion-she would live longer if she learned from a Hibari, though she would have to be careful not to get tangled up with the Yakuza- if she was lucky, she could still get the glamorous job of a convenience store worker!

…

…

She was doomed.

Repressing a groan of discomfort, she cracked open her; thankfully non-watery; eyes to the glorious view of spotless tatami, and peeled her face off the floor. She could feel the imprints of the textured surface across the left side of her face, and it was after she had levered herself onto her knees, that she noticed gray blue sunlight feeding through a shut shoji screen.

Ignoring the fact, she had passed out long enough for dawn to break, she staggered to her feet and pulled it open, squinting at the thrown open balcony right in front of her.

Between the two entrances was a strip of hard wood corridor, and she belatedly realized she had probably first been led into, not a dojo, but rather the greeting area of a house.

But, considering her caretaker was a Hibari, the place was probably half Dojo, or reinforced in some way.

Sighing, she walked out onto the patio like garden, settling down to stare at the cloudy skies; idly noting that she was still garbed in thin cotton pajamas that stuck to her in the humid air. The sky rumbled, and the first of the summer showers began. She sighed, and didn't bother moving.

At the very least, she could expect an iron hard routine from the old man. She paused then, feeling a frown crease her brow as her eyes followed the pattern of the wooden floors- Before, the moment anything so much as shifted in her routine, she would have completely snapped. So why wasn't she doing so now?

Something hot began to force itself up her throat, and she flexed her fingers repetitively, before coming to the quiet realization.

This body wasn't meant to have Asperger's Syndrome; wasn't wired for it.

She was an outsider wearing the skin of a child (OHGODWHATHADSHEDONE), and the only reason she was still functioning, coping, is because she had fallen back into her old mannerisms; trying to force some familiarity on to this world. (TRIEDTOFOOLHERSELFANDENDEDUPTHEFOOL)

But this wasn't home, and It WasN'T HeLpInG.

"Oh god,"

She choked out, and the water that streamed down her cheeks was warmer than the rain, and tasted vaguely of salt, burning as they fell from her eyes in thick droplets. Her lips didn't curl, simply opening so that she could exhale unsteady breaths, her face stilled instead of contorting as she stared blankly at the tears splashing across her folded hands like a branding iron.

Why was she crying? She hadn't cried when she first realized she was reincarnated, so she didn't deserve to cry now- (Pleasei'mnotevenachildyet), She was a grown woman who had murdered the body of something that could have been; and wasn't this like how that girl back in university had reacted when she ignored the kitten in the rain and came back to see it dead the next day?

(Kittenintherainandnoonesgoingtopickyouup)

A bitter laugh escaped in in a stilted whoosh of air when she realized that although she couldn't, this body knew instinctively how to react to such situations. She didn't deserve it.

She stilled once again, watching with hollow eyes as the shower turned into a downpour. That was a dangerous thought, wasn't it?

She remembered taking Psychology back in University. Those sorts of thoughts took you dark places; she couldn't bring herself to disgrace what she had stolen like that.

What she had stolen?

Why couldn't she just say it, that she had no right to be here.

That she was a –

….

She was a Body Snatcher.

…

She knew she shouldn't, but it was the only way she knew how to react, so she forced a cracked giggle from her vocal cords, kept on doing it until it became easier, until her hysterical laughter drowned out the rain in broken breaths that grew louder the more tears fell from her eyes.

It continued well into the dawn, when the rising sun painted her an orange red, and the sky turned a shade of forget me not that shed the dark clouds like an old skin.

It was how the old man found her, curled up and drenched as she snickered brokenly in a wheezing tone that rasped her strained voice.

He sighed, watching her unreadably as she appeared to ignore him.

"…Perhaps using Mist Flames on her when her mind hasn't properly developed was a bad idea."

He mused, and pretended he didn't feel the age inappropriate spike of killing intent that burst from the child in jagged and uncontrolled spikes.

…Definitely a cloud.

So, before anyone calls me out on the 'death by car accident', i actually chose the method of death by basing it off one of my more irrational fears; me or my family getting hit if we don't stick to the sidewalks.

Anyways, another thing to note is that my Cloud is around the same age as Xanxus at this moment, and i wont be jumping her straight into being a member of the Varia- there's going to be a lot of arcs before that, and i want to focus mainly on relationship building. To those wondering about my other story, im not dropping it, i just hit a bit of a road block.

Thanks for reading all the way to the end!~