Wishing Well

In which Leon meets a witch. No one ever said finding D would be easy.

The plane landed at seven sharp and Leon is already exhausted; ten hours of sleep in the last four days isn't enough, and even if he's survived on less than that before, his body just can't take that kind of strain anymore.

No one's waiting for him off the exits ramp, and though what he really wants to do is collapse in one of those uncomfy benches and sleep for a week- which looks like a real nice place to nap, if that chick with the bandanna had the right idea - he sucked it up and trooped on. Almost tripped over a fella's briefcase, but then, no one's ever called him graceful.

He spent the next half-hour dodging guys playing with their blackberries and kids carting around gigantic bags. Leon flinched at his stomach's growl, reminding him to feed it something besides shitty airport food sometime soon.

Stumbling into the main lobby of the airport, Leon takes in the unfamiliar bustle with the eyes of a cop. To find a place to ask for directions would nice, too- which would probably be desk with the sign overhead sign, 'Information'.

The Asian babe behind the counter gives him the best customer service smile in the business and asks, "How may I help you?"

He puts an elbow on the counter and grins. He opens his mouth to shoot off a pick-up line, but stops midsentence. Thinks about the tongue-lashing D would give him if he didn't use his best manners. "Er, where's the cheapest hotel 'round here?"

He must've slurred his speech 'cause the woman looks confused and asks him to repeat himself.

Going real slow this time, he enunciates, "Where is the cheapest hotel in the area?"

The smile's back and she says, "Just a moment, sir." Picking up her phone, she jabbers for a few minutes and waits for a response.

Turns out the cheapest place is close by, but they don't have much room, and it's not that cheap, according to his wallet. The woman gives him a card and directs him towards Customs.

So maybe hopping on the first flight to Japan hadn't been the best idea.

It started out as rumors. A witch who grants wishes: for a price, of course. Sounded like D so he thought it might be half-true, but in the end he shoved it off for reports of strange markings on a murder victim in Amsterdam or a girl drowning in a locked room in Cairo. Five years of chasing D and he knew the signs.

But after two months of no leads from anywhere, not the slightest quip of an animal attack from any country whatsoever, he needed something, anything, to tell him where to run. So he went back to the rumors of this lady who can give you what you want. When Leon's desperate, he takes chances and this one seemed the likeliest last-ditch effort he could muster.

The hotel is better than what he's used to, living in the slummiest places in the biggest of cities, never staying long. It has clean sheets and a nice view, but more importantly, plenty of hot water. So he takes a shower after dumping his duffle of t-shirts and jeans and that stupid briefcase on the bed, wanting to feel human again.

Two hours later, he's clean and shouting his gratitude toward the heavens, wrapped up in a complementary bathrobe and still trying to figure out when toilets had gotten so high-tech.

Leon dumps his dirty clothes in a corner, stretch out with arms overhead. It was nice to relax once in a while. Won't be staying here long, though, he knows; there's not enough money.

The briefcase is squashed under his duffle, and he flings the bag aside to get to it. Frowning, he undoes the necklace around his neck and uses the key attached to open the lock. D's old mystery box opens to a clumsily-drawn picture in crayon, framed nice and neatly in glass.

Leon picks the picture up gently and stares at it, though he'd memorized the clumsy lines long ago. If he closes his eyes he could see it (and the look on D's face when he pushes Leon off that stupid sky-boat, might-have-been regret behind his fucking mysterious smile).

He sets the frame up against the pillows with reverence.

The briefcase isn't empty; there are papers scattered across the bottom, crisp white documents jumbled with an assortment of note cards and napkins scrawled on in an unsteady hand. It's a business card he picks out, creamy and sharp edged, given to him by a stuttering woman who wouldn't look him in the eye.

The address is in English, but Leon hopes a cab driver could find it for him. If not, he'd just have the front desk people translate it or something. He always finds a way.

Right now his body calls for sleep, but tomorrow, well, he'd be seeing a quack or, just maybe, the real thing.

It's kind of what he expects, but also kind of not: a traditional Japanese house stuck between two skyscrapers, windows glinting in the morning sun. Looks real out of place, just the sort of thing you'd expect out of a mystic. Thing is, D's shop had just been another store in Chinatown, for all the antiques and pomp and 'hope and dreams' shit inside.

Maybe the girl's a fake, but he's gotta take the chance.

The cab driver looks at him strange when his customer walks straight ahead instead of to either side, striding into the empty lot like it's someone's front yard. Leon doesn't notice that he disappears.

The first thing to hit him is the chorus of, "A guest, a guest!" from two little kids dancing around at the front door. Surprisingly, he understands them.

There's an angry call from inside, Japanese this time, but the kids' enthusiasm isn't quelled; they reach forward and tug at his arms. Unbalanced, Leon lets them drag him along, into the receiving room or whatever the hell you call the place you put your shoes. A skinny-ass kid in an apron and bandanna is wielding a spatula at the littler kids. He looks like he's about to burst a vein.

Leon sits down to take off his shoes and watches the greeter-kids dodge and laugh at the yelling kid. He's kind of amused, but mostly ignored.

When he reaches into his pocket for a cigarette and lighter, though, the yelling kid lets out a screech people in LA must've heard. Leon's ears are ringing so bad he hardly notices the rising pitch coming from the kid, and suddenly he's being yelled at by some flailing dark haired brat in a language he doesn't understand.

It wouldn't be nice to shout back, not with the language barrier, so he settles for covering his ears.

A softer voice butts through his screeching- Japanese too and a woman by the sound of it- and the kid sputters and starts bowing all of a sudden. Leon's not sure what to make of it until he remembers that Easterners are usually polite.

Oh. It's an apology.

Leon stashes his cig and waves it off, wondering what the hell is going on. The kid makes a motion with his hand, the universal 'follow me', and looks all polite and collected of a sudden. Sure changes fast.

The floor is wood and creaks under his weight; for some reason, Leon feels a strange sense of déjà vu, following this slim figure down the hall. For a moment, the lamplight glints black hair purple, and he's seeing D, deck up and half furious from some argument about tea and manners, and he's following the guy he's been chasing for years on end-

Light flashes, blinding, and a set of doors are open before him where he could've sworn there'd been a wall. A goddess reclines like some gigantic cat on a sofa, come-hither eyes half lidded, smoking a pipe longer then her arm and just as thin. She grabs all his attention, this spider-like woman with her confident, familiar expression.

No way the hooters on that chick where natural with that scrawny build.

"Are they real?" slips out of his mouth before he can help himself. (Stop your drooling, Mr. Detective, she is not some piece of meat! D would have said, while Leon continued to ogle that impressive rack.)

She laughs.

"Mokona knows! Mokona knows~" squeaks a voice from some little thing that's bouncing behind her. It looks kind of like Q-chan, if that rat had traded his wings for ears and stayed in the sun too long.

Leon lets out an embarrassed cough and rubs the back of his head. "Er, sorry, lady."

The screaming kid huffs in the background, arms crossed over his chest, scowling.

"Is that your wish?" she asks, and God is her voice husky. What a dream babe.

Her question sobers him. "So you're the witch?"

She nods and inhales the tobacco, exhaling a long stream of smoke that billows around her in waves. "Among other things, yes, I am."

"Huh." Now Leon really wants a cig too.

"You have something you are looking for," the witch says, as if it weren't obvious.

"Yeah, I do. You gunna guess what it is?" If there's a little bitterness in his voice, it's just his nicotine withdrawal showing.

Her smile's kind of creepy in that familiar 'I'm-gunna-eat-you' way, so like D's it's giving him goosebumps. "Shall I?"

His shoulders slump a little and Leon really just wants to get this over with, to have the unsettled feeling in his stomach, the nagging 'am I doing the right thing?' cycle in his head to be done. He opens his mouth and asks, "How much'll it cost to find someone?"

The witch raises an eyebrow. "It depends upon where they are."

Leon thinks of D's cloud boat and deflates a little more. "How much to go to where that person is?"

She takes another drag of her pipe and smiles, leaning forward a bit. Her kimono, draped haphazardly and leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination, shows the barest bit more of her cleavage. Leon can't tear his eyes away.

"This person," she says in her seductive voice, "is not somewhere you can find them."

Leon's eyes are still caught, and his mouth moves of its own violation. "Yeah, I kind of figured that."

"To go to them," she continued, "you must face a new world."

Killer animals, flying Chinese guys, wish granting babes in scanty clothes; Leon's seen it all, but other worlds? (There's a world without D out there, without Chris, one where he's a white caller banker and doesn't have his mess of scars or the mentality to survive no matter what.)

"Another world, huh?" Leon fiddles with his lighter through his pocket, longing for the taste of smoke in his lungs and the calming feeling that follows.

"Yes." She's not smiling, but serious. "Do you still wish to know his whereabouts?"

Leon isn't at all surprised that she knows. Kind of expected it, actually. She makes him feel the same as D, excited and freaked out at the same time.

His answer is simple. "Yeah."

Before he knows it she's standing and gesturing for him to follow. "Come."

So he does.

Word Count: 2200~