Red White & Blue

Disclaimer: I do not own the TMNT (that's Eastman and Laird), nor do I own this premise (that belongs to reinbeauchaser). This one shot is an introspection on the wonderful Karai as written in Seduction. The scene takes place directly at the end of Rene's brilliantly one shot (read it!) so … if you don't want ending spoiled, and plan on reading her work. Do hers first.

Italics – flashbacks
'italics' – thoughts
"Bold Italics" - direct quote from Rene's Seduction

Blue.

Why did they have to be blue? Was it arrogant assumption that because she made a display of affection towards him, because she had changed so much for her 'love' that she would adore all that he did? Or perhaps he gained a perverse pleasure from causing her torment that she tucked away beneath a veneer of submission and courtesy. There had been no gifts in the beginning, just visits.

Multiple visits …

Red.

So much red, it stained more than just the sheets, pulling away from her prey red with the consistency of tar stretched out between her partially naked, lithe body and the cold piece of meat that lay beneath her – a curved steel knife hilt protruding awkwardly from his chest. She had killed multiple times with a blade, but this was the first one in a long time that moved her. Between the still warm, trickling droplets another stray tear breeched her emotionless gaze and stoic features.

Bare footed, the white of her negligee stuck to her awkwardly. In fact, as her keen green eyes studied the reflection in the dresser she drew a short, sharp sigh. One green leg hung lifelessly over the side of her ornately arranged bed. Death did not normally bother her so, nothing of this matter did. It was business, nothing more, nothing less. And yet the blood that was sprayed over her innocently hued satin lingerie and marred the carefully applied immaculate make up did not sit well. Frustrated Karai ran her fingers through her hair, the splatter had even made it into her hair!

In that moment the mirror's reflection did not throw out the form of an honorable and victorious leader reveling in her victory. Karai turned from the reflection and pushed her mind back to the point at hand.

The body.

She was not the weak, lost girl that the mirror taunted her with. Not any more.

Karai was rarely uncertain, she had her honor to guide her home, but at that moment it was of no use to her. Tonight was going to be a special night, this would be the evening she would show Leonardo exactly how deep her devotion for him was. He would see her and feel the warmth of her love, 'Yes …' her hand reached out for the small vial of perfume that she always applied at the beginning of each transformation from warrior to geisha. Dabbing a little behind each ear lobe, she did not know what to wear. She had put a lot of thought into this night, and dearly did not want anything to be amiss.

'Do not be so foolish!'

Standing she pulled the dark grey armor from her frame and placed it carefully down upon the mannequin that stood in her wardrobe. Next the glinting, sharp gauntlets were peeled off and placed down within the wooden box she kept within the very depths of her closet. By the gauntlets, covered in a fine webbing was a head dress she had not worn for too long. Tonight, Leonardo would see her in all of her beauty, the lid on the box clicked shut, as strained as it was. Dark eyelashes tickled her cheeks when she stood and blinked slowly.

There were countless kimonos gathered here, none of which had been sourced on her own behest. It was one of his many fantasies, to be served and waited upon by a Geisha of ancient times. And she, the dutiful daughter and selfless lover had blindly gone along with his requests. At first they had been simple, but over the months they had evolved into elaborate ceremonies before crumbling away under a niggling need he seemed to have for her. And solely her, in any form.

From beneath her breath the silence of the room was shattered with a furious mumbled Japanese curse. Binding the corners of her bed sheet was verging on the impossible, once as pure as the bloody, stained cloth that clung to her curves it was now awash with crimson that refused to remain in a knot. Another burst of Japanese tore through her lips before her blood stained hands smeared the liquid over her forehead, and through her hair. Clawing it all back she remained perched on the side of the bed in a pose that rivaled the bloodthirsty vengeful harpy she had been only minutes earlier.

"You stupid, stubborn fool!" she spat, breaking into English for a moment. Even in death he could infuriate and out maneuver her. A corpse, a lifeless, decimated, corpse. Leaping from the bed her bare feet slid in the pooling liquid that hung around the piece of furniture like honey round a honeycomb. Slipping she lost her balance and crashed onto the floor, leaving her face to face with the body she had prepared for moving. Turning round carefully her thumbnail ran over the skin deep graze that marred her forearm. Mixing their blood she stared at his surprised, heartbroken expression.

There had always been something about his love that had reminded her of a mistreated puppy. Once she had fed him with her affection he had always returned to her, it had been pitiful.

A kimono would do her no good this evening, by passing them all she stood before the simple night dresses and lingerie she had worn for most of her life. There had been times when she had earned her Father's favor and he had given her trinkets. A simple white satin slip caught her eye. Sliding it from the hangar she pulled the loose fabric over her head, neatly pulling her loose hair out of the neck hole. The red band was torn from her head, and her hair had more body, it was as wild as she was in bed. Untamed, and unwavering just like her approach to so many things.

Her fingers reached up to unhook her bra and remove it from her person, tossing it aside she turned to first the left and then the right. From her head reams of hair dropped down to just past her shoulders moving to and fro as she turned herself round in the reflection. Her finger nails were manicured, she studied the sharpened talons, it was the only thing she had done for herself in such a long time. Smoothing the fabric with flat, wide palms she turned her head back to better capture her silhouette from the rear. A small smile spread over her face; neither devilish nor cruel it was simply satisfied. This would do, there was no denying that she looked beautiful in such a simple ensemble.

Closing the large double mirrors she snatched up some tools for their night of pleasure. The passion she had shared with him in the past had varied in its intensity and enjoyment, but a smile curled upon her lips as she collected up liquor to slip into their tea this evening, tonight she would experience great pleasure. The time was right for her to have her own way.

White.

There was no white in her chamber now. The floor was covered in an ever expanding pool of red that moved with a burgeoning, relentless intensity, her crisp sheets, the white ones she had laid out to better set the scene of the chaste virgin were a filthy pink, the blood had soaked down to the mattress she had struggled for so long with the dead weight. And finally as a final insult to the multitude of injuries he had dealt her over the years his form left a smeared trail across the floor showing all that ventured in before she had completed her work what had gone on here. It was degrading, the games and the role play, she had made that brutally clear to the boy before she had plunged a drawn a dagger across his throat in glee.

Triumph had been fleeting to say the least, now all that lingered was degradation … squalor … it made her skin crawl.

Another grunt, another viscous tug of her long dead prey. She was almost at the window, she had selected this apartment by the river for 'the view'. Outside the sliding French Doors the lapping tide was in to carry away her problem. Wind ripped around her ankles when she prised the pane open with a slick palm.

"Goodbye …" there was nothing but scorn in her voice and disdain upon her face, "Lover." Bitter and final it took both of her bloody feet to shove the corpse from the small balcony and into the water below. He could keep the dagger, if he was looking down at her she'd let him think of it as a parting gift that demonstrated all their love had ever been.

It was important to her. This evening was important to her. Everything had to be just right. On a low table his gift was laid out, both cups were warm, the tea fresh and neatly poured by her own hand. Months of learning how to perform tea ceremonies for her Love were not to be in vain. It was one f his favored fantasies to be served by a woman whose sole purpose in life was to serve and entertain a man who found her captivating. The irony, should he realize it before his demise, would hopefully not be lost.

Turning to study the time, a sadness swept softly through her. For a moment it flickered up only to be washed away with the sip of the clear liquid she knocked back and swallowed quickly. On the ledge before her was a curved dagger, a gift. A beautiful gift, and one of the first he had given her. It seemed only fitting that it should be returned to its sender. Snatching it up she walked to the bed and slid it beneath the fluffed pillow, turning back to the mirror she drew a strand of hair from her face …

"Tired, my Love?"

'No' she would not be tired much longer, turning a feral smile curved over her lips, and she offered him her poisoned chalice.

Streams of hot water ran down over her naked body. She had told him that she bathed every time he left her presence so that she might remove his fluids from her body. Now irony was having its wicked way with her, unlike semen his blood soaked into her pores and was proving far harder to remove. Facing the shower head, she let out a low growl despite the heat that pounded her body the blood would simply not leave her presence. Her talons, the nails she had chosen for her self were torn away and floated around her feet, and even then there were thin lines of dark red caught under her natural nails.

Deep within her rage boiled up and her fist pounded into the smooth, sterile surface. There was too much purity, too much white surrounding her in the mosaic tiles the size of quarters. It could not be white, there could be no purity around her. No, there could only be red,

'Leonardo brought this upon himself'

The thought was full of venom but it did not halt the uninterrupted surge of unprovoked fury that was swelling up within her.

' He was not her Father … he had not been her husband'

In the base of the shower water continued to wash away his scent and his blood. He had been nothing more than another who had placed demands upon her and her time. Like so many others he had toyed with her time and dictated how it would be spent.

'He had no authority to make any of those demands'

Realisation brought a sharp intake of her breath. Beneath the pounding water and the sheen of the white, and droplet speckled tiles understanding and enlightenment descended. The source of her unease and haphazard tears descended upon her.

'He'd only been her friend'

Complete

Inspiration: " "For you, Father," she vowed. In that moment, however, her voice hitched, and she closed her eyes as a single tear escaped, ..." Seduction, reinbeauchaser