Kill Bill Fiction

pick me up, love

2006-07-26T04:52:17Z

Title: Device
Author: mimarin
Rating: R
Word Count: 280

For a woman with two lovers, O-Ren has always considered herself rather asexual.

It almost comes as a surprise, those infrequent shivers of desire running liquid down her spine. Two thirds of the time, she can handle herself. It's the last third that bothers her.

Faceless fucks don't appeal to her. She's already had her share of anonymous killing. Anonymous sex would be unbearable.

She learns from the mistakes of others: Budd rutting, Budd rotting. Vernita tamed.

billbride.

So, then, O-Ren's solution is neat. She parcels her time and her touch between her two most trusted companions, Sofie and Go-Go. They're both competent, loyal to her (Sofie subtly, Go-Go fiercely), and hostile to each other.

The contrast is perfect: Sofie of the China doll complexion and unexpectedly dexterous fingers, who could drop soft bon mots in five different languages with queenly ennui. Go-Go, the number one guttersnipe princess, decked out in neon bustiers and slashed micro-minis displaying the bite marks on her thighs.

O-Ren still spends the majority of her nights alone, but she's never wanting for release. Neither woman is truly her equal, yet the two of them combined content her in a way that she refuses to designate as love.

For two years, the three of them live in this combustible arrangement, until the day a wild-eyed blonde shows up at the House of Blue Leaves.

In the snow, O-Ren feels the whistle of Hattori Hanzo steel through her skull, and the images are instantaneous. She sees a quiet Sofie, tracing sentimental kanji on O-Ren's hip. There's Go-Go, sated, pressing strawberry lip gloss kisses down O-Ren's neck.

O-Ren dies reaching out for slender hands that no longer exist.

Fic: Canis Major

2005-10-21T23:17:53Z

Title: Canis Major
Name: Janine
Fandom: Kill Bill
Pairing: O-Ren/Sofie
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters in this story, I’m just borrowing them for a short period of time.

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O-Ren rolled her neck as she heard the door to her office open and then close softly. She rotated her shoulders as she heard bare feet pad softly across the floor until they stopped a few meters away from where she was standing by the fireplace.

“I told you to leave me alone,” she stated softly turning around gracefully to face the intruder. Her blood was boiling in her veins, her heart pumping it furiously through her system so that she was almost deafened by the rush of it. She rolled her neck again and closed her eyes as she exhaled trying to relieve some of the tension suffusing her body.

“You’re bleeding, the wound needs to be cleaned and bandaged,” Sofie replied. Her head was facing downwards as she spoke, but once the words were out of her mouth she looked up to gage O-Ren’s reaction to what she had said. She was one of the only people in the world that would dare to speak to O-Ren Ishii in such a direct manner.

“It’s a flesh wound, I can take care of it,” O-Ren replied her eyes trained on Sofie who was now watching her steadily with those deep, dark almost black eyes of hers. Sofie was never good at feigning obedience for long. When it was necessary she would lower her head and speak in a deferential tone, bow and divert her eyes. But it was mostly an act, or at least it had become an act some time ago. O-Ren was certain that when they first met Sofie was afraid or at least intimidated by her, but she was certain that had passed a long time ago. The half-French, half-Japanese beauty respected her, but was not afraid of her in any real way. “Leave.” O-Ren wanted to keep it that way. Having a real friend of strength and character was not something she had had before and she did not want to jeopardize that.

“No,” Sofie replied softly, her eyes still on O-Ren as she took a step closer to the woman. “It’s more than a flesh wound, and you’re tired. Here,” Sofie continued drawing the hand she had behind her back around the front. Resting in her palm was a small porcelain cup filled with Sake. “Drink, while I dress your wound.”

O-Ren watched Sofie silently for a long moment noting the steadiness with which the woman held her out stretched hand, and sharp yet delicate features set with a look of determination. Sofie was right, the cut she had suffered was more than a flesh wound, though it was not deep enough to cause major damage. It was however to deep enough to require stitches, and while she could have treated the injury herself as she stated, she didn’t particularly want to. Sofie was a proficient and much more gentle nurse than she was when working on herself, and Sake and Sofie’s ministrations didn’t sound to bad to her at the moment.

She broke the eye contact between them and moved over a nearby chair seating herself in it elegantly, silently acquiescing to allow Sofie to treat her wound.

O-Ren’s fingers brushed along the soft skin on the palm of Sofie’s hand as she reached for the cup of Sake before they wrapped around the smooth surface of the cup grasping it tightly. She brought the cup up to her lips as her eyes tracked Sofie as the lawyer placed the small medical kit she carried in her other hand on the desk and opened it.

“I’m out of Sake,” O-Ren stated with a touch of irritation as Sofie turned towards her. The Frenchwoman didn’t react to her cross tone however, she simply smiled a somewhat amused somewhat indulgent smile and reached for the bottom drawer of O-Ren’s desk and removed the bottle of Sake O-Ren kept there.

“I trust I can leave you in charge of this at least,” Sofie stated handing the bottle over to O-Ren. “Or would you like me to pour it for you?”

“Your tone is impudent. I don’t like it,” O-Ren stated though she removed the cap off of the bottle and began to pour herself another drink even as she spoke. Sofie’s impudence was one of things she liked best about the other woman. She wouldn’t have been able to stand her if she didn’t have a backbone.

“Noted,” Sofie breathed out softly as she moved her hand to the front of O-Ren’s kimono, and carefully slipped her hand beneath of the folds. “From now on I’ll simply be superior,” she continued frowning slightly as she felt a warm and sticky liquid coat her fingers. The slash had bled quite a bit. She glared at O-Ren as she removed her hand from underneath the woman’s shirt. O-Ren should have told her so that she could have taken care of this sooner.

She moved her hands to the collar of the kimono. She was going to have to pull it down to properly clean the wound. The movement would probably cause O-Ren some pain and she considered warning the other woman for a moment before deciding against it and simply roughly ripping it down in one motion. If O-Ren wanted to be stoic and stubborn and pretend she wasn’t injured then she would play long.

“You did that on purpose,” O-Ren stated smiling as she brought the bottle of Sake to her lips, tired of filling up the small cup. Sofie was mad at her and that amused her. Truthfully the sudden movement had hurt, as she was sure Sofie knew it would, but she supposed she deserved it for pretending that she was a-okay.

“Did it hurt?” Sofie asked not bothering to look up at O-Ren as she began to clear away the blood from her skin. It was obscuring the wound and she needed to remove it before she could determine just how bad the cut was. Also, she hated to see O-Ren’s skin marred with blood and wanted to return it to its ivory perfection as soon as possible.

“Actually it was invigorating,” O-Ren stated as she looked down her torso to watch Sofie as she carefully cleaned the blood off of her skin. She could see that her nipples had already started to harden. Some of it was due to the cooler air of the room, however most of it was due to her interaction with Sofie.

She wasn’t lying when she said that the removal of her shirt was invigorating. It had hurt, but the fierceness of the motion and the insolent look and tone that had accompanied it were also rather stimulating. The confrontation earlier that evening had left her full of restless energy, horny with blood lust. She wanted to fuck something, tear into it, possess it, take it, and own it like she had screwed the fuckers that tried to encroach on her territory earlier.

She had left the company of her men to try and get it under control, to try and get herself under control. The few times she had indulged her post-combat cravings she had come to regret it. Her own experimentations had secured the lesson she should have learned years ago from Beatrix and Bill, which was not to mix business with pleasure since it led to … unnecessary complications.

Sofie couldn’t know it, but her arrogant presumptuousness, and sassy insolence were fueling the fire that O-Ren had been trying to put out. Sofie had trained with Bill, but as a lawyer her battles were primarily fought with words. The battles that she had with O-Ren were waged with words as the one they were currently having was. And Sofie’s words were driving her wild. She wanted to strip the Frenchwoman of her words, fuck them out of her body until all that were left were sounds, guttural, animal noises. She wanted to strip Sofie of the sophistication she wore wrapped around her like the finest silk until all that was left was the woman, desperate, wanting, panting and hers. She wanted to brand her.

This was why she had wanted Sofie to leave because she was certain that if the woman awoke the beast inside of her she wouldn’t be able to control it. She was certain that she would take what she wanted, with or without Sofie’s consent and that that would be it. Because of a night’s weakness she would destroy a friendship and a partnership that had taken years to forge. Sofie would leave and she would let her because she would not be strong enough to take the actions necessary to make her stay.

She had always found Sofie beautiful but that was not what had first ingratiated the other woman to her, and O-Ren had vowed that it would never become a defining factor in their relationship to each other. After all, she did not mix business with pleasure, and she had always known that Sofie would be of more use to her as a business partner than a sex toy.

She felt the heat rising and heard a low growling in the back of her mind. The beast was getting impatient.

Her gaze cleared and focused as a soft caressing drew her out of her thoughts. She wasn’t certain whether to be thankful or irritated as she realized that the motion that drew her out of her thoughts was Sofie’s thumb brushing across the skin of her abdomen lightly. Sofie was finishing up with a few stitches O-Ren had been barely aware of her beginning and seemed to be unaware of the unconsciously comforting movements of her other hand. O-Ren was certain it was supposed to be comforting, that it was supposed to relax her, but it was doing anything but relaxing her. It was an accelerant and she could feel herself careening towards an earth shattering kaboom.

“Done,” Sofie breathed out softly, intensely aware of O-Ren’s gaze on her. “It shouldn’t scar,” she continued as she reached to the side and rested the bloodied needle on the desk. She was intensely aware of the heat of O-Ren’s skin where it laid under her other hand and of the proximity of their bodies and O-Ren’s naked torso to her face.

She hadn’t been unaware of the tightening of O-Ren’s nipples or the heated gaze the other woman had trained on her as she worked. In fact she had been highly aware of both.

Her father had loved rabbit hunting and had taken her along on a few trips. She remembered the feeling of stalking the animal, of laying in wait. She remembered the powerful, heady feeling of being a hunter, of being a lord over ones domain. But that wasn’t what she had felt as she was under O-Ren’s gaze. Under O-Ren’s gaze she felt hunted. She was the rabbit. O-Ren’s gaze burned into her, powerful, dominating and domineering. She felt small, loomed over, at the mercy of the figure above her and around her.

O-Ren was hunting her and she wanted to be her prey.

If O-Ren had an insatiable urge to control things and to dominate people, then Sofie had an insatiable urge to be controlled and dominated. It was what had attracted her to O-Ren in the first place, her power, her strength, her ferociousness. The same characteristics had drawn her to Bill, had allowed him to draw her into his fold. But in O-Ren they were in a package that she could desire, and submit to entirely. Both shorter than her and slighter, O-Ren could kill her with her bare hands without breaking a sweat. O-Ren could own her, if only she would take what was hers.

“You’re hand is stained,” O-Ren said breaking the silence that had followed Sofie placing the needle back down on the desk. Sofie’s right hand was red, covered in her blood. Still glistening with it.

More blood, still inside, pumping through her veins, pulsing, crashing, and thundering along. Brain heady with Sake and lust. Sofie, kneeling in front of her, ripe for the picking, trapped between her thighs, helpless, worshiping at her temple. Tempting … the urge to pluck.

Fuck it, she had warned her.

Sofie felt O-Ren grasp the back of her neck roughly and force her face upwards so that she was looking into the Yakuza’s eyes. O-Ren held her gaze just long enough for Sofie to see the fire blazing there, and then she was being pushed down onto the ground and her hands were being drawn above her head forcefully where O-Ren pinned them down with her left one, restraining her as O-Ren crawled over her body so that she was crouched over her.

Sofie felt O-Ren’s hand on her thigh, rubbing up and down along it, from her knee up to just below her sex and back again, pushing her cheongsam further and further up on her hips. And all the while O-Ren stared down at her hungry, and lustful.

As she felt O-Ren’s fingers curl under the waistband of her panties she realized that she had spread for the other woman. And as she felt her panties being unceremoniously torn from her body, the material digging into her skin as it was ripped and pulled from her she realized she had spread the moment she had hit the ground, inviting O-Ren in. Begging her. Fuck me, take me, own me.

She didn’t wait, Sofie thought to herself as a deep groan emerged from her throat and her hips twitched. The moment her underwear was clear of her body O-Ren stuck into her, impaling her on her fingers, not pausing for a moment as she began to pump in and out, her fingers pistoning inside of her. Sofie arched her back moaning as O-Ren proceeded to fuck her but good, driving into her with such force to the point that it was on the cusp of being painful. Luckily for Sofie she was wet, extremely wet, dripping, her pussy salivating and begging for O-Ren to stroke it. She should have been embarrassed she supposed, by her bodies over eager response to being so unceremoniously possessed, but she wasn’t embarrassed at all, in fact the knowledge that O-Ren knew how exceedingly turned on she was, the fact that her desperation coated O-Ren’s fingers becoming more and more pronounced with every thrust excited Sofie even more.

“My, my,” O-Ren commented huskily, her tone teasing but also potent as she stared down at Sofie, bucking and undulating underneath her. After she had entered Sofie and felt the Frenchwoman’s soft inner walls clenching her fingers, her fingers drenched in the other woman’s juices, it had hit her what she had done. What she was doing. For a moment, the fact that she had thrown her best friend down on the ground, captured her hands, pinned her down and lifted up her dress before ripping off her underwear and plunged into her without the slightest concern for whether Sofie’s body was prepared to be entered registered with her fully, and she was filled with horror. However, almost as soon as the realization and the shame hit her, the wetness coating her fingers and running down her wrist registered with her. And soon after that the desperate moans and twisting and arching of Sofie’s body registered with her as well. Sofie was giving herself to her as much as she was taking her and that excited O-Ren almost more than she could comprehend. “Somebody’s happy,” O-Ren continued, her own tongue flicking out of her mouth to lick at her lips. As she did so, it occurred to her that she hadn’t yet tasted Sofie’s lips.

Sofie merely groaned, almost piteously, in response to O-Ren’s words, her exhalation turning into a cry as O-Ren pressed into her, curling her fingers and driving deeper moments after she spoke.

With her fingers buried as deep inside Sofie as they would go, O-Ren stilled them and leaned down so that their upper bodies were pressing against each other. “Don’t move your hands,” O-Ren stated softly but firmly as she removed the hand that had been holding Sofie’s wrists down on the floor. Drawing her hand softly down Sofie’s arms, delighting in the shivers that ran through the Frenchwoman’s body as she did so, O-Ren caressed the side of her neck gently before slipping her hand under Sofie’s neck and drawing her head up roughly off of the ground. She immediately captured Sofie’s lips with her own, her tongue thrusting into Sofie’s mouth immediately, taking her and she dominated the kiss, her hips bucking against Sofie’s bare upper thigh as their lips met.

O-Ren pulled her lips away from Sofie’s, moving her head back slightly so that she could take in the other woman’s flushed features. Sofie’s lips were still lightly parted as her chest heaved, her eyes glazed over with lust as she stared at O-Ren with unadulterated desire. O-Ren’s excitement grew exponentially at the look and she felt herself flood Sofie’s thigh with her juices, the Frenchwoman’s eyes closing as she sucked in a deep breath as she felt O-Ren’s excitement slicken her flesh. O-Ren ground her pussy into Sofie’s thigh, watching as Sofie’s eyes opened, her eyes rolling back into her head until almost only white was showing, a low moan releasing from her throat as she planted her foot and drove her leg upwards, increasing the contact of it against O-Ren’s flesh.

“Brace yourself,” O-Ren growled hotly, though she was careful to make sure that Sofie had indeed braced her hands on the floor to support herself before she removed the hand that had been supporting Sofie’s back and dropped it between her own thighs. Her finger stroked over her clit lightly, which caused her to let out a little gasp and sigh, before she used her index and middle finger to spread her nether lips wider, increasing the amount of her flesh rubbing against Sofie’s thigh. She moaned as she thrust herself against Sofie’s flesh, her head falling forward as she ground herself more vigorously against the other woman.

Bracing the hand that she had just been touching herself with on the floor, O-Ren forced herself to slow down her humping motions against Sofie before she lost complete control. However, the friction the movements created felt too good for her to abandon them completely, and she continued to slowly rock against Sofie as she stared across at her. Bringing her hand back up to the back of Sofie’s head. O-Ren easily released Sofie’s long, dark hair from the bun she often wore it in, watching as the raven tresses spread around Sofie’s shoulders, before she carefully lowered Sofie’s head back down to the floor, then observed her for a long moment before speaking.

“You’re gushing like a hose,” O-Ren stated, her tongue slipping past her lips to lick at them again as she moved her fingers inside Sofie in a circular motion, causing the other woman to gasp and buck her hips towards O-Ren, trying to drive the Yakuza’s fingers deeper inside of her. “Do you like that?”

Sofie’s only response was to push upwards, bracing her hands against the floor again to give her the leverage needed to impale herself on O-Ren’s fingers more effectively.

O-Ren stopped moving her fingers after Sofie got in a few good strokes in her new position however. “I said, do you like that?”

For a moment the only thing Sofie could concentrate on was the loss of movement inside of her however, a frustrated groan tore itself from her throat as she bucked her hips, trying unsuccessfully to begin driving O-Ren’s fingers inside of her again. Slowly, however, she realized that wasn’t getting her anywhere and the haze surrounding her mind began to clear a little bit. She lifted her head up and looked across at O-Ren who was staring at her unwaveringly. O-Ren’s eyes were burning into her intensely, which only increased her excitement, causing her buck her hips again unconsciously, repeating the motion when she saw O-Ren smile wolfishly in response to the motion. Her mind clouding again briefly it took her a moment to remember that O-Ren had asked her a question, a low moaning emanating from her when she realized what the question was and that she wasn’t going to feel those delicious fingers moving in her again until she answered it.

Moving one of her hands onto O-Ren’s thigh, stroking up and down suggestively as she tried to find the ability to speak once more, Sofie finally looked deep into O-Ren’s eyes while her thumb stroked back and forth on the flesh of O-Ren’s thigh and roughly whispered, “I like it,” she whispered roughly. “I love it. I need it,” she continued in a raw, desperate voice. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“Don’t stop what?” O-Ren asked her eyes locked on Sofie. Her blood was rushing through her veins, her mind pounding and throbbing with desire. She wanted Sofie badly, wanted nothing but to push her back down on the ground and continue fucking her until Sofie cried out, weeping for want of her, screaming as her body arched upwards as she climaxed, cumming in a deluge that would flood O-Ren’s wrist, Sofie’s body jerking, and spasming and cumming until she collapsed back against the floor, her body limp and spent. She wanted that so badly she could taste it. However, she also wanted to hear Sofie beg her for it.

“Fucking me,” Sofie said, her voice soft and ragged. “Don’t you dare stop fucking me,” she continued her hand sliding up O-Ren’s thigh, coming to a rest on the Yakuza’s hip, which she then gripped tightly.

Sofie was sure she had said exactly what O-Ren had wanted hear. She had stated fairly explicitly what it was that she wanted from O-Ren, and given a pretty good indication of how she wanted it. Yet, O-Ren simply continued to stare down at her.

Sofie met O-Ren’s gaze, holding it for a long moment, dark eyes searching each other. “Do you want me to beg?” Sofie asked matter of factly. She already knew the answer.

“I very much want that,” O-Ren replied softly, almost reverently. Sofie was looking into her eyes almost coolly, the look held in eyes as dark and endless as the nights sky, one bordering on defiance. And yet she lay under O-Ren, open, unguarded, and vulnerable as O-Ren’s fingers lay buried deep within her, Sofie’s velvety inner-walls pulsing around her, warm and wet. Sofie looked so very beautiful at that moment, the passion and aloofness, arrogance and acquiescence, and all of the contradictions and characteristics that made up Sofie, and made O-Ren so very fond of Sofie were on display for her in flashing neon, larger than life and erotically charged. “Tell me what you want. Tell me how you want it. Beg me to do it to you. Plead for it. Weep for it. Show me, how. Much. You. Want. It.”

Sofie leaned forward, brushing her lips across O-Ren’s jaw briefly before allowing her lips to hover close enough to O-Ren’s ear that the other woman would be able to feel her warm breath caressing her flesh, but far enough away that the sensation would be nothing more than a promise. “I want,” Sofie began softly, her lightly accented, almost melodic voice quivering slightly. “Your fingers inside of me, as many as you can fit, pumping into me. I want it hard. I want to feel you Ren,” she went on, leaning her upper body towards O-Ren almost as if in offering. “All of your power, all of you strength, all of your ferocity. I want you to push me down on that floor and take me. Fill me. It’s yours Ren. Take it,” Sofie continued moving her right hand down in-between their bodies, her fingers closing around the wrist of the hand O-Ren had inside of her. “Please,” Sofie went on, her tone now humble. “I need … please, O-Ren!” She went on desperately, her voice becoming more frantic. “God … O-Ren! Jesus, please … goddamn you! Just. Fuck me!”

O-Ren’s eyes closed momentarily, a deep rumbling sound emanating from her chest. The beast demanded to be let out, to finally run free after being so cruelly teased with what it wanted for the past half hour. O-Ren fought it back for a moment, and tenderly ran her fingers over Sofie’s cheek. So beautiful, she thought to herself as she gazed at Sofie’s pale, angelic face surrounded by a black halo of hair. Sofie was a dark angel, her dark angel, hers to take.

And then her fingers were moving again, pumping recklessly into Sofie as the beast burst forth and all that she was aware of was the smell and taste, and feel of the woman beneath her. She lowered her head to Sofie’s neck licking and biting her soft porcelain skin, like a vampire she sucked at Sofie’s skin leaving angry red marks as she tried to devour the woman beneath her.

Her own hips were moving against Sofie’s thigh as the Frenchwoman’s moans of pleasure assaulted her hears, driving her to plunge deeper insider of her, faster, her lips still working against Sofie’s skin, moving up to her neck, her teeth scrapping against her flesh, as she wished – in the last lucid part of her mind – that she had taken the time to fully undress Sofie, allowing her to bite, and claw at, and caress the rest of the of her body.

“O-Ren, bébé, je suis désolé,” Sofie gasped, her hips rising off of the ground, bucking up into O-Ren’s hand. She was close, so close to the edge she almost couldn’t stand it. O-Ren’s free hand was on her neck, holding her tightly, squeezing as she kissed her neck and jaw, the Yakuza’s body draped fully over her. She could feel the press of O-Ren’s fingers against her larynx, and was sure that her neck would bare O-Ren’s mark in red the next day, but she had no trouble breathing, and the use of force was only pushing her towards the edge more quickly. “Je ne puis pas... beaucoup plus longtemps.”

O-Ren only half listened to the words pouring out of Sofie’s mouth. She didn’t speak French, she had no idea what her lover was saying, but as she watched Sofie’s head thrash from side to side, her eyes screwed shut and her mouth open as she pushed her head against the floor and arched her chest up, one of her hands moving to cover O-Ren’s wrist as if to help her plunder her pussy with even more force, O-Ren believed that she comprehended quite well what Sofie was trying to tell her.

Briefly the idea of playing with Sofie entered her mind. Slowing down the movement of her fingers, kissing her as she brought her away from the edge, touching her softly as Sofie wept in frustration. But as soon as the idea occurred to her it vanished. She was too far-gone for such games that night. She wanted to make Sofie cum, she wanted to see her face contorted in pleasure, she wanted to hear the strangled cry tear from her throat, and feel her body thrash helplessly beneath her.

“Then let go,” O-Ren whispered into Sofie’s ear as her thumb stroked the lawyer’s clit roughly and deliberately, forcing Sofie to take her advice.

A few moment’s later a sob tore loose from Sofie’s throat and O-Ren felt a rush of wetness cover her fingers and wrist as Sofie climaxed. Small chocked sounds continued to come from Sofie as her body spasmed, her eyes opening and looking up into O-Ren’s face as tears tracked down her cheeks.

O-Ren wrapped her free arm around Sofie’s waist firmly, controlling the tremors running through her as best she could and then bent her head down, her tongue moving in a broad stroke over Sofie’s cheek drinking her tears, as her fingers continued to move inside of the other woman, her pace slowing and becoming tender as she brought Sofie down gently. Her lips moving to the other side of Sofie’s face, kissing away those tears as well before she moved to Sofie’s lips, softly running her lips over the Frenchwoman’s, the contact only breaking when Sofie wrapped her arms around O-Ren’s waist and hugged her with surprising strength, considering the physical exertion she had just gone through.

O-Ren allowed the contact, and stroked Sofie’s hair lightly as the woman buried her face in her neck, clinging to her with all of her strength. Her nipples were hard and painfully sensitive as they pressed against the fabric of Sofie’s chenogasm, and she was very aware of her own desire as she held Sofie. This type of tender embrace was something that O-Ren had never done before, when she was with a man she came first and left the room when she pleased, and when she was with a woman, continuing to stimulate herself against them would usually allow her to come soon after them or simply guiding them to where she needed using her own had to get them started was enough of a prompt to immediately turn their attention to satisfying her desire. Yet, despite how aroused she was she had no desire to do those things with Sofie. To her surprise, she enjoyed holding the other woman, and found pleasure in the embrace.

“You are precious to me,” O-Ren said softly, her lips by Sofie’s ear. She hadn’t meant to say the words, but they were true, and she didn’t loathe the admission of weakness when it was made to Sofie; Sofie whom she trusted above all else … Sofie who she loved, though she could not yet say that.

“I am loyal to you,” Sofie replied softly pulling away from O-Ren slightly, as her breathing and emotions finally began to calm. She felt exhausted and yet more tranquil than she could ever remember being before. The feelings that flooded through her during and after her orgasm were something she had never experienced and she had reached out for O-Ren to try and anchor herself as the sea of emotions stormed inside her. O-Ren had calmed them, and her, the Yakuza’s strength, strengthening her as always.

O-Ren sighed and rested her forehead against Sofie’s shoulder after the Frenchwoman spoke, her fingers still playing with her flowing hair.

“I like your hair like this,” O-Ren said lifting her head to look at Sofie. She had always felt that way, but had never told Sofie before as it had not been relevant then.

“I will wear it down when we are alone together,” Sofie replied softly. “It will be only for you,” she continued her hand moving from O-Ren’s waist further down, beneath the ties that were just barely holding her kimono to her.

O-Ren grasped her hand lightly moving it away. “No.”

“You found no release,” Sofie stated though she didn’t try to move her hand. O-Ren’s grip was light, but she knew if she tried to move before O-Ren allowed it, that grip could tighten in a split second.

“You’re tired, and I am fine,” O-Ren stated surprised to find that what she said was true. While she could still feel arousal prowling around the edges of her being, she was quite content to remain wrapped around Sofie. “Besides,” she continued glancing down at her naked torso a slight ache that she hadn’t been aware of before registering with her. “It could get unpleasantly messy.”

Sofie followed O-Ren’s eyes, thinking that they had already gotten plenty messy, when she caught sight of O-Ren’s meaning, gasping softly. O-Ren’s torso was covered in blood and turning her eyes to the side softly, Sofie saw that her hands – both of their hands actually – were also wet with O-Ren’s blood. Red smudges could be seen from where she had dragged her fingers down O-Ren’s torso to reach her waist. She had felt some wetness at the time but had written it off as sweat, her concern with touching O-Ren over powering her keen sense of observation.

“They’ve all ripped,” Sofie said somewhat unnecessarily, her fingers trailing through the red as she spoke. “Does it hurt?”

“There is pleasure as well as pain,” O-Ren stated capturing Sofie’s wandering fingers and holding them lightly in her own her thumb stroking the back of Sofie’s hand as she gazed down at the delicate appendage. She then released Sofie’s hand and stood, taking a few steps and seating herself in the chair she had occupied earlier that evening, reaching for the kit Sofie had left on her desk and then holding it out to the other woman.

Sofie moved over to her silently and set about repairing the work she had done earlier.

“Will it scar?” O-Ren asked when Sofie had finished. She realized that she had made the wound worse than it had been when Sofie had first entered her office.

“Probably,” Sofie responded not sounding the least bit perturbed by the prospect. In fact she hoped that it would so that O-Ren’s body would always bare the mark of their first time together.

O-Ren held out her hand to Sofie then, drawing the Frenchwoman up onto her lap. Looping her arms around Sofie’s waist so that she was seated securely O-Ren then proceeded to stare into the burnt out fire barely blazing in the fireplace across from them. At that moment her emotions were troubling her, but before that she had felt a peace in a way that had been but a distant memory to her for her entire adolescence and adult-life. She knew that Sofie was the cause of this feeling, yet struggled with embracing such a feeling after having lived so long without anything resembling it.

“Stay,” O-Ren finally breathed out softly, the word sounding like a command. However, she gazed up a Sofie as she spoke, her eyes betraying the uncertainty she felt at voicing her request.

“Yes,” Sofie replied just as quietly, her hand reaching out for O-Ren’s face, cupping her jaw for a moment before leaning down to kiss her. “Always.”

The End

Fic: "Reflections of a One Armed Woman" (O-Ren/Sofie)

2005-07-25T19:45:49Z

Title: Reflections of a One Armed Woman
Author: Janine
Disclaimer: None of the characters in this story belong to me. They are the property of Quentin Tarantino, Uma Thurman, Miramax films and a bunch of other people who are in no way, shape, or form me. These people just managed to create some real kick-ass, smokin’ hot characters that I simply had to borrow for a while.
Fandom: Kill Bill vol. 1
Pairing: O-Ren Ishii/Sofie Fatale
Rating: R

*************************************************

“Sofie, my sweet, beautiful Sofie.”

The rough tips of his fingers brushed across my cheek, the touch so soft that I would’ve had to categorize it as gentle if the fingers had belonged to anyone else.

“All alone,” he continued in that low whisper of his, his voice soft, sympathetic and understanding. His hand pressed against my neck, enclosing it in the stretch of skin between his thumb and index finger, the movement emphasizing how very small and fragile I am. The movement wasn’t at all necessary since the night I had just barely lived through had already made me painfully aware of my vulnerability. But necessity had never been a prerequisite for Bill’s demonstrations of his dominance.

He leaned down closer to me after that, so close I could smell his cologne and I had to fight to control the urge to shudder. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as the thought came to me that I had survived the Bride only to be done in by Bill.

Truthfully I’d expected as much. When I had felt a hand snaking its way under my legs and another moving around behind my back as I lay prone on a floor made slick by my own blood, my eyes had fluttered open and I’d blinked unseeing for a few seconds, momentarily relieved, almost happy. I had thought it was O-Ren holding me, her fingers cold from the winter air returned to the warmth to save me. However, as I was unceremoniously flung over the shoulder of the person holding me so that there was nothing in my line of sight but yellow, yellow, and more yellow I knew the truth. It wasn’t O-Ren whose arms had been around me, it was her. The blonde. The Bride.

“All alone,” Bill repeated his voice bringing me back to the present as he helped me out of the wheelchair I’d been seated in and into the bed. ‘All the better to strangle you my dear’, I thought to myself as I allowed him to lay me out on the mattress.

It was something that O-Ren would’ve said.

I focused on the ceiling above me. I didn’t want to think about her, not with Bill there. I couldn’t. It was one thing to let your fear show in front of Bill, it was another to let your love be seen. He understood fear and could respect it. The idea of love however, the type of love that made people fling themselves out of windows and drink arsenic, was beyond him and so any demonstrations of such was to be avoided at all costs.

“Sleep now angel, you’re gonna need the rest,” he went on pulling up the white sheets over my chest and my … arm, tucking it in under my chin. It was almost fatherly. It made me feel ill.

And then he was gone, vanished like some specter into the night leaving me alone and perhaps most surprisingly alive.

You didn’t fail Bill and live. You didn’t disappoint Bill without feeling his wrath, without having pain rained down upon you like a torrential hellfire. And yet there I was. I took a deep breath; the pain was there that was for sure but I was experiencing an unseasonable dry spell. I had failed him, O-Ren was dead, the Crazy 88’s were massacred, the Bosses would begin in fighting again making control of the Yakuza and Tokyo’s underworld a grab bag once more, removing it from Bill’s purview again and perhaps permanently this time. And yet my heart continued to beat and blood continued to rush through my veins.

That’s when I realized; I hadn’t failed him, not really. All of what had happened that night, O-Ren, the annihilation of the 88s, everything was of little concern to him. I hadn’t failed because I had lived. I had suffered her torture, and her mutilation by I caving in. I bargained, I brokered the information I held and took a plea. I had been the lawyer he had trained me to be. As always I came through with the information he needed when he needed it, forever the slick one, the smooth one, the snake. I had given Beatrix the information she needed to continue her roaring rampage of revenge and through helping her resume her sworn orgy of destruction I had set her on a path that would lead her back to Bill. And that was what he wanted, Beatrix and a chance to honourably exact his vengeance upon her. I had managed to slither out of the massacre with my wicked life just like he had taught me to do. O-Ren wouldn’t have …

I bit my lip and blinked rapidly trying to contain the tears that came to my eyes at the thought of her now that he was gone and taken the fear with him. My beautiful, fierce, delicate, vicious, passionate, clever O-Ren … dead. Beatrix did not show me her body, or throw me down beside O-Ren’s mangled and beaten dead body, which was a small mercy, but she did tell me with great relish, her lips curved up into a vindictive smile, that O-Ren was dead as a doornail, and I knew she was not lying. I knew it was the truth that somehow this blonde had managed to succeed where all others had failed; that she had managed to extinguish the great flame of Ishii, to best the best. I knew this without a doubt because if O-Ren had lived, I would not have been here, in this bed in this hospital, and I would not have been alone.

If O-Ren had lived it would have been her arms that I felt wrap around me in the silence of the House of Blue Leaves. She would have cradled me in her arms, holding me easily her slight frame belaying her strength, and walked determinedly with me in her arms, her dark eyes focused forward, burning with a hellish intensity, her lips forming a thin line before she whispered, “she made me angry. She should’ve known she wouldn’t like me when I’m angry,” or something like that anyway. It was the American in her, the remnants of her days as an army brat. She loved pop culture, and would spew out catchphrases at moments that would seem inappropriate but turned out to be just the opposite. I loved it when she would whisper those things in my ear, her voice light and teasing so that when I turned my face to see her I would be greeted with a playful smile and her eyes shining with delight. It was so rare to see her like that, light and free and happy, and I coveted those times, longed for them even though I never quite understood her fascination.

If O-Ren had lived, when we made it outside there would have been a black, unmarked van waiting for us, and men in suits and Kato masks would’ve jumped out from every opening and rushed towards us. O-Ren would’ve barked something at them like, “Back the fuck up ass prick! If I needed a hand I would’ve brought one out with me. Just open the goddamn doors!” And I would’ve smiled at that despite everything that had happened that night because it would’ve made me feel safe. Then she would’ve carefully maneuvered us into the back of the van that had been retrofitted as an ambulance and placed me down on the bed gently, her hand holding the one I had left as the medics rushed back into the van and to my side. I would have drifted into unconsciousness staring into her eyes while her thumb stroked the back of my hand.

When I woke up, I would’ve breathed in the cool, crisp air of her home in the mountains outside of Takayama, and as I struggled into conciousness the attendant watching over me rushing to the screens and outside, O-Ren’s name -- or at least her formal name -- on her lips bringing me back into the world. And then O-Ren would’ve been in there, walking into the room slowly, perfectly dressed, icy and cool, all calm and control, inclining her head slightly indicating the attendant, probably Aki, should leave. Her shoulders would slump slightly once the screen was closed and we were alone, her expression becoming more open as she relaxed slightly, though the tension she had been feeling could still clearly be seen on her face and in her posture. She would’ve moved over to the side of the bed and sat on the edge before carefully and deliberately removing her slippers, her attention completely focused on the task at hand. Then she would turn to look at me, her expression serious, and she would reach out her hand towards me where it would end up hovering over the space where my left arm should have been. I would’ve looked down as she gazed at the empty space, ashamed and disgusted at the sight of the mutilation I had suffered, scared to look at her and perhaps see similar feelings show in her expression.

“Are you in pain?” she would’ve asked softly, moving further onto the bed so that she was lying on her side facing me. She’d be speaking in English; she always spoke in English when she was serious, when what she was saying was important to her. She still felt, even after all of her years in the East, that she could be more precise, more evocative in English. She still felt that her words carried more gravity, more meaning in the language of the West.

I would’ve looked into her eyes momentarily, almost bashfully before my gaze skittered away, “I … I’m,” and I’m sure I would’ve paused searching for a term, a word that was honest, but wouldn’t make me seem any weaker than the events of the nightclub had shown me to be. “Fine,” I would have settled on. It probably wouldn’t have been true, but it certainly would’ve been truer under those circumstances than now. Even through the drugs I would’ve been able to feel some pain, though mostly it would’ve been the absence of sensation on my left side that hurt me. But I would’ve had her there with me, felt her eyes watching over me protectively, lovingly, and it would’ve been a balm, calming me, warming me despite my trauma.

She would’ve made it fine, made me fine.

She would’ve placed her hand on my shoulder, rubbed it lightly before moving down to cover my nub with her hand. “I looked for your arm, and sent Jun back in to look for it after we left. It wasn’t there.” Her face would darken as she said this. “One of those fuckers must’ve taken it by mistake.” She would be silent for a moment after that, and then focus on me again, her expression softening as she softly swore, “I’ll get it back for you.”

That would be too much for me and I would smile before tears began to come to my eyes. I would shift towards her, and she would move to meet me, her arms wrapping around my waist as I buried my face in her neck and cried into her skin. I knew she would find my arm, that she probably already had all that was left of her forces scouring every hospital and backroom that could possibly be used for surgery, looking not only for my arm but for the incompetent fucks that had failed her so completely so she could finish the job the Bride had started herself. O-Ren hated incompetence and failure and it would have put her in a vendetta mood that would have probably already produced a body count. We both would have known that even when she found my arm, it would be too late to reattach it, that the assfuck who took it had doomed me to a future with a hook or a plastic hand, but the sentiment was what would count and I would’ve never wanted to let go of her. She would’ve pressed her lips against my temple as her hands rubbed my back soothingly, I would’ve thought that maybe when she found my arm we could bury it in the garden.

I wouldn’t have cried on her shoulder like that for long however, the contact I craved shifting and transforming into something new. My lips would’ve moved against her neck with purpose then, licking and then nipping before I moved up her neck and over her jaw to her lips. I would’ve kissed her hungrily, desperately, my remaining arm tugging at her, clawing at her needing to feel her naked skin, desperate to taste her.

“You’ve been out for days, I don’t want to hurt you,” she would whisper, her voice rough with desire as she ripped her lips away from mine so that she could look into my eyes as she spoke. It would’ve made some people laugh, to hear O-Ren Ishii worry about hurting someone, to hear her voice gentle and full of concern. They wouldn’t have believed it; they would’ve had to see it with their own eyes, and maybe not even then. But not me, I knew that she had a soft side, a gentle side, that she had managed to salvage some of her humanity and that she guarded what Boss Matsumoto and his men hadn’t managed to rip away from her as a child savagely. She only let that side out, really let her guard down and let herself feel, with me … and occasionally with Go Go – her little psychotic protégé – but Go Go would’ve been dead, and I would have been glad.

“I want you. I need to feel you inside of me,” I would’ve responded closing the distance she had imposed between us, kissing her again, shamefully needy. “Unless you …” I would start to say when I felt her hesitate, stopping mid-sentence, unable to get the rest of the words out of my mouth, the mere thought that this might be it, that she might not want to be with me and my sole arm sending waves of panic through my system. I would’ve felt ugly, and stupid and asymmetrical and wished for a moment that I had just bled out on that floor in the House of Blue Leaves.

“I know you understand that my past, my training, and current position have had, and continue to have a great influence over how I conduct myself and how I relate … or don’t relate to others,” she would start softly, her tone conversational though she held my eyes, willing me to watch her as I listened to her. “They say I lack empathy, kindness, consideration, sympathy and most of the lighter spectrum of human emotions. To this I cannot necessarily object though I feel it is an oversimplification. I am, as you are well aware, capable of committing acts of kindness, of showing due consideration, and of empathizing if there is cause for such things. I am, also, capable of love, of loving and I do. I don’t state it much, and I’m not likely to start doing so any time soon, but know, Sofie, that I am in love with you. Know that the depth of my feelings for you shocked even me when they appeared, and that they are not fleeting or shallow. I may not have a lot to give, but what love I do have belongs solely to you and always will, no matter how many arms you have.” And she would begin to undress me.

I was the one who usually initiated our lovemaking. I was usually the first to show my weakness, to admit that I had lost to my desire once again. It was I who would kiss and undress her, it was I who would take on the seemingly subservient role caressing and worshipping her body. She loved to be teased, to have things drawn out, and I loved to tease her, torture her by prolonging her release until her body quivered helplessly and my name was groaned from her lips over and over again, her head thrown back in ecstasy her body arched and taunt with pleasure.

My desire for her, my need for her knew no bounds. Sometimes I would walk into her office, closing the door carefully behind me and turn to find her wearing a knowing smile. She always knew when I was in a mood. I would walk over to where she was and drop to my knees, ripping away, bunching, and removing the material covering her treasure as I kneeled at her pew. And then she would be on my lips, in my mouth, and I would be inside of her, consuming her hungrily as her hands worked themselves into my hair, pulling it lose as she ground herself against my face, thrusting onto my tongue desperately, her hands holding me in place, making sure I wouldn’t take away the source of her pleasure, as if it wasn’t the source of my pleasure too.

Other times I would need to have her in me, and I would go to her, wherever she was and straddle her while I grasped her hand and moved it under my cheongsam, my hand over hers positioning her fingers at my opening. My hand would fall away then, and I would wait for her to move, to strike … to attack, to take me, to fuck me, to own me. She would wait for long moments, staring up at me, holding my gaze until my body quivered and dripped with anticipation and desire, she would wait until I was so wet that I felt as if I would pass out if I was forced to wait for a second longer, and then she would stab inside of me, her free hand on the back of my head holding me steady forcing me to watch her as she pumped into me roughly, her fingers pistoning inside of me marking me, holding me completely under her control.

During encounters like these she would usually drag my head towards her until her lips were near my ear and would whisper – her voice harsh and authoritative, allowing for no argument or resistance – “cum.” And I would, hard and long, my breath coming in gasps and shudders as my body continued to buck against her hand, forcing her fingers inside of me again and again as I rode out the waves of pleasure. “Like Mom’s apple-pie,” she would sometimes say, her hand on my back, rubbing, her motions now gentle and calming as I struggled to regain my breath, and my composure. I never knew what she meant by that exactly, only that it always sent a new a rush through my system that would cause me to shiver, and her to smile and mummer, “lawyers, such naughty girls” fondly.

However, as we lay on that bed in her home in the mountains outside of Takayama, it wouldn’t have been like those times. It would’ve been more like in the hotel after she was named Big Boss, or like when we were in New York in the suite that overlooked Central Park. It would’ve been like the times when she awoke in a cold sweat, breath rough and ragged as she escaped the tortures of some demon in her mind. I would’ve lain naked on the bed, the cool air tickling my skin and heightening all sensation as she slowly undressed herself, making a show of it for my appreciative eyes, igniting a slow burning fire in my stomach that would flare when she covered my body with her now naked one, warming my skin again with hers, holding me quietly for a few seconds before placing a kiss on my neck as her hand drew up and down my thigh, as she slowly kissed her way lower.

I would’ve gotten frustrated at times as we made love, trying to reach for her with a hand that was no longer there, longing to touch her as I had before and resenting the fact that I could only now touch half the amount of skin I wanted to, that I had to plan and strategize about how to touch her, how to stimulate multiple areas now that I was playing singles. But those would’ve been minor frustrations, infinitesimal really as our bodies rubbed against each other and I felt her warmth surround my fingers as we moved inside of each other. I probably wouldn’t even have remembered feeling upset afterwards because I would’ve been with her, touching her, smelling her scent, protected in her arms.

If O-Ren had lived …

But she didn’t.

I lifted my hand to wipe away my tears with my one hand, before flinging my arm over my eyes as I tried to control the swelling of tears I could feel gathering within me.

I missed her so much.

I should’ve bled out on the floor of the House of Blue Leaves. We should have died together. It would’ve been for the best. We would’ve been together. It would have been better for us … and for her. I had called her a stupid blonde and told her to go to hell earlier. What I didn’t realize as I said it was that both of us were already there.

The End

Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed! Comments welcome and greatly appreciated :-)

kill_bill_fics @ 2005-06-18T15:23:00

2005-06-18T22:23:40Z

11 auto-accepts up for grabs.

Always an Absolution - Chapter III

2005-04-21T06:02:35Z

Chapter Three,

Despite the fact that she was winning every tournament she entered, Beatrix Kiddo was not happy. She was told by her coaches as she outgrew them one by one that she could do many things – settle with one or two styles, become an Olympian, or perhaps start a business of her own and teach. Beatrix had no fantasies of winning a golden award for her skills, one which would be claimed by her country and turn her into a role model for children. Neither did she have any stomach for becoming a teacher – how droll. What challenge was there in that? And though she hadn’t competed in the Olympics, she had fought against every champion from every country across the world, and won.

Her challenges were fast running out and Beatrix, who lived half on the money she earned from the tournaments and half on the casual job she held down at Priceline, was bored.

One night near Christmas time, Beatrix worked late. And to be faithful to her training, no matter how late she finished, she always went to the studio after work. Gar Yin had given her the keys so that she might come and go as she pleased and train when there was no one to watch or interrupt her.

She had been practicing for an hour when suddenly she froze, every instinct insisting that she wasn’t alone anymore. At first she was convinced it was another student, but on the night before Christmas Eve it didn’t seem likely. Beatrix turned on the spot, looking warily at the paper-rice screens which closed in the training room. Delicate black patterns curled up the tan screens in shapes of the lotus and dragons.

From the corner of her eye she saw someone standing at the opening to the room. But as she spun the figure moved out of sight and Beatrix could not see him as he walked on the other side of the screen. She watched as he walked along, ever confident, towards the exit.

‘Hey, wait - !’ She called. Now that her curiosity had been piqued she would hate to disappoint it. Beatrix ran towards the opening, but as she rounded the paper-rice corner the studio’s door banged shut. Driven by more than curiousity now, Beatrix surged forward, shoved open the glass doors and into the fresh night air.

The ground was a sea of pure white snow, left undisturbed to fall at this time of night. The cold burned through her bare feet, even the protection from the building was minimal and the moisture soaked into her exposed skin. She was hardly aware of it as she hurried down the slope towards the road. A man was getting into a car, a nice car, a red car. He looked up at her, paused, folded his hands atop the open car door. Beatrix came to a halt, stopping a respectful distance from him, about 5 meters.

‘Hello, Kiddo.’

It was so still. Distantly, a dog was barking and soon several others took up the chorus. But for the longest time, no sound was made between Beatrix Kiddo and the man.

‘You never phoned the number on my card.’

‘Bill,’ she said quietly, understanding. She’d forgotten all about the card and didn’t know where it was.

‘Would you like another chance?’ He asked mildly, gesturing vaguely with one hand. ‘To call me?’

Beatrix stared for a moment. ‘Yes.’

‘I left my card inside for you,’ he said and with that, he got into his car, turned on the ignition and drove down the wet road.

Beatrix watched until the red rear lights vanished before going back indoors. Her feet were numb, tinged with blue. And sure enough, there was his card, on the low table where her things were.

Yellow, like the last one. A phone number on one side and the name BILL printed in solid black letters on the other. Even though it was the same, somehow Beatrix knew this was limited edition, and she did not lose the card this time.

Always an Absolution - Chapter 2

2005-04-18T12:08:05Z

Chapter 2 Under

B.B stared at her mother. She wasn’t afraid of offending her with the intensity of her stare. It was awe, adoration. B.B had always known her mother was different from the mothers of her friends. For one thing, no one else’s family moved around as much as the Kiddos. The longest they had ever remained in one place was almost two years. Her mother could never stay still too long. Not in my nature,B.B had heard her say almost every time they packed their things up again. I’m not made to be Susie Homemaker. B.B would always catch a touch of apology in her voice, and B.B only loved her more for it.

And her mother was different than the mothers of her friends. Nobody else’s mother taught them martial arts – but her mother had been so clear about why she was teaching her. So you can decide whether or not you ever want to use it, she had said. B.B felt and knew in her heart that her mother’s past was not the past of other mothers and that one day maybe B.B would need those skills her mother had taught her like no other skill she could learn in textiles, mathematics or woodwork classes.

‘So you killed,’ B.B prompted her mother to go on. ‘And it felt good?’

Beatrix, her hands tingling with the power she never knew was in them and her mind throbbing with endless possibilities, stepped up her martial arts training.

Late November, some years later, Beatrix took part in a tournament and, (which was hardly a surprise) won.

She was approached by a man in a grey duffel coat who smiled at her. Beatrix, towel around her neck, pulled down on it with either hand, expecting more of the congratulations she had already received tonight.

‘I think you should call my associate,’ said the man simply, the barest hint of a smile playing at his lips. ‘I’ve dropped your name to him. He would like to meet you.’

He handed her a card with a mobile phone number on one side. Beatrix turned it over. Four capital letters on the other side, black contrasting heavily with the bright yellow.

BILL.

‘Beatrix!’

Her coach was calling her name.

‘Honey, the papers want to take your picture.’

Beatrix, attention drawn from the card, grinned at Mike. She dropped the card on the bench and her towel atop it, and promptly forgot all about the man and the duffel coat and his associate – Bill.

kill_bill_fics @ 2005-04-16T01:01:00

2005-04-15T14:58:42Z

Always an Absolution - Chapter One

2005-04-14T00:22:07Z

Chapter One of Always an Absolution is here!

When Beatrix Kiddo was an inexperienced young woman, she happened upon a bunch of yellow roses. They were not on her doorstep, but that of her neighbor’s, and she gingerly toed them out of the way as she pressed the doorbell.

There was no reply, no thick patter of footsteps coming to open the door.

Beatrix thought this strange; for two young children lived in this house. Twins, a boy and a girl, and they were enthusiastic when visitors came to call. Further more, they were expecting her, and ordinarily they sprang out from behind the door no sooner than had she taken her finger from the bell button.

She tried again, she looked through the lounge-room window, but the curtains were drawn. Checked her watch. 10.40. Most unusual.

She moved to step down off the porch, but paused, foot in mid step. She slowly rotated her hips, looking back at the bunch of lovely yellow roses by the door. Beatrix moved towards them and, almost reverently, toed them back into place. Then she went around the side of the white house with the creeping thick ivy vines tenaciously coiling up the sides and let herself in through the side gate.

‘Trisha?’ Called Beatrix, pushing her hands into the pockets of her pastel-blue jacket, knocking the gate shut with her hip. She walked down the narrow path along side the house. Tiny insects, who sheltered here, took flight with translucent wings as she walked, marking her passage like possessed confetti. ‘Trish?’

Beatrix rounded the corner. The lawn had been mowed yesterday; clumps of chewed-up grass were spat out here and there. The shed door was locked, William’s trucks were by the clothesline and the outdoor setting was set for a tea party with Sarah’s dolls.

Normal.

Yet, a suspicious, cautious sensation plagued Beatrix. She had learned as a little girl to trust this instinct. It was powerful, animalistic, primitively effective. Some menace lurked here, hanging over the back garden and house like a dark shroud. Beatrix wet her lips and walked further into the yard. As she neared the sandpit she could see bright splashes of blood staining the white sand.

Not normal.

She picked her way across the grass to the sandpit. When she stood over it, the smell of freshly-cut grass mingled with a coppery smell, the scent of death. Her stomach was doing excited backflips as she slowly bent her knees, eyes ever on the house, and picked up one of the palm-sized stones by the pit’s edge.

Beatrix never made a conscious decision what she was going to do with it once she had picked it up. It was completely instinctual.

Steadily yet cautiously, she approached the back door. It was hanging open, its’ hinges creaking ever so softly. The young blonde woman edged her way inside, stepping on to the lino with first her right foot and then her left.

The house was quiet, but there was a thin trail of blood across the lino, leading through the kitchen into the lounge. Beatrix followed it.

The scene she came upon was pretty horrendous, even by modern standards. Trish was dead, it wasn’t difficult to tell that she’d been strangled right there and had her head bashed against the mantelpiece. Sarah might have been asleep by the way she lay on the floor by the television, doll in hand, but the blood that ran down her face and pooled on the floor gave away her state. And William, he lay on the couch above her, gradually bleeding out.

Beatrix’s eyes were wide with horror, but the tremble that shook her lower lip spawned from rage, not fear. And her gaze traveled towards the man responsible, who stood there with the twins’ and Trisha’s blood on his shirt. Watching her as she drew herself together, watching her as she sized him up, watching her as she watched him.

‘Walk away,’ he said. ‘I’m giving you this one chance. This has got nothing to do with you. Walk away.’

Beatrix stayed right where she was. The man seemed to sigh to himself, as if killing her too would be more of a hassle than a tragedy. Then he began to move towards her.

‘Was he an assassin, Mum?’ B.B asked. ‘He wasn’t a good one, was he. All that blood, making such a mess. Aren’t assassins meant to be clean, like on TV?’

What the man didn’t know was – what he couldn’t have known was – that Beatrix had been studying karate and kick boxing for several years, just as a means to keep fit. He couldn’t have known she was winning every championship she entered, and intended to take up new classes of martial arts soon.

It was over so quickly. He came at her, she dodged aside. He came at her again, she ducked under his arm and the momentum carried him into the bookshelf, sending copies of Dr. Seuss raining around him.

And Beatrix played with him. What better opportunity to test her skills than in a life and death situation? She hadn’t killed before. Could she kill with her new skills? She tossed the rock that she’d picked up outside aside. Beatrix toyed with him endlessly, allowing him now and then to think she was tiring or that he could get the upper hand, but always quashing such hopes moments later.

When she grew weary of the game, she finished him off, and stood looking down at her first kill. And though she had avenged the killer of her friends, she felt a greater satisfaction in having killed, and killed for herself.

Memely goodness

2005-04-11T06:01:00Z

Oh, and I made a Kill Bill meme. Enjoy.

Your Place in the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad [Kill Bill] by Anyathe
Your Name
Codename	Saw Scaled Viper
People killed	514
Money Earned	$5,125,217,583
Arch Rival	Gogo Yubari
Lover	Pei Mei
Bill Thought You Were	Fiesty
After Leaving, You	Became leader of the Australian Underground Crime Syndicat (wtf??)
Until	Beatrix killed you

Quiz created with MemeGen!

Always an Absolution

2005-04-11T05:05:26Z

Hi all! New member here. I'd like to share a fic I'm currently working on, which I will update in segments as they are completed. This is 'Always an Absolution,' which is the Bride's story as told to B.B. Multi-genre, may become R-rated, angsty galore.

B.B stood behind her mother, but her mother didn’t know she was there yet. She stood in the doorframe in her blue jeans and scuffed sneakers, lingering in the doorframe, holding her breath. Her mother stood by the window of her bedroom and resting across her palms was a long, beautiful katana.

B.B had seen that katana before; her mother had shown it to her and told her about it. B.B had known about it forever. It was the last sword made by Hittori Hanzo, a master of his craft, a Japanese man living in Okinawa. When B.B had been smaller, she’d told her Mother she’d wanted one to match. Her mother had smiled, but said, ‘Sorry, pretty girl. He doesn’t make them anymore.’

Then, B.B had wondered why. It was beautiful! Why wouldn’t he make them? Only as she grew up did B.B understand what a katana was made to do and she at last gave the man from Okinawa a solid nod of comprehension.

Her mother tugged the katana against it’s sheath, drawing it out a few inches. Dappled sunlight through the open window glittered across the exposed steel, it’s superiority glancing over the bedroom walls.

‘Let me see,’ B.B said to announce herself, as she walked across the carpet towards her mother. Her mother turned, pushing the katana back into the sheath, seemingly only to be marginally surprised to see her daughter approaching to stealthily.

B.B took the weapon, turning it this way and that in her hands. So smooth, so cold. She did not attempt to draw it. ‘Did you kill Daddy with this?’

That jolted a response out of her mother. ‘B.B…’

B.B didn’t mean the comment unkindly. ‘It’s ten years to the day that he died, isn’t it, Mum? I’m old enough to know everything now. I want to know everything now. I’ll listen,’ she sat on the window ledge, sitting on her hands, ‘I won’t judge. But I want to know.’

Her mother sat on the end of the bed, two meters, maybe a little more, away from her daughter. ‘I didn’t kill him with the Hanzo sword.’

‘Then what with?’

‘The Five Point Palm Exploding Heart technique.’

‘And what is the Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique?’

The Bride smiled. ‘Hope you’re comfortable baby, it’s a long story.’

'Before I begin, I want you to know that I am in no way reluctant to tell you this story. I am unashamed of anything I have done. I regret nothing I have done. And I loved your father, very, very much.’

"Loyalty" O-Ren Ishii/Sofie Fatale PG

2005-04-05T07:00:26Z

Hi. This came to me a few days ago and I thought I would share. Femslashy, so be warned.

TITLE: Loyalty
AUTHOR: Aiyatorra
CODES: O-Ren Ishii/Sofie Fatale, femslash
RATING: PG
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This takes place a few hours before O-Ren leaves to join the other Vipers in El Paso to participate in the killing of the Bride (Kill Bill Vol 1). Written from Sofie's point of view. If you want to archive it, ask my permission first.
SUMMARY: Ever wonder why Sofie was at the wedding massacre in El Paso?

O-Ren enters the room and glances at the bed. There her Vipers uniform -- the sleek, black turtleneck and pants -- is ready and waiting, as requested. You bow gracefully, but do not expect the words 'thank you' from her. Her silence is thanks enough.

Without words, you help her out of her kimono, the black gown that she so often uses. This is not the first time you've done this and hopefully not the last. Layer after layer is undone until finally, there is nothing but the beautiful blossom underneath.

Carefully, you pull at the chopsticks that hold the perfect bun high atop her head, and slowly a cascade of obsidian tresses begin to unravel down her back. She has asked that her hair be cut short, the way it was when you first met. Though it pains you to see something so magnificent go to waste, you will do it. You will do anything she asks.

Once she is satisfied, you offer her her pants. When she takes them from you, her fingers linger past yours. Again, you bow, but this time, there is a small smile at your lips. Not a smile like the one you use in public. No, this one is sincere. Perhaps even warm and genuine. In this life, such words dare exist.

You reach for the turtleneck next. She raises her arms for you and you lovingly slide it on over her head. When at last it is on, you tug on the edges for her, making sure it fits her lithe form just so. It fits perfectly, of course. Like a second skin.

Black knee-high boots complete the ensemble. She takes a minute to survey herself in the mirror, allowing a moment's vanity to see that everything is in place. You decide, somewhat sadly, that she looks more modern this way. But that is the point. This way, she blends in with the others.

O-Ren will be leaving for America today, to El Paso, Texas, where she will join the rest of the Deadly Viper Assasination Squad. Your gaze falls to the floor. Suddenly it is too painful to continue looking her.

Logically, you know why she must leave. Rationally, you understand what she must do. But selfishly, you do not want to be left behind. Not if it means being apart from her. You almost want to tell her, beg her to take you with her, but you won't. Until she happens to glance over at you. She seems to know what you're thinking.

"If she survives, she'll kill you, too," O-Ren tells you, in English. Her voice is calm, casual.

"I would rather die at your side than stay here alone." Your face does not betray emotion, but your words cannot hide your anguish.

It is enough to give O-Ren pause. Your heart -- though cold and cruel -- cries out to her, and it's as if she hears. In this life, she knows, loyalty is hard to come by.

She goes to you then, holds your delicate face in her assassin's hands and takes your mouth prisoner with her own. You are a willing captive. Seconds, then minutes, seem to pass before you can recover from her passion.

She withdraws, if only for a moment's breath, then leaves tender kisses of permission on your lips.

Crossover fic

2005-03-03T23:59:47Z

So, I mentioned earlier in my LJ that I thought the idea of Go Go Yubari/Kazuo Kiriyama would be a pretty amusing fanfic to write.

And, you know, I'm not the type of person to back down from a challenge, especially one I set for myself. ^_^

This fic will make much more sense if you've seen Kill Bill volume 1 and Battle Royale.

Title: Pure Death
Author: Christi Morelei
Rating: PG13
Series: Kill Bill/Battle Royale
Summary: There’s a new face in the Crazy 88, but Go Go knows there is something different about him than the others.
~
A/N: Go Go Yubari(Kill Bill volume 1)/Kazuo Kiriyama(Battle Royale). Some implied Go Go/O-ren. Rated PG13 for assassin!love, language, and Kazuo being snarky.

Slight AU. Supposedly set before Kiriyama enters the Program.

Disclaimer: Go Go Yubari is the character creation of Quentin Tarantino and Kazuo Kiriyama is the character creation of Kinji Fukasaku/Koushun Takami. I’m basing the Kiriyama in this fic on the movie version.

This fic is dedicated to my friend Sayuri, because she deserves for a fic to be dedicated to her. Enjoy. :)
~

He wasn’t like the others.

That was the first thing she noticed about him.

It wasn’t his attitude. He was just as arrogant and wild as the next one, even without sheathing his weapon. It was instinct.

It wasn’t his attire. He was dressed just as the others, but had adamantly refused the black Kato mask. A bit unusual, but not unlikely.

It wasn’t his age, though that was something of a surprise. He looked much older than 17, but he was the same age as Go Go, making both her and him the youngest of the group.

It wasn’t the fact that he was here. A luxurious inn located in Shinjuku, of all places, was the Crazy 88’s temporary home base. At least, that’s what they told her. In reality, they probably just liked the damned hotel because of the food. Sophie was here, standing next to him with a bored look on her face. The queen herself sat on the opposite side of the room. O-ren had insisted on his presence, and he had complied without another word, which was an undoubtedly wise thing to do.

No, it’s something else, Go Go thought with mild interest as the Fatale woman introduced him to the crew.

Some had greeted him formally before going back to their game of Poker. Others had acknowledged him with a nod of the head or a short greeting. New faces weren’t that unusual, but Go Go liked to amuse herself by counting the days that they lasted inside before the fear got a hold of them and they had their own swords impaled upon themselves in retribution for getting cold feet.

Nobody left the Queen. Not alive, at least.

Go Go sighed jadedly and hugged her knees to her chest. She stared at him, trying to display a sense of mild interest behind a curious mindset.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t move, not really. He bowed when Fatale had introduced him.

He didn’t smile either, which made it all the more better for him. Those who entered their domain with blind optimism never lasted long. Murder wasn’t a happy business, at least not for those who found the sight of a mangled corpse photogenic.

Go Go didn’t exactly fall under that category.

Which, she mused, is probably why she and the Mistress got along so well.

Her brows furrowed, but nobody paid attention. She was lost in her thoughts.

Kiriyama Kazuo-san… I cannot figure out what is so different about him. He isn’t like the others. Why did the Mistress think to invite him?

Their eyes met and she knew.

There was absolutely nothing behind his eyes. No fear, no sadness, no regret, no mischievousness, no murderous intent, no emotion whatsoever.

For the second time in her life, Go Go felt a pang of fear run through her veins.

The boy was a sociopath by definition.

He felt nothing when he killed. Such critique could be applied to her or O-ren, but it wasn’t true. They reveled in killing, sometimes enjoying it and sometimes hating it. But always feeling something for it.

It was a good thing to be unfeeling in this business, some said. But to truly live it, you have to enjoy it. It was a way of life now, and Go Go couldn’t have lived up to this point without feeling something for the act of mercilessly taking life.

It was no secret. She loved it.

But this man- no, this boy in front of her could never have said the same. He was incapable of feeling anything.

That thought terrified her, and she knew almost immediately that she liked him.

Any person who could strike fear into the heart of an assassin, even for a fraction of a second, was someone to be respected.

~

It was almost daybreak.

Go Go enjoyed this time of the day. She didn’t often sleep and found the company of the others to be distasteful. The only time she ever treasured in the company of another was when she was alone with O-ren. Being trapped under another woman was incredibly enticing, especially if that woman could disembowel you while she was fucking your brains out.

Which didn’t happen as often as Go Go would’ve liked.

She was standing outside on the second floor. A small garden was hidden behind a set of sliding doors. The rest of the crew were inside, probably sleeping or having sex. Go Go didn’t care for either at the moment.

Her mace was inside. It was too heavy to carry around all the time, so she traded it for her dagger, which was tucked into her skirt.

The garden was beautiful, something she might have appreciated in a past life. It was just beginning to snow, and the air was chilled. Go Go ignored the shivers in her body, most likely amplified by the shortness of her skirt.

She looked up at the sky.

It was tinged with pale pink, and a faint hint of orange if you looked far enough west.

This kind of ephemeral beauty was something Go Go admired. There was not much else that fit into that category, save for the Queen.

The sliding doors to the snow-felt garden opened.

Go Go fished her dagger out from her skirt and threw it behind her at top speed. She didn’t hear the thunk of the dagger being imbedded in something, or the sound of someone screaming in pain.

So she turned around, and her eyebrows lifted.

He was standing there, with the dagger in his hand. He had caught it.

“Nice catch.” She said. He didn’t answer, merely stepped forward to her and put the dagger back in her hand nonchalantly.

She slipped it back inside her skirt and turned back to the sky.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“I don’t sleep.” His voice was a deep tenor, almost monotone.

“Neither do I.”

They didn’t dare meet each other’s gazes, so they simply stood next to one another watching the daylight slowly illuminate the darkness.

“Kiriyama-san, what made you decide to join the Crazy 88?”

She knew it was a risk asking him, but O-ren had once told her that if you are curious about something, beating around the bush leads you to a dead end and your questions are still not answered.

O-ren Ishii was a brutally honest woman. Go Go always tried to emulate that.

He didn’t pause before answering. “I don’t know.”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at such a typical answer. Her fingertips graced the hilt of her dagger.

“Yes, you do.”

If he was surprised, he didn’t show it.

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

Her grip tightened.

He paused before answering, even though his tone of voice ceased to change.

“I came because I wanted to. Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

“No.” She sneered.

“Then what is it you want?”

“I don’t know.”

She could have sworn a tiny smirk graced his lips.

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I d- we are not repeating this.”

“Yes, we are.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

She couldn’t tell if he was enjoying her frustration. It was probably better that way, as he would’ve been dead in less than two seconds. Go Go was considering this as a possibility.

Neither of them said anything for a minute.

She coughed, and he spoke.

“Do you love Ishii-sama?”

“And what if I do?”

“I am curious.”

“I didn’t think you had emotions.”

“Touché.”

Another pause.

“Well, do you?”

“Why the hell do you want to know?”

“To find out if I have a rival.”

The blade from her skirt twinkled in the mild daylight as she wrenched it out of the cover and held it to his neck. It was not close enough to draw blood.

She was tempted to rectify that if he wouldn’t stop being so damned patronizing in his lack of emotion.

“Do not touch her.”

“Don’t you think she could speak for herself?”

“Don’t you fucking touch her.”

“If she didn’t want me to touch her, I’m sure she could stop me. Are you so sure she could not defend herself from my advances?”

Go Go was surprised. It was the longest phrase he had spoken in her presence.

She sneered again and released him, sheathing the blade back inside her skirt.

“She wouldn’t like you anyway.”

“What makes you say that?”

“She doesn’t like boys.”

“I see. Do you?”

Go Go narrowed her eyes and turned to him. “Why are you so curious about me, anyway? You’re really pissing me off, Kiriyama.”

“Good to know.”

Another uncomfortable silence. She spoke before he could.

“Don’t ask me any more questions.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ll kill you.”

“I just asked you a question. So why am I not dead?”

“I’m pondering that myself.”

He hesitated before speaking.

“Do you want to duel?”

“Do I want to what?”

“Duel. Go get your mace. I have my sword. We can duel here.”

The pitch of her voice rose to incredulous. “You are really trying my patience, boy. Why the hell are you bothering me? And why do you want to fight with me, especially now of all times? Do you want to die so badly?”

“If I said yes, would you duel with me?”

She sighed in irritation, and walked towards the sliding doors. “When this is over and you’re dead, I am going to wonder why the hell I put up with this.”

“That should be fun.”

As she reached the door and slid it open, she turned around and stared at him, only to be hit with a wave of shock.

He was grinning.

~

They stood five paces from each other. His stance was typical of a swordsman. She swung the ball slowly, the sound of it whooshing through the air sent shivers down her spine. She loved this sort of thing.

“This isn’t exactly a fair fight. I’ve got the advantage here, Kiriyama-san.”

“I’ll have to keep that in mind for the future.”

She suddenly swung the ball towards him and he ducked just in time, but the chain wrapped around his neck and he fell to the ground, still gripping his katana tightly.

She grinned maniacally. “I don’t think you’re going to have a future.”

He didn’t struggle as she pulled the chain towards her, tightening its grip on his fragile human neck. She didn’t hear him choking.

Probably because his right hand had swung up and cut the chain with his katana.

She blinked.

He coughed and stood up, brushing the remnants of snow and dirt off of his clothes.

She was utterly confused.

“How in the hell did you…? That’s not possible… What kind of sword is that?! If you say it’s a Hattori Hanzo sword I’m going to strangle you.”

He shook his head. “I don’t remember what kind of sword it is. I stole it from an old man in Osaka. Told me it was a failed experiment and not the kind of sword he wanted to make.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know.”

She hung her head and threw the rest of the chain to the ground.

“You’re a liar. Nobody makes experimental swords. Not anymore, at least.”

“I know.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“I know.”

“Stop saying that.”

“Okay.”

He stood in front of her, his sword still in his hand. She swallowed, determined not to let him see her weakness.

“Are you going to kill me now?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t ask me questions.”

“Fuck you.”

He smiled that horrible grin again. She wanted to spit in his face.

“Why are you so damned patronizing?”

“I said, don’t ask me questions.”

“And I said, fuck you. Are you going to punish me for asking?”

“Perhaps.”

He lifted his hand swiftly and brought the blade of the sword up to her neck in the same fashion she had used earlier.

Go Go wanted to kick herself. This whole situation was just stupid. And she had let her guard down, so now he had her in a vulnerable state. She felt so humiliated, and wished fervently that O-ren would never know about this. That is, if she lived long enough to tell the tale.

He spoke again.

“You never answered my earlier question.”

“Which was?”

“Do you love Ishii-sama?”

She turned her head. He pressed the blade tighter to her neck.

“Answer me truthfully.”

Go Go didn’t think there was ever a time in her life in which she felt as murderous as she did now.

“… Yes.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Why?”

“Because that makes her my rival.”

She thought her insides would implode. Her eyes widened and she whipped her head back to look at him.

“Wh-What…? But you said-”

Her voice was cut off by the blade cutting slightly deeper into her skin and a pair of cold dry lips pressing into hers.

It was not like how she read in those fairytale stories. His lips were not warm and damp, ready to swallow her soul with his tongue. She didn’t see fireworks.

His lips were cold and dry and chapped. The blade finally drew some blood from her neck, making her stomach turn. Her knees were shaking, and any other time than this she would have sworn it was because of the chillingly cold air.

All her confusion didn’t melt away. It went from, ‘What did he just say?!’ to ‘WHY IS HE KISSING ME?!’

And it didn’t make it any better.

But as she looked into his eyes, which were way too close for comfort, she realized what it was about him that intrigued her in the first place.

He wasn’t like the others. That was true.

He wasn’t even human. Not by their standards, and certainly not by hers.

He was the emulation of pure, unadulterated death.

He released her and she coughed sharply from the wound on her neck. He tilted her face upwards and they stared into each other’s eyes in a quasi-romantic fashion.

Go Go didn’t feel murderous. She didn’t feel angry. She didn’t even feel confused anymore.

She felt terrifyingly numb.

His voice was still that deep tenor that irritated her so much.

“I lied.”

~End.

This may be one of the best fanfics I've ever written. ^_^ I'm really enjoying how it all came out.

Feedback is much appreciated!

~Christi~

kill_bill_fics @ 2005-02-13T23:57:00

2005-02-14T07:57:30Z

join - umathurmanfans

if community promotion is not allowed, then i apologize & feel free to delete this post.

First time post

2004-12-27T22:31:39Z

I joined this community a week or so ago, and have fic. This first part is extremely short. The next ones will have more to them, promise.

Title: Polarity p I of III
Author: Sarah - aka bast_setesh
Pairings: Nothing really right now, eventually a vaguely femslashy Bride/O-Ren
Rated: PG-13 for strong language. Because it wouldn't be a KB fic without it.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or settings, or anything that distiguishes this fic as a Kill Bill fic opposed to a regular fic, actually. It's all Quentin Tarantino's.
Plot Bunny of the Moment: Bill trusts "the Bride" to take O-Ren Ishii's training to the Vipers' level. Good choice, Bill.
Spoilers: Knowledge of both movies is assumed, as the bride's real name is used.
Feedback: Is like liquid heaven to a writer, honestly . . . .

Polarity

“She’s a dead aim with a rifle,” Bill said, in the usual blasé voice that indicated no logical point in arguing. “But the young lady has a dire need for fine tuning in her swordsmanship. I don’t want to leave this to just anybody—O-Ren is already one of the finest artists in her line of work. She cannot be coached by an inferior teacher, which, to make my point most emphatically, does not leave me with an abundance of options.”

Beatrix Kiddo gritted her teeth as fury flooded her eyes and cheeks, much to Bill’s amusement, which merely compiled upon the dangerous woman’s anger as he tipped his chair back and folded his hands in front of him with a lazy smirk. She gripped the mahogany table separating them and hunched her shoulders forward as she leaned with her weight on her wrists, as if to keep them buckled down in respectful obedience. “I have been trained to fight—to kill—for you. I was not trained to babysit some twenty-year-old bitch with a fucking grudge!”

“Now just . . . hold on, Kiddo. I never said anything about babysitting. I just want you to help O-Ren get a feel for the Vipers. Nobody else is fit for this task.”

Beatrix felt her heart beating angrily in her throat. “Bill,” she said, in an attempt to keep her voice deceitfully steady, “I . . . am not . . . .”

“You’ll carry out any order I ask, Kiddo,” Bill said with a voice that suggested a father talking to a defiant child. “Is that understood?”

Taking a breath while still gripping the table, Beatrix fell silent. Her lips pursed into a thin line and her eyes still carried their fury, yet both she and Bill knew that the issue was settled.

“When is she getting here?”

***************

O-Ren Ishii stepped from the car and straightened up to survey her surroundings. There was nothing glamorous about her appearance, wearing only a black tanktop and black cotton pants that fell just above her ankles. Her poise and movement, however, would have led one who did not know the woman’s tragic and curious background to believe that she had been raised as a successor to a throne of majesty and nobility. Every step, every shifted gaze of her brown-black eyes seemed to be strategically executed, and her spiky black hair even seemed to dance gracefully in the soft breeze. She carried nothing with her, aside from a long sheathed katana, completing her preferred colour scheme of the day with black base and gold décor.

Beatrix watched the girl approach with obvious scrutiny. O-Ren walked and held herself with the dignity of a woman three times her age, yet her eyes shocked Bea with an almost child-like curiosity and grandiose disposition all of their own.

“Kon’nichi wa, O-Ren, watashi wa Kiddo Beatrix.”

O-Ren concentrated her gaze upon Beatrix with amusement. “I speak English fluently,” she informed starkly.

“Right,” Beatrix said, in a rather uncharacteristic moment of uneasiness. Regaining her confidence, she cleared her throat and held herself up a little straighter. “Well, then, O-Ren, as I said, my name is Beatrix Kiddo. You are here as part of an initiation into The Deadly Vipers, an elite organization of assassins working under a man named Bill, whom, being that you officially accepted your initiation into the organization, you will refer to on your missions by the code name, ‘Snake Charmer’.”

O-Ren raised one eyebrow curiously. “And what, might I inquire, is your purpose in meeting me, Ms. Kiddo?”

Beatrix smiled with her normal superior confidence. “I’m here to train you.”