Of Light, Shadow and Love: Volume 1

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Chapter 2

At First Glance

Lightsider walked back to his tiny apartment in Shinjuku. It was a bit of a hike, but he felt he needed to keep moving. He just wanted to move. The more he moved, the less he thought. And right now, he didn’t want to think at all. When he thought, he thought of her.

The doctor shook his head violently. When he thought of her, he thought of that trip through the Shadows as well. The darkness there had been reaching for him. It was like it knew he was something that had escaped the darkness. And, the darkness wanted him back. In any case, if there was anyone in Megatokyo that was his exact opposite, it was Shadowdancer.

So if that were the case, why was he thinking about her?

Lightsider cleared his mind, and, for the first time in years, went through his control exercises. His mental control had been automatic for a long time. He needed it to make the kawaii-filtering glasses work. Lightsider sighed and thought about how he had overcome most of his challenges. The kawaii-filtering glasses allowed him to interact normally with people, specifically females. Learning how to transform his wings into the semblance of outer clothing made it possible for normal people to interact with him.

Like Tohru. Lightsider thought about her smile, the innocence, the winsome grace that was an unconscious part of everything she did. So different from the cold, sophisticated and precise Shadowdancer.

Damn. I’m thinking about her again.

Lightsider reached his apartment building, named, aptly enough, “Hikari no Manshon”[1]. He climbed the stairs to the third floor and went into his tiny apartment.

The place was a bit of a mess. There were clothes strewn here and there, and books on most of the available horizontal surfaces. Lightsider was careful to put away anything that would rot, or stink, but otherwise, why bother? He never had anyone over.

Besides, Maki loved to sleep in his clothes.

That’s what Lightsider called his little black cat. Maki was short for “Makkuro”, Japanese for “pitch black”. Why a being of Light would choose to keep a small black cat is a question for the ages, but the doctor liked her.

“Maki . . . come here . . . “ Lightsider coaxed.

Maki opened a green eye a bit, and flicked an ear at him. Otherwise, she didn’t move from the sweater on which she had spent most of the day.

Lightsider gave a small smile, and set about making himself a small snack.

Sometime later, the doctor found himself on the streets of Shinjuku again. He didn’t know why. He usually didn’t socialize with people, and the bars and shops of Shinjuku held little attraction for him. He just felt stifled in his apartment. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. Fresh air.

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Shadowdancer stretched, massaging the muscles along her neck. It had been a long day, but she’d gotten the work done. Chief Gooley was pleased with both her new splices and the statistic reports on her older ones. With the chaos of the recent days, the strange and sleepless night she had spent . . . she felt she deserved a break.

Shadowdancer’s eyes crinkled. That meant . . . shopping! Something frivolous and totally unnecessary . . . and a few necessary things too. She needed a sketchbook, and perhaps some ground meat for Morrigan. The mice were fine for keeping Ou-Hebi fed. She got up, clocked out of the office, and left, on foot for a change. Time to hit Shinjuku.

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An hour later, the necessary things bought, Shadowdancer was roaming the street. She had decided that she would buy herself something new to wear for the next rave party at the Cave of Evil. She had an idea of what to wear, but hadn’t found the right miniskirt yet.

Her thoughts wandered briefly when she saw an angel costume in one of the storefront windows. She remembered the reaction Dr. Lightsider had while in the Shadow realm. A stab of inexplicable guilt struck her. I had promised not to hurt them, but that moment of inattention was disastrous. I must apologize properly some time. It is only fitting . . . .

As she walked past a storefront, a particular display caught her eye. She took her eyes off her path for an instant to examine the window.

Whump.

“Kyaa!” Shadowdancer stumbled and looked at the person she’d crashed into. He was on his hands and knees, patting around, a shock of light brown hair hiding his features.

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Something always happens when you close your eyes in a crowd of people. It’s just not a good idea. At that moment, Lightsider collided hard with someone and was dumped unceremoniously onto his rear. Worse, he lost his glasses. Lightsider closed his eyes in reflex. The crowds around him contained women. Lots of them. If he were to open his eyes here, he’d certainly fall prey to his kawaii sensitivity.

“Ahh! I’m terribly sorry!” he said, feeling blindly about for his glasses. He started to sweat from the embarrassment and the risk of the situation. His glasses . . . .

The woman looked down and saw a pair of blue-tinted glasses by her heel. She bent and picked it up, just as his head crashed into her thigh. She stumbled back, regaining her balance. The glasses clicked against her ring.

Lightsider opened his eyes at the unexpected sound, and he stared up at the woman he’d accosted. She was very short. She was very beautiful. She was also very familiar . . . .

She was holding his glasses.

The woman stared into Lightsider’s eyes for a long moment. He has lavender eyes, she thought. Such a lovely set too . . . she smiled inwardly. He was cute as well.

Lightsider shut his eyes in reflex, and then realized he should have already been comatose. He opened his eyes again.

The woman was still there, still beautiful, and still not turning him into a gibbering idiot, like every other humanoid female in Megatokyo did. Lightsider felt faint, but not from his kawaii-sensitivity. Finally, a woman he could see, talk to, and never have to worry about some freak accident causing him to collapse. It had been his prayer for centuries, and now it had come true.

Lightsider reached for his glasses, and just as he picked them off the woman’s hand, he recognized her. She was dressed differently, in business attire, and her hair was carefully combed over her pointed ears.

Of course, it had to be Shadowdancer.

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Shadowdancer felt like laughing at the man’s confused expression. Instead, she left him his dignity and wordlessly held out his glasses to him. She thought he couldn’t see without them. “I am truly sorry! I was looking at a display . . . .”

Staring at her, gaping, he slipped his glasses on. She blinked, recognizing him then. “Dr. Lightsider! Fancy meeting you here, Sensei!”[2]

“Uhm . . . eeh . . . hai . . . ,” he stammered in reply. Lightsider stared at her, unable to remove his eyes from her face, from her large, almond-shaped eyes. He could feel his heart hammering. The initial joy in discovering he could look upon this beautiful woman without his glasses had bled away . . . because it was this woman.

Why can I look at you without my mind shorting out? he wanted to scream at her. Why did it have to be YOU??

Shadowdancer blinked as an idea hit her. She silently sent a prayer of thanks to the Fortunes for giving her this opportunity. Such timing only the Gods could arrange! Suddenly, to Lightsider’s surprise, she bowed at the waist. “Gomennasai! I never got to apologize before.”

Confusion drove out the initial anger. “Apologize? What for?”

Still bowing, she said “For terrifying you. I sincerely did not know the trip into the Shadows would affect you like that. Please, Sensei, by way of apology, let me buy you dinner.”

Shivering, Lightsider willed himself not to run. He willed himself not to flee from her. To his surprise, he found he could not have run from her if he wanted to. Amazingly, he felt drawn to her. His eyes flicked over the copper shine of her hair, noticing that the gem in her forehead had been concealed by the draping of a chain of gold against it. It looked like a little circlet. His heart beat like a ritual drum.

Shadowdancer straightened. “Please. I had sworn a sacred oath not to hurt you. I don’t know how it happened, but I did. I must repent my vow-breaking.”

Those eyes. They were really like the night sky, dark and bottomless with tiny silver specks in them, like stars. He felt drawn to gaze into them, felt drawn to her like a moth to a flame. He recognized it, this power . . . he’d felt it before . . . .

. . . With Tohru.

That revelation was akin to being doused with ice water while drunk. Shadowdancer smiled at him, a smile he knew few men could resist. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see other men looking the tiny dark elf over, smiling appreciatively at her minute perfection, some leering almost lewdly at her . . . .

Rage and confusion roiled within him, as well as discomfort from the invitation itself. He looked away, scuffing one foot against the sidewalk. “Dinner isn’t necessary . . . . There really wasn’t any harm done . . .  really . . . .” He simply wasn’t used to women being nice to him. And Shadowdancer was very much a woman.

The tiny dark elf inclined her head in a birdlike movement. “I was . . . raised by samurai tradition. My personal honor demands I repay you my slight.”

Lightsider stammered, unsure what to say or do. The feelings inside him were tearing him apart, the dual desire of running away . . . and confusingly, running to her.

Before he could stop himself, he said “All right then.”

She rewarded him with a dazzling smile and took his arm. Quickly, he looked away, to see several men giving him envious looks. He heard a man whisper; “You lucky bastard.”

Again, a new experience - to be envied by other men. There should be a law on how many new things a person can experience in a day, Lightsider thought crankily.

Shadowdancer began to pull him along. Mechanically, he followed. “Do you like sushi?” she chirped.

“I do.” Inwardly, he quailed at his choice of words. “I do,” you baka, is something you will say to Tohru, not to this . . . this. . . .

“I know just the place,” Shadowdancer said. With another dazzling smile, she led him on.

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Lightsider looked at the sign, then at his diminutive companion in disbelief. “Here?” His voice cracked with the surprise.

Shadowdancer looked up at him quizzically. “Is there something wrong with this place?”

“No . . . no . . . but . . . .” Lightsider looked up at the sign again, reading Jade Chrysanthemum. She couldn’t seriously be taking him to the most expensive, most talked about ryouriya[3] in all of Shinjuku!

“They have the best sake here.” The dark, elfin woman said brightly. “And Kami knows that they don’t make them like they used to!”

Still dumbfounded, Lightsider replied faintly, “I don’t drink . . . .”

“Tea then! I know they have some very excellent teas.” With that, she led him inside, while a stunned Lightsider thought about the restaurant.

It was an ozashiki[4] style restaurant, where one dined in private rooms. Stepping into the Jade Chrysanthemum was like stepping back into time. Pains had been taken to replicate the atmosphere of a high-class ryouriya, and the food served in this place was legendary.

The room Shadowdancer requested was fit for royalty. A traditional hearth with a pot suspended over the coals was set to one side. The shoji screen doors opened to the beautiful Japanese garden, which came complete with a small koi pond. The scent of white plum blossoms wafted in on a cool breeze. A perfect ikebana flower arrangement sat in the tokonoma[5], and a scroll with a haiku done in elegant calligraphy hung above it. The tatami mats were beautifully pale, and the carefully chosen pieces of traditional furniture were lacquered a refined shade of black. The table had been decorated with gold enamel, representing bamboo leaves.

It was breathtaking.

A little more than dazed by the events, Lightsider collapsed onto one of the cushions by the table. He tried to fight off the dizziness that came with such splendor. This is some apology. He shook his head. I’ve got to be dreaming. This has to be a nightmare, right?

He looked up to where Shadowdancer knelt by the door, conversing with the yukata[6]-clad waitress. The waitress bobbed her head in acquiescence, then, still kneeling, Shadowdancer slid the door shut.

Remaining on her knees, she moved toward him, her hands primly folded on her lap. “I have taken the liberty of ordering a full course meal, Sensei.” she bowed slightly at him.

Lightsider wanted to ask her a thousand questions. The first one that shot out of his mouth was “What do you do for a living?”

Shadowdancer smiled. “I work as one of the head splicers at Splice Star Technologies Incorporated.”

“A sorceress . . . also a scientist?” Lightsider asked in disbelief.

“It’s not too unlike chimera creation.”

Lightsider gazed at her, another question hovering on his tongue, when a light knock upon the door made her turn away. Never rising, she opened the door, and admitted the waitress, who brought a tray of pickles and sliced fruits, delicately arranged into spring flowers, and another tray with warmed sake. With a bow, the waitress left, and Shadowdancer closed the door again.

Lightsider’s mind raced. Why is it I was able to look at her without the curse kicking in? Why did I not pass out, or turn into a gibbering moron the way I normally do? What is it? The sight of any woman is supposed to affect me! Was it just some fluke?

All the while, Shadowdancer placed in a small, lacquered dish, the choicest bits of fruit and pickles, arranging them pleasingly before serving the dish to him. Lightsider blushed, embarrassed, but he too the plate and thanked her. Then, he seemed to come to some sort of decision. He set the plate down and looked straight at the dark elf.

“May I ask a favor, Shadowdancer?”

“Certainly, Sensei?” She bowed to him and straightened. “What may I do for you?”

“May I . . . look at you for a moment?”

He watched her blink in confusion, then she bowed again, and said in her oddly couched tone, “You may look upon me freely if you so wish, Sensei.”

No questions, no strange looks, just compliance. Lightsider shoved aside the strange feeling that crawled up his spine. He simply took off his glasses and stared at the beautiful elfin woman.

He had steeled himself, expecting to be dashed down by her beauty, the kawaii kicking him in the jaw the way it always did.

He traced her features with his eyes, almost hungrily, as though she were a feast that his eyes could not devour enough, the first woman he could gaze upon with nothing happening to him, without the blue tint of his glasses staining her skin. His gaze lingered upon the silk of her hair, the delicate upsweep of her eyebrows, the length of her lashes. He noticed that her lips were soft and moist with sake. They were the color of newly opened rosebuds, perfectly shaped, like the rest of her. He deliberately looked only briefly at her eyes, not wanting to be caught by them again, and forced himself to look at her feminine form. She was flawless, perfection.

And he didn’t feel the least faint. Nothing at all.

How could this be?

“Nothing,” he whispered, awed. Lightsider replaced his glasses.

“Pardon?” Shadowdancer asked, confused. “Was something supposed to happen?”

Lightsider was spared from answering by the bubbling of the teapot. He watched the dark elf pour the water with all the precision of a master of the tea ceremony.

He understood then, what her movements meant, the strange, archaic way she did not walk but crawled upon the floor. She prepared him his tea, her actions precise and graceful, telling him that she was, indeed a master in cha-do[7]. That information fell flat in his distraction. He saw her without really seeing her, sunk in his own thoughts, idly nibbling at a sliver of melon.

So it came as a bit of a surprise when Shadowdancer was in front of him, bowing slightly, offering him the bowl of tea.

He took it into his hands, and in his nervousness, covered her fingers with his own. An electric shock ran through him, and he jerked slightly. Shadowdancer looked at him with wide eyes, and the world held its breath as they gazed at each other, eyes locked.

Lightsider wondered if she could hear his heartbeat, so loudly did it drum in his ears.

Another knock on the door tore her away from him and sent her to the door. Shadowdancer brought in a large platter. Lightsider looked at the food, more to regain his grip on himself than anything else, and appreciated its beauty. The sushi was expertly arranged, fashioned into a ‘painting’ of two sashimi cranes framed by sushi reeds and garnish.

In an oddly subservient manner Shadowdancer gestured for him to eat. “Please, Sensei, eat your fill of this humble repast.” Her voice was muted and humble, self-effacing and sweet. She bowed to him, touching her forehead to the floor, and returned to her own cushion across the table.

“Thank you,” he murmured, shaken. Lightsider wasn’t used to being treated this way. Most women either ignored him, or walked all over him. His shy and unassuming demeanor was just not enough challenge for any woman to consider him worthy of conquest. Now this woman, with power defying estimation, was treating him as if he were royalty. Lightsider hesitated, and picked up a pair of exquisitely lacquered ohashi[8], and started to eat.

It was only after he had cleared about a third of the plate that he noticed that Shadowdancer was not eating, only quietly sipping her sake. Her eyes were closed as though in meditation.

Lightsider paled. He realized that she was waiting for him to finish eating, declare he was full, and if there was anything left for her to eat, only then would she feast upon the remains of his meal. He was not going to let her starve!

“Please . . . .” he gestured at the food. “Dozo.”

With a soft smile, she cast her eyes downward and shook her head. “Thank you, Sensei, but I am not hungry yet. Please, enjoy your meal.”

Oh-ho it was going to be that way? “It would be an honor if you partook of this meal with me.” Lightsider insisted, knowing the ritual.

“Then I shall drink sake with you, Sensei. Perhaps you would like to listen to me play the koto? I have some skill . . . .” Again, the subtle refusal.

The doctor took a deep breath, summoning an old memory. “Indeed my food would have no savor, if you did not partake with me.” Lightsider said carefully, phrasing the words in archaic Japanese.

Somehow, it did not surprise him, when she replied in the same old tongue, “Then I shall be honored beyond honor, to dine with you, Lightsider Sensei.” She bowed to him, she took her own lacquered chopsticks and chose a tiny, paper-thin sliver of sashimi. With a grace that made it seem she were wearing fine, embroidered kimono, she brought the food to her lips, and with a finesse totally unknown in that age, ate it, the chopsticks slipping from between her lips.

Lightsider swallowed, struck to the core simply by watching her eat. He knew that she was doing him a great honor, by feasting him as if he were the Emperor himself, and as he gazed at her, he felt as if he were drowning in her mere presence. She was breathtaking, that he could not deny.

As they ate, he retreated into his thoughts, summoning to him the memories he had of Tohru. He tried not to compare them . . . there was no comparison! They were opposites, Tohru and this strange mononoke[9] with the knowledge of the ancient ways. Tohru was sweetness and joy incarnate, the angel who had stolen his heart with her smile. He remembered the kiss they’d shared the day before, and desperately, he clung to it, wrapping the emotion-memory around him like a cloak.

But the woman across from him . . . he could see! She affected him as much as Tohru did . . . she stole his breath away . . . .

Lightsider’s mind finally succumbed to the swirl of emotions and his exhaustion. The room spiraled into darkness.

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Shadowdancer heard Lightsider moan and looked up as he began to sway in his seat. In a flash, she was next to him, and caught him as he toppled against her, unconscious. She shook him, slapping his face lightly, calling his name.

Seeing as she could not wake him, she rose and rang a bell, summoning one of the waitresses.

“Get a taxi!” Shadowdancer ordered. The waitress scuttled away, and another appeared, to clear the dishes. Shadowdancer told her to pack the rest of the meal up in bento. No, leave the sake, she needed it.

When the dishes were cleared, Shadowdancer took a deep drink of the sweet rice wine and looked at the doctor. She realized that she did not know where he lived, and searched him for something to give her a clue. She found his wallet and opened it, finding his identification . . . which contained his address. She memorized it, then slid his wallet back into his pocket.

The head waitress came in, asking if they needed medical assistance. Shadowdancer assured her that Lightsider had fainting spells often. He would sleep it off. No, she would not sue, it was not the fault of the restaurant, so sorry for the inconvenience. Yes, I will pay the bill. Oh, the house gifts. Thank you.

The gift this time was an origami crane of pure gold. The gold sheet was folded into a crane, and set in a delicate glass case. Shadowdancer tucked her crane in her shopping bag. A burly security guard carried the unconscious doctor and placed him in the taxi backseat. The lacquered bento[10] boxes were placed next to him, and Shadowdancer took the front seat, giving the driver the address to Lightsider’s apartment building. It was only a short drive away.

The driver helped her carry Lightsider into his bedroom, and she paid him a good tip for his aid. When he left, she hurried to the doctor’s side.

There was no fever, or any sign of illness, so she decided against calling the UFL hospital. She struggled with his shoes and pulled off his socks and shirt. She let her mask drop and gazed upon his pale form with some worry. She went into the tiny bathroom, and filled a basin with warm water. She sponged his face, chest and arms and tucked him in.

For a long moment, she sat on the bed with him, gazing at his face, brushing back his hair with slender fingertips.

She shivered. Something in her awoke at his touch. She had not felt such a knotting in her belly for a long, long time.

“Who are you, Dr. Lightsider?”

She almost wished he would wake.

She pressed her lips to his forehead, checking for any sign of fever. She lingered, her eyes fluttering closed. A feeling of utter safety enveloped her, and she lifted the sheets as though to climb in next to him.

Shadowdancer tore herself away, and thrust herself out into the living room, gasping for breath. She mastered herself and shook her head, then firmly shut the door behind her, not turning to look at the still sleeping doctor.

Shadowdancer shook herself violently, then looked around. The place was a mess. Since she couldn’t go home until he woke up, she might as well tidy a little.

She threw herself into cleaning, not daring to think of the man who lay sleeping so close by.

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