Chapitre 5: Explanations (3)
Normally, when I grab people I do so by the helm of their shirts or by their necks, for convenience. That was also the case with all the stray kittens and cats; by their scruffs. However, for seemingly no reason whatsoever, it didn't seem appropriate to do so with the little girl. I opted to place a hand on her back and an eye on her at all times. That'll prevent her from escaping.
Like so, I walked further down through the cells and entered another room. Rows and rows of scarecrow target dummies and weights now decorated the right-side of the hall. A cafeteria with simple tables and benches decorated the other side. There were even water fountains and little shelves providing bandages and other medicine.
On either ends of the benches sat two instructors and their trainees, an older boy and girl. The two payed no attention to their table manners and devoured their meals. The instructors didn't seem to mind though. They spared a glance towards us that quickly turned to what I presumed a look of awe. When I caught their eye, they hurriedly returned to polishing and repairing the wooden swords and dummies in their hands.
As the quiet trot of my footsteps resounded about up the stairs, I wondered about their shocked expressions. The little girl hadn't shifted or moved her position at all. Her arms hung over to my back, whilst her head, turned away from me, remained nestled on my shoulder. Judging by her silence and gentle breathing, I assumed she was asleep. Was it the sight of her that was so shocking? Or was it just my reputation?
I wasn't so sure.
The instructor's faces popped back into my memories. They weren't strangers, but I wasn't familiar with them also. Definitely elite assassin's, though. I could recall working with them both on missions before and they weren't the type to flinch easily or act all dramatic. Not to humble-brag or anything, but I wasn't awe-so-inspiring to those of their calibre... then why was the little girl so?
The stairways led up to another hallway, this time a hotel-style with rooms and assigned names. I choose an empty room at the end of the hall, flicked on the lights, and locked ourselves in.
The little girl stirred at the sound. Her arms swung backwards into a small yawn. I was going to shake her awake, but she was steps ahead of me. And her little 'eep' noise at the end of the yawn was intricately emotional. If I were the butterfly and she was the flower, the feeling was like a deep swooning for the post-bloomed pollen. Again, I didn't know how to describe it. I reall don't. So ignore the poor analogy for now. Just know that it, it was cute, verily much so.
I guess being the sweet charmer that she was, she didn't drop her gaining momentum. Her gaze swept across the walls and the bed before landing on me. Her smile was inches away. Her giggles were even closer—it resonated inside me. I felt myself fall into double-pronged and triple-crossed attacks as my heart curled and ears boiled. And for the finishing blow—
"Daddy," she cooed. Right into my ears. Again.
—my embarrassment lost. My two hands reached for her stomach. I pried her off me and set her down on the bed.
I had to admit it was tough trying to do so. She stuck to me like glue—fingers clawed onto me like mountain climbers to rocks. And I'll have you know that my strength wasn't weak at all, contrary to my appearance. Time and time again I'll have bested people in fist fights and arm wrestles though I'm all skin and bones. Each win would still leave me in surprise; it wasn't logical. The only explanation I've come up through the years was that I had really strong muscles, that follow a quality over quantity type thing. May science prove me wrong.
After many grunts and gasps for breath, the little girl finally sat on the bed. She made rhythmical taps as her legs dangled on the sides. A bright grin still bore on her face, with no sign of exhaustion. She was still as cheery as always. While I was here getting a workout, she didn't even show any signs of exhaustion. How?
I stared between her perfect, shiny white teeth to her small button nose. She did the same, except with cheerful giggles and chuckles between her grins. We held a short-lived staring contest—I lost, completely, to the sudden urge to pinch her two cheeks and turned away in shame.
All of these weird thoughts and sensations in my body were really disturbing and placed my mind in distraught. I didn't know where to look. I didn't know when I could get to listen to her voice. I didn't know why I found her everything so damn pleasing. The more I stared at her, the more my heart thumped. The closer I got to her, the closer my heart was to jump out of my chest, and the longer I stayed with her, the longer I yearned for it to last.
Maybe I was wrong, after all. Maybe she was an master-assassin that deceived me. What was the poison that made me react like this?
I took a step back away from her and leaned against the door. We held another exchange of stares—my gaze was wary, but hers was beaming with excitement. I watched her blinks and her giggles, her funny face and her shy glance. I watched as something started to bubble inside of me: I knew at once it was the poisonous effects relapsing.
"D-daddy. While it is fun to stare at each other, you don't have to do it for so long, " she muttered quietly. In the end, her voice was as quiet as some of my killings.
I winced, and almost crumbled down to my knees. Her shy face... it was too much. "I'm not your daddy."
Her shyness disappeared into nowhere instantly. She huffed. "You are! My daddy!"
"Am not. Do you even know who I am? Or where you are?"
Her face grew to a little pout. She crossed her arms. "You are my daddy. My name is Fiona. I am seven years old."
"One, two, three, four, five six seven," she added, counting with her fingers. "Mummy is gone. I have no mummy. You are daddy! I'm here to find daddy!"
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