Precious Broken Things

Chapter 2:



Dull flat white skin, sunken eyes, ruffled hair. Shinobu sat at the mirror in the dressing room, just staring. There was hatred in the dark eyes, pale hands shaking slightly. Her head tuned, snapped from her reverie by the sharp rap on the door behind her. She breathed, closing her eyes and settling herself before turning, calling out softly, watching as the familiar form of Shikamura appeared, quickly closing the dressing room door behind him.



It was small, not a dressing room really, but a storage room with a giant vanity, an ancient mammoth of teak and brass and mirror, with so many light bulbs surrounding it that every time she tried she lost count. She felt the familiar hand on the back of her neck then, and she forced a smile.



"Are you sure you're okay? Can you do this?" There was a definite worried note in Shikamura's voice, his head cocked to one side as he looked at her. He had already told her he would tell the boss she was sick if he didn't want to go out there. Shikamura knew there was a good possibility that He would be here tonight, and he wasn't sure how she would react. She molded her own hand onto his, squeezing reassuringly.



"I'm fine, really. Now help me get ready before the boss gets upset, wouldn't want to have to cut off one of my pretty little fingers to get back in his good graces, I'd never get good at piano then." The joke made him smile, withdrawing his hand, spinning her chair around to face him.



Shinobu took a deep breath and closed her eyes.



The dark kohl ghosted over pale skin like a dream, matte white applied around the eyes, lifting them, brightening them. Then came the colors, red along the edges of the lids, just outside the smoky line of kohl, purple across the eye. Dark pencil outlined tired lips, drawing them out slightly, plumping them up before the space was filled with rouge, a dark deep wine color. The powder came last, pale as chalk, sitting perfectly against the skin underneath.



Dark hair was pinned back, a few strands left hanging around the face before the long wig was seated snugly over top, secured with clips around the interior edges. It fit like a glove, like it was made for this head. The long hair was carefully pressed and coifed, tamed into a tumbling confection, garnished with purple flowers, black feathers, glittering crystals too light to be diamonds, but refracting enough light for it not to really matter.



The last step was the dress, most difficult really, much more steering and struggling involved, but still the eyes stayed closed. Shimmering purple, deep and dark, looking perfect against her pale skin. Some things have to be more carefully arranged, but it fits like a glove, mandarin neckline hugging to the base of her neck, a zipper sliding closed and a row of tiny buttons and she's standing then, ready for anything. Two deep breaths, slow and smooth, despite the racing heart.



Dark eyes slide open, it was time.



X



The lights were dimmed now in the bar, like they were all across town. The tables all packed full now, and the bar itself is lined with patrons, drinks in hand, everyone chatting a bit more quietly as the tall man sat down at the piano, letting a few notes fall experimentally before shaping them into some improvised melody, more to signal what is coming to the crowd than anything else. This isn't a show though, these people didn't come in here to see this really, at least not this crowd, mostly trendy young people, heading to the clubs after this, cheap drinks to start the night.



A pale girl in a beautiful purple dress took the stage, a small spotlight trained on her, still dim, like all the other lights, but it was enough to make her sparkle and that was enough. She conversed with the man at the piano in a hushed tone, before taking the microphone in one hand and closing her eyes once more. She opened her mouth.



"Ghost of yesterday

stalking 'round my room

all night long you stay

walk around profound gloom"



Everyone still talked around them, some bobbing their head in time, a few salary-men at the bar turning to ogle her, eyes on her curves more than her voice. She didn't see ay of this though.



when the darkness falls

when I've gone to bed

weirdly come your calls

mournfully, scornfully dead



Words fell from her lips like drops of hot glass into water, solidifying into beautiful things that refracted the light as much as the sequins on her dress or the rhinestones in her hair. Her eyes were still pressed closed, a little tighter now than before, the line of her back more tense. She tried to breathe deeply, when she could, but the flow of the music is much more important now.



folly of a love strangled

pulsing heart I thought was gone

gives no peace

will not cease



She could feel eyes on her, and not the normal lingering glances of the perverts in the back, slightly drunk and sometimes pushy, but nothing Shikamura couldn't handle after the show. It's a different kind of gaze she felt. She doesn't open her eyes, doesn't want to know for sure. It terrified her, she just wanted to finish and get off of the stage, away from them.



prowling round till dawn

ghost of yesterday

every night you're here

whispering away



She shivered slightly, the ending notes of the song drifting through the room, as the pianist switched almost seamlessly back to the improvisational swing of the soft jazz he played briefly earlier, just quiet enough to fade to the back, but sharp enough to still feel trendy. Shinobu shivered as she steps down, careful not to look out over the audience, just wanting to get into the dressing room, tell Shikamura she can't do any more, not tonight. It's too hard, she can feel the beating of her heart in her ears.



Then she was behind the door again, and Shikamura was lifting the wig away, releasing the catch, because he could tell by the tears that had started to leak down her face that she was not going back on, not tonight. He sighed.



X



Itachi could tell, with those opening notes, that he had really found that most precious thing, and word by word, he found the feeling in his stomach growing stronger, the tightness in his chest more insistent. He knew he had what he needed within his reach now, all he had to do was close his fingers around it, and he could put it back where it belonged now, he could put it back at his side.


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A/N: The song is Ghost of Yesterday, by Billie Holiday