For those waiting on my continuation of the Freezing saga sequel, here's something new from the world of Sekirei. -CK
Sekirei ©Gokurakin Sakurako
Something strange is happening in Shintou. All across the capital, secret battles are taking place to determine who will be the one to bring about resoration. Spearheaded by the international conglomerate MBI, Hiroto Minaka set out on fulfilling this vision through a 'game'. With 108 beings in the form of humans known as Sekirei, they and their partners called ashikabi, are pulled into this twisted cycle of perverted frovolity. Yet, halfway around the world, a different, yet similar thing is happening, strangely, in the United States.
Hurricane Katrina is the worst natural disaster to hit the southeastern United States in over a hundred years, especially in the state of Louisiana. Hundreds of lives were lost, acres upon acres of property destroyed, and millions of dollars spent to clean up the hideous, infested, carcass-laden mess. Daryl Wilton seen it all happen, having lost most of his relatives in the resulting overflow of Lake Pontchartrain, who refused to leave the area. Being the only full-blooded Cajun in the family, his French creole heritage showed in his speech and dialect.
Since inheriting over $10 million from his aunt who lived in New Orleans, but died during the floods, Daryl set out on his own to rebuild his family's legacy. His family house was one of the fortunate houses in the area to survive the devestating hurricane and its fury. His aunt Bernice had lots of money, ironically won from Publishers Clearing House, yet rarely spent any of it. With the exception of setting aside a college fund for her only nephew. Though the majority of her possessions were lost, all that was left was a one hundred year old shotgun house less than a mile from the downtown area and the French Quarter. Coming back home at 17 and graduating high school in his hometown, is all he wanted. With no one to come see him walk down the aisle, he felt as if he's destined to live his life alone. He couldn't be further from the truth.
From the rooftops of the buildings in the French Quarter, a large, dark figure moves with stealth, looking, listening, feeling, for what, or who, it is looking for.
The Saturday after his high school graduation, Daryl cleaned around the house. In the past two years, he had his family house completely done over, with a two story addition on the extra plot of land on its east side. It looked very little like the old rustic shotgun house he grew up in for years before he moved from the city in 2000 when he was still a child. In 2004, he moved in with his aunt after his mother and father were killed by a drunk driver. When Katrina hit the state, he tried to get his family to evacuate, but they refused, and paid the ultimate price. Thankfully, Bernice gave him her most important documents, including her will. And in it, all her possessions and money was willed to him, of all people. Even though he collected when he turned 18, he had a lot of work to do to get the homestead back in shape. Now, at 20, his dream is finally coming true.
This day, in the evening, Daryl decided to treat himself to dinner at a restaurant in the newly revived French Quarter district. He hadn't a car yet, but he was working on it. The downtown section has come a long way since that fateful day in 2005, and by the sound of the lively jazz music, nary a worry was seen, as the strings of lights glowed like those on a Mississippi river boat. Bourbon Street was always like this at any time of the year. Though the majority of the residents did return to rebuild, there were not many full blooded Cajuns like him around. The sights and sounds made him want to say one thing.
"Laissez les bons temps rouler," saying to himself as he was greeted by one of co-owners of the restaurant.
"Glad to see you again, Daryl," the man said as he showed the young man his table.
"Yeah, I wish aunt Bernice could've been here to see me graduate," saying as he sat down.
"Yeah," the man said, "we all do. Congradualtions again on graduating, you're the first in your family to do it so far."
He nodded. "Now that I got the house right, I'm pretty much here to stay."
"Hey, if you need anyone to help you with things, just let me know."
He nodded, as he placed his order for seafood gumbo, an order of boudin, and some beignets. For a guy his size, at 5' 6" and only 140 pounds, that's a lot of food. Yet the extent of his appetite exudes that of his physical attributes. Saying grace and digging into the big bowl of gumbo, he wondered what's in store for him. He's taking a year off so he can handle the family's business, then attending Southern University in Baton Rogue next fall.
Unfortunately, the French Quarter was also known for its attraction of drunkards from nearby parishes, who drink a lot, and want to stir up trouble. And as Daryl was taking in his spoonful of gumbo, he could hear the commotion outside with one of the drunkards. The guy who served him passed by as he asked.
"Is that still happening?" in his Cajun accent.
"Yes, I'm afraid so," he said in grief. "The police can't do much, due to the changing of the laws after Katrina. They let 'em do as they please, as long as they don't hurt anyone."
"Has it happened?"
"Once, but that was it." And just when he said it, a man barged in, pushing the server aside, in a drunken rage, reeking of whiskey and beer.
"Hey," he yelled, his words slurred, "get outta here, this is my place!"
Daryl was hoping he didn't come near him; he just wanted to finish his food. That was not to be, as he knocked down the co-owner, and he helped him up.
"Get outta here!" yelling again as he pushed Daryl to the floor, knocking over his plate of boudin and beignets. Then, the man became violent as he started to kick the young man while on the floor. "How many times I gotta tell you, this is my place!" Daryl did what he could to protect himself, his friend unable to help him. If something didn't happen soon...
"Hey!" called a voice from the door, sounding like an Asian female, "why are you tearing up a peaceful establishment like this?" The drunkard turned around to see a tall, mocha-colored woman standing there. Though Daryl couldn't see due to his blurry sight from being kicked in his face, she walked up to the crazed man as he drooled at the sight of her. Full of strong drink, he thought he could score.
"And why are you kicking that young man?" He could only just stand there, mouth wide open. The woman then took him by the collar and lifted him off his feet, as they were face to face. "This is the eighth time you did this in three months," she growled, "if you don't get rehab soon, I'LL give it to you!"
She then walked to the door, and threw the guy out, landing on his face! Cleansing her hands, she walked over to the two men and helped them up. Looking at Daryl's injuries, it upset her as she rubbed his cheek.
"You alright, sugar?" asking in a southern-tinged Asian accent.
"I-I'll be alright," he replied, "thank you."
Suddenly, she felt something hit her senses as her caramel complexion slightly turned red. "Oh no," she whispered, "is he...the one?"
Once Daryl had his face clear of the blood and sweat, what his eyes caught hold of made him blush just as much. A mocha-skinned woman, couldn't be much older than him, with long, dark hair cascading her back. Her features were that of Asian descent, yet her accent was mixed. Her body was that of a heavyweight female bodybuilder, with ripped arms, straited legs and nicely sized breasts. But her outfit took the cake. A dress, with splits on each side up to the hips, tapering at the bottom, with a lined oval opening at the chest to display some major cleavage. Also, wrist cuffs covering her meaty forearms, as well as thigh-high spiked boots topped off an amazing package. Daryl immediately began feeling unusual things as she gave a glowing smile, holding out her hand and helping her up.
"Th-th-thank you, again," he stammered as her blushing increased.
"You're welcome, sugar," she replied as he dusted himself off.
"I-I'm Daryl," he said in turn. Suddenly, that feeling returned to her, and she knew what she had to do.
"I-I...must go," as she quickly turned heel and rushed out the door. The young man and the older man stood there for a minute, as Daryl turned to him.
"You seen her before?"
"Yes, she's been present in certain places, I heard, helping to keep the city safe. Can't tell if she's a vigilante or not." He rubbed the gray whiskers on his chin. "Come to think of it, she first appeared two years after the hurricane hit and flooded the city and the surrounding parishes. She helped out to an extent, then disappeared after that. She just recently resurfaced."
"You know her name?"
"Nope, we tried to ask, but she got gone before we could say anything." They started picking up the spilled food off the floor. "Sorry that had to happen, you paid for a good meal, and almost got a beatdown. I'll have 'em do you some more boudin and beignets, okay?"
The boy smiled. "Just make it to go."
A few days went by since that incident, and though he's been back, he hasn't encountered that mocha amazon as of late. In the evening, he'd gaze up to the sky from his wraparound porch, and wondered who she was. Thinking he heard something, he jerked his head around, and eyed his surroundings. Why do I have the feeling I'm being watched? he thought as he turned to go inside. Just then, a voice called out to him.
"D-D-Daryl," the voice said, as he did another 180, to see...that dark-skinned amazon! He immediately blushed heavily at the sight of her, as she slowly stepped up the walkway. "I-I'm sorry I ran off," she stammered, "it's just that...I was scared." Her Asian-laden southern accent was something to marvel at. "When I felt your honesty, and your feelings, I...kinda knew...that you are...the one."
"The one what?" he asked quizzically.
"The one I am to protect and serve. I"ve been noticing you since you came to New Orleans, and started building on this house you live in."
There was one question he needed an answer to. "Who are you?"
She looked up at him with a slight smile. "I am No. 109, Omaha. I'm the last of a breed of special beings known as Sekirei."
His eyes grew big at hearing that name, as he recalled a friend of his who lived in Japan, in the capital of Chiba Perfecture, Shintou. He wrote to him that he'd became involved in a game known as the 'Sekirei Plan', and it was being played out in the city. He himself had one, No. 71, Ai, who was a combat type. Luckily, he and Ai escaped the capital, and are living in the countryside. Omaha brought him back.
"Daryl," she said, "I believe you are to be my master."
"How do you know?"
"When we feel our fated one is near, our bodies have sensations, similar to feelings for another. Since that meeting at the resturant, I've been feeling like that nonstop. I can tell now, that you are to be my master."
Daryl was pretty tense about talking to a stranger, yet this stranger saved him from being beaten by a drunkard. So, his southern hospitality automatically kicked in.
"Well," he spoke up, "you wanna come in 'sha?" The chocolate-skinned amazon smiled wide as she stepped onto the porch and walked in behind him.
Omaha was in awe of the house he lived in. Rich, sweet woods, beautiful furniture, antiques galore. And the young man who owned all this became that more attractive to her. Soon, her feelings stirred up stronger than before, as her face flushed heavily. Not now, she thought as she wrapped her muscular arms around herself to regain her composure, but it did little good. The sense was overwhelming her.
"Have yourself a seat," he said as he headed to the kitchen, "what'd you like to drink?"
"Uh, water, please," she said, her voice shaky. She knew the time came for it to happen. As Daryl returned, his eyes were big as she rushed at him, knocking him to the hardwood floor and spilling the drinks. On top of him was a flushed, heavily breathing chocolate muscle girl, looking at him with pleading eyes.
"Please, Daryl," saying between hard breaths, "make me, yours," moving her face toward his. As much as he tried to move, the unreal density of her muscular body prevented him.
"O-Omaha," he pleaded, "w-what are...you trying to do...?"
"I...can't help it..." as she cupped his face in her soft hands, "I need...you..." her lips meeting his in a kiss that rocked his senses. Being his first kiss, he closed his eyes, taking it all in, as she broke the lock. Rearing her head back, something appeared behind her as it shot out from her back, looking like wings. The glow dissipated, as she returned to normal. She gazed down at the boy, and smiled.
"I am now yours, Daryl," she said chipperly. He just stared.
"I've been winged," she said, "in Japanese, you are an ashikabi, you control me. All that I do, is for you. With my powers, I will fight for you, protect you, keep you safe from any and all harm. For as long as you will have me."
For a moment, his mind went back to his friend, and realize what just happened to him. She moved as to let him get up, looking at the mess they made.
"Well," he said reluctantly, "at least I'm not alone anymore."
Omaha looked at him quizzically. "You live here alone? Where is your family?"
Daryl sighed. "My parents were killed in a firey car crash five years ago, the rest during Hurricane Katrina in '05. To my knowledge, I'm the only survivor. New Orleans is my birthplace, and I came back and rebuilt after I came of age to receive my inheritance. This is our family house we're in. I just improved on it."
Omaha's expression softened as she placed her hands on his shoulders. "You're not alone anymore," she said. "You have me. I'm your Sekirei."
"And I do my best to be the best master you'll ever have," smiling, as they sat down on the sofa and started talking. For this to happen to him is beyond his wildest imaginations.
In the days following her winging, Omaha has since moved in with her now ashikabi, Daryl Wilton. Having no steady place to stay since her importation and release five years ago (only by performing deeds and receiving food and lodging as payment), she slowly became used to him and his ways. Sitting down and talking was how they got to know each other, and eventually, growing to resepct each other as well. In one of their many conversations, he learned a lot about her kind, and especially her, in particular.
From what she was told by her adjuster, the late Takehito Asama, she is actually a combination of two eggs that were deformed, and really had no use to MBI CEO, Hiroto Minaka. Yet, Asama took the initiative to develop her into what she is now. She turned out completely different from the other 108, having a greater size and more strength than any other Sekirei. Whereas the others were released into the capital, she was kept back for a reason. Minaka had an idea that was so far fetched, it was short of being called abandonment. Contacting one of his investors in the United States, Omaha was placed on a private jet and flown from Japan to the North American state of Louisiana where she would live her life.
Omaha continued. "From that processing center in Mississippi, I was sent here to help restore order after that disastrous hurricane. I was told before I left, that I would find my ashikabi as well, as I was no different from any other Sekirei back in Japan."
"Well, what's your special power?" Daryl asked.
"I'm a dual type Sekirei, vast intelligence and a strong combat type. With my mind, I can access anything with electronics, and control it. But it's my Norito that makes me who I am."
She nodded. "It's our special ability when all options are used up. It's activated by a kiss." She blushed.
"With me, it's my Bear Meteor, a powerful punch that only I and another Sekirei possesses. It's, can I say, earth-shattering." Daryl's eyes grew big at that statement. "But my intended goal is to protect you from anything and anyone who dares to misuse you or hurt you. For as long as you'll have me, I'll be with you."
He was at a loss for words, hearing that. Omaha blushed even more. "I mean...if you'll have me-"
"Y-y-yeah!..." he stammered, waving his hands around, "I-I mean, you...can stay here, for as...long as you want...is what I mean to say..."
The mocha Asian amazon smiled. "Thank you Daryl!" as she smothered him with her muscular body, beefy arms wrapped around his neck. The shock of her action stunned the young Cajun, yet he gave in and wrapped his small arms around her. She let him go, and face to face, her mocha complexion looked like she had cherries in her cheeks. Daryl was curious.
"What's wrong, Omaha?" he asked with concern in his Cajun accent. Her smile wavered as her thoughts came out of her mouth.
"I think...I love you..."
His eyes were wide as saucers at hearing the confession, made by a woman who he just met a few weeks ago, and had only recently moved in with him. "A-A-Are you...sure, mon cherie'?"
She nodded. "You don't know what I went through the past six years since arriving here. The negativity, fighting, talking..." She shook her head as tears formed in the wells of her eyes. "It's like...these people don't know nothing about love...it's every person for themselves...I don't understand..."
He rubbed her ripped back trying to calm her down. "That's the way things are, here though 'sha," he said, "people are raised in different ways. After the hurricane hit here seven years ago, the local and state governments didn't do a thing about it, and it became every person for themselves."
Omaha lifted her head, her red, watery eyes gazing into his light browns. "Really?"
He nodded. "Yeah. It wasn't until the President stepped in and gave help, and later, they placed all the blame for the lack of response on him. Now, though it's back to normal, people still harbor those feelings, and are turning to various means to get what they want."
She gazed downward, as she suddenly felt his fingers running through her dark hair. "I was always taught to want the best for people. And I want the best for you, mõn a meí."
The ebony Asian slightly smiled at the statement, as her cheeks grew red. "I'm sure of it now," she said, "I...do love you. Because of your heart, and determination. And if it goes as far as becoming your wife, I'll happily do it."
She laid her head on his chest, as Daryl rearranged himself to lay across the couch. Stroking her thick black hair, it soothed her just as a kitten would be. On her face was a smile of peace and contentment, something she hasn't felt since leaving Japan six years ago. In her mind, eyes and heart, Omaha has found her one and only; ashikabi, man, and possibly, husband. And she will go through hell and high water to protect him.