Tattoo | By : clairejones Category: +S to Z > Witch Hunter Robin Views: 5409 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own Witch Hunter Robin, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. |
Prologue
Another
day. Another hotel. This one was better than the last, but that
didn’t mean much. The hotels in which
they stayed were always rather surprisingly upscale. In any case, the two never stayed at one
hotel for very long, choosing to change locales every week or so, whenever the
guardian decided it was time.
Amon shifted to a more comfortable position atop the still
made bed, resting his back against the headboard as he shuffled through the
pages of his newspaper. It was rather
odd, but this seemed to have become his nightly ritual to reads the paper
before bed. From his position, Amon could hear the low sound of water running in the
bathroom sink. A few moments later, the
water was turned off and the door opened.
He didn’t look up as Robin and a cloud of mist emerged from the
bathroom, the former freshly cleaned and ready for bed.
From the corner of his
eye, Amon watched Robin stop just short of the vacant
bed beside him. She looked at it
disinterestedly a moment, then turned abruptly and hopped into his bed. The bed bounced slightly as Robin landed next
to him. Though his concentration for the
latest news had abandoned him, Amon nonetheless kept
his eyes glued to the paper and not on the girl snuggling into his side. Robin moved closer still, her face brushing
against his shirt as she peered over his shoulder to read the news. Suppressing a sigh, Amon
let the newspaper fall to his lap.
Robin’s gaze shifted to look expectantly into his face.
Amon’s turned to face his little ward fully. Before he could realize he had done so, his
eyes had disobediently flicked over her body, his subconscious noting the
pastel light cotton pants and camisole she wore. Robin had long stopped wearing the repressive
clothing she had in the past, but still remained hesitant to wear anything that
was particularly revealing in public, such as items like tank tops or
shorts. Clothing which showed off
Robin’s legs seemed particularly bothersome for a reason elusive to Amon. Of course, he
never pressed the matter in an effort to avoid Robin any embarrassment (or so
he told himself). Only at night, when she
was alone with him, did Robin wear more revealing attire.
Lucky
him.
Amon quickly caught himself from staring and brought his
eyes back up to her face, only to be distracted once more, this time by her
hair. He never could decide if it was
more brown or blonde in coloring - and God knew he had spent enough time
staring at it. Since leaving her life behind after the fall of the Factory,
Robin had begun wearing it down, letting it fall loosely over her
shoulders. Amon
never said anything, but he preferred it this way (though admittedly, anything
was better than how she used to wear her hair as a Hunter). Moreover, Amon
suspected that Robin had somehow realized that he preferred it this way.
Amon started, realizing that Robin still remained kneeling
at his side, waiting patiently for him to speak.
“What are you doing?”
he asked finally, fully knowing what Robin wanted.
She tilted her head to
the side. “Could I sleep in your bed
tonight?”
There it was; the
question Amon dreaded. She always asked so directly and innocently,
as though it were common for young girls to share a bed with their older and
male guardians. And try as he might, he
could never refuse when she asked - which was now almost every night.
“Do I even have a say
in the matter?” Amon replied in his usual resigned
tone on the matter. He always struggled
to sound annoyed at the intrusion into his bed, despite the irritating part of
him that liked the nights when Robin slept peacefully at his side.
Robin’s face lit up at
his words of defeat and she busied herself with making herself at home under
the blankets. Amon,
meanwhile, resumed his reading of the paper, his mind temporarily distracted by
the oddly appealing obituary section.
Before long, Robin had closed her eyes and her breathing became steady
and rhythmic. Amon
gradually relaxed, even becoming so bold to sneak an occasional look at the
girl beside him. He smiled despite
himself as he watched her tranquil face resting upon the pillow. Amon turned back to
the newspaper, only to be startled by a rustling beside him as Robin suddenly
sat upright.
“I’ve been thinking of
getting a tattoo,” she said, looking thoughtfully across the room.
“You’re not serious,” Amon responded automatically, thoroughly bewildered by the
abrupt change and discovery that Robin had apparently been awake the entire
time. He waited until her gaze drifted
to him. “You don’t even have pierced ears,” he added.
“I really think I want
one,” Robin continued eagerly, placing a hand upon his arm. Amon glanced down
to it, the hand small and smooth, before his eyes returned to her face.
“Absolutely
not.”
Her expression turned pouty. “Why not?”
Amon once more returned to the paper. “I am your legal guardian. You are in my care
and as such I feel it is inappropriate for you to get a tattoo at your age.”
Robin’s mouth pulled
down further into a frown, before she brightened again. “But you could get one with me!” She tilted her head and looked at him coyly. Be strong, a voice within warned. One thing he had trouble resisting was a coy
Robin. The Look was partially the reason
she slept in his bed at night, despite his apprehension. “I could pick one out for you,” she suggested
as she pressed into his arm, completely oblivious to the inner struggle she
herself had created.
“Still
no. I don’t need another.” Amon gritted his
teeth as soon as the words were out of his mouth.
Instantly, Robin
straightened as she seized onto his words.
“Another?” she asked curiously.
“You already have a tattoo?”
Amon flipped through the paper abruptly, nearly ripping
the pages in half. “Yes,” he answered
tersely.
Robin leaned forward,
partially blocking his view of the paper as she peered into his face. “Where?” she asked
suspiciously. “I’ve never seen
it.”
“A place I don’t want
people looking.”
As expected, Robin’s
face turned beet red. Despite her
embarrassment, her curiosity and tenacity won out. “Oh?”
Knowing there was
nowhere he could distract the conversation, Amon put
aside the paper and turned to face her. “On my arm.” He
indicated the upper part of his left arm with his forefinger.
“Really?” she asked,
still looking rather suspicious at this latest piece of information, albeit
relieved that the tattoo was not located somewhere more…personal. “Let me see it.”
He gaped at her a
moment, then his fingers moved to unbutton his shirt. Amon pushed the
left side of his shirt over his shoulder, exposing the upper area of his arm
with the tattoo and the top part of his bare chest. He decided to ignore the flush that had crept
over Robin’s face as she leaned forward to study it.
“How old were you when
you got this?” she asked, her finger coming up to brush against the design.
“Older than you,” he
answered roughly as he roughly pulled the shirt back onto his shoulder. He made no move to re-button it. Amon sighed when
she merely waited expectantly.
“Eighteen.”
“That’s only a year
older than I am now.”
Amon shook his head.
“I still don’t think it’s a good idea.
You should start out with something a little tamer - like ear
piercing.” He paused, watching Robin
closely. “Why a tattoo, of all things?”
he asked curiously.
She shrugged and
looked dejectedly at the bed. “I don’t
know. It seemed like a good idea.”
“It sounds rather
drastic - especially for you.”
“There’s nothing else
to do,” Robin muttered.
Amon regarded her a moment. “Is that what this is about? You’re bored?”
“No,” she answered
sullenly, “I just wanted a tattoo.”
Disgruntled, Robin scooted down under the covers, staring up at the
ceiling.
“Did you get that
tattoo because of someone?” she asked after a moment.
“No,” he replied,
regretting that the word sounded unconvincing to his own ears.
“Hmm.”
Amon relaxed slightly, thinking the questions had
passed. No such luck.
“You must get
frustrated looking after me.”
“What do you mean,” he
asked carefully.
“You probably want to
get married at some point.”
“At some point,” he
agreed evasively.
“Don’t you ever want
to go out?” she persisted, turning her head to look at him. “Like with a woman?”
“It’s not a
possibility at the moment,” Amon responded, hoping
his this-subject-is-closed tone would put an end to matters.
“Why is that,” Robin
asked blankly, pointedly ignoring the warning.
“Because right now, my
responsibility is to look after you,” he answered grudgingly.
“I though it was a
necessary part of life to be in a relationship with someone.”
Growing more
uncomfortable that the conversation was dangerously close to discussing his sex
life, Amon squirmed on the bed.
“No, it’s not a
necessity,” he replied slowly. Amon was acutely aware that a lack of a sexual partner did
not equate with a lack of sexual activity as a whole. “Priests and nuns don’t marry,” he
added. “Isn’t that what you were going
to be before you left Solomon?”
Robin studied him
carefully a moment, making Amon feel as though he
would break down and go mad if she didn’t say anything soon. After a moment, her expression turned coy
again.
“What are you going to
do after I get married?” she asked.
“I’ll have someone else to watch over me then. You can do whatever you want after that”
Amon glanced to her from the corner of his eye. “I’ll still need to watch you. Your future husband most likely will not have
the skills necessary to protect you.
Besides…” he trailed off, feeling Robin tense beside him, “…I did make a
promise to you.”
“I guess that’s true,”
she said at length. “That still doesn’t
leave much time for you to find someone of your own in the meantime, though.”
Amon squeezed his eyes shut and held his hand over his
forehead. “And I thought you had already
fallen asleep for the night,” he growled in frustration.
“Are you going to
follow me around if I start dating?” Robin asked, breaking into his thoughts of
woe.
Amon dropped his hand from his face. He looked thoughtfully across the room at the
framed picture a moment before continuing.
It was one of those drab pastoral paintings that hotel managers
apparently loved considering that nearly every hotel the two had stayed in had
the near identical picture. “I guess
that I would have to. I hadn’t given it
much thought.”
“That doesn’t sound
too romantic,” Robin commented as she shifted slightly closer to Amon.
“No, it doesn’t,” he
agreed.
“That still doesn’t
leave much time for you,” she persisted.
Amon sighed. “I
don’t really want to talk about this anymore.
It’s time for us to go to bed anyway.”
With that, he tossed the bedspread over Robin’s head. Her face re-emerged, looking back to him with
amusement. His brow creased as he
frowned at her. “I’m not really looking
for anyone at the moment,” Amon said eventually. He could have groaned aloud at the happy expression
on Robin’s face at his words.
“You shouldn’t look so
pleased at your guardian’s marital status, Robin.”
She slid down under the
covers, pulling the comforter over the lower half of her face. Even still, Amon
could see that Robin smiled beneath the blankets.
*
* *
Up next - Chapter One: Of
Gods and Lolitas
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