[PRP] Silent Type

[Suudonym]

The library was disappointing. It was all records and tactical information. The recreational reading was virtually nonexistent, and the selection of screenplays left just about anything to be desired. It was disappointing. The Johto base had been similarly ill-equipped. How did they expect their infiltration department to flourish if they didn't provide the proper materials? The environment of the library, though, was splendid. It was quiet, isolated, and practically devoid of other life. Not many avid readers at the Kodo base, then. A shame, but Catherine fully intended to use that to her advantage. She could read enough on her own to fill the quota for everyone in the base, after all. Granted, of course, she didn't run out of books.

One short trip to her room and back found the young woman seated on the library's floor, her back against one of the large shelves and a book in her lap. Hamlet, an old favorite. She read intently, unyieldingly, as though the pages would flee her eyes were she to divide her attention.  

[lZAYA ORlHARA]

A young man, having noticed an unfamiliar cascade of flowing locks spilling across the floor, had his attention captured the instant he entered the library. New people always interested him. Initially having had no particular purpose but to browse the books, he smoothly changed course without missing a step. The library held a good many intriguing stories, but the best, Nakura figured, were not found in books. There was certain information one could only gather from human interaction.

He walked up to the young woman with a casual gait, his arms out to his sides and empty. Pausing only once he was standing before her, the grunt bent his head to regard her, tilted it slightly, and smiled his usual smile. It was the smile that gave away almost nothing about the one wearing it; concealed emotion rather than expressed it.

"Is that a book best read on the floor?" he asked in hushed tones, respecting the quiet of the library. However, he kept his voice assertive enough to demand attention from the avid reader. "Someone might step on all that pretty hair if you aren't careful."  

[Suudonym]

A voice pulled her attention from the pages and up to the recent revival, his approach undetected due to her sharp focus on the story of poor Hamlet and Ophelia and the fact that the library was carpeted for extra quiet - indeed, people were deeply more interesting than stories of them. She stared up with a silent, searching gaze for several moments. Male, late teens to mid twenties. A slender build that was more geared for swift movements than for powerful ones. And, most interestingly, a smile that betrayed nothing. That was a difficult expression to achieve for someone who didn't practice it, and it was almost never unintentional. There was also something to be said about his willingness to approach someone in the library - even more, someone who was reading in the library - and interrupt them. Libraries were often cherished places of isolation; if you came alone, you remained alone. And you certainly didn't pick out and speak to strangers on any grounds but a question. Granted, he had asked a question, but it was more rhetorical in nature than it was wanting for an answer. Perhaps even vaguely scolding. Passingly Catherine wondered if he considered her reading place a nuisance and was attempting some subtle cue for her to move. She didn't want to move, though. It was terribly uncomfortable to read in chairs.

When the woman finally reacted, she laid the face of her book across her leg to keep her page, leaned forward slightly, and gathered her hair to contain it behind her. She then returned to her previous posture, though despite the book in her hands, her gaze was affixed on the stranger, waiting silently and with an innate eagerness for his response.  

[lZAYA ORlHARA]

As the young woman seemed to study him, Izaya raised a brow, his practiced smile never wavering. After a minute or two, she seemed to respond by gathering her hair behind her, presumably in an effort to keep it out of the way. He chuckled quietly.

"What's the matter? Don't talk to strangers?" he teased, crouching down before her to be more on her level. "Or are you just more of a reader?" Glancing down at the text on the page she was reading, he giggled. It was upside-down to him, of course, but with a little head-tilting and a few seconds to decode the letters, he recognized the famous play script.

His lips parted slightly for a few seconds, smile faltering as he recalled another female Rocket who enjoyed the theater. No doubt Aila herself had checked out this book from this library before. Perhaps she had even been the cause of its presence among the Rocket book collection. Izaya hadn't even been aware it existed here. "Shakespeare. And one of his tragedies, by the looks of it. How depressing."

Resuming his smile, if slightly more strained than before, he looked back up at the girl's face and held out a hand. "Very well, if you won't talk to a stranger, let's not be strangers any more. I'm Grunt Nakura. And you are...?"  

[Suudonym]

She continued to stare wordlessly at the stranger, taking in his every nuance. He was confused by her silence, most likely. People often were on meeting her. That was okay; she had come to expect it. He seemed interested in her nonetheless, though. His shift in posture suggested that he intended to remain for a while, and he appeared to be the charismatic type. At the very least, he was outgoing and unafraid of reprimand for being too nosy. It was possible, of course, that this charisma was a facade to hide social insecurities, but she had yet to see any evidence of that. She would have to wait to and see.

A reader. She dipped her head in a single nod, a slow, deliberate motion throughout which she maintained eye contact with an unchanging expression. She followed his gaze to the book in her hands, frowning inwardly at his evaluation of the contents. Depression, Shakespeare wasn't depressing. He was skillful, masterful even. Never a word wasted or misplaced. Perhaps if she had the same abilities, she would be a little freer with her own words. But she did not, and so she was not, and she didn't feel as though she had lost anything in her quality of life for that.

Coral eyes fell on the hand that reached to her, lingering only momentarily before returning to contact with her company's gaze. After a moment of what could be perceived as consideration, she slowly offered her own slender hand in reply. Her mouth moved only slightly, her voice quieter even than what one would expect of a library, "Catherine."  

[lZAYA ORlHARA]

"Oh, no..." The man began to laugh with what seemed to be genuine amusement, though somehow managed to keep it quiet enough for a library. "Don't tell me you're one of those quiet types like my sister Kururi."

Noting how the young woman continued to maintain eye-contact, however, he could tell right off that she was nothing like Kururi. Kururi was more insecure, and thus needed Mairu to back her up. This one, on the other hand, was particularly intense and didn't seem especially social or even tactful. Didn't she know it was rude to stare? At least so directly? And to keep from verbally replying-! It was almost more than the informant could bear.

Well, not really. In fact, all this peculiarity was only adding to his intrigue. He tried to read her face, her eyes, her motions - anything he could tell she might use as a form of communication, whether it was an unintentional slip-up, instinctive, or purposeful. At last his patience was rewarded with her delicate, feminine hand, which he gently took within his own for a few, brief moments.

He saw her mouth move and had to read her lips to confirm what he barely heard. "Catherine," he repeated quietly, committing the name to memory. "Is it the literature you're more fond of, Catherine-chan, or the play itself? The words or the story?"  

[Suudonym]

'Oh no' wasn't a phrase that usually preceded laughter - interestingly frank laughter given the nature of his smile. She listened closely to the words that followed, curious as to what could cause dread alongside amusement. Nostalgia, apparently. Familiarity. Hm. She ducked her head down slightly, unsure of how she was meant to respond to that. The normal response was probably to deny the accusation, but that would involve wasting words. Instead she opted to affirm his judgment by saying nothing. She had no need to leave an especially good impression, after all.

Her company's efforts at the study of her expression and body language would be rewarded with nothing more than the briefly offered hand and the unyielding stare. Her mouth remained an untellingly flat line, her eyes equally wordless but filled with an intense and searching focus. She heard his question and took several silent moments to process it and consider her reply - as well as the meaning of the question itself. It was an odd question; it seemed to imply that he had some familiarity with theatre and had an opinion of his own. He recognized the story as Shakespearean, at that. He didn't have the same eagerness as an enthusiast, though. Strange.

"Both equally," she answered at length, her reply this time containing enough syllables to betray the slight British accent to her tone. They betrayed no more than that, though, save perhaps for the fact that she was soft-spoken.  

[lZAYA ORlHARA]

"I see."

Nakura appraised the young woman with a finger pressed to the side of his chin, appearing thoughtful. "What about your favorite character, then? Surely you have one of those. Unless, of course, you haven't finished it yet, but you already seem familiar with this story. Am I right?"

By the certainty with which she answered his question, he was fairly sure she had already read the play and seen it preformed; perhaps more than once. Her fascination with it, however, was another question entirely. At least the girl seemed to answer questions, and if it was the only way to get her to talk...well, then, he'd have to ask more. The informant, luckily, was a man of infinite questions and thus had no lack of inquiries to ask.

"Of all the books in this library, Cathy-chan, you chose that one. Now why would you do that? It's not informative; I highly doubt it will help you with your job." He paused, as if in consideration. "Or could it...? Are you an actress? A woman of theater, perhaps?"

Aila was. A fine one, too. She'd shown him what she could do on their day out together. Damn it, he had to stop thinking about her.  

[Suudonym]

Hm. He was asking all the right questions for someone who was already familiar with a piece, but he continued to lack the telltale enthusiasm of someone who was excited to meet an individual with the same likes or interests. Granted, Catherine never displayed that enthusiasm herself, but she had come to find it a common enough occurrence in others that she felt safe considering it a telling trait. She nodded once at the question of her familiarity with the work, though her answer to the other question was slower coming - not that there was any question as to who her favorite character was, but it was important to maintain a calm composure. "Ophelia."

There was the slightest shift in her expression, a measured change in her features that was virtually imperceptible save for her own awareness of the different facial muscles that even slightly tensed or relaxed. Her gaze, however, betrayed her intrigue, her keen attention sparking alive with something more. He was attempting to analyze her, wasn't he? He simply had no qualms doing so aloud where her own hypotheses and conclusions were kept internal. How interesting. She allowed herself time to ruminate silently on the question before dipping her head in a single, slow nod of affirmation.  

[lZAYA ORlHARA]

"Ophelia? Hmm. Interesting," Nakura commented musingly. "Now why would you choose her? She is among the first to die after Polonius. Hardly makes an impact on the story at all." Whether or not the informant truly believed this was hard to say. He kept up his smiling mask as he sat beside her, growing weary of merely crouching.

Resting his own back against the bookshelf, he looked thoughtfully up at the ceiling. "I'll admit I'm not terribly fond of that particular work of Shakespeare's. If I had to choose a character, though, it would be Horatio. He's a loyal friend, but most important of all, he lives."

The grunt turned to look at Catherine. "Because, at the end of the day, when you're dead, you're dead. Nothing. No matter how you die, you no longer exist, and that's a little too permanent for my liking. So why admire a dead person?"

Izaya noticed the young woman's coral gaze still on him. Something about the way she was looking at him changed, however. He wasn't sure what. Perhaps she was simply enthused by talk of the play. Somewhat disappointingly, this didn't seem to make her speak any more than before, but at least she was still answering his questions. Vaguely, anyway.

"Oh? And how would Miss Catherine consider herself a woman of theater?" He was reminded briefly of Shizuo's famous brother actor. Kasuka, too, behaved unexpressively and stoicly until he was given a role to play. Supposedly this was a result of his personality countering Shizuo's overly emotional temper tantrums while the pair was growing up.

When Kasuka was given a role to play by his agency, however, he put his whole heart and soul into the part as if he were that person and no one else. When all was said and done, though, he returned to his near-apathetic disposition. He was like a puppet, given life only when he was needed to portray a role. This made him invaluable as an actor.

This sudden thought struck Izaya like a revelation, and it showed in his eyes. With a new, sudden eagerness, he turned to Catherine, his usual smile broadening ever so slightly. "Cathy-chan - you don't mind if I call you that, so you? ...Would you be able to recite a few of your favorite lines to me, perhaps as Ophelia? I'd love to hear your rendition.

"We can go outside so we don't disturb those reading here." He nodded encouragingly toward a window with daylight shining through. "It would be a shame if your full performance was hindered by a need for an 'indoor voice'. Don't you think...?"  

[Suudonym]

Catherine listened to Nakura's appraisal of the character almost unblinkingly, her crisp features betraying no response to his degradation of Ophelia. Of course, every character had their own merit, and she would be quick to praise each if asked her opinion of them. Her opinion, though, was asked of Ophelia, and she almost found it strange that she had to defend the woman. At length, she provided her answer, "She is a beautiful human, pure and foolish."

Carefully, as if she were a glass figure handling a sculpture made of sand, she shut the book in her hands, tracing her fingers down the cover against the embossed title. She returned her full attention to her company, staring deeply and intently into his person as though she could find his thoughts by searching for them. She was silent for even longer than usual, her body language nor her expression indicating anything of the workings of her own mind. "Breath and blood are not the only proof of existence," she said. What a ridiculous notion, that. Long after the body forgot how to breathe, its mere resemblance could trigger any number of emotions in such a large number of people - to say nothing of the memory of their living deeds. Did he believe that death undid one's entire laugh? She hoped not; it sounded absolutely dismal to live believing life was nothing more than a sad exercise in futility.

His next was an odd question, and she tilted her head slightly aside with silence as an answer. How would she not consider herself a woman of theatre? How could she possibly consider herself anything but, considering she had been acting since third grade? She watched with quiet interest as her company's eyes shifted. He'd had some thought, some idea, perhaps made a connection that he had not previously considered. She wondered what it was, and she continued to watch in hopes of discovering her answer. A brief negatory nod indicated that she in fact did not mind the nickname; she had been called Cathy by schoolmates as a child, and the -chan suffix, she assumed, was a reflex resulting from his cultural background.

The suggestion that she perform as Ophelia, however, drew a more varied mix of emotions, even if nothing about her physically suggested it save for perhaps the length of the pause before her response. She had no qualms against acting as Ophelia, of course. Ophelia was one of the first roles she performed, and she had performed it a few times throughout her life, even if only by running through the lines on her own. There wasn't exactly any reason to refuse, it just... seemed odd. The Johto branch had appreciated her skill for the proficiency it gave her in intelligence gathering, but nothing beyond that. She had not been engaged over the plot or characters of her reading, and she had not been requested to demonstrate her skills for anyone other than on a professional basis. Her biggest curiosity was in what Nakura hoped to gain from observing her performance. The only way to discover that, though, was to follow through, and so in a single, graceful motion, the woman stood from the ground, long hair gathering over her shoulders as she leaned forward to rise. At her full height, she was about as tall as him, and she bored her gaze against his all the more easily now that her eyes were not upturned. She stood silently and patiently as she awaited Nakura to lead to his desired stage.  

[lZAYA ORlHARA]

"All humans are beautiful," Grunt Nakura countered, speaking matter-of-factly. "Is it purity and foolishness you admire most in them?" He continued to study Catherine intently, but she continued to give nothing away. True, he did enjoy playing with foolish, naive, ignorant humans - they were just so gullible, which made them easier to manipulate. But who else would admire such qualities in others? Someone who valued innocence, perhaps...?

He watched as Catherine slowly closed the book with extraordinary care, running her slender fingers over the title of the tome. Then she was staring up at him again as if his soul would give up its secrets to her if she stared long and hard enough. Despite priding himself on tolerating others' quirks, even the informant was beginning to find this a bit unnerving. Whether or not she could see into his soul, he did not want her to, and thus the implications of her intentions were threatening in themselves. He felt her lack of body language and facial expression boarded on the unnatural.

Nevertheless, Nakura kept up that relentless smile, even as his opinion was opposed by Catherine's own beliefs. "I think we're seeing this from two different perspectives," he replied civilly, chuckling to himself. "If you're referring to whatever sort of legacy one leaves behind - say, this story -" Nakura gestured toward the book. "...then yes, it might be conceivable to live on forever and achieve an immortality of sorts."

He held up a finger. "However, you are looking at this from the viewpoint of a person who has watched someone else die. In theater terms; the audience. I'm talking about the viewpoint of the person who is dead. Otherwise known as the character up on stage." Izaya had decided to used theatrical references since that was what the young woman seemed to respond to best.

"No more screen-time for them. Unless it's as a corpse, and that never lasts for very long. What do the dead care for rituals or fame once they're gone? It doesn't do them any good. The impression an existence leaves behind is not the same as existence itself," he argued gently. "While actors can make a reappearance for a curtain call at the end of a play, real life - as I hope you know - isn't like that. That's why most of us aren't really ready to die anytime soon."

Ignoring the fact that Catherine had chosen to overlook his question regarding her theatrical background, Nakura gave a merry nod in reply to her own and pushed himself to his feet. "Cathy-chan it is, then," he said happily, stretching his limbs as he rose. Even if Catherine was unable to think of how she could not consider herself a woman of theater, Izaya could easily have named one.

She wasn't an actress; she was a grunt of Team Rocket's ranks. Even if her job required a certain degree of acting, there was only so far she could take it while on base. After all, agents weren't always out on active field duty in disguise; much less grunts. That said, what was this theater-obsessed woman doing here? It couldn't have been merely for the pay. Whatever reason it was, Nakura intended to find out...in time. For now it was merely about getting to know her and just how deep her obsession went.

He had to say, he was almost surprised when Catherine stood, having half expected her to refuse or simply ignore his request. Delighted that they seemed to be getting somewhere, (at least metaphorically speaking,) the male grunt brusquely turned toward the library doors and, with a spring in his step, led the way to the nearest exit outdoors. All the while, he did his best to avoid her penetrating gaze.  

[Suudonym]

She shook her head slowly, staring still. "I believe those are the most basic and essential human characteristics. Ophelia eptimoizes humankind, and for this she is beautiful." It was a chore to speak so much on so ineffectual a topic, but it seemed that ever word she offered was replied with tenfold, so she could tolerate the exchange for the time being.

Defending herself, though, was a tiresome task. Catherine had never been much for arguments, preferring to listen to conversation than to contribute to it, but all of Nakura's words came around to a question against her, leaving her little choice indeed but to argue. Well, there was no helping that, especially if she had misunderstood his point and stood expected to clarify her vantage point from the right context. "I see," she said, keeping an even pace with her company as he walked in an effort against his escape from her gaze. She was silent again, then, "Even one that wishes to live can smile at death if they believe their cause worthy." And it was important, she felt, to believe that cause worthy. Fear of thunder would not prevent storms, but the knowledge that the rain would nurture gardens could at least lead one to accept them.

She proceeded at that even, matched pace, though once outside she passed him swiftly, quickly evaluating the scenery. It wasn't much to work with, and the barren desert was hardly an ideal location for Hamlet, let alone one of Ophelia's monologues, but she had made do with less in the past. In the end, it was the role of the actor to carry the performance, not of the set. She stopped a few feet ahead of Nakura and turned to face him, her features vivid with the expression of someone who had just borne witness to something that had rended their heart. Her shoulders were drawn up, her hand held to her lips to contain whatever words threatened to tear out of her voice. Her posture was rigid as though she held her breath, the slightest tremble rocking her pale fingers.

"O," she said, her body shuddering briefly with the syllable and her head moving faintly to and fro in disbelief, "what a noble mind is here o'erthrown... The courtier's, scholar's, soldier's, eye, tongue, sword," she paused briefly to draw a catching breath, "th' expectancy and rose of the fair state... The glass of fashion and the mould of form... Th' observ'd of all observers--" She tightly shut her vermillion eyes, moving her hand across her grimacing face, "quite, quite down!" In mirror to her words, she compressed on herself, her arm wrapping around her middle to its opposite as she sank to her knees, visibly struggling against her body's evident instinct to collapse.

"And I!" she cried, pulling her hand from her eyes to gesture to herself, turning her attention back to Nakura as if in appeal, "Of ladies most deject and wretched, that suck'd the honey of his music vows! Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh... That unmatch'd form and feature of blown youth - blasted with ecstasy!" A passing fit of frustration drew her hand across the ground, kicking up a spray of sand. She folded her arms into the sand, leaning down and burying her face there. "O," she shook her head again, her hands pulling into fists, "woe is me t' have seen what I have seen, see what I see!" Her voice betrayed her hidden expression, choked with withheld tears and racked with frustration and self-loathing, breathy shouts yearning to remain unheard and yet begging to reach any ears that would hear them. She lingered in silence for a time yet before eventually, slowly, drawing up away from the desert earth, her eyes cast down and her brow furrowed, her long hair curtaining around her, slender pulling to her heart and lips as if to drag out answers that she could not otherwise find. Ophelia remained until the world outside her tragically failing love for Hamlet cued Catherine to return to the stage.  

[lZAYA ORlHARA]

"Ah..." Izaya murmured, chuckling lightly to himself. Maybe this Catherine was more like his sisters than he thought. Or, rather, her idol Ophelia was. "Do you strive to be like her, then?" he questioned. "Epitomizing humankind as a single being?" If that was true, then Catherine had a far different view of humanity than Mairu and Kururo did. "Do you seek to be 'pure and foolish'?"

Continuing straight ahead without looking back, he was somewhat dismayed and yet intrigued that she chose to speed up her pace to continue to study him. He just wished she wouldn't have done it so...obviously. It was kind of difficult to ignore being stared at. Good eye-contact was important in a conversation, but this was getting ridiculous.

"There is no cause worthy of one's own death, Cathy-chan," Izaya said, suddenly unexpectedly solemn-sounding. "Take it from a long-standing survivor. Smiling on the outside is one thing, as is acceptance that one is going to die, but actually thinking death through and choosing it over life is entirely another." He put on his own smile once again as he glanced toward her. "Why? Are you saying Ophelia had a worthy cause to commit suicide? Even those who believe in martyrs couldn't honor a death like that."

He was a bit surprised when they got outside and Catherine took the lead, presumably scanning their surroundings for the most ideal spot to perform. Nakura laughed lightly at her eagerness, wishing he could have seen her up on stage. Yet somehow, this could be better - it would really test just how well she could take hold of the atmosphere without a stage or props Like an a capella singer forced to sing without an accompaniment.

When she turned to face him, the grunt's smile softened, admiring her ability to slip so seamlessly into character. It was easy to tell just by her mere expression. Yes, this one was a master for sure. If she could practice those expressions and body language so easily, naturally she would be able to read them on another's face and in their actions. He would have to be especially cautious around her.

As he listened attentively to the young woman's performance, enraptured by every magnificent gesture and minuscule change in tone, Izaya kept a straight face. With his legs casually crossed, leaning against a wall of the building with a blank expression, he waited until she finished before allowing the smile to resurface clapping enthusiastically. "Love?" he whispered under his breath and applause, presumably speaking to himself as he clapped, "His affections do not that way tend..." But he fell silent there as he pushed off the wall to approach her.

"Wonderfully executed," he complemented her, still clapping faintly. "Especially with that lovely backdrop you have going for you. Despite the desert, though, I'd say you set the mood rather well. The sand was a nice touch, but now you're all dusty," Izaya chuckled. "That doesn't bother you~?"

With a happy sigh, he regarded her with new curiosity. "So now I see how you're a woman of theater. But if that's so, then what are you doing in a place like this among people like me~?"  

[Suudonym]

Her response to the several questions was simple, "No." Catherine had no desire to strive to be like anyone, nor to epitomize anything, nor to exemplify any trait. She only wished to see and reflect the world.

She listened intently as he spoke, especially to the changes in the intonation of his voice. She watched his expression as it changed with his words, watched his lips as they formed those words, watched everything about him as he spoke. One's philosophies on death were very telling. "Nothing was gained from Ophelia's death," she said simply, implying her answer that the woman's cause was indeed unworthy. This was an individual, she decided, that had at some point in his life had an experience with death. Even ignoring that he said himself that he was surviving, his matter-of-fact evaluation of the subject implied that he had come to a conclusion on the matter in the past. They weren't the words of someone whose mind would be changed simply by considering another's point of view.

The question he posed at the end of the performance was undeniably intended for Catherine, and so Ophelia, in the blink of an eye, vanished. Catherine pushed herself gracefully to her feet, her expression returned to the almost vacant quality that she had worn before. She looked momentarily to her clothing, the dark fabric of the uniform lightened by the sand, and returned her attention to her company with nothing more than a shrug.

He was a curious individual, wasn't he? Catherine was curious herself, but she didn't like to ask questions; she preferred the answers to present themselves of their own volition. It was interesting to see the other side of the coin. The pause separating comment and response was a bit longer even than usual, which perhaps suggested that the reply took more thought than others, "Existing."