Footfalls mingled with the crackling sound of leaves underfoot as a solitary figure walked on the carpet of yellow leaves that covered the avenue. Misty sunlight threw the clear-cut shadows of the great maples and oaks into solid relief. A breeze filtered through the whispering trees, whispers that murmured the secrets of centuries past and present.
Whispers, of course, that a wandering Kirishima could not and did not wish to decipher. The gentle whispers meant little to her, and she continued on her way. Autumn was in full swing and the silence that the melancholic season brought with it was palpable, unbroken by the multitude of soft murmurs that swept through the park.
At last, she came to the spot she was looking for – a great oak with its roots forming almost unnatural niches and alcoves. Many carefree parties of laughter and merriment had been held here, games of hide-and-seek and treasure hunts. But now in the grip of autumn the great tree stood silent – only the wind carried echoes of those days.
Kirishima looked around her, checking left and right for anyone following. Satisfied, she walked around the tree, her eyes searching the roots. It didn't take long; halfway around it she found Haruna sitting in one of the smaller alcoves, waiting expectantly, the remains of a light repast beside her.
"You weren't followed?" Haruna asked.
"No, Haruna-sama. I did my usual checks, as requested," Getting onto all fours Kirishima crawled over to Haruna, who relaxed and, giggling softly, let her gently crawl over her until their faces were inches away.
"I guess it's been rather boring lately, hmmm?" Kirishima softly whispered, adjusting her glasses idly.
"Hard to say. The Admiral isn't letting slip much," Haruna coolly answered. "I, on the other hand…"
Kirishima smiled. "I know." Without any more prompting she leaned in close, and nothing more could be said.
In a leaf pile a little way from the great oak the little scene reflected on the polished glass of a camera, hidden craftily amongst the leaves. Its lens captured every passionate movement, every little shift of the jumble of white robes.
Inside the leaf pile the obtrusive spy studied the images, feeling a little thrill of daring as the camera clicked again – another delicious little picture to add the files. She wiped a bead of sweat off her brow – even in the cool shade of the trees the interior of the leaf-pile was baking – she felt like a chicken in an oven.
At last the little scene relaxed and stilled. The spy detached the camera from the tripod and flipped through the images, contemplating each picture's caption. She thought of the possible headlines for the little affair – Sisterly Love: a secret affair? Trysts under the trees? Or something else? The spy smiled to herself as she carefully extricated herself from the heap, taking care not to make too much noise. The evidence was sown, and the seeds of a scandalous story began to sprout.
The viscous liquid in the pot bubbled to a boil while a merrily humming Kaga stood by, chopping up an assortment of vegetables. In a singular flash of bright steel the chunks flew into the pot.
The stew turned from blood red to a murky brown almost immediately. She peered at the mixture, breathing in the fragrant spices.
"Good enough," Kaga murmured to herself. "Maybe a bit more fuel…" Idly her hand found the fuel can and raised it up to the rim.
"Ka-ga-senpai! What are you making today?" With an abrupt shock Kaga felt the can slip from her fingers. The iron can clattered on the tiles, its contents oozing out on the polished surface. Quickly and decisively Kaga whipped her bow up and deftly notched a green-feathered arrow. She looked down the arrow and saw Ikazuchi, frozen in her tracks.
Oil continued to leak from the can as Kaga stood her ground, bow drawn and tensed while Ikazuchi looked at the arrow, her expression melting from a frozen frieze of a joker into a face of pure fright.
Kaga was the first to break the pregnant silence. "Ikazuchi. Why are you here?" she asked in a flat monotone.
"Aha-ha-ha-ha, me? I was just checking if…." Her voice shook and trailed away as she tried to edge towards the door.
Kaga's grip on the bow tightened. "Now you make this mess," She glanced down at the spreading puddle of oil. "And now you clean it up."
"M-me? B-but I have to go and see- Eeeek!" Ikazuchi jumped hurriedly out of the way as Kaga loosed the arrow, which flew and exploded in a great burst of flames against the wall. Ikazuchi felt the force of the blast and tripped backwards, landing hard on the tiles.
"Ouchy…" As she nursed the spreading bruise on her thigh, Ikazuchi looked up and saw Kaga looming over her, bow at her side. "Clean up the mess," she said, throwing down a large sponge. "Or you won't be getting any dinner tonight."
"Yes, Kaga-senpai…" Ikazuchi ruefully took up the sponge and began mopping up.
Behind her, however, another little camera watched the whole spectacle from the safety of a dusty niche in the spice rack. Its tiny lens contracted and expanded, covering all the movements and gestures.
In the adjacent room the same conniving spy sat straight in her chair, watching the replay of the awkward scene. With a rapid click she paused, tapped a few keys, and another juicy image saved itself into a folder. The spy closed the live feed and leant back, smiling to herself. And there, she thought to herself, is another little story all sewn up.
She idly shifted over to another desk, where several photos and pieces of print lay pinned and arranged over a cork board. Scrutinising the layout, she moved the pieces around, edging some into the more obscure columns and others into prominence. With a flourish she placed the last item on the board and grinned, admiring her own handiwork.
Tomorrow's going to be a hot day, she thought, and it thrilled her to think of the little outrages her small but explosive paper was about to cause.