A View of Edo by Gaslight
Suzuki Sonoko tapped her fan impatiently against the folds of her skirt, enjoying the fact that the satin let out nary a whisper at the impact. Now, that organdy dress her father had bought her last year was another story entirely, but this-this dress was perfect. The fabric shimmered in capital city's newly-constructed streetlamps, the copper-colored silk as bright as the strands of genuine copper that the weavers had added in here and there. Now, if only Western fashion would tire of the corset. Sonoko understood that as the heiress of the Suzuki business conglomerate, she was expected to keep up with the latest in Western fashions, and for the most part, she took nothing but joy in it. But she couldn't help but find corsets tiresome, especially since they quite literally made her tired and a bit lightheaded if she wore them for too long.
For a true KID heist, she would have put her foot down and insisted that she be allowed to wear something a bit more practical. If she were feeling a bit diabolical, she may have even threatened her father with those cycling bloomers that she'd worn to the second heist she'd attended. But though she was awaiting the arrival of a thief, it wasn't KID that she was expecting. So, she could concede slightly to fashion and wear the sort of corseted, bustled, high-necked dress she would normally reserve for afternoons when a particularly comely gentleman had sent her a calling-card. Perhaps her impeccable taste would distract the press from the financial difficulties she was quite certain she wasn't supposed to know her father's organization was having.
The press was already out in full force, as were the police; Sonoko caught sight of a few familiar faces but none she cared particularly to speak with. If she were a little newer to this business, she might've taken a few moments to look over the automaton sentries in police garb standing by the entries, but after dozens of KID heists, they'd lost their novelty. Their expressionless copper faces had long ceased to be unnerving, and now she was just bored of seeing them. If they stopped bringing them to heists, perhaps they'd start bringing handsome young policemen again. Science had myriad hidden costs.
Now was hardly the time to think about that, however. She was waiting for a friend, and that friend was late. And, while her acquaintance had far too many responsibilities and far too little time to fill them in, a condition that often led her to be late for nearly everything, Sonoko still worried. Outside of the pleasure districts, Tokyo's streets were largely safe by day, but by night, they were haunted by mad alchemists, career criminals, and penniless samurai who'd turned to theft to survive. Sighing, Sonoko reached into her handbag and pulled out a gold pocket-watch.
Fifteen minutes, she thought, frustrated, as gaslight glinted off of its face.
"Aah, Sonoko!" a voice shouted, accompanied by a familiar clatter of wood against cobblestone that was all but drowned out by the din of the crowd. Sonoko turned in the direction the voice had come from, and was delighted to see her best friend, Mouri Ran, pushing her way through the crowd, dragging Professor Agasa's young apprentice and a beleaguered-looking girl that Sonoko didn't recognize behind her.
"Sorry I'm late," Ran said, panting slightly. "Father wanted me to pick up some things on our way."
Sonoko gave her a searching look.
Ran flushed, and ducked her head. "Some bijin-ga and a bottle of sake," she admitted.
Sonoko shook her head. Rising detective of the Steam Age or not, Mouri Kogoro needed to stop wasting all of his extra money on prints of pretty women and spirits. His wasteful spending and general uselessness were why Ran was still running around in threadbare hakama, a plain haori, and a Western-style blouse made of visibly cheap cotton. Goodness knew that Ran wouldn't be earning any money for her own clothing-she was too busy taking care of some kid that wasn't even hers and clumsily attempting to keep her continued karate training a secret from Edo's more traditional elements.
Sonoko raised an eyebrow at her friend, who flushed darker red.
"At least it's not shunga anymore," she said, voice low.
The stranger, who wore the clothing of a shrine maiden under a thick, high-collared leather coat that looked as though it was meant for a dirigible pilot with shoulders twice as broad as her own, flushed this time too.
Interestingly, Agasa's apprentice, clothed in her customary Western-style lace frock, seemed nonplussed. Perhaps she'd never heard that term for erotic prints? Hopefully-she'd hate to imagine the bumbling professor trying to explain the existence of such things to a young girl. The poor thing probably would have been traumatized.
"Can I be introduced to your guest?" Sonoko asked.
"Oh!" Ran said, blinking. "Sonoko, this is Toyama Kazuha. She's a bit of a dabbler in spiritualism, and her father is the head of the imperial police stationed in Osaka. Kazuha, this is Suzuki Sonoko, one of my closest friends and daughter of the head of the Suzuki business conglomerate."
"Good ta meetcha," Kazuha said cheerily. "So, did Phantom Lady come yet? I know we're late, but if ev'ryone's still 'ere, we mus' not've missed 'er."
"She hasn't yet come," Sonoko said. "Father's got trip-wires around the building rigged to steam-whistles, so we'll know when she has."
"Are those the only alarms?" Ai asked.
Sonoko regarded the girl warily. Professor Agasa insisted that he only practiced science, but there was something about Ai that reminded Sonoko of the alchemists that her father's company didn't officially employ. And, though alchemists made useful things, it was wiser as a rule not to be near them-there was a risk both of explosions and of unfortunate chemical side effects. Perhaps one of the latter was at fault for Ai's constantly dour expression.
"Not by a longshot," announced a new voice. Ran startled as a girl with scandalously short hair, dressed in a black suit-jacket and a white kimono tucked into men's pants, of all things, approached them. "We've got all sorts of surprises cooked up for Phantom Lady's arrival," she said, beaming.
"You look familiar," Ran said slowly.
"Ah, Mouri Ran, was it?" the girl said. "I caught that radio broadcast of your karate match with that automaton, and I have to say, I'm impressed. I'm sure your friends feel a lot safer with you around."
Sonoko was impressed despite herself. That match hadn't been...legal, in the strictest sense, not that she or Ran had known at the time. But one of the jerks from their neighborhood had started a fight with Ran, and Ran, in her typical style, had finished it. The match had not been broadcast on a regular channel. How on earth did this girl even know about it?
"But, who are you?" Ran pressed. "I feel like I've seen you before."
"Sera Masumi," the girl said, smile still bright. "I'm a detective. Like Sherlock Holmes, but with a few more gadgets."
Kazuha gave her a skeptical look. "People look up to Holmes because he doesn't need gadgets," she said.
"Eh, Holmes lives in a world where clockwork doesn't do everything but breathe," Masumi said. "Here in the real world, well, detective work requires a little gadgetry."
"Phantom Lady!" someone shouted.
Sonoko looked up and saw a woman with long, dark hair, swathed in what might be white bandages, perched on the edge of a nearby building's roof.
"You ladies have a lovely evening," Masumi said, offering them a shallow bow. "I have duties to attend to."
With that, she swept off toward the police line, her hand slipping under her jacket to reach for some sort of weapon, even as the gathered crowd erupted into excited cheering. It seemed the heist had begun.
A/N: Yes, a second one-shot fill for Gosho Girls Week. I had some time, and I loved the idea of writing steampunk. Especially steampunk that's actually set in Japan, because the weird mélange of Eastern and Western clothing that was the early Meiji period is already fascinating without the fantasy and sci-fi elements. Some of my Japan/art-history geekery may be on display here.
This is my first time writing Masumi Sera, so I apologize if the characterization is at all off.
In case context wasn't enough to clarify and you aren't familiar with the terms: bijinga are pictures of beautiful women, while shunga are erotic prints of the decidedly not-safe-for-work variety. Both are types of ukiyo-e.
I'm ninthfeather on Tumblr, if you want to find me there.