Company of Wolves
Chapter One: A Touch of Scent: A Gathering of the Hounds
By Gabi (gabi@pinkfluffy.net)
Something smelled wrong in the city. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but it was not the usual unpleasant smell of Kyoto in the fall. Kyoto was an old city, and as such it had a number of distinct smells, no few of them akin to rot itself. But this, this was a fleeting malodor, one he could only catch as the wind shifted, or he turned his head a certain way. When he tried to concentrate on it, he lost it. It stayed slightly out range, doubling back only long enough to remind him it was there, and to set him on edge. Something smelled inconsistent.
His nostrils flared, catching the all too powerful stench of some bad mackerel from the fishmonger across the street, and he lost the elusive scent completely. Well, some rot was easy enough to pick up on.
He rose and left some coins on the table next to the empty soba bowl but before he could take a step forward a young aproned girl bustled past him, intent on clearing the table.
"Fujita-san, you forgot your hat again!" she cried, waving it at him, looking quite pleased with herself and expecting praise.
That damnable hat. If there was one thing about his uniform that he truly hated, it was his hat. He felt as it if were a stopper on his head that cut down the range of his sensors and blocked ideas from either entering or exiting. Men were not meant to wear hats, of that, Saitou was certain. Still, any admittance that the hat bothered him was also a sign of weakness he would not show. So he consciously tried to forget it wherever he could. It had once been lost for two weeks, but somehow the damned thing kept coming back to him.
He turned to face the young waitress, who was still smiling as if she'd won a prize, and gave her the disconcerting smile that he reserved for the public, "Thank you, Hisako."
The girl waved her hands as if no thanks were needed even as she handed over the hat, "What would you do without me, Fujita-san?" she giggled.
He continued to smile. He knew this expression on his bony, spidery face disturbed many. He hoped that It would discourage the helpful waitress from returning the hat in the future, but the girl, who had been working at the restaurant for at least a year, as far as he could remember, had apparently become used to his chiseled grimace that was meant to intimidate. She actually seemed to appreciate his attention. Well that had been less than successful.
"Goodness knows, Hisako," he grunted in dead pan, as he turned to leave, "Thank you again."
"Of course, Fujita-san!" she cried after him, and he found himself wincing at her cheerful tone.
It wasn't as if he could avoid her. She always worked the lunch shift and he'd been eating his lunch at the same soba house for twelve years. He wasn't about to stop eating there because of the hat. That would be like letting the hat win. He tucked the cursed hat under his arm and left.
Outside was no better than inside, when it came to scenting. The barrel of spoiled fish kept him from catching anything meaningful in the air, and the watery sunlight of the overcast day made everything seem dull, made everything smell of mildew.
Well, perhaps there'd be something interesting waiting for him on his desk when he got back to his office. The wolf was not primarily an office animal, but things had been disturbingly quiet since the Battousai had left Kyoto. The surprise visit of the Tenken a few months previous had not really provided him with any real entertainment either. Everything was too calm, too peaceful, and too apathetic for his tastes. He could find no stench of decay, no leeches or ticks on the Ishin government to exterminate. There was only the slight touch of scent in the air, a trail he could neither isolate, nor follow.
Thus, the wolf was left pacing the walls of his office, squaring the corners, as he waited patiently until he could catch the scent. His office was eight steps wide and five steps long. He'd been trying to scent this thing out for quite some time.
The streets of Kyoto were bustling, as was normal at this time of day. Still, although it was busy there was no jostling in the crowd. Even in the throng there was a respect for personal space that the wolf had long appreciated and grown to expect. The crowd afforded an even larger bubble of personal space to the lanky policeman, who was at least a head taller than almost everyone in the crowd. His height made him conspicuous, yes, but when he wanted to go incognito there was nothing, not height nor uniform, that could stop him.
He preformed a cursory sweep of the crowd as he walked. It was more out of habit than out of any suspicion or paranoia, but careless wolves may as well be dead wolves, and Saitou was quite aware of this. To neglect even the simplest of precautions, was to invite, no, beg for death.
There was nothing, as usual, and he was about to turn his attentions in front of him again when he noticed the barest flicker of a shadow in the door of a stall behind him. He turned back forward, as if he'd detected nothing, and continued on, in an ambling roundabout way, to his office.
After less than three blocks he was sure that he was being followed by someone who was taking a great deal of care not to be seen. He had scented several times, but had only been able to pick up the mildew smell that had been prevalent in Kyoto for the past several weeks.
He paused for several seconds in front of a plate glass window, pretending to admire a display of carved wood, all the while studying the reflection of the street behind him. The figure had claimed sanctuary in the shadow of an overhang, although he could still make out enough of an outline to know it was still there. He was debating his options when suddenly the figure stepped boldly into the light and stared directly into the window.
It was a tall woman, elegant and slim, a column of smooth silk and alabaster skin. Her hands were folded inside impressively sweeping sleeves and she was quite obviously staring directly at him. He turned to face her slowly, deliberately. There were few who would challenge him so openly, for what else could a stare be, but a challenge. She smiled lightly, a quirk of her face, and tilted her head to left and nodded once at him. He raised an eyebrow, but made no other moves, returning her stare as if it were a cast off, something he had neither time nor attention for. She raised her own eyebrow in return, and then she was off, like a blur dissipating into the shadows even as she disappeared around the nearest corner.
She was quite fast, but speed and stealth alone would not be enough to stave off the pursuit of Miburo's wolf. He moved to follow her and then stumbled as a gangly child barreled into his legs.
"Ojii-san, ojii-san! It's terrible, it's terrible!" the child bawled, attaching herself firmly to one of his legs.
"What's terrible?" he asked noncommittally as he tried to painlessly detangle the child as quickly as possible, knowing his quarry widened the distance between them with every passing second.
"Some men are robbing my father's shop!" wailed the girl, flailing in a way that retangled her gangly arms and legs with his as fast as he could untangle them, "You have to come, ojii-san! You have to come!"
He glanced up the street to the corner where the woman had fled. She was long gone by this point, as detangling the child had detained him for several minutes. Following her material trail would likely prove useless at this point, but Saitou was quite sure he would be able to find her by other means. For the time being he could at least attend to the wailing, flailing child.
"Where is it?" he wanted a cigarette but he was certain that he didn't have any rolled and didn't want to take the time to roll one while he stood interrogating a child in the middle of the street.
The child looked thoroughly confused by his question so he elaborated, "Your father's shop, where is it?"
The child flailed again and this somehow got her up on her feet again. Saitou reflected idly that the laws of physics did not seem to govern children.
"I'll show you! I'll show you!"
Before Saitou could stop the curiously repeating girl she had take off down the street, traveling far faster than he would have previously marked her. Still, she was still a child and Saitou found it easy to keep up with her. She cut 'cross several alleys and side streets before stopping rather abruptly in the middle on a dusty, lonely thoroughfare.
"Ojii-san, Ojii-san, I think I'm lost!" the child looked near ready to burst into tears again and Saitou found himself wishing he had never involved himself with her.
"Don't cry," he ordered, "Does this place look familiar to you at all?"
She looked around herself and then shook her head pitifully, still threatening to once again erupt in ear-splitting wails.
It was his turn to examine the street. It was simple, paved in dirt that had been long ago pounded flat and smooth. It was too narrow for wagons and carriages, so there were no ruts in the street, and because there were no ruts there were no stagnant mud holes either. In fact, the entire street seemed dry and dusty, strange considering the damp, overcast feel the past few weeks had had. The shops along this street were all small, curios and oddities, with back rooms that housed the merchants who ran them, most certainly. There were a few painted signboards out, but most were weathered and neglected. There were no shopkeepers standing in their doors in an attempt to entice customers with their sly babble. In fact, there seemed to be no one about. Only one store on the street even appeared to be open. He glanced down to ask the child another question and then he found that he was quite alone on the forgotten street.
He cursed his inattention. Somehow the child had managed to get away from him, although, at least now he didn't have to deal with her. Most clouds did in fact have silver linings.
He half-turned, ready to go back the way he'd come, when something stopped him. He scented the air again, and it again came back mixed and unreadable. He studied the only open door on the street critically, and then he followed his instincts. If there is anyone a wolf can truly trust, it is himself.
If appearances did not deceive, it was in fact what it claimed to be: a china and curio shop, although one in need of a light dusting. There was a woman sitting neatly in the back corner, behind a small table, as if she had been there, quietly minding shop, for hours. Yet it was her: the slender, tall woman who'd confronted him earlier, before he'd been so efficiently distracted. Her slim, well-tended hands were folded on her lap, and she looked at him with cursory interest, one elegant eyebrow raised.
"May I help you?" she looked amused, as if enjoying some secret joke. He did not reflect very long on the fact that the joke was likely at his expense.
He ran his finger along a near shelf, examining the dust there, and then picked up the first thing his hand came to. It was a small china cat. He turned it over lightly in his hands and then deposited it lightly on the table. If she was going to play games with him then she would find that he was perfectly capable of playing them back at her.
"I'm looking for a present for my wife."
The woman regarded the china cat idly for a moment and then lightly shook her head, "Why, Hajime, surely you can do better than that."
His eyes narrowed. He was no longer willing to play this game with her. He had already wasted enough time on this wild goose chase and he was in no mood to waste any more.
"Who are you?" he demanded folding his arms over his chest. He still stood in the doorway, so he nearly eclipsed all the light in the room. The shop would have been quite dim if it hadn't been for the small lamp that burned on, untended, on a shelf near the lady's hand.
"Kurokuwa Sumire desu. Yoroshiku onegaishimasu," she still had that one slim eyebrow raised and her expression was bemused, "It's a pleasure to meet you too, Hajime."
She was trying his patience, "That's not what I meant."
"What you meant was 'How do you know who I am?' You really should learn to phrase your thoughts better, Hajime. Communication is very important," she smiled serenely.
He didn't respond verbally; he simply stared at her for several minutes.
"Well," she smiled crisply, "You certainly are as social as I expected. Well, let's see, how shall I begin?" she paused for a moment "You're obviously left-handed," she observed, "yet you wear your sword on your left. Â That alone might simply have been the arrogance of someone who prefers to fight with his weaker hand, yet the scabbard of your sword sits forward and the hilt back . . . "
"It's standard issue for the uniform," he responded, matching her matter-of- fact tone.
"Like the hat, I'm sure," she gestured to the hat that he still held underneath his elbow and the quirk of her smile let him know that she was yet again having another joke at his expense, "But, to get back to the point, of your sword, as it were, you're not that stupid. Â I don't believe you would let police regulation potentially interfere with your combat. Â You'd waste time tilting the sheath to draw right-handed. Â Instead, the correct angle slightly upward might make it possible to draw the katana from that position with the left arm . . . if that much speed was ever necessary . . . and directly into the stance of a particular left-handed technique called Gatotsu. Â Who else would it be but Saitou Hajime?" she once again folded her hands into her sleeves, "And if you had thought about my first answer, you would have realized that I as good as answered your question there as well."
His mind went back to her earlier statement. He'd glossed over it, sure that it held no viable information. Now he once again cursed himself for his inattention.
"Kurokuwa. You've of the clan Kurokuwa."
"Very astute, Hajime. If you were in my class I'd give your superior marks for that answer, had I not already given it to you," her bemused expression did much to cut the acid of her words, lulling and distracting him from her viper-like tongue. Well, if she wanted to verbally spar with someone, she could find another partner, because he was in no mood for it.
Despite his earlier carelessness, he still found this bit of information quite intriguing, although he let no surprise show. The Kurokawa had been one of the three shadowed families serving the shogun during the Tokugawa and countless years before. They were truly a family of the shadows, whose duties including spying for the shogun and assassinating those who spied on him. Masters at disguise and stealth and quite efficient killers, they were in the business of information, and terribly effective at what they did. They were the shougun's own private clan of ninja.
"Shinobi," he said after a pause, "That would explain your earlier abilities. They seemed inconsistent with the image," he moved an arm to indicate the curio shop and she cocked her head left and nodded again.
"Indeed. Appearances do deceive, but one must keep up appearances. I can't exactly hang a sign outside the window that says, 'Kurokuwa Spying and Information Services' now can I?"
"So you are still in the business of information. I'm surprised I haven't run into you before."
"I'm surprised to. It's most likely because the Kurokuwa are almost entirely dormant. I am the only one who is active in this area and I am merely a listener."
Saitou was unsure where this was leading. It had seemed promising for several minutes, but then all the girl had done was discuss her family's current standing, which he was not particularly interested in. He doubted she had invited him over for tea.
"You're probably wondering why I asked you here," her smile was still benign and pleasant.
This woman's shin-gan was considerably better than Usui's had ever been, he reflected unpleasantly, "You didn't ask me here. My pursuit of you was halted when I had to deal with a child who brought me here, or was that an arrangement of yours too?"
"Midori-chan was my invitation. I do have to see to the education of the younger generation, after all."
He once again remained stoic and she laughed.
"Ever the conversationalist, Hajime. I asked you here because I believe I have some information that will interest you and that does require the attention of a member of the Shinsengumi."
"And that would be?"
"I can lead you to the source of that smell that's been bothering you, and believe me, Hajime, it's considerably worse that even you can imagine."
----
Notes: Thank you RELIA! Blame this on her. Not only is Sumire hers, but she also wrote a bit of this chapter's dialogue (see if you can pick it out). She did so much of my homework for me that I'm embarrassed ^^;; Needless to say, this story wouldn't exist without the influence of my favorite con-artist and identical cousin.
For all those terribly worried about all the awful things I might do to Saitou, don't worry, I'm not trying to set Sumire up with him x_c. Stay tuned for Tokio in chapter two :P
As for timeline, yes, this does happen at the same time as the Soujiro- centric story "I'll Do My Crying in the Rain" and they do share a common tie. As far as Gabi's writing goes, the third chapter of "Always Raining: alternatives" should be out next, then the second chapter of Company, and so on until I get them both finished. Comments are appreciated and thank you for reading.
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Chapter One: A Touch of Scent: A Gathering of the Hounds
By Gabi (gabi@pinkfluffy.net)
Something smelled wrong in the city. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but it was not the usual unpleasant smell of Kyoto in the fall. Kyoto was an old city, and as such it had a number of distinct smells, no few of them akin to rot itself. But this, this was a fleeting malodor, one he could only catch as the wind shifted, or he turned his head a certain way. When he tried to concentrate on it, he lost it. It stayed slightly out range, doubling back only long enough to remind him it was there, and to set him on edge. Something smelled inconsistent.
His nostrils flared, catching the all too powerful stench of some bad mackerel from the fishmonger across the street, and he lost the elusive scent completely. Well, some rot was easy enough to pick up on.
He rose and left some coins on the table next to the empty soba bowl but before he could take a step forward a young aproned girl bustled past him, intent on clearing the table.
"Fujita-san, you forgot your hat again!" she cried, waving it at him, looking quite pleased with herself and expecting praise.
That damnable hat. If there was one thing about his uniform that he truly hated, it was his hat. He felt as it if were a stopper on his head that cut down the range of his sensors and blocked ideas from either entering or exiting. Men were not meant to wear hats, of that, Saitou was certain. Still, any admittance that the hat bothered him was also a sign of weakness he would not show. So he consciously tried to forget it wherever he could. It had once been lost for two weeks, but somehow the damned thing kept coming back to him.
He turned to face the young waitress, who was still smiling as if she'd won a prize, and gave her the disconcerting smile that he reserved for the public, "Thank you, Hisako."
The girl waved her hands as if no thanks were needed even as she handed over the hat, "What would you do without me, Fujita-san?" she giggled.
He continued to smile. He knew this expression on his bony, spidery face disturbed many. He hoped that It would discourage the helpful waitress from returning the hat in the future, but the girl, who had been working at the restaurant for at least a year, as far as he could remember, had apparently become used to his chiseled grimace that was meant to intimidate. She actually seemed to appreciate his attention. Well that had been less than successful.
"Goodness knows, Hisako," he grunted in dead pan, as he turned to leave, "Thank you again."
"Of course, Fujita-san!" she cried after him, and he found himself wincing at her cheerful tone.
It wasn't as if he could avoid her. She always worked the lunch shift and he'd been eating his lunch at the same soba house for twelve years. He wasn't about to stop eating there because of the hat. That would be like letting the hat win. He tucked the cursed hat under his arm and left.
Outside was no better than inside, when it came to scenting. The barrel of spoiled fish kept him from catching anything meaningful in the air, and the watery sunlight of the overcast day made everything seem dull, made everything smell of mildew.
Well, perhaps there'd be something interesting waiting for him on his desk when he got back to his office. The wolf was not primarily an office animal, but things had been disturbingly quiet since the Battousai had left Kyoto. The surprise visit of the Tenken a few months previous had not really provided him with any real entertainment either. Everything was too calm, too peaceful, and too apathetic for his tastes. He could find no stench of decay, no leeches or ticks on the Ishin government to exterminate. There was only the slight touch of scent in the air, a trail he could neither isolate, nor follow.
Thus, the wolf was left pacing the walls of his office, squaring the corners, as he waited patiently until he could catch the scent. His office was eight steps wide and five steps long. He'd been trying to scent this thing out for quite some time.
The streets of Kyoto were bustling, as was normal at this time of day. Still, although it was busy there was no jostling in the crowd. Even in the throng there was a respect for personal space that the wolf had long appreciated and grown to expect. The crowd afforded an even larger bubble of personal space to the lanky policeman, who was at least a head taller than almost everyone in the crowd. His height made him conspicuous, yes, but when he wanted to go incognito there was nothing, not height nor uniform, that could stop him.
He preformed a cursory sweep of the crowd as he walked. It was more out of habit than out of any suspicion or paranoia, but careless wolves may as well be dead wolves, and Saitou was quite aware of this. To neglect even the simplest of precautions, was to invite, no, beg for death.
There was nothing, as usual, and he was about to turn his attentions in front of him again when he noticed the barest flicker of a shadow in the door of a stall behind him. He turned back forward, as if he'd detected nothing, and continued on, in an ambling roundabout way, to his office.
After less than three blocks he was sure that he was being followed by someone who was taking a great deal of care not to be seen. He had scented several times, but had only been able to pick up the mildew smell that had been prevalent in Kyoto for the past several weeks.
He paused for several seconds in front of a plate glass window, pretending to admire a display of carved wood, all the while studying the reflection of the street behind him. The figure had claimed sanctuary in the shadow of an overhang, although he could still make out enough of an outline to know it was still there. He was debating his options when suddenly the figure stepped boldly into the light and stared directly into the window.
It was a tall woman, elegant and slim, a column of smooth silk and alabaster skin. Her hands were folded inside impressively sweeping sleeves and she was quite obviously staring directly at him. He turned to face her slowly, deliberately. There were few who would challenge him so openly, for what else could a stare be, but a challenge. She smiled lightly, a quirk of her face, and tilted her head to left and nodded once at him. He raised an eyebrow, but made no other moves, returning her stare as if it were a cast off, something he had neither time nor attention for. She raised her own eyebrow in return, and then she was off, like a blur dissipating into the shadows even as she disappeared around the nearest corner.
She was quite fast, but speed and stealth alone would not be enough to stave off the pursuit of Miburo's wolf. He moved to follow her and then stumbled as a gangly child barreled into his legs.
"Ojii-san, ojii-san! It's terrible, it's terrible!" the child bawled, attaching herself firmly to one of his legs.
"What's terrible?" he asked noncommittally as he tried to painlessly detangle the child as quickly as possible, knowing his quarry widened the distance between them with every passing second.
"Some men are robbing my father's shop!" wailed the girl, flailing in a way that retangled her gangly arms and legs with his as fast as he could untangle them, "You have to come, ojii-san! You have to come!"
He glanced up the street to the corner where the woman had fled. She was long gone by this point, as detangling the child had detained him for several minutes. Following her material trail would likely prove useless at this point, but Saitou was quite sure he would be able to find her by other means. For the time being he could at least attend to the wailing, flailing child.
"Where is it?" he wanted a cigarette but he was certain that he didn't have any rolled and didn't want to take the time to roll one while he stood interrogating a child in the middle of the street.
The child looked thoroughly confused by his question so he elaborated, "Your father's shop, where is it?"
The child flailed again and this somehow got her up on her feet again. Saitou reflected idly that the laws of physics did not seem to govern children.
"I'll show you! I'll show you!"
Before Saitou could stop the curiously repeating girl she had take off down the street, traveling far faster than he would have previously marked her. Still, she was still a child and Saitou found it easy to keep up with her. She cut 'cross several alleys and side streets before stopping rather abruptly in the middle on a dusty, lonely thoroughfare.
"Ojii-san, Ojii-san, I think I'm lost!" the child looked near ready to burst into tears again and Saitou found himself wishing he had never involved himself with her.
"Don't cry," he ordered, "Does this place look familiar to you at all?"
She looked around herself and then shook her head pitifully, still threatening to once again erupt in ear-splitting wails.
It was his turn to examine the street. It was simple, paved in dirt that had been long ago pounded flat and smooth. It was too narrow for wagons and carriages, so there were no ruts in the street, and because there were no ruts there were no stagnant mud holes either. In fact, the entire street seemed dry and dusty, strange considering the damp, overcast feel the past few weeks had had. The shops along this street were all small, curios and oddities, with back rooms that housed the merchants who ran them, most certainly. There were a few painted signboards out, but most were weathered and neglected. There were no shopkeepers standing in their doors in an attempt to entice customers with their sly babble. In fact, there seemed to be no one about. Only one store on the street even appeared to be open. He glanced down to ask the child another question and then he found that he was quite alone on the forgotten street.
He cursed his inattention. Somehow the child had managed to get away from him, although, at least now he didn't have to deal with her. Most clouds did in fact have silver linings.
He half-turned, ready to go back the way he'd come, when something stopped him. He scented the air again, and it again came back mixed and unreadable. He studied the only open door on the street critically, and then he followed his instincts. If there is anyone a wolf can truly trust, it is himself.
If appearances did not deceive, it was in fact what it claimed to be: a china and curio shop, although one in need of a light dusting. There was a woman sitting neatly in the back corner, behind a small table, as if she had been there, quietly minding shop, for hours. Yet it was her: the slender, tall woman who'd confronted him earlier, before he'd been so efficiently distracted. Her slim, well-tended hands were folded on her lap, and she looked at him with cursory interest, one elegant eyebrow raised.
"May I help you?" she looked amused, as if enjoying some secret joke. He did not reflect very long on the fact that the joke was likely at his expense.
He ran his finger along a near shelf, examining the dust there, and then picked up the first thing his hand came to. It was a small china cat. He turned it over lightly in his hands and then deposited it lightly on the table. If she was going to play games with him then she would find that he was perfectly capable of playing them back at her.
"I'm looking for a present for my wife."
The woman regarded the china cat idly for a moment and then lightly shook her head, "Why, Hajime, surely you can do better than that."
His eyes narrowed. He was no longer willing to play this game with her. He had already wasted enough time on this wild goose chase and he was in no mood to waste any more.
"Who are you?" he demanded folding his arms over his chest. He still stood in the doorway, so he nearly eclipsed all the light in the room. The shop would have been quite dim if it hadn't been for the small lamp that burned on, untended, on a shelf near the lady's hand.
"Kurokuwa Sumire desu. Yoroshiku onegaishimasu," she still had that one slim eyebrow raised and her expression was bemused, "It's a pleasure to meet you too, Hajime."
She was trying his patience, "That's not what I meant."
"What you meant was 'How do you know who I am?' You really should learn to phrase your thoughts better, Hajime. Communication is very important," she smiled serenely.
He didn't respond verbally; he simply stared at her for several minutes.
"Well," she smiled crisply, "You certainly are as social as I expected. Well, let's see, how shall I begin?" she paused for a moment "You're obviously left-handed," she observed, "yet you wear your sword on your left. Â That alone might simply have been the arrogance of someone who prefers to fight with his weaker hand, yet the scabbard of your sword sits forward and the hilt back . . . "
"It's standard issue for the uniform," he responded, matching her matter-of- fact tone.
"Like the hat, I'm sure," she gestured to the hat that he still held underneath his elbow and the quirk of her smile let him know that she was yet again having another joke at his expense, "But, to get back to the point, of your sword, as it were, you're not that stupid. Â I don't believe you would let police regulation potentially interfere with your combat. Â You'd waste time tilting the sheath to draw right-handed. Â Instead, the correct angle slightly upward might make it possible to draw the katana from that position with the left arm . . . if that much speed was ever necessary . . . and directly into the stance of a particular left-handed technique called Gatotsu. Â Who else would it be but Saitou Hajime?" she once again folded her hands into her sleeves, "And if you had thought about my first answer, you would have realized that I as good as answered your question there as well."
His mind went back to her earlier statement. He'd glossed over it, sure that it held no viable information. Now he once again cursed himself for his inattention.
"Kurokuwa. You've of the clan Kurokuwa."
"Very astute, Hajime. If you were in my class I'd give your superior marks for that answer, had I not already given it to you," her bemused expression did much to cut the acid of her words, lulling and distracting him from her viper-like tongue. Well, if she wanted to verbally spar with someone, she could find another partner, because he was in no mood for it.
Despite his earlier carelessness, he still found this bit of information quite intriguing, although he let no surprise show. The Kurokawa had been one of the three shadowed families serving the shogun during the Tokugawa and countless years before. They were truly a family of the shadows, whose duties including spying for the shogun and assassinating those who spied on him. Masters at disguise and stealth and quite efficient killers, they were in the business of information, and terribly effective at what they did. They were the shougun's own private clan of ninja.
"Shinobi," he said after a pause, "That would explain your earlier abilities. They seemed inconsistent with the image," he moved an arm to indicate the curio shop and she cocked her head left and nodded again.
"Indeed. Appearances do deceive, but one must keep up appearances. I can't exactly hang a sign outside the window that says, 'Kurokuwa Spying and Information Services' now can I?"
"So you are still in the business of information. I'm surprised I haven't run into you before."
"I'm surprised to. It's most likely because the Kurokuwa are almost entirely dormant. I am the only one who is active in this area and I am merely a listener."
Saitou was unsure where this was leading. It had seemed promising for several minutes, but then all the girl had done was discuss her family's current standing, which he was not particularly interested in. He doubted she had invited him over for tea.
"You're probably wondering why I asked you here," her smile was still benign and pleasant.
This woman's shin-gan was considerably better than Usui's had ever been, he reflected unpleasantly, "You didn't ask me here. My pursuit of you was halted when I had to deal with a child who brought me here, or was that an arrangement of yours too?"
"Midori-chan was my invitation. I do have to see to the education of the younger generation, after all."
He once again remained stoic and she laughed.
"Ever the conversationalist, Hajime. I asked you here because I believe I have some information that will interest you and that does require the attention of a member of the Shinsengumi."
"And that would be?"
"I can lead you to the source of that smell that's been bothering you, and believe me, Hajime, it's considerably worse that even you can imagine."
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Notes: Thank you RELIA! Blame this on her. Not only is Sumire hers, but she also wrote a bit of this chapter's dialogue (see if you can pick it out). She did so much of my homework for me that I'm embarrassed ^^;; Needless to say, this story wouldn't exist without the influence of my favorite con-artist and identical cousin.
For all those terribly worried about all the awful things I might do to Saitou, don't worry, I'm not trying to set Sumire up with him x_c. Stay tuned for Tokio in chapter two :P
As for timeline, yes, this does happen at the same time as the Soujiro- centric story "I'll Do My Crying in the Rain" and they do share a common tie. As far as Gabi's writing goes, the third chapter of "Always Raining: alternatives" should be out next, then the second chapter of Company, and so on until I get them both finished. Comments are appreciated and thank you for reading.
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