Behold, I am finally writing something other than a dumb, oneshot kinkmeme fill. Chances are that I'll end up giving up halfway through, though.
Anyways, in case you're wondering: Yes, this is about Shizuo and that sweet little bakery-owning woman from ep 7. No, it's not romance (unless you count kid!Shizuo's canon schoolboy crush on her, but the point is you aren't gonna be seeing the two hooking up). Yes, I totally made the lady's name up, and I took some artistic liberties and/or probably entirely inaccurate guesses at their interactions (their first meeting is slightly extended and doesn't involve Kasuka, for example. I love the little robot, but I couldn't really work him into the scene without pretty much going "Oh yeah, Kasuka's here too. Just FYI").
And now for Chapter 1. Feedback is much appreciated.
Every day in the afternoon, a young boy would pass by Anju's bakery.
Children passing by Anju's store were not at all a rare occurrence. Many kids took this route on their way to and from school, and some would even stop by to grab something to eat. The boy himself wasn't exceptionally unusual either. He looked about ten years old, with tousled brown hair and an often sour expression. He was not a particularly tall or short kid, but he was a little on the thin side. Occasionally he'd be followed by a younger boy; a delicate-looking child with no emotion to his features. Under normal circumstances, this younger child (who she presumed was his younger brother) would be much more attention-grabbing than the boy she had noticed.
Normal circumstances would also be far less unsettling, as the reason why the older, brown-haired boy drew her attention so much was because he was almost always injured.
There was rarely a day that went by where she didn't see the child with some sort of cast or sling. When one would disappear, another would take it's place. There were rarely ever any scrapes, black-eyes or bloody noses; it was always sprains, dislocated shoulders and, most commonly, broken bones.
It worried her.
"I still think you're crazy, woman. Trying to start a bakery in this economy- in Ikebukuro, of all places," one of the movers grumbled as he carried one of the shelves into the store.
"It's not like I'm trying to start a huge business. I'm fine with just making enough to get by. And I like Ikebukuro. I used to have a store here around the eighties. It's nostalgic." Anju huffed a bit as she carried the signs from the truck to the storefront. She was never built for strenuous physical activity, and middle age only made her worse at it.
The mover rolled his eyes, still struggling to get the shelf through the front door. Once he was finished, he once again began mocking Anju for her apparent daftness. "Yeah, well, you're probably not going to find the place like you left it. Bunch'a crazies moved in the last few years. Place is a complete madhouse."
"Oh?" Anju raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.
"Yeah. Dollars, Yellow Scarves, Blue Square – a lot of gangs. There's also this crazy bastard that goes in and out of here from Shinjuku. Orihaba or something. Can't remember his name." The mover was supposed to be loading another shelf into the store. Instead, he leaned against the truck and pulled out a pack of cigarettes for a smoke. Anju made a mental note to file a complaint to his company when she had the time. "And then there's Heiwajima guy. Fucking monster, I tell you."
"Heiwajima?"
"Yeah. Ikebukuro's God of Destruction. Causes more property damage than all the gangs here combined." Lighting the cigarette, the mover took a long drag. "No idea why the police haven't grabbed him yet. They're probably just scared shitless. The bastard can throw a vending machine a across city block. No one in their right minds would try rick their asses trying to arrest that."
"Oh, that's ridiculous. It's probably just a silly urban legend, like that Black Rider thing they had when I used to live here."
The mover gave her a flat look at the mention of the Black Rider. "Don't you read the news? They're both real, lady. Especially this guy. Seen 'im in action myself once."
"Oh? And what did he look like?"
"Some guy with a bartender suit and a bad dye job. Skinny-ass guy too. Didn't think someone like that could punch a man clean out of his clothes."
"Well, now I know you're making things up."
"Whatever, lady. I'm not gonna force you to believe me. Just don't screw around with guys dressed like bartenders."