"Hi, I'm Quinn Machada and I'll be doing the books for the Port Mafia."
"Quinn Machada. From here on out I'll be working on the mafia's budget."
"I'm Quinn Machada, new to the Port Mafia—but only in spirit!"

She giggles and gives a small finger-guns. In the mirror she looks adorable; small hands jut out in a bright white blazer that only makes her look more innocent than she already is, short legs pivoted in a pair of sneakers that give a childish vibe from the bright red laces and patches from God knows what, and long brown hair that seemed to bounce as she moved. Quinn gags and kicks off her sneakers.

They gave her Juno's apartment, it was one of the few western-style homes they had that Mori thought she would feel comfortable in. He said everything that was in the late personalities house was hers. She assumed that was only because they couldn't find a trace of the money there, but was too afraid to tear up the floors and walls herself to check.
It wasn't messy. In fact, it was almost too neat; no dishes were in the sink or on a mat waiting to be dried, no necessities were out and exposed on tables or on counters. Everything was tucked away in cabinets but even then they were squared away to the T. Edges of boxes lined up, toothpaste bottles, condiments, you name it.
It was all so impersonal. She would have assumed they cleared every personal thing of Juno's out if it weren't for the closet. It was as organized as the rest of the house, but it screamed punk. No pants were left untorn, and even shirts had holes that Kanye West would charge thousands of dollars for. Everything was black, save for splashes of red and pink or silver studs. Leather was in surplus, in jackets, in pants, and even thigh-high boots with heels Quinn couldn't imagine anyone walking in.

"This is so stupid…" she continues to talk to herself as she strips herself again. Quinn really couldn't relate to the rebellious closet that was left for her, and since today was deemed her first day she felt uncomfortable walking in looking like the person she was to replace. Already her hair experiment failed as the brown hair dye barely washed over the pink creating a muted purple, but she was also facing having to live with the few bad impressions she already made. Her first impressions with her real bosses may have been bad, but she didn't want the rest of the mafia to picture that mess of a girl. Maybe it was too late, maybe rumors about her have already spread amongst every rank, but she wasn't about to wear rip jeans to confirm any suspicions that she was a basket case.

"'Hi, you can call me Quinn!' No, that's too cheery. 'Hi, I'm Quinn Machada.' What if they think they can call me by my last name? 'I'm Quinn. I work the books now.'—ugh." her words jumble into her mouth as she falls forward onto a pile of black clothes inches above the bed. Her bed, she reminded herself like the small factor was going to help her get more comfortable with the idea that she was more or less stuck here now. As she picks up and decides to pull on a thin sweater she really goes over the details of her circumstance;

Juno Masamoto, the original consciousness of the body Quinn is now dressing, was executed due to her crimes against the Port Mafia. Somehow the body was revived, but instead with Quinn as the bodies consciousness, Quinn who only knew about the Port Mafia because it was the antagonist group of an anime her friend suggested she watch. This allowed for some sticky situations between the Port Mafia's boss, Mori, and one of their executives, Chuuya, but now she was unstuck and told that she was granted protection should she work for them.
Protection from what? Well, Quinn had a bit of a Noragami Hiyori Iki situation on her hands as she seemed to drop from her anime-land body and back to her consciousness in the real world (if she could even call it that). The drop, however, only happened to her once so far. It's been about a week since she woke back up in Juno's body, and every time she goes to sleep it's the body she wakes back up in in the morning. But as per her and Mori's agreement, she is under their care; every night a nurse comes to the house to be sure she's stable and all throughout the day two mafia henchmen stand outside the apartments front door, waiting.

She still feels foreign, walking in a body that doesn't have the same footsteps as her own, eating with a mouth that is irregular to her, and even bathing has become an out of body experience as she's discovered things on this body her own did not have—scars, tattoos, and oddly positioned birthmarks were only some of the things that really wigged her out. Sure it helped that she got that box of hair dye she asked for, but nothing really felt personal to her. Even her nose, that she could have sworn she broke when smacking it against the chrome interrogation table, is still pristine in its small shape, like the body needs to revert to the person it knows.

Three knocks sound off on the front door.
"Your ride is here, Ms."
Quinn signs and decides to accept the ripped jeans and black sweater that she last threw on, grabbing a random pair of shoes and thanking the mafia hunks as she leaves. It's just first day jitters, she convinces herself, what could rationally go wrong?


"How did you know Dazai was being held here last month."
Oh, jeez.

This was the right room, right? Quinn decides against answering her own thoughts or the situation before her and instead looks back at the smudged ink on her hand: tower four, floor thirty-two, office twelve. If this was supposed to be her office then why did she find Chuuya seated behind the desk as soon as she opened the door (and promptly closed to poorly hide her mistake). The room, she notices, is primarily bare; it's a small square with one large window to its right and a wall of filing cabinets to its left. Other than the desk and chair currently occupied at the center of the room there is no furniture. It's like an exorbitant cubicle of sorts.

"Dazai." Chuuya repeats, elbows resting comfortably on the empty desk and gloved hands clutching each other like he wanted to squeeze off their circulation. "How did you know, Masamoto?"
"Machada—erm, Quinn."
"Right, Machada." It's drawn out like a string, and he pulls apart each syllable like he was pulling apart individual threats. She would've found it hot had she not been terrified for her life. Yikes.

"Deductive reasoning?" she clenches her teeth and opens her mouth in an awkward smile. He scowls, so she removes all immediate expressions from her face. Moments of silence pass as he eyes her from the desk chair, and though he's seated beneath her she still feels incredibly small. He wants her to go on, to give in, but Quinn really has nowhere to go nor anything to divulge so she slightly shrugs her arms as if it were an apology. She is still unsure how to explain her 'all-knowing' situation, and though Mori seemed to think she was joking when she told him his life was just a show to her she still counts that as telling her truth. Everyone else, on the other hand, she's unsure what to say. Chuuya still doesn't make a move to respond, until he's up and out of the chair pointing to the door behind her.

"If you really want to play the amnesia card then why don't we go through some introductions."
"Oh, really? That would help a lot—!"
"Great, let's start you with the Black Lizard."

"The who then?" Quinn nearly stumbles on her own feet and her own naivety following him out the door. He seems to fancy putting her in traps, but he also seems to have trouble grasping that she's not like his ex-partner who was able to get himself out of any tap of any design. Fu.

"Well if you're balancing our expenses then you may as well get acquainted with our most expensive group—and the ones who will be responsible for killing you once Mori finds out your lying." Oh, so he wouldn't bother to kill her himself? That's disappointing.

As they make their way to the tower's basement through hallways, elevators, and stairs of the like Chuuya seems to remain in this talkative state. He brushes on the buildings history—tower four, second closest to the main tower and responsible for the business affairs; her floor, in particular, is where the expense brains work together to compile every receipt that could count against the mafias dime. Other floors include vaults for personal files, a human resources division head by Carol, and a variety of office spaces for teams to utilize. The building also houses the new and improved armor library and a simple shooting range used for demonstrating new weaponry in a 'safe space'.

"What's the security like here?" she asks after the third elevator they entered, noticing that he seemed to open doors and press floors as he saw fit. His eye twitches at her question and she realizes it was not a bright one for someone in her position. "I just—," whatever she wanted to qualify her question with escaped her as the elevator doors opened and the sound of gunfire split through all others. She instinctively brought her hands up to cover her ears and felt her face crunch at the sound, though she still followed Chuuya closer to the source of the noise.

The shooting range was as bright as the elevator; white walls surrounded a blue tennis-court looking floor that was encased in glass. It kind of reminded her of an ice hockey rink; people stood conversing on the opposite side of the glass where bleachers would be surrounding the spectacle of Canadians beating each other with sticks.
Following Chuuya beyond the glass, she holds her arms tight against her ears while entangling her hands behind her head. It doesn't help muffle the noise at all considering they only get closer to the source, someone she can't even see as her eyes instinctively blink shut with every repetitive fire. They soon stop at the far end of the glass enclosure and Chuuya knocks against the glass. It's soft at first, like the gloves muffled the movement, but he does it again with a force that threatens to shatter all four walls. The gunfire stops and Quinn opens one eye.

"Oh my God…" she mutters while dropping her arms and opens her other eye, wide.

"Oh—Chuuya I am so sorry, I didn't see you come in—!"
"Whatever, I need you to—,"
"Really, I was just down here for practice I'm sorry I didn't—."

Though her voice was muffled on the other side of the glass Quinn couldn't deny she was staring at someone she considered a fictional blonde icon: Ichiyō Higuchi. The dripping respect from her worried eyes to her hands still clamped around the gun, she was just in awe of her power standing there before her and couldn't help but squeak.

"God, Higuchi, I am honestly such a fan the way you manage to assert your own control with your devotion to the mafia is incredible I—," her praise didn't get far, though, as she was cut off from the sound of two warning shots pointed directly towards Quinn. As the sound rings in her uncovered ears she jumps with a shrill scream, and on a bad instinct, she ducks behind Chuuya. She stands in her crouched position on the other side of the executive's coat as her arms cover her ears while a third shot is fired. Chuuya tsks and takes a step aside leaving her small shaking body exposed. She looks up as though to ask "why would thou betray me like this" but notices his face carries an irritated expression she remembers from when she took a second too long to look at her new hands.
Quinn looks back at Higuchi on the other side of the glass. Between them, a web begins to form on the structure from where the three bullets made contact but did not go through. Phew. She clears her throat and stands up.

"Masamoto Juno. We had you professionally executed for your betrayal to the Port Mafia."
"Ah, no, Quinn."
Higuchi seems to hiss, her gun still up like a final shot could actually break through the glass.

"Machada here seems to have some conscious-hopping ability. She's negotiated her safety with the boss." Chuuya seems bored of this line that was probably fed to him by the boss himself but he recites it nonetheless. The blonde seems to fight the urge to retaliate, to argue that 'Machada' is fake, but she eventually puts down her gun and dismisses any apprehension.

"What do you request of me, sir?"


"Do you have much experience with bookkeeping?"
"Uh, sort of?"
"So why is that what you offered to the boss to keep you here."

Quinn decides that all elevator rides with Port Mafia members are stressful and not worth it. Maybe with this new body she would survive the thirty flights of stairs back to civilization, but there was no way to know as for now she's stuck there, next to Higuchi, trying to refrain from staring at her and her perfect ponytail and working up a response that made her sound like she was worth the time any of them have spent on keeping her alive.

"Well outside I work at a—I mean previously, before this I worked at a library and part of the job is managing the numbers for fines and replacement payments."
Higuchi laughs, and it's not hard to imagine why.

"You think managing a business like the Port Mafia is on the same level as a library?"
"Well—,"

The elevator doors open and the blonde makes her way out; Quinn decides it's more important to follow her pace than give her an answer.

"The Black Lizard is a strategically built group of force. All of their expenses are justified, I can't imagine what you think you can do to cut them down."
Dry-cleaning, she considers but doesn't respond. Instead, she braces herself as Higuchi leads her down another cold hallway before knocking on a steel door. When it opens, Quinn finds she was exceptionally wrong thinking dry cleaning could actually be cut from their costs.

On the other side of the door is another of the mafia's gingers (though the truth of this is questionable as Quinn is well aware of his dubious intentions). He doesn't look like himself, though, likely because his jacket is gone and away with and his white t-shirt is brutally stained with crimson from edge to edge. The bandage on his nose is frayed and also dirtied, but the whole maniacal look is contrasted by his disinterested eyes.

"What?" Tachihara focuses on Higuchi in front of him who gestures with her head to let them inside. At that he finally looks at Quinn beside her; he scowls, something she's beginning to get used to, and eventually steps aside to let them in.

Inside is a white room currently being stained by its inhabitants. The other members and commanders of the Black Lizard are scattered ripping off dirtied layers of clothes, cleaning weaponry on chairs, or in some cases arm wrestling in corners without surfaces. Yes, if anyone was to kill her it would definitely be them, from the old man delicately taking off his gloves by a sink to wash his hands to the girl seated alone in the outskirts of the room scrubbing the blood off her blade.

"This is just like SAO..." Quinn whispers envisioning the battle they just came back from, eyes taking in the rest of the room before returning to Tachihara and Higuchi who give her the crazy questioning eyes Chuuya did. That she'll have to get used to too.

"What the hell is an SAO?" Tachihara asks, but unfortunately, she's still lost in all that's going on around the room, especially near the back where another door has plentiful space between it and any other inhabitants like everyone knows to avoid its entry.
"Oh it's another show like you guys." her voice is nonchalant, a bit too enthralled in what could be behind the other door, but when his eyebrow raises too far up his head she remembers the slight cover she was trying to keep.

"Like a show." she continues. "You guys are like a show, cause you're so entertaining, you know, ha-ha!" her rambles continue a bit too long and her awkward laugh gains attention from others around the room. They're whispering, and Quinn soon realizes that she royally fucked up her second chance at a first impression.
She clears her throat. "I'm Quinn." She adds with no other information and an outstretched hand to the faux ginger ahead of her. Tachihara only looks at her hand, and like he threatened to saw it off, she slowly retracts it back to her side. Real entertaining.

"Executive Chuuya asked for me to bring Machada around for introductions."
"Machada, huh? Looks like Masamoto to me."
There are more short words shared between the superior assassin and the superior ranked, but Quinn still keeps her eyes around the room. Though the uniformed men and women are watching her with near bloodthirsty eyes there are still two that pay her no mind—the girl and her blade, and the old man washing his hands.

"This is Tachihara Michizo, he's a commander here along with Gin and Hirotsu in the back."
Now they turn to look at her, like their names have that much power over them, and Quinn nearly needs to refrain from letting out a small whimper. "Machada is going to be responsible for budgeting so anything you need money-wise goes through her now."

"Quinn."
"Huh?"
"You keep calling me Machada but I really go by Quinn." she can picture the landslide her words may have caused in the back of her mind as Higuchi's face contorts so her eyes narrow and her mouth is agape.

"Machada is your surname, is it not?" a deep voice joins the conversation from Quinn's right, the sound of a man who has just finished washing his hands and is sliding back on a clean pair of white gloves. Next to her he is calm, non-threatening, like an old man asking for directions on the street or even her grandfather on her mother's side. Yet she still prefers to stand a bit closer to Higuchi and takes a step to her left.

"It is, but—,"
"Then as per our formalities we'll refer to you as Machada. It's professional."

"But you don't call Gin by her surname."
She makes the mistake of pointing, and finally everyone looks; across the room, the girl whose name was just spoken is still and Quinn worries that her now clean blade will be littered in her blood.

"That's different—!" Higuchi immediately waves her hands in the air like the motion can cut the tension and soon everyone's attention diverts back to their own business.

"Well what if I find another Machada, will you call me Quinn then?"
"Where are you going to find another Machada in the Port Mafia?"
"I don't know but I better start looking."

"Are you sure this isn't still Masamoto?" Tachihara asks and nearly steps in her face like he can discern her identity with one good look. She refrains from swatting him away.
"No." Higuchi huffs and slouches a bit.

"Look, I'm American, we usually use first names—."
"This is why I hate the Americans." Tachihara speaks up again, stepping back as though he's now bored until he realizes what either of them said. He mutters a wait-what and Higuchi sighs, catching them up on her supposed ability.

"Then use your American formalities, Ms. Machada."
"Calling me 'ms' isn't really part of that…"
"But calling me Mr. Hirotsu is."
"I have no problem calling you Mr. Hirotsu, it's just that having all of you call me Ms. Machada or just Machada is… Weird, and…"

The three of them begin to circle her as she continues to stutter her words and eventually puffs up her cheeks, their pale color becoming a bright red as she stares cross-eyed at her nose and contains as much of the air in her mouth in this bubble as possible. Tachihara asks Higuchi to explain if this is part of her ability, but the blonde is so confused she can't bother to audibly deny or confirm.

Quinn exhales.
"Is it wrong that I ask you to make this one exception with me?"

"Of course it is! You're just a numbers girl and we're—,"
"I will do my best, Ms. Quinn."
"Huh?!"

She gently smiles at Hirotsu's attempt, quietly thanking him amidst the burst of words Tachihara yells in disbelief she managed to break one of Hirostu's cardinal cultural rules. He probably yells for her country of origin to fuck off, and asks Higuchi is this is all really happening—if it's possible that someone beneath them is really requesting they change something so basic to them.


AN AHEAD . . .

me: im not gonna write long chapters for this ! theyre gonna be short quick updates until i can get this fandom out of my system!

me to me, writing this chapter rounding to four thousand words in a eight page document: f Uc K yOuR Ru LE s

the time i could have spent actually finishing this i was instead pining after the return of ssr underboss dazai gOD he is a DREAM we love that twelve time azure attack king but i'm still mad that i've spent all my stones and limited tickets tryna get him again i've literally completed this whole game guys i have no more levels to play how in the fuckery am i gonna get stones and tickets for when the band ssr cards come out if you think i am this obsessed for the dark age dazai card then you have no idea what a thirst trap band!chuuya is for me gODdAyUM

anyway had to rant; hope y'all have a nice weekend and stay warm, stay safe, stay sassy—jackie.