Miyako impatiently tapped her foot at the meeting place Ken had instructed
her to go to. After leaving explicit instructions with Takeru, she was
ready to go. She looked around the airport café with a slightly bored look,
ignoring the cup of coffee in front of her. Her single suitcase was on the
ground beside her, she traveled light.
"I hope you weren't waiting too long for me," a mild voice interrupted her thoughts.
"Damn right," she grinned at the face of Ken Ichijouji, spotlessly dressed as usual, but in more casual clothing.
"I'm sorry I kept you waiting," he said casually, sitting down and setting down his own suitcase.
"Not a problem, I wasn't waiting that long," she responded, lying between her teeth.
When he raised an eyebrow at her, Miyako merely smiled innocently. Then he said, "Well, we'll have to head for Japan, that's where Pied is supposedly hiding at the moment."
"Fine with me," she shrugged.
"I also provided your ticket, as well as providing false identification for us," he said, looking a touch smug.
"Intelligent," the lavender haired woman commented, holding out her hand and he deposited a ticket and a slim wallet into it.
"Shall we?" He nodded to the terminal. She shrugged.
"I'm ready when you are."
As they walked away, the two of them did not notice an odd shadow watching them intensely and following them silently.
On the plane, they both settled into first class seats, preparing for a long trip by air. After a few hours of exchanging pleasantries Ken finally asked a very personal question.
"Why are you after Pied?"
The fighter froze in her seat then looked at him. "Why are you interested?"
"You asked me the same question."
"And? I have no inclination to tell you currently," she snapped at him. "Now, I know we have to work together but there are five base rules I want to go over with you on the terms of my partnership with you."
"I'm all ears," the blue haired man said easily, looking amused.
"Number one," she gave him a long look. "I am your partner, your equal, nothing else. I get treated with the same treatment you would give me as if I was a male. I respect you, but that doesn't mean I have to like you. Number two, I will not advertise my body in any way, shape, or form, got that? Even as a fighter I don't do that. Number three. You don't question my past or motives for doing things. Number four vengeance isn't everything. Number five…" She leaned back and yawned. "Be quiet and let me have some rest, I'll need it."
Ken looked slightly surprised then chuckled softly. "It will definitely be an interesting experience working with you, Miss Inuoe."
They landed later at Tokyo airport. Miyako stretched, looking around.
"Good old Tokyo, I almost missed it."
"Then it won't be a problem because we'll have to stay here for a few days," Ken said, walking up.
"Why? Don't you know where he is?"
"Yes," the man said, slightly irritable. "But remember, most of the information is from the Japanese underground and it's not safe to go barging up where he is."
"You have a point," Miyako replied casually, looking at her nails. "Where are we staying then while we're here? I may be able to stop by the training place of a friend of mine."
He checked something. "Tokyo Grand, and who's that friend of yours?"
"A master, his name is Iori. He's very young, but one of the best I've seen. Fortunately he's a pacifist."
"Unlike you?" Ken pointed out delicately.
"Yours truly, of course." She mock-bowed gracefully, grinning at him.
He turned away muttering, "Definitely a damned interesting experience."
Iori Hida, master of the temple of the Shinto god Tsuki Yomi, sat in the lotus position on a smooth boulder out in his garden. His close cut brown hair was barely ruffled by a sudden breeze that did not persuade him to open his emerald green eyes. The dark green orbs did open, slowly, at the feather light touch of a blade on his neck.
Ever calm, he spoke quietly, "I ask why such violence is needed at this time good sir."
"You know what I want," a soft hiss sounded. "The scrolls of the art, the Demon's Blade."
"Those scrolls are forbidden, for too easily can the user of the art turn to darkness. They only exist to those who truly deserve to learn the art."
"None of your riddles, priest!" The blade was lifted and whistled sharply down to the priest's unprotected neck… or where it once was.
"Such anger within you, it drives you yet it will consume you." The man's mild voice was then behind the assassin. Whipping around, the warrior trained in the arts of shadow then swiftly ran, the movement barely a flash of color, toward him.
Emerald green eyes briefly narrowed as the sword came swinging down in an attack from above. It was stopped swiftly as the priest merely stopped it with two fingers, blood welling on his pale skin. Disengaging, both looked at one another for a long moment until the assassin unexpectedly swung his weapon at the priest's feet. Jumping up in a single movement, Iori dodged it, aiming a kick at the warrior's chest. Caught off balance, he staggered back as the usually mild mannered priest launched a barrage of swift, powerful attacks at him, still staying in midair.
They fought an unbalanced battle, Iori obviously having the upper hand despite being unarmed. Finally in a moment's desperation, the assassin swung his blade and it connected with the priest's scalp. Caught off guard, the green eyed man stumbled for a brief moment, blinking blood out of his eyes. Smiling behind a veil, the ninja prepared the slash that would end the priest's short life and time seemed to slow. At the last possible moment, another blade blocked it easily as a blue blur moved to block the defenseless priest. A swipe then knocked the blade from the stunned assassin's hand and another scored a long cut across his chest. The blur, now the form of a young woman dressed in blue, lifted the assassin up easily by the front of his gi.
"No one," she snarled in fluent Japanese. "Ever hurts my friends and gets away from it. Who sent you?" A young man calling out something was running over to her, she ignored him.
The assassin choked from her grip and from something else, gasping. A few moments later, his eyes rolled up in their sockets, as he was limp in her hold. He was dead. She dropped his body and prodded it with her toe, her own blade dripping slightly with his still wet blood. Miyako whipped around to face Iori, who was looking perfectly calm despite his head wound.
"Miyako, it has been some time," he said quietly, bowing to her.
"Yes, I know," she responded wryly. "Things just normal, aren't they? Which one is this one, if I may ask?"
Ken ran up, panting slightly. "Miyako, what's going on?"
"An assassin," she pointed to the body then looked slightly apologetic. "Iori, I'm sorry about the sword, I just… borrowed it for a moment and now it's stained with blood."
"Blood we can clean," he brushed the apology away. "It was an inconvenience earlier. This has been the first assassin in quite a while, actually."
"Iori, we need to get you fixed up in the temple," she said firmly.
"Where are my manners? I will have one of the trainees bring in tea; it's a convenient time for the ceremony right now. And this?" He pointed to his scalp with his still bleeding fingers. "Just a minor scrape."
"If that is just a minor scrape," Ken remarked dryly. "I hate to see what you call a mortal wound."
"A charming friend you have here, Miyako," Iori said calmly, turning to Ken and bowing.
"Yes, very charming," Miyako said, glaring at Ken. "Come on Iori, let me at least clean that and bandage it. No sense in allowing blood loss."
A few moments later they were sitting in an outer pagoda, sipping green tea as a novice offered cakes. Iori had a bandage wrapped around his head and his hand as he exchanged polite conversation with Ken and Miyako.
Selecting a mochi, Miyako bit into it and chewing, said, "What was that assassin after anyways?"
"The scrolls," Iori sighed, setting down his cup.
"Iori, you told me you burned them," she said in exasperation.
"I cannot, it is not permitted," he said serenely.
"To hell with that," she snapped in frustration, setting down the half eaten sweet. "While they're around, they pose a great risk to both you and the entire world."
"May I ask what you are talking about?" Ken asked.
"The scrolls my friend here is speaking about are of the legendary art of the Demon's blade," Iori explained.
"I see," the blue haired boy mused. "You never told me about who exactly your friend was."
"I told you he was a priest, as well as a fighter, which is pretty much it," she retorted.
"Calm down, Miyako," Iori told her. "Why are you here anyways? You visit Japan so seldom lately, is it that you dislike your priest friend here?" An unusual twinkle was in the usually solemn man's eyes however.
"Of course not. I've been busy lately and I need some help. I'm on a case from Interpol about finding the headquarters of Pied and bringing him down. Cut the head off the snake and the body stops moving." She had grim good humor etched on her face as she pulled out a tiny dagger and speared her forgotten mochi with it.
"I see," the priest remarked. "And how can I help you?"
"Can you get us in contact with Daisuke and Jyou?" she asked then gestured with the knife. "They are around somewhere aren't they?"
"I'll see what I can do," the brown haired man said thoughtfully. "Jyou, I am sorry to say, is in South America currently. Daisuke might be available."
"Good, what about Takato or Ruki?"
"Sorry, both of them are in India, studying the yoga style of fighting."
"Damn," she said, biting off a chunk from the piece of her knife. "They would have come in handy."
"Who are you both talking about?" Ken then asked.
Jerking the remaining sweet off the knife, she popped it into her mouth and said after swallowing, "They're contacts of mine, damned good fighters. We can't face Pied alone."
"The less people that know about this, the better," Ken said flatly. "This is between him and me."
"And me," she reminded him, cleaning her knife with a napkin and slipping it away. "I'm your partner like it or not." She then helped herself to one more cake, sighing in mock regret. "You spoil me too much when I come here, Iori. Your students make the best sweets in all of Japan. Why are they fighting when they could be expanding culinary skills?"
"Ask them," he chuckled, pouring more tea into his own teacup and beating it to a foamy green froth. "I just teach them."
Ken toyed with his uneaten cake, one he had taken only to be polite to the novice earlier. "I don't want too many people getting involved in this, dying just for my sake."
"It's not for your sake," Miyako pointed out tartly. "I'm doing this of my free will as well as being ordered to do this. So stop feeling sorry for yourself and do try that cake, before I eat it."
Her crisp orders and advice was rather refreshing, like a brisk shake given to him to grasp his attention. Taking her advice, he tried it, finding it delicious.
"I can give you Daisuke's phone number," Iori said quietly. "But I cannot guarantee that he will be here in Japan, he was speaking about a tournament in the United States."
"Crap," she swore, smacking her forehead. "I should have known."
"Language," the shorter man chided her gently.
Taking a draught of tea to calm herself, she said, "Do you know anyone else that might be around?"
He shook his head. "No, I'm sorry."
"It's alright, it was just a thought anyways," she smiled. "Do me a favor Iori."
"What?"
"Do find yourself a hobby of some kind other than meditating or fighting. Gardening will work fine."
"I'll consider that," he said seriously.
Ken chuckled softly, hiding a smile by taking a sip of tea. As they continued to talk, even the keen eyed Iori did not notice a hooded figure crouched in the branches of a tree nearby. A figure clad in black and with an odd scar on the bottom half of their face…
"I hope you weren't waiting too long for me," a mild voice interrupted her thoughts.
"Damn right," she grinned at the face of Ken Ichijouji, spotlessly dressed as usual, but in more casual clothing.
"I'm sorry I kept you waiting," he said casually, sitting down and setting down his own suitcase.
"Not a problem, I wasn't waiting that long," she responded, lying between her teeth.
When he raised an eyebrow at her, Miyako merely smiled innocently. Then he said, "Well, we'll have to head for Japan, that's where Pied is supposedly hiding at the moment."
"Fine with me," she shrugged.
"I also provided your ticket, as well as providing false identification for us," he said, looking a touch smug.
"Intelligent," the lavender haired woman commented, holding out her hand and he deposited a ticket and a slim wallet into it.
"Shall we?" He nodded to the terminal. She shrugged.
"I'm ready when you are."
As they walked away, the two of them did not notice an odd shadow watching them intensely and following them silently.
On the plane, they both settled into first class seats, preparing for a long trip by air. After a few hours of exchanging pleasantries Ken finally asked a very personal question.
"Why are you after Pied?"
The fighter froze in her seat then looked at him. "Why are you interested?"
"You asked me the same question."
"And? I have no inclination to tell you currently," she snapped at him. "Now, I know we have to work together but there are five base rules I want to go over with you on the terms of my partnership with you."
"I'm all ears," the blue haired man said easily, looking amused.
"Number one," she gave him a long look. "I am your partner, your equal, nothing else. I get treated with the same treatment you would give me as if I was a male. I respect you, but that doesn't mean I have to like you. Number two, I will not advertise my body in any way, shape, or form, got that? Even as a fighter I don't do that. Number three. You don't question my past or motives for doing things. Number four vengeance isn't everything. Number five…" She leaned back and yawned. "Be quiet and let me have some rest, I'll need it."
Ken looked slightly surprised then chuckled softly. "It will definitely be an interesting experience working with you, Miss Inuoe."
They landed later at Tokyo airport. Miyako stretched, looking around.
"Good old Tokyo, I almost missed it."
"Then it won't be a problem because we'll have to stay here for a few days," Ken said, walking up.
"Why? Don't you know where he is?"
"Yes," the man said, slightly irritable. "But remember, most of the information is from the Japanese underground and it's not safe to go barging up where he is."
"You have a point," Miyako replied casually, looking at her nails. "Where are we staying then while we're here? I may be able to stop by the training place of a friend of mine."
He checked something. "Tokyo Grand, and who's that friend of yours?"
"A master, his name is Iori. He's very young, but one of the best I've seen. Fortunately he's a pacifist."
"Unlike you?" Ken pointed out delicately.
"Yours truly, of course." She mock-bowed gracefully, grinning at him.
He turned away muttering, "Definitely a damned interesting experience."
Iori Hida, master of the temple of the Shinto god Tsuki Yomi, sat in the lotus position on a smooth boulder out in his garden. His close cut brown hair was barely ruffled by a sudden breeze that did not persuade him to open his emerald green eyes. The dark green orbs did open, slowly, at the feather light touch of a blade on his neck.
Ever calm, he spoke quietly, "I ask why such violence is needed at this time good sir."
"You know what I want," a soft hiss sounded. "The scrolls of the art, the Demon's Blade."
"Those scrolls are forbidden, for too easily can the user of the art turn to darkness. They only exist to those who truly deserve to learn the art."
"None of your riddles, priest!" The blade was lifted and whistled sharply down to the priest's unprotected neck… or where it once was.
"Such anger within you, it drives you yet it will consume you." The man's mild voice was then behind the assassin. Whipping around, the warrior trained in the arts of shadow then swiftly ran, the movement barely a flash of color, toward him.
Emerald green eyes briefly narrowed as the sword came swinging down in an attack from above. It was stopped swiftly as the priest merely stopped it with two fingers, blood welling on his pale skin. Disengaging, both looked at one another for a long moment until the assassin unexpectedly swung his weapon at the priest's feet. Jumping up in a single movement, Iori dodged it, aiming a kick at the warrior's chest. Caught off balance, he staggered back as the usually mild mannered priest launched a barrage of swift, powerful attacks at him, still staying in midair.
They fought an unbalanced battle, Iori obviously having the upper hand despite being unarmed. Finally in a moment's desperation, the assassin swung his blade and it connected with the priest's scalp. Caught off guard, the green eyed man stumbled for a brief moment, blinking blood out of his eyes. Smiling behind a veil, the ninja prepared the slash that would end the priest's short life and time seemed to slow. At the last possible moment, another blade blocked it easily as a blue blur moved to block the defenseless priest. A swipe then knocked the blade from the stunned assassin's hand and another scored a long cut across his chest. The blur, now the form of a young woman dressed in blue, lifted the assassin up easily by the front of his gi.
"No one," she snarled in fluent Japanese. "Ever hurts my friends and gets away from it. Who sent you?" A young man calling out something was running over to her, she ignored him.
The assassin choked from her grip and from something else, gasping. A few moments later, his eyes rolled up in their sockets, as he was limp in her hold. He was dead. She dropped his body and prodded it with her toe, her own blade dripping slightly with his still wet blood. Miyako whipped around to face Iori, who was looking perfectly calm despite his head wound.
"Miyako, it has been some time," he said quietly, bowing to her.
"Yes, I know," she responded wryly. "Things just normal, aren't they? Which one is this one, if I may ask?"
Ken ran up, panting slightly. "Miyako, what's going on?"
"An assassin," she pointed to the body then looked slightly apologetic. "Iori, I'm sorry about the sword, I just… borrowed it for a moment and now it's stained with blood."
"Blood we can clean," he brushed the apology away. "It was an inconvenience earlier. This has been the first assassin in quite a while, actually."
"Iori, we need to get you fixed up in the temple," she said firmly.
"Where are my manners? I will have one of the trainees bring in tea; it's a convenient time for the ceremony right now. And this?" He pointed to his scalp with his still bleeding fingers. "Just a minor scrape."
"If that is just a minor scrape," Ken remarked dryly. "I hate to see what you call a mortal wound."
"A charming friend you have here, Miyako," Iori said calmly, turning to Ken and bowing.
"Yes, very charming," Miyako said, glaring at Ken. "Come on Iori, let me at least clean that and bandage it. No sense in allowing blood loss."
A few moments later they were sitting in an outer pagoda, sipping green tea as a novice offered cakes. Iori had a bandage wrapped around his head and his hand as he exchanged polite conversation with Ken and Miyako.
Selecting a mochi, Miyako bit into it and chewing, said, "What was that assassin after anyways?"
"The scrolls," Iori sighed, setting down his cup.
"Iori, you told me you burned them," she said in exasperation.
"I cannot, it is not permitted," he said serenely.
"To hell with that," she snapped in frustration, setting down the half eaten sweet. "While they're around, they pose a great risk to both you and the entire world."
"May I ask what you are talking about?" Ken asked.
"The scrolls my friend here is speaking about are of the legendary art of the Demon's blade," Iori explained.
"I see," the blue haired boy mused. "You never told me about who exactly your friend was."
"I told you he was a priest, as well as a fighter, which is pretty much it," she retorted.
"Calm down, Miyako," Iori told her. "Why are you here anyways? You visit Japan so seldom lately, is it that you dislike your priest friend here?" An unusual twinkle was in the usually solemn man's eyes however.
"Of course not. I've been busy lately and I need some help. I'm on a case from Interpol about finding the headquarters of Pied and bringing him down. Cut the head off the snake and the body stops moving." She had grim good humor etched on her face as she pulled out a tiny dagger and speared her forgotten mochi with it.
"I see," the priest remarked. "And how can I help you?"
"Can you get us in contact with Daisuke and Jyou?" she asked then gestured with the knife. "They are around somewhere aren't they?"
"I'll see what I can do," the brown haired man said thoughtfully. "Jyou, I am sorry to say, is in South America currently. Daisuke might be available."
"Good, what about Takato or Ruki?"
"Sorry, both of them are in India, studying the yoga style of fighting."
"Damn," she said, biting off a chunk from the piece of her knife. "They would have come in handy."
"Who are you both talking about?" Ken then asked.
Jerking the remaining sweet off the knife, she popped it into her mouth and said after swallowing, "They're contacts of mine, damned good fighters. We can't face Pied alone."
"The less people that know about this, the better," Ken said flatly. "This is between him and me."
"And me," she reminded him, cleaning her knife with a napkin and slipping it away. "I'm your partner like it or not." She then helped herself to one more cake, sighing in mock regret. "You spoil me too much when I come here, Iori. Your students make the best sweets in all of Japan. Why are they fighting when they could be expanding culinary skills?"
"Ask them," he chuckled, pouring more tea into his own teacup and beating it to a foamy green froth. "I just teach them."
Ken toyed with his uneaten cake, one he had taken only to be polite to the novice earlier. "I don't want too many people getting involved in this, dying just for my sake."
"It's not for your sake," Miyako pointed out tartly. "I'm doing this of my free will as well as being ordered to do this. So stop feeling sorry for yourself and do try that cake, before I eat it."
Her crisp orders and advice was rather refreshing, like a brisk shake given to him to grasp his attention. Taking her advice, he tried it, finding it delicious.
"I can give you Daisuke's phone number," Iori said quietly. "But I cannot guarantee that he will be here in Japan, he was speaking about a tournament in the United States."
"Crap," she swore, smacking her forehead. "I should have known."
"Language," the shorter man chided her gently.
Taking a draught of tea to calm herself, she said, "Do you know anyone else that might be around?"
He shook his head. "No, I'm sorry."
"It's alright, it was just a thought anyways," she smiled. "Do me a favor Iori."
"What?"
"Do find yourself a hobby of some kind other than meditating or fighting. Gardening will work fine."
"I'll consider that," he said seriously.
Ken chuckled softly, hiding a smile by taking a sip of tea. As they continued to talk, even the keen eyed Iori did not notice a hooded figure crouched in the branches of a tree nearby. A figure clad in black and with an odd scar on the bottom half of their face…