TITLE: Cruelty and the Beast

CHAPTER : Chapter 8

AUTHOR : Dangy

RATING : T - Mugen's poor language. Sorry for the potty-mouth.

SPOILERS : Yush. Takes place after the series has ended.

PAIRINGS : MugenxFuu MugenxOC

DISCLAIMER : Don't own Samurai Champloo or any of its characters.


Six in the evening and the sun was already drifting beyond the bed of clouds for a wistful sleep. Back home, it would be the same for Fuu and her fellow villagers; sunset marking the ends of the day and time to rest their weary heads on the pillows of their futons. In Satsuma evening was a completely different occasion.

The streets seemed more alive than it had been from a distance, with people streaming from large ornate homes as the sun descended over the horizon. It was enough to do your head in as individuals swarmed past in blurs of bright colours. Everything felt so new and fresh that Fuu's senses were overwhelmed. Everything excited her in this vivid world of culture she had immersed herself in, with their strangely built homes and shops and their beautiful designs. Carriages and passenger carriers whizzed by on the open streets, thundering across the rickety pathway of the wonky roads. It was all so new and brilliant that the young country girl was swept away in the sea of luxury that was Satsuma.

Since they had burst through the city gates, Mugen had finally slowed into a leisurely gait, no longer speeding ahead with her flowing behind him like a wet noodle, though his hand had refused to leave her wrist. It still held onto her, wrapped around her tiny wrist like some strange bracelet. Fuu's eyes drifted from Mugen to the sidewalk in front of him, trying to read his dead-pan features. It was hopeless. His cold gaze gave nothing away. The only thing she noticed was the prominent jut of his lower lip for which she had never been able to determine its hidden meaning. He was listless next to her and Fuu endeavoured to alert him of the fact he was still attached to her.

"You're holding me," she told him, mustering as much stubbornness and detachment in the voice that she could collect. Oddly, when Mugen's gaze flickered to meet hers, she felt her stomach twist into a knots; her heart giving the faintest flutter against the confines of her ribcage. He noted the way he glanced down the length of her arm down to her wrist, but apparently dismissed it. Fuu fancied that he only gripped her tighter and that thought alone made her body jitter. Something was definitely up.

"There's a bar up-ahead. Think we should go get s'me food."

"And you know this because…" she growled, eyeing him sceptically. Fuu was expecting that this knowledge was based on past experiences here in Satsuma. Her face burned scarlet at the thought and she scolded herself for reacting this way.

"Because I can read," came his reply as patient as it ever got from the vagabond. He pointed a long finger at the sign that hung over the opening to a quaint building, the scribbled writing reading quite simply,

"Bar."

Fuu's cheeks burned crimson and allowed herself to be dragged into the premises of the tavern.

Inside, the humidity hit the pair like a wave; the stark contrast to the cool ocean breeze left Fuu hot and sweaty in the confines of her silk kimono. She hastily wiped her brow as they made their way further in, finding that she was the only one bathed in perspiration. The few occupants were all calmly enjoying their drink, obviously used to the dense heat of the bar. Mugen was as comfortable as they were, the only indication that his body responded to the change in temperature being the odd droplet of sweat that beaded his upper lip. His firm grasp finally removed itself from her arm as he moved towards the counter table without Fuu. It was instinct on her part to leave Mugen to his affairs. The young waitress had sense enough in her to leave a fighter to business – especially if someone as unreliable as Mugen was willing to travel without complaint to Satsuma in order to complete his mission. As he called the bartender over, Fuu surveyed the scene, focusing her attention on whatever demanded it – hurried movements by drunks giggling in the corner, a few shuffles and screeching chair legs while others settled themselves into a seat. Even the scratchy sound of the bartender's beard when he rubbed his thick fingers over them drew Fuu's eyes towards him. As Mugen spoke she was expecting to pick out the beginnings of a discreet conversation; a few code words, a fretful glance here and there. Rather, her companion boldly tapped the counter, placing a few copper coloured coins onto the surface which was collected by the bartender. He in turn replaced it with his own currency – a small bottle of sake. Fuu growled and stormed towards him, irately poking his shoulder.

"Mugen, what are you doing?" she hissed, loud enough to warrant a few customers to look over in their direction. One in particular, Fuu could see (a cloaked figure in the corner) was watching them intently. Although she could not see its face, she could feel eyes burning behind the shadow of its hood into her. She was too angry to pay attention – too preoccupied with scolding her guardian for his lack of commitment to his task. Her ability to reprimand him returned to its fullest potential as the figure Fuu had noticed earlier, removed itself from the table and wandered to the counter to pay.

"You should be working," she reminded him with another forceful prod, which cause Mugen to dribble some of the sake from the corner of his mouth as he took a gulp from the bottle. The bartender excused himself quite rapidly to tend to the masked customer who lingered by the counter, sharing a few words before excusing itself. As it turned, Fuu caught sight of her. Her lips were roughed and skin was painted a brilliant white, which under the glare of the candlelight, seemed to generate its own glow. It was a quick glimpse that left Fuu stunned and strangely anxious. Mugen erased her fear in seconds.

"'I'm 'mungry, thirsty, 'n wanna relax for a bit, Fuu," he grumbled after downing the remains of his sake. He flagged the bartender down for another bottle, but as he approached he came with only two pieces of paper gripped in his clumsy hands.

"Sir, this-this is a gift from a-a woman who-"Mugen did not need to hear the explanation.

"Woman? What woman?" Mugen asked with a handsome smirk, "who wants some Mugen?"

Fuu snatched the small papers from the man, impatient with her partner's lack of finesse. She cocked a brow as she read the letters imprinted on the front.

"Theatre tickets?" She was sceptical and glowered at the bartender. He only smiled, nonetheless his eyes were everywhere but on her. "Theatre tickets to the Forty-seven Ronin?" she asked.

The bartender waved her down.

"Shush. You shouldn't say that so loudly!"

"Wha? Why not?" Mugen asked."

"Those are prized tickets. This play has been sold out since the beginning of the season! Only members of the government here could purchase any spare tickets. Many are willing to go to the extreme to get their hands on one of those things!" He reached out and touched Fuu's hand, curling her fingers over the pieces so that they remained hidden.

"Whoever gave them to you must really want you there," he told them, though Fuu had the impression that the man was addressing her more than Mugen. His dark eyes betrayed his concern and again, Fuu thought of the woman beneath the heavy robes.

"Mugen, are you sure we should go to this thing?"

He scoffed. "Yeah, course we're going!"

"But you don't even like theatre!" she complained, hoping he would reconsider. However, it appeared Mugen's resolve was absolute.

"You can stay around here if you want. The play is on in'a bit and I'm gonna go."

She couldn't understand why he wanted to go so much. Mugen had his own reasons, but failed to share them with his companion.

"How'd we get there?" Mugen inquired, turning his cold gaze to the bartender. The older man gave a heavy sigh.

It looked like he and Fuu shared the same fears, but neither was prepared to argue with a stray dog.