Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.
Title: Firebird Sweet C10: Chasing The Dragon
Author: JaganshiKenshin
Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor, and Beyond
Rating: T
Summary: Hiei decides to take matters into his own hands and find
the mystery man.
A/N: Warning for language
LJ Tag: If only Hiei had realized!
Firebird Sweet C10: Chasing The Dragon
by
Kenshin
"Oi, Hiei!" Urameshi Yuusuke elbowed Hiei in the ribs. "Did you
really have to light the set on fire?"
Hiei nodded. "Afraid so."
Still gripping his prop katana, Hiei sat in a folding chair on
the sidelines, he and Urameshi watching frantic technicians run
around the smoking sound stage, spraying fire extinguishers
everywhere, even though he had only ignited a minute portion of
the set, and only on the last shot.
The set inside this downtown production center was different
today. Instead of the stark black floor and backdrop dotted with
fake boulders, there was only a simple wooden frame the size of a
door, with a paper screen stretched over it.
One month after the Love Hotel Scandal and subsequent battle in
the cemetery, things had settled down. Hiei ended up calling in
Kurama to treat his injuries, swearing him to secrecy.
He had told no one else, not even Shay-san, who was angry, and
not play-mad either.
But she was not angry because of the battle.
Nor was she angry because of The Tattler's screaming headlines.
They had both, of course, been subject to a great deal of
scrutiny following that particular fiasco. Urameshi's laughter
and jeers were predictable enough, as was Kurama's reaction: 'I
don't like this,' the kitsune had said. 'It could be a sign of
worse things to come.'
'But what about Kaasan?' Hiei responded. 'If she sees---"
'You, my friend, cannot do wrong in her eyes. It's the only
matter in which she takes leave of her eminently good sense.'
Kuwabara's reaction had been a surprise. 'Bastards,' he growled,
shredding the tabloid.
Today was the first time Hiei had been alone with Urameshi since
the Spirit Detective had 'rescued' him in Youyougi Kouen. "They
look like cockroaches." Sniggering, Urameshi jerked his head in
the direction of the scurrying stagehands.
One of the "cockroaches," the director's assistant, hurried over,
darting nervous glances at Hiei, literally wringing his hands.
"That was a shock! Are you sure you're---"
"I'm fine." Hiei waved off the kid's concern. "Not so much as a
blister."
"The insurance company's gonna pitch a fit," he moaned.
Hiei shot a glance at Yukawa Kenji. His director was sitting in
the far corner of the sound stage, head in hands. "Then don't
tell them."
"Don't tell them?" The kid's eyes widened. "Part of the set
burned up! How can we not---"
"Pretend it was a special effect," Hiei interrupted, ignoring
Urameshi's barely-controlled laughter. "Keep the shot. It works
in context with the storyline anyway."
The kid brightened. "That's a thought."
"Yeah. You go and tell Yukawa-san."
Nodding, the kid trotted off.
"You meant for that to happen?" Urameshi stabbed a skeptical
look at Hiei.
Hiei kept an eye on the assistant speaking to Yukawa. He could
tell the director was getting to like the idea; the round little
man was smiling and nodding, no longer mopping his brow with a
handkerchief. "Now we wait for the rushes to see whether I
nailed the shot or the flames blew the camera lens."
"She's not here today?"
She. Whenever an unspecified 'she' cropped up in any
conversation, it meant his firebird.
Hiei realized he didn't bond with people quickly. Kuwabara and
I, he reflected, we rub one another the wrong way, but I've got
his back and he's got mine. Urameshi, I got used to.
But Kurama? Yes---as if they'd known one another for years.
From battling enemies together, to friendly bickering, to
wordless accord. Shiori also had taken to him at once. Perhaps
it was something unique in her bloodline.
Strife among temporary allies was of no moment. But Shay-san was
permanent. Funny how they'd also taken to one another
immediately, meshing their thoughts, even their actions. Love at
first sight, he wondered, then gave a sub-audible snort. Why be
ashamed of it? It was what it was.
He enjoyed their sparring, their play-fights, but yesterday's
battle was about the song, an uptempo number in a minor key. And
it had escalated into full-blown enmity, which still pained him
to recall:
('You do realize that 'Chasing the Dragon' refers to shooting
heroin,' she had informed him rather coolly.
Rounding on her, he snarled, 'You could have mentioned it before
this!'
'It's your song, your title,' she flared.
'Well, I can't change it now! And on the subject of titles, why
'Firebird Lament?' Lament implies mourning!!')
Urameshi prodded him. "Oi, earth to Hiei! Where's your better
half?"
Hiei blinked it away. "Resting. This is the first time we ever
had to shoot something more than twice, and out of sequence." He
winced. Lifting the stage katana, he handed it to Urameshi so he
could test its heft. "Good prop. Nice weight. But even with
its blunt edge, this could've hurt her."
The prop girl raced in to snatch the sword away, giving them both
a scolding look. When she had gone, Urameshi turned to Hiei.
"Mind telling me what's really going on here?"
Hiei hesitated.
"You think it's smart, revealing your battle techniques on
camera? There are assassins who'd pay good money to get their
hands on---"
"Come on, Yuusuke. If you were paying attention you know all I
'revealed' were theatrical wushu moves." He edged closer.
"Anyway, this video will tank. Worst song I ever wrote."
Urameshi smirked. "And you've written exactly---"
"Three songs. Which makes three more than you."
It was true. Most of Romantic Soldier's songs were written by
Shay-san, who insisted on giving Urameshi and the others credit
as lyricists, even though all they did was suggest subject
matter. But after Hiei's initial confusion in seeing musical
notes for the first time, he had mastered the art quickly.
They sat awhile in silence, watching technicians scuttle and
spray. The stage was thick with smoke.
"You missed a spot," called Urameshi, helpfully. He turned to
Hiei. "Lotta smoke for just paper in a wooden frame."
"Must be flash paper," said Hiei, all innocence.
He had invented a storyline for the song, naming Shay-san's
character the Dragon of Smoke. Although she was still not too
big to perform lightning footwork and low-to-the-ground spins,
she wore a quilted, Chinese jacket and pants in fiery colors to
echo her hair---and disguise her blossoming figure. Wielding her
twin kodachi, those short Japanese swords which to Hiei's way of
thinking were little more than knives, she was his opponent, and
Hiei was supposed to be hunting her, but always she remained just
out of his reach.
For the last shot, Hiei was supposed to burst through the paper,
sword at the ready. The paper bore the kanji for the name of the
song. Setting it on fire wasn't in the storyboards.
But even the pattern of his smoke was part of the message. It
took a master of flame to be able to spell something out in smoke
that way. Bursting through the paper screen after his 'enemy'
pulled her last vanishing trick, flinging that final glare at the
camera, and the words contained in the billowing smoke, all said:
I too, am a fire demon. Come find me if you dare.
Hiei didn't particularly care to mention that to Urameshi while
they were still on-set.
"So you wrote a crappy song that will tank and you wore her out."
Urameshi snorted. "Makes perfect sense."
Hiei caught his director's glance. Yukawa was thinking about
what Hiei had said about keeping the shot; that much was obvious.
"I did have something else in mind."
Urameshi raised an eyebrow. "Well?"
In truth, Hiei was relieved that the shoot was finished; never
had they spent so many hours rehearsing intricate mock-combat
moves at such dangerous speed. The choreography proved
excruciatingly difficult, for it had to both fit the music, and
convey his embedded 'message:' Ignore me at your peril!
They had hit upon the right combination at last: back-leading him
through the moves, as she had when she showed him his first
tango, combined with the generous use of theatrical smoke-bombs
and cuts on movement so it seemed as if she 'disappeared' by
magic. Even Hiei, with all his speed, had been impressed with
Shay-san's acrobatic quickness, and was beginning to see that she
was as much of a professional in her way as he was in his. But
on this last day of shooting she stayed home, no doubt lying down
with a cold rag on her head.
He told Urameshi as much.
"Dangerous?" inquired the boy, with a great deal of relish.
"She clocked me at one point." Hiei rubbed his jaw in fond
memory; that girl really did have a kick like a mule. "Strictly
by accident, of course."
"Of course."
The speed, precision and footwork that made Hiei an expert
swordsman made him an equal threat as a performer. What the
music told him to do, he did with frightening ease. "This is the
most fun I've ever had without cutting people up," he elaborated.
"I'll alert the media." Urameshi rolled his eyes.
"Don't say 'media' around me for a while," warned Hiei.
"I never even mentioned the Tokyo Tattler." Urameshi laced his
hands together. "So this 'something' you had in mind: business
or personal?"
Hiei rose, stretching until his ligaments crackled. "Personal.
I think."
"You think?" Urameshi was clearly puzzled.
"Listen, we got a couple of packages from America, and Shay-san's
waiting for everyone to come over before she opens them. You
with me?"
"Sure." Urameshi tilted his head at the scurrying crew. "If you
think this bunch can do without you."
In answer, Hiei strolled away from the set, leaving Urameshi to
follow.
Outside, Hiei blinked. He felt as though he had not seen the sun
in ages, and this was unusual weather for a September afternoon:
the city street dry, hot, and utterly still. Spotting the stone
wall bordering the library lawn, he hopped up for a better view.
As if you expect another fire demon to appear before the video
even hits the airwaves, he thought ruefully.
"Oi, Hiei." Urameshi cocked a curious glance up at him. "Did
you suddenly get taller?"
"What are you, channeling Kuwabara?" Hiei snorted. "I'm
walking on top of a wall."
"No, I meant---ah, skip it."
Hiei leapt down in front of Urameshi. "Remember what Botan said
about a hole in the barrier between Makai and Ningenkai?" Hiei
asked.
"Yeah. That it's closed now."
"But some demons were undoubtedly trapped on this side."
"You mean like the one that nearly got you in the park?"
Ignoring the jab, Hiei outlined, in the briefest possible terms,
what he hoped to accomplish with 'Chasing the Dragon.'
Urameshi squinted at him. "Isn't that kind of suicidal?"
With a shrug forming his response, Hiei resumed walking---on the
ground this time.
Urameshi kept pace. "Does Shay-san know what you're doing?"
Hiei nodded.
"That woman is as nuts as you."
With a deep breath, Hiei glanced up at Urameshi. If he spoke
this thing to another, it would become more real, in a way he
could not yet define.
Somewhere, a cicada keened on the hot dry air.
"I'm looking for my father," Hiei said. "I think he's the one
who blew the barrier in May."
0-0-0-0-0
There were two boxes from America: a large care package from
Uncle Paul and Aunt Carmel Kidd, and a smaller one from the three
cousins, Mary, Francie and Kathleen.
Kurama had arrived even before Hiei returned with Urameshi in
tow, wanting a look at Shay-san without the fire demon breathing
down his neck.
Both Hiei and Shay-san had confided in him recently---Hiei about
the attack in the cemetery, which bothered Kurama. Not because
Hiei had gotten into a fight (no surprise there), but because if
Hiei had killed the first demon, why should the other two wait
for him to come to, as casually as waiting for a bus?
And Shay-san, now five months along, had come to him pleading for
something to alleviate her backaches and mood swings, muttering,
"I hardly even know who I am any more."
Today she looked pretty much like herself as she sat on the
floor, unpacking. Gathered around her, other members of Romantic
Soldier expressed varying degrees of interest in the bounty.
Kurama sat on the couch with Hiei. Yuusuke and Kuwabara scorned
the comforts of furniture, joining the girl on the floor. Shizuru
was in the kitchen, preparing tea.
The larger box contained both baby items and trinkets, which held
little interest for Yuusuke and Kuwabara, but which delighted
Shay-san, judging from the volume of her squeals.
The smaller box, however, contained video tapes. "Hey," crowed
Yuusuke, snatching up a tape. "Maybe it's a dirty movie."
"Maybe it's a Megallica video," countered Kuwabara.
"Whatever." Yuusuke clicked the tape into the VCR.
Kurama exchanged amused glances with Hiei. Hiei gave that soft
snort of a laugh.
Curious. Where was Hiei now on that swing, that great arc
between the old Hiei and the man he would eventually become?
Difficult to judge today; Hiei seemed tired and preoccupied.
And Shay-san was steeped in unpacking, exclaiming over each new
baby item and trinket with evident delight. From the kitchen
wafted the first faint scent of brewing tea.
"I should let Shizu-san take her pick," murmured Shay-san,
thoughtfully tapping a large, multifaceted rhinestone brooch
against her chin. "And save some for Keiko and her mom."
"Yeah." Yuusuke grimaced at the remote control, which did not
seem to be working. "Keiko wanted to come but the noodle shop's
busy today."
"Unlike you," muttered Kuwabara, relieving Yuusuke of the remote
and pressing 'Play.'
"Thanks for saving Keiko your aunt's old used crap, though,"
Yuusuke added, as the film rolled.
"These are good pieces," Shay-san continued blithely. "Aunt
Carmel likes to change them out a lot."
"You might as well keep some for yourself," Hiei informed her.
"Seeing as there's no money floating around to buy trinkets to
decorate you with."
"Where's the fun in hogging everything to yourself?" she shot
back.
Kurama glanced at the screen. The video proved to be neither a
dirty movie nor a Megallica number, but some sort of American
film, not subtitled, cheaply done in black and white. It
featured a hairy monster that lumbered around, threatening the
teenagers who appeared to be the sole residents of a small town.
"Nuts," chorused Yuusuke and Kuwabara. Yet they watched
nonetheless, razzing at every opportunity.
Hiei looked on in silence, casting an occasional glance at Shay-
san whenever she gave a particularly fervent squeal.
Kurama tried to discern some form of plot, other than the
threatened-teenager angle, but the movie had come on somewhere in
the middle. There was already singing and dancing.
"Hey!" Kuwabara shouted, pointing to the screen. "Neesan,
that's YOU!"
"You made a MOVIE?" Yuusuke whipped his head around to gape at
her.
Kurama shifted his attention back to the movie. A musical number
seemed terribly inappropriate to a low-budget horror film, but
this one possessed a certain cachet provided by the vocalist,
whose singing voice Kurama now knew well.
How intriguing, he thought.
The number, 'Ready, Set: Boo,' depicted Hollywood's idea of
teenagers at a dance. Two of them, boy and girl dressed in full-
on clown outfits, performed in a medium-fast tempo, the girl
churning out some very splashy high kicks.
The girl was Jaganshi Shayla Kidd.
Kurama elbowed Hiei, who leaned forward, narrowing his eyes at
the screen. "What's this?" Hiei asked.
"Oh." Shay-san did not bother eyeing the screen, still shaking
out and then re-folding baby clothes. "Right. That."
"You made a MOVIE?" Yuusuke repeated.
She snorted, inspecting a daffodil-yellow baby bib. "No, I
didn't 'make a movie---'just got a small part in one."
Kuwabara and Yuusuke exchanged awed looks. "How---"
"My uncle knows the producer, who let me write and stage the
musical number. It wasn't a big deal---I needed to prepare fast,
so I just based it on 'The Yama Yama Man.'" She looked up at
Hiei. "You know. That Ginger Rogers number? From 'The Story of
Vernon and Irene Castle?'"
"Where she dresses in a clown suit." Hiei nodded. "It's a good
tribute. You sort of played with the melody a little and you
mounted your choreography on a pair instead of a solo."
Her smile was genuine, and radiant. "Thanks. Means a lot,
coming from you."
Flushing slightly, Hiei muttered something under his breath.
Kurama hid his own smile, reminding himself Hiei was still just a
kid. Youko could barely remember being 19, while Minamino
Shuuichi would not reach that age for some four more years.
'The Story of Vernon and Irene Castle' stars Fred Astaire and
Ginger Rogers. Unlike the other musical comedies made by the
famed duo, this 1939 film is a biographical piece, set during the
time of World War I. Their duets depict not their usual dazzling
productions but the style of the historically influential
Castles. It is the only Astaire-Rogers film in which Fred,
playing Vernon Castle, dies.
An icy rill ran down Kurama's spine; more than one reviewer had
likened Hiei and Shay-san to Astaire and Rogers (including
himself, under his pen name---in fact he'd started the whole
thing). "He died in a plane crash," whispered Kurama, but no one
reacted; the boys had gone back to their whooping and high-
fiving, and Shay-san too busy unpacking.
Kurama tried to shake it off. It was the Kuwabara clan who were
known for their premonitions, not him.
"How many other movies did you make?" Yuusuke demanded, his tone
suggesting that the girl had deliberately conspired to keep it a
secret.
Neatening a pile of baby clothes, the girl in question shrugged.
"Just the one with Clint Eastwood."
"Dirty Harry?" Yuusuke and Kuwabara's eyes were like golf balls.
"You made a movie with DIRTY HARRY??"
"It was only a walk-on."
"And after that?"
"There was no 'after that' whatsoever."
"Why not?
Shay-san's cheeks turned pink. "The other extras discovered that
my uncle drew up some contacts for Mr. Eastwood. They tagged it
as nepotism, and they were right." She stared at the little
green baby bib she was holding, pulled it to her chest like a
shield. "But they made things unpleasant for me."
Hiei gave a grunt that suggested such extras should thank their
lucky stars he lived an ocean's distance away.
"Let's see that walk-on!" Yuusuke thumbed the remote.
"I'm sure it's there," she murmured, still not bothering to
glance at the screen. "Apparently my cousins find it cute to
send me highlight tapes of things best forgotten."
"Got it!" crowed Yuusuke.
The scene is set on a beach. In the background, young people
(all fit and tanned) play a game of volleyball with far too many
people per side. The girls wear skimpy suits and the boys look
like lifeguards in their Speedos.
Mr. Eastwood stands in the foreground, speaking into a mobile
phone, in a desperate attempt to catch up with the killer.
Yuusuke scowled at the screen. "Which one is she?"
"In red--over to the left," said Kuwabara. "No. Wait."
There was a boil of movement and many attractive young girls.
Impossible to tell which of them was Shay-san.
Hiei snorted. "The one in the yellow swimsuit."
Yuusuke swiveled around to stare at Hiei. "No way. That girl
has long black hair."
Shay-san looked up at last, but at Hiei, not the screen. "How
did you---?"
Hiei gave her a fond smirk. "I will always be able to tell, no
matter what cheesy disguise you wear."
"That's me, in yellow," she admitted. "I don't tan, so they
clapped a wig on me and spray-painted me with dark makeup."
"How old were you when you worked on that film?" Kurama wanted to
know.
"Eighteen."
"How old for the monster movie?" chimed Yuusuke.
"Seventeen."
"A musical prodigy," muttered Hiei, lips twitching in mirth.
"Let's move on to more interesting things," she snapped.
Shizuru poked her head out from the kitchen. "This Clint
Eastwood," she began, intent on the screen.
Shay-san peered up at the sleepy-eyed honey blonde. "What about
him?"
"Is he by any chance single?"
"Afraid not."
"Damn." Shizuru raised a wicked eyebrow. "Well, are there any
more at home like him?"
"You're incorrigible, Shizu-san." Shay-san wriggled to her feet.
"Let me help you with that tea." But before she reached the
kitchen, the phone rang.
"For you." Shizuru held it out.
Shay-san took the phone. "It's my uncle," she said, giving them
a puzzled, almost frightened look. "What the---?"
0-0-0-0-0
That same day, across town, dining at an outdoor cafe much closer
to the docks than the Kuwabara residence, was a man being paid to
hunt down a youth he had never met.
'Boss, one last question,' Carlos had said, before leaving
Warehouse Four: 'The target's becoming famous. When you kill a
famous person there's usually quite an investigation. How---'
'Ain't gonna be around long enough for shit to hit the fan.'
And that was when Carlos realized the Boss planned to return to
the demon plane.
Surprisingly, the Boss had only been irritated, no worse, to
learn that Brown Oni had not cut and run like Green and Yellow,
but cut to pieces before he could fetch the target back.
'Wasn't gonna kill the little bastard yet,' he'd said. 'Just
wanted to play with him some.'
Carlos was reminded of a cat, toying endlessly with a mouse. And
the longer he hung around until the Boss finally got sick of
playing, the greater his chances of being caught.
Reveleding in the fresh, sea-salted air and the parade of
passersby, Carlos ate a double dragon roll. He did not want to
think about possible captivity again.
But Japan was a civilized nation. The authorities who might
still be searching for him would receive excellent cooperation
here. So if the Boss's schemes called down too much heat, Carlos
might have no way of 'mysteriously vanishing' from custody this
time.
He could get away with that once. Twice---
Spearing the last piece of dragon roll and popping it into his
mouth, he enjoyed the explosion of wasabi searing all the way to
his eardrums. He washed it away with beer.
On the one hand, there was the money. It was good. Good enough
to accept risks. There had been risks before, running drugs. If
you weren't a fool, you dodged and lived to see another day.
Carlos, being fond of his own skin, and far from a fool, realized
that soon, the tolerable-risk factor would intersect the big-
paycheck factor at a level of danger too high for any amount of
money to offset.
The thought of sweating out the rest of his life in jail held no
appeal at all. But if he bailed, the Boss would send redshirts
after him. Carlos was only human; he had no hope of standing up
to even the smallest, most timid oni.
The names and faces of those who employed Carlos were dismissed
the minute each gig ended; his jobs were only a means to an end,
and that end had changed since he began working. He had a
reputation for being reliable, quick and efficient, and had no
wish to learn of an employer's emotional entanglements.
But he had to wonder what that crimson-eyed kid had done to the
Boss to earn a death sentence. And whatever it was, didn't it
make sense to simply get it over with?
If Carlos cooperated to the letter of the demon's demands,
drawing out the date of execution, he was leaving himself open to
exposure and capture by the authorities.
Kill the target now, he kept suggesting, but the Boss grew less
patient each time Carlos mentioned the subject.
He glanced up as his waitress made her way to his table,
professional concern etched onto her pretty young face.
"Anything wrong, sir?"
He cleared his throat. "As a matter of fact, there is."
"Oh?" The girl puckered her brow.
"I seem to have run out of dragon roll."
She beamed at him. "I'll bring another, shall I?"
"And another beer, if you don't mind."
"Right away."
A breeze stirred the air, fluttering his paper napkin. He
snagged it with a broad thumb and slid it under his plate.
And after a moment's thought he shifted the plate away. The
napkin lifted on the wind, sailing away like a sea bird, more
free than Carlos if he was jailed.
That would never do.
0-0-0-0-0
Hiei had been wrong about 'Chasing The Dragon.' The song did not
tank, but hit the charts at number eighteen and stayed there a
couple of weeks while the video got heavy rotation on the
Roppongi Video Happy Hour.
"Insufferable bastard," said Urameshi, each time they met.
-30-
(To be continued: Water salad, shampoo endorsements and the
great scent of Hiei!)