Uwah. This was difficult to write.
Disclaimer: Uho! (translation: Gorilla property)
Eyes of Wolves
- 25 -
.: JUNE, PRESENT :.
To whom it may concern.
Soldier three seven three.
Zenshi stared at the ambiguous heading, and then at the specifics within. He was, in fact, registered as soldier 373 until he became lieutenant.
It was not the fact that the legendary Umibouzu has contacted him.
It was not even the enigmatic message of the letter itself — solving could come later.
But what bothered Zenshi most was what he had learned about Kamui.
The power hungry lion cub had just eaten the head of its pride leader.
Admiral Kamui.
Suddenly, the idea of living out his days in peace — an inconceivable notion from the start — became all the more unfathomable.
.: TWENTY-TWO YEARS AGO :.
He stands stiffly before Hosen as if there is a rod driven into his spine.
"No, child," Hosen tells him, "you mustn't allow your back to freeze. And your stance is weak. A bumblebee could knock you over."
Hosen's hand clamps down on Zenshi's shoulder hard, and the little boy staggers beneath the weight. He readjusts the child's stance, gripping Zenshi's thin wrist until he adopts a stronger carriage.
"See this?" Hosen taps the small fist. "This is strength."
He steps back.
"Now show me how you fight."
.: JUNE, PRESENT :.
He went the next morning to the elevators at the break of dawn, his umbrella toted over his shoulder and the envelope tucked into his arm. As he ascended to the surface, his destination the post office, Umibouzu's puzzling letter nagged him.
Very briefly, he wondered if the man was just in town to visit his daughter — and discarded the thought quickly.
.: MAY, TWO WEEKS AGO :.
Zenshi took to household chores as easily as he did to negotiations. He found that the quiet serenity of folding and organizing did him much good. Hinowa often laughed lightly and conversed with him, even when he didn't answer. Quite frequently, she would sit there darning whatever sock someone had torn, scrubbing scrupulously at a stubborn stain on Tsukuyo's kimono, or simply flipping through a catalogue for the best coupons of the month. During those times, Zenshi would either iron or fold or simply sit with a cup of tea. Occasionally, when Tsukuyo was free, she was their third companion, resting wordlessly with her pipe at her lips.
"It's supposed to rain soon," Hinowa commented, glancing outside. Though the sky was currently clear, the air was heavy with an oncoming storm. "I'm afraid my little garden will be washed out."
Tsukuyo and Zenshi looked outside simultaneously.
Far away, the lip of a dark cumulonimbus cloud wandered.
.: JUNE, PRESENT :.
"You would like to know who sent this?" said the man managing the front desk. "I don't think I can trace something like this. You'll have to go to the embassy."
.: ELEVEN YEARS AGO :.
He's a bit pale, but has a massive pain tolerance and spends the rest of the day with a bullet in his shoulder until a teacher guffaws in horror and pulls him aside.
.: JUNE, PRESENT :.
The southwestern general embassy was crowded and slow, somewhat akin to the department of motor vehicles, where at least a hundred people and Amanto were bustling about in a disorganized line in an attempt to resolve their car-related problems.
Nonetheless he sat in the waiting room, a number card in hand, knowing full well that though there was no Yato ambassador, there would be someone useful. Personally, Zenshi never ventured far on Earth, but his established connections would suffice.
The card led him to a general desk, where a representative of the Inuisei's main envoy center had taken up post. Most of the foreign delegations were required to send at least one representative to each general embassy. While the Inuisei had their own grand building of communications, the southwestern center had one of their minor diplomats toiling away dully at the desk.
"Welcome to the embassy, how can I—" the Inuisei Amanto froze. "Well, fancy meeting you here."
Zenshi narrowed his eyes, staring hard at the dog-woman. Though her muzzle was a bit rounder and her slim limbs a bit less angular, the ochre shade of her coat and her rolling voice were familiar. It was Mei's friend from Ocentisa.
.: SEVEN YEARS AGO :.
He is registered as seaman 373 of the 59th crew. Just like all the other new recruits, he files into line for a brief orientation, finding himself ironically amused at the organization of a space pirate organization. After all, the Harusame do not just let people with eye patches and hooks for arms join its ranks.
Kamui, however, seems to be in prior engagements with the higher-ups. He skips orientation and is whisked away to who-knows-where.
The boy next to Zenshi is a nervous, jittery creature. At times, he is snappy when the one next to him begins to reciprocate his own anxiety. About Zenshi's age, maybe a year or so younger, he is a wiry Yato made up of all arms and legs. A gangly thing of good height but unfilled build. He swings a dark green umbrella and his eyes wander almost meticulously across the field.
Zenshi realizes, with a slight start, that the boy is calculating the potential personalities, strengths, and weaknesses of the new recruits. They are all young Yato from a diversity of places — one is even a young boy that transferred from the Chidori pirates to the Harusame — and there is a total of twenty-three of them. It makes Zenshi wonder how their small planet and their small race is actually quite expansive; it is only a "rare" kind when compared to the populations of faraway planets. It also, strangely enough, brings up the concern that a large number of their offspring are living the lives of lowly pirates.
A camouflaged focus. He knows he's being watched. The shifty boy beside him has moved from the muscular, brutish initiate to Zenshi's right to Zenshi himself. Though most of them stand stiffly, they are chatty and have begun converse amongst small clusters of two or three. Taking advantage of the small dialogues, he turns casually to the boy.
"Your guess is as good as mine," he says. The boy frowns, slightly alarmed by the fact that his discreet cover has been blown. "Would you say quiet? Or loud?" Zenshi nods to a girl in the far corner who is muscular and square.
The boy is jittery. "Mean."
Zenshi mouths a soft oya?, but doesn't say anymore.
About a minute later, the boy ventures forth.
"You're pretty quiet. The cool type, aren't you?"
Zenshi wants to laugh, because the boy's forceful intonation on "cool" makes it seem like he is attempting to throw an insult. His voice, however, is weedy and thin.
"Am I?" Zenshi's eyes slide his way.
"It sure seems like it."
Zenshi would like to attribute this to his new hair, cropped short from its shoulder length, but supposes that his laconic, satirical attitude probably contributes as well. He certainly looks the part.
"Zenshi," he offers boldly. Typically, he'll refrain from introductions, but the boy is a wary, fox-like character with an innocent flop of light brown over his face. Just as he reads others, Zenshi reads him.
"Zhuyi." They shake hands.
It is only four months after initiation, when Zhuyi finds himself a suitable job in the bridge, that he becomes Tabs.
And he is ever attentive to all.
.: ELEVEN YEARS AGO :.
The assembly takes the entire day, and ends with the same mawkish speeches by the same school officials. In an attempt to mitigate the pain in his shoulder, Zenshi allows his attention to wander, mostly riding the muddled voice of the principal at the microphone.
When the event ends, and a teacher pulls him aside, Mei and her Inuisei friend scoff.
"Do I even have to ask?" says the dog-girl.
"You probably saw it on the big screen," replies Mei dryly.
"I did."
.: JUNE, PRESENT :.
The canine grin that split her corgi face was far from comforting. In fact, Zenshi found himself less amused and more in a state of lassitude instead.
"You're as talkative as I remember," sighed the canine girl. She rummaged through a few documents, tapped a silver, efficient computer, and motioned for him to look at it. "We actually expected you to come. There's a few things for you in the back."
She ducked behind a "authorized personnel only" door and reemerged quickly, nonchalant and cheery but well aware of his low tolerance for sluggishness. The Inuisei girl, named Kougi, had been a classmate and a lunch companion. One of the only other students to have bonded with Mei, she regularly accompanied the feisty Yato girl to their usual lunch table, where Zenshi sat in lugubrious silence. Lunch often consisted of their chatter and light teasing. Zenshi, throughout their years, was glad he didn't grow tired of them. Rather fond of his talkative lunch companions — besides the one silent Yato that followed him like a puppy and the other quiet Amanto that found solace in his silence — he had lugged through his rather antisocial school days in moderate peace.
"Before you say anything," Kougi said, "we are not a mail system. We just hold things that Edo's mail people can't handle. All the official Amanto documents in high security pass through us, rather than them."
"How profound," he offered sardonically.
"You're as annoying as I remember, too. And you hardly even talk." She rolled her eyes. "Anyway, you've got a few things here. I heard one's from that Umibouzu. We call him Bald Bloody Santa around here."
He threw her a skeptical glance.
"Because he tries to visit his daughter with gifts but he's bald and usually has blood all over him, which is kind of gross."
Zenshi made a face that spelled out wry acknowledgement, but was mostly busy flipping through the letters.
One, yes, from Umibouzu. A location, if he wasn't mistaken.
Another from the Sciuttlan Department of Security. This in particular set his wheels turning furiously.
Certainly, it was a day full of letters. One after the other, messages came his way as if suddenly free of a stymied dam. He peeled past the first two to evaluate the last.
Stamped in bold, angry ink to disguise the Chinese character for beautiful printed in a neat, recognizable scrawl, was a message from the Harusame.
I hope this isn't too complex/weird.
To be clear, Umibouzu will serve as a messenger of sorts.
That, and even I don't know what the heck he's doing in town.
Oh Baldy.