T I T L E : Cruelty and the Beast
C H A P T E R: Chapter Twenty-Three – What They Know
A U T H O R : MockTurtles
R A T I N G : Light T - Mugen's poor language.
S P O I L E R S : Takes place after the series has ended.
P A I R I N G S : MuuFuu
S U M M A R Y : Let's wrench the monkey out.
D I S C L A I M E R : Don't own Samurai Champloo or any of its characters.

She heard the wind's whimper as the sword cut through the air, the wood groaning as the tip of the blade was jammed into its side. There wasn't pain, nothing -- just Mugen's breathing rising over her own. Her hands however, felt warm, and as she opened her eyes she saw they were glazed with blood. Tracing the sword that narrowly missed the curve of her thigh, she saw Mugen's hands trembling as he leaned his weight on the hilt. Blood wept from his old bandage, splashing on her fingers, tainting her white kimono.

"You... might wanna move," he whispered. Like a catalyst her body rotated into motion and she scrabbled into the back of the wall.

"Wha-what are you doing?" Honestly, she didn't understand – he was going to kill her and yet all he accomplished was driving his weapon so deep into the floor that his wound re-opened. Steadying himself, he reached behind him, fumbling to untie the sheath from its ribbon; all the while ignoring Nekomi who was frantic with bewilderment.

"She's going to die if you don't—who knows?! Maybe they've already cut off her head! They have spies—someone will confirm whether I am dead or not—oh, Lord, Mugen, what the hell are you doing—"

He was leaking through his shirt and yet he continued to shake the sword's sheath with mad determination, stopping every few seconds to jam his fingers inside, apparently trying to fish something out. Finally, she heard the clatter, the unorganised beat or an object beaming down the length of the tube. It rushed past Mugen's fingers and landed by Nekomi's feet. As she bowed her fingers around the cold metal, a rush of familiarity highlighted her features. It was damaged – chipped, fragile and coated with grime yet the engraving of her initials was disguisable. Despite her attempts to clean it, Mugen's blood was smeared into its marks and flaws with every subtle stroke of her thumb.

"How did you get this?"

"On the island—you left it there."

It had been so long now that Nekomi forgot whether her act was even intentional. The whirlwind of her life had pressed such trivial matters so far from conscious thought that with its re-emergence, she felt youth trickle back into her mind. As nostalgic comforts were, they were quickly suppressed by the metallic scent of blood. Scuttling to her draws she searched for new bandages. Mugen took her seat, clutching at his stomach.

"I remember, that's when I knew ya left fo' good. Nothin' there but that—n' keep close to the floor, Nekomi; don' want no spies seeing you walkin' round." As requested, the woman hurried back towards him, dragging herself on the floor with one underarm clutching a reel of bandages. She went to work, peeling his shirts back to manage the wound. Her lips tightened, leaving her worries unmasked. Smiling, Mugen spoke to break the silence.

"I didn't sell it like I said that night. I should'a but, didn't in the end. At least it'll come in handy."

"You can't do anything like this," she said, ignoring his comment. "The wound's reopened and you'll probably bleed through these new bandages."

"But it'll stop the bleeding for a time, yea'?" Unperturbed, Nekomi wiped her bloodied hands on her kimono, shaking her head.

"It's not a way out, Mugen – you do anything strenuous, the blood will start coming again." Biting her lip, she rested her quivering hands on the arch of her thigh. "You have to save her Mugen, and if that involves killing me—"

Mugen huffed.

"You claim to be a listener, but ya obviously didn't hear me when I said, I don't wanna kill you."

"Yes but—"

"It means, I ain't doin' what I don't wanna do, girl."

Nekomi always valued Mugen's stubbornness, how he fucked with the system, feeling no consequence, living with no understanding, but he was toying with his life. How many years more would it take him to appreciate his luck; how many more times would he knock on the devil's door before he was answered.

"What's your plan—use the pendant to prove my death, keep the blood stains and hope you're miles away before they realise that I'm alive?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Mugen took the pendant from her before heaving himself to his feet.

"Looks like."

"And what about the blood, Mugen – your shirt will still have the stains."

Pointing out the window, Nekomi could only stare at the black sky sprinkled with stars. The rolling clouds seemed lavender over the radiant town.

"Rain's comin' in," he explained and Nekomi was as dubious as ever.

"And what if it doesn't, Mugen – what if you're not drenched in water and they see that you're bleeding? What if—"

"We don't have any more time," he said. "This'll have to do."

"If you would just kill me—"

Again she was cut off. Mugen had had enough of her bullshit. Wrenching his sword from the floor, he pocketed the weapon, his other hand warped around the pendant. Answering her with a cold stare, Nekomi averted her eyes to the wound, willing it to heal.

"D'ya really think that they'd let me go even I do kill ya?"

Mugen gathered himself for the journey, taking Nekomi's advice by slowing down to avoid traumatizing the wound any further. She watched from the sidelines, unsure how to help. Eventually, she found the words inside herself; hidden beneath the layer of confusion and contempt when she thought of her father. Above the patter of newly fallen rain, her voice was a whisper in the dark.

"When am I going to see you again?"

For the first time, Mugen took the steps out of her room.

"If I see ya again in this lifetime, it'll be too soon."

Fuu's face contorted in an array of emotions; relief, anguish, disbelief and more often than not, disdain. Nekomi was no more than a woman possessed by her own storytelling abilities; transfixed on a tale that seemed less and less like reality as she threaded each word with her airy, dulcet tones. Her eyes stared through her, sending Goosebumps along Fuu's arms. Chopstick hair-tie gone, the fibres of her hair curled around her face, hiding the bruises and pink scratches from her ordeal at the warehouse.

"What are you doing?" she demanded. Nekomi blinked pointlessly up at her. Sense had seeped from her pores, leaving this fleckless doll for the young waitress to manage – a task she didn't have time for. Rather than answer, Nekomi went back to her writing, leaving beautiful calligraphy stains upon the yellowing parchment. Despite the rage thrumming inside her, Fuu succumbed to her wandering eyes which surveyed the room. Almost everything was gone, save for the throws of paper dotted across the floor, a futon and her tanto. The blood had dried in a messy patch and while Nekomi's white kimono was laced with red finger-prints, she knew instinctively that it was Mugen's. She recalled how he winced walking her threw the warehouse and a new wave of urgency crawled along her skin.

"Yo-you have to save him, Nekomi!" The request was a garble of syllables and hisses. "Do something—order your guards to stop that guy!" Blowing to help dry the ink, it was when Fuu gave an animalistic screech did Nekomi return from her daydreaming. Clearing her throat with a cough, she folded the letter and tucked it into the folds of her kimono.

"They've all gone to Edo. The guards—they should come back to collect me in the morning when they are sure there is no threat to my security."

"That's too late!" Fuu stated needless, throwing her head back. Droplets of water flew from each tendril to splatter on the floor.

"So what would you have me do?" Her face revealed nothing, but Fuu caught the way her voice quivered with the exigency for an answer. There was life in her yet.

"Help him! Get someone to—to—to." Trailing away, she wasn't sure how she could protect him. Disintegrating under the other's cold, jade eyes, her confidence melted away under the pressure to find a solution, sitting in her throat like a heavy pestilence. She leant against the door frame, her look pleading Nekomi for something—anything that could solve this mess. Mugen should not have to carry the burden for both their mistakes.

"I know he killed your father," she began, watching as Nekomi raised herself from the floor to a nodachi that was discarded on the floor, "but you love him. He'll die if we don't do something." She knew that mentioning love was a risqué business (Nekomi's eyes narrowed on her face until she felt colour drain from her cheeks) but now was not an occasion for etiquette and subtleties. Still, Nekomi didn't seem moved and Fuu resigned herself to the idea that she was now Mugen's last hope. Moving towards her tanto, she tightened her lips to feign determination. Compared to the beautiful nodachi settled in Nekomi's hands she felt severely underprepared. It was almost a blessing when the woman stopped her with a firm hand on her shoulder, flexing her fingers to get her attention.

"Wait here, I'll get some supplies for you," she murmured, "Go to that draw and take the bandages – Mugen will need some." Fuu fumbled between a smile, a hug and a nod before rushing down on her knees, scrambling for the aid kit. Nekomi slipped past unnoticed, nodachi tied to her back. It was only when she locked her door did she Fuu react, rushing to try and open it. When her fist pounded away, the aristocrat could barely make out her questioning voice, only noticing how the pleads disbanded behind the curses and huffs as she became more persistent.

"I'm sorry, but I can't risk losing you," she said, unsure if Fuu could hear her. With a sigh, she hurried down the stairs and out of her house, only looking back at the sakura whose proud leaves towered over the wall of her father's home. In the pouring rain, she hurried into the street, taking to the forking paths which would release her from her Satsuma prison.

N O T E S : Sorry this chapter took a little longer to finish. I was out of the country with no internet so it was all I couldn't complete this chapter until I got back. Listed to some David Bowie while writing this piece – for some reason it made the task a'hella lot easier. Hope you enjoyed it! :]