-x-
2. ten years later
A brigand of samurai pressed the button and went down the elevator. Tsukuyo quietly followed them, wearing a straw hat as her disguise. Her golden head would have stood out from the girls whose hair was as dark as the night sky.
It was another regular night of work. Men entered the pleasure district, peering at the beauties presented behind bars. Their skin had been buffed with white powder, lips red as blood and hair ornaments strung with calculated appeal. Their voices were smooth like honey, beckoning patrons with seductive eyes and silk fans. Luxurious kimonos were donned with a practiced nonchalance. Here, one could pay for a fantasy at a price.
Tsukuyo paid no attention to the display; intent on following the group without attracting undue attention. Her feet knew the streets better than most, her eyes scanning the open horizon with quick sweeping gazes. All the while her hands were shoved into her pockets, clenching kunai underneath the blue fabric of her yukata.
"Don't act so nervous," Jiraia said smoothly. "I've taught you well enough."
"Yes, Shishou," Tsukuyo said, and she willed herself to relax. Gradually she let go of her metal knives, breathing in the pumped air.
"That's better," he said encouragingly. The two of them walked together, Jiraia's face disguised cunningly with a countenance that had not previously belonged to him. He had stripped it from a dead corpse, and injected it with a few chemicals for extra realism. Tsukuyo had already bound her chest and tied her hair into a long ponytail, disguising her gender by doing so.
Patrolling the city was a task that she had seen many of the senior members of Hyakka do, but one that she had not undertaken. She was quite young and needed assistance; her master had only been too prepared for the occasion and took her along the less dangerous routes.
Criminals were serious business in a city of sensual vice. Tsukuyo had seen jealous lovers fighting to the death, sex trafficking beyond the legal constraints of Yoshiwara, and even children working in prostitution. Yet the knowledge of this could not stop the adrenaline from pumping into her blood. She was part of the paramilitary. She could not let her master down.
The way of a woman is to suffer, her master told her. You must break those bonds of femininity, Tsukuyo. Break free of being a woman.
-x-
Sakata Gintoki at first is just like any other patron. She's enjoying a cup of tea by herself, off-duty, with an ashtray on the table and her fingers holding her pipe for a moment as she breathes the smoke out. This doesn't mean she's not aware of things going on. She knows who the regular customers are, and keeps her eyes carefully peeled for any sign of unusual activity.
There are two samurai on the left, one with a head of pure white curls. She droops her eyes and pretends to be absorbed in the menu while she examines both of them. The one with purple hair is more handsome, she admits to herself, but he looks too sullen and moody.
She calls the waitress, and asks who are the two strangers.
"Ah, aren't they good looking?" The waiter places the empty cup on her tray. "I've heard they're really important samurai. The curly perm head is the Shiroyasha - he's supposed to be a demon on the battlefield. The man with the eyepatch is the commander of the Kiheitai. Impressive, isn't it?"
Tsukuyo frowned. "What are they doing here?"
"Beats me," the lady says. "But I'm not complaining."
Ten feet away, Gintoki bites into a stick of dango and motions to Takasugi that someone's looking at them. He smiles and winks at the blonde when he first caught her gaze, and she blushed, forcing her to look away from him. But it's too late. Already they've made eye contact, and he remembers what Tsukuyo looks like, with a scar down her cheek.
-x-
Sakata Gintoki comes and goes like a cat. The tea house was the only place she had seen him reside for more than five minutes. In and out he dips into brothels like so many other men. He is a distinguished warrior and as such he enjoys a high status.
The courtesans swoon whenever he comes. "He's the only soldier - or man, for that matter - who respects us as women," remarks a nearby prostitute as she paints her lips red - behind her, an assistant carefully inserts the delicate assortment of hair ornaments into her coiffure. Rumors fly - he is a passionate lover, handles his drink like a gentleman, tips well, and has a notorious sweet tooth. Tsukuyo is intrigued about this strange patron and keeps an eye on him. Her chance comes exactly one week after she first spotted them at the tea house.
Three AM. Tsukuyo is busy throwing out unruly men from the establishment. Suddenly she spots the famed Shiroyasha from a distance, milling around a bar and her heart stopped for a moment. She swoops into a darkened crevice, oddly shy. Unfortunately, he notices.
"I can see you, ya know," he calls out. "Why hide?"
Terrified, she fakes a bravado. "Better for me to hide than to show myself."
"If you're not here to kill me than come here," he said. "I want to know who you are."
Because she is twenty - (that awkward phase between shedding the cautiousness of a teenager but not quite yet a complete adult!) - and not to mention a little too bold for her position, she steps into the bright moonlight. "Here I am. Ya happy now?"
He walks towards her, shoves his hands in his pockets, and lazily grins. "I figured someone was keeping an eye on me all this time I was here. But hell, I would have never figured that a complete babe like you would have been behind it - "
"Keep talking, pal, and you'll be cruising for a bruising." Tsukuyo is so not in the mood for guys hitting on her; it doesn't matter if they're a millionaire or some homeless vagrant. They all look like the same trash to her.
"Oh come on. You didn't think I was going to be some stoic badass guy, right? Because I swear everyone expects me to be like that and - hey, don't go already - "
"I'm listening."
"This is one of the few places I don't have to pretend to be someone I'm not."
"I'm glad ya can afford that luxury," Tsukuyo said, unsympathetic. "Everybody else here lies."
His lazy smile fades, but only by a little bit. "So what makes you more honest than anyone else?"
"I'm more of a truth-finder," she replies evenly. "And I'd say I'm pretty persuasive."
"So I've heard," he said. He's still smiling, and it's starting to annoy her for some reason.
"What brings you over here?" she asks curtly.
"The usual," Gintoki said pleasantly. "Beautiful ladies, delicious sake, having a good time. You know, that sort of thing."
Something told her that he'd been lying. Most of the patrons this time of night are usually drunk, or at the very least tipsy. But Sakata Gintoki was sober as he can be.
But it's still none of her business. If he hasn't caused any trouble, than really, what's the point of asking him questions this time of night?
"Hope you have a good night, then," she replied insincerely.
She turns on her heel and comes back to her master's house, disappointed. Sakata Gintoki is a man who can see the world, do things she will never do, and yet he still thinks Yoshiwara is a paradise. Tsukuyo, though - she sees the prostitutes wasting away. Either from syphilis, drugs, failed abortions, or old age. Pick your poison.
He's just like any other man who comes here, she thinks contemptuously. The Shiroyasha is only another example of men who resemble balloons: full of hot air.
-x-
He's heard of her existence, everybody has. The trick really was catching her at a moment where she wasn't paying any attention to you. The Courtesan of Death is one of Yoshiwara's strongest paramilitary soldiers. Rumors has it that if you make trouble, she'd run a blade neatly across your neck, no questions asked.
His observations are simple at first. Her blonde hair shone bright, her eyes were of an unusual color, and her body was voluptuous and sensual to even the oldest patrons of the floating city. Had not she marred her face, she would have progressed quickly into the ranks of the courtesan, fetching a high price for her services. One could imagine it quite easily - Hinowa, a woman for the respectable daimyos; Tsukuyo, a woman for those who wanted more of a challenge. Rumors had even gone around, saying she was born from a foreign devil; but in all honesty, those rumors only made her more alluring. He's always been attracted to dangerous things.
He takes a sip of his sake while nodding to another courtesan politely. He's here in Yoshiwara to find people who can spy for him, which means he's got to earn the trust of some key political figureheads of this joint. This city is a hotbed for politics, filled with information that could turn the fate of this country upside down.
Gintoki's fame as the Shiroyasha makes his presence extremely risky, but also allows him to parade in the city with some freedom that might be unavailable to a lower ranked soldier. Since Yoshiwara remains neutral in the midst of a no-man's land during the Joui war, anything is fair game. Hyakka's job is to keep things orderly so that nobody ruins the fun. The King of the Night doesn't care as long as people have the money to spend.
While the courtesan next to him is pouring Gintoki another cup of sake, he enquires about the girl he met last night.
"Oh, you must mean Tsukuyo," the lady says.
"What about her?"
"She's the guardian of us all," the courtesan replied. A soft smile lights up her complexion. "She is the moon that illuminates this city."
Gintoki rolls around her name experimentally in his mouth. "Tsukuyo," he says, trying it out. It's a pretty name, he decides.
-x-
Jiraia instructs her to read a textbook over the various uses of the niginata - a spear with a blade attached to the end. It is a lethal weapon designed for a woman who could not as easily wield a full metal sword, and here she bitterly wanted to complain - the subtle sexism angers her. Yet like all the other times she swallows and complies, for her master is the one who pulled her out from the sea of decay.
At a non-descript teahouse she begins to pore over the words and her frustration melts away with a diagram of how to gut a man like a pig. Fascinating. She flips the page and devours the information.
"Boy, for a woman you sure are macabre."
She looks up.
Sakata Gintoki is sitting next to her. She snaps her book shut and flatly replies, "What do you want?"
"What, a man can't talk to a woman in this fine establishment?"
"You're in a red-light district," she replies. "Pick another."
"It's not like I saw anyone better looking," he said casually. "Oi, onee-san - can I have one choco-banana parfait? Thanks."
"Sakata-san, I'm not a courtesan," she said in chipped tones. "I'm not someone to be picked up while I pretend to be your lover for one night as I pour your sake into your cup. I can neither dance nor play a tune - "
"I got bored with those types anyway," he cut in cheerfully. "Sometimes all a man needs is a good fuck but everyone here is too classy for that sort of thing straightaway."
"You are tasteless," she said, disgusted.
"At least I'm honest," he interrupted. "You said everyone else lies - should I not lead by exception?"
"Lying is the only way to live here," Tsukuyo said.
"I don't think you believe in what you're saying right now," he said, swallowing a bite of ice cream.
"Don't be presumptuous."
"I'm not."
"Prove it."
"That scar," he pointed out. "It's too smooth for it to be an accident or an injury inflicted from an enemy in battle. From the look of it, you were probably behind it - you scarred yourself so that you wouldn't have to settle down as a courtesan, or worse, a prostitute."
He's unfortunately observant, and even worse than that, correct.
"Just because my face looks like this doesn't mean I'm honest - "
"No, but you're reading a book about killing people rather blatantly in a teashop. You can do things freely without being chained."
She tries to divert from the topic. "You don't even know my name."
"Oh, but I do. Tsukuyo, isn't it?"
He's pleased to see her open her mouth, a little "o" of surprise. Then her eyes narrow.
"Why are you talking to me?"
"Because I'm interested in you."
Tsukuyo doesn't bat an eye. Many men have propositioned her, asked her what her price is. She smiles sardonically - perhaps to say "Oh really?"
"I'm very sorry," she said. Her eyebrow is raised and her voice is more polite than the first time she dared speaking. "But I can't say the same."
"I'll be changing that," he said mildly.
"I'd like to see you try," she countered.
"What if I could give you what you want?" he asked.
"You can't give me what I want," she scoffed. "No one can."
She stood up and gives a small bow to Sakata because he is a decent patron and doesn't have a history of treating the courtesans with abuse. Conversely, she also leaves, because keeping her virginity is her way of rebelling against the status quo.
"Good-bye, Sakata-san."
"I'll find out what you want," Gintoki calls out to her. "Everybody's a prostitute in this game of life. We just have different prices."
He grinned after the door shut after her. Everyone's staring at him, but he doesn't care. Already he's intrigued by this icy blonde, this mysterious bombshell. This girl can keep him on his toes, and it invigorates him better than any of the finest sake he's had.
-x-