by glaube
Setting: 1932-33, New York, America & Various Places, Japan. A reviewer was kind enough to notate my, well, apathy towards the timeline, so allow me to explain why I was reluctant to peg the 1920's or 1940's: in the 1920's, America was isolationist, and wouldn't have had much go-between involving Japan. In the 1940's, Japan had a different government. So, for this "type" of era, roughly 1933 is the best year -- America and Japan will still be trading and attempting to keep peace, but Japan's government will be eyeing a lot of expansion; so money and power will, of course, be crucial. Also, America's starting to get the depression under control, because Roosevelt's been elected. Misao and her gang are all gainfully employed by the most successful newspaper, and because the war in Europe is going on, Newspapers are becoming more successful. I hope this clears things up. Better, Aiteane? That should help the settings issues. Thanks. ^_^
Summary: AU, 1930's, Aoshi + Misao. Misao, a successful reporter in America, hasn't seen Aoshi for five years. But when she starts investigating Kanryuu for the New York Police, she finds herself in the middle of a tangle of power, wealth, and ancient ninja clans in Japan. Will they meet again?
Chapter 2: Mark of the Oniwabanshuu
Shinomori Aoshi and several Oniwabanshuu sat silently in the woods, watching Kanryuu's men loudly approach the old dojo. Fools with guns, he had decided, watching their advance, although he didn't really understand what they were doing approaching the grounds of what had once been the honorable Kamiya Kasshin Ryu dojo; now more of a library of martial arts texts. He knew Kanryuu had visited it before, but to what purpose? And now they were going to break in? How ridiculous. He gave the signal to Hannya and together the two of them advanced behind the row of thugs, silent, stealthy, deadly. Kanryuu's men split up, the four of them apparently deciding to surround the school, and that's when the Oniwabanshuu went into action.
First there were four. Then three. Then two. Then one. Aoshi had ordered no killings so while the rest of the ninjas tied up the three unconscious buddies of the apparent ring-leader, Aoshi circled around him with catlike grace and agility, a Kodachi point pressed against the man's neck. They had been smart enough to mask themselves out for the mission; the lower half of his face covered by a traditional ninja wrap. Ice blue eyes glared out at the would be thief.
"what does Kanryuu want from the Kamiya school?" Aoshi asked coldly. The man made no reply, and the tip of the kodachi pressed harder, drawing blood, presenting a dangerous reality. "Do not think that I won't kill you, or your friends. I have no qualms about destroying evil."
"H...He wanted one of the ancient texts..."
"Why?"
"Th..the succession technique."
Aoshi's eyes narrowed. Kanryuu, interested in succession technique? He doubted the fool could even wield a sword, much less perfect it. He himself had mastered his own technique, but his right hand man, Hannya, had not finished the final moves; and Misao had not learned them, either. So Kanryuu ever being able to put such things to use was out of the question.
"Why?" He asked, watching the idiot tremble.
"There's some sword...or something...with the right techniques it is said that the wielder is rendered invincible."
Aoshi blinked. Invincible. Interesting .. an arms dealer with the ability to dodge or even deflect bullets was a dangerous possibility. Still, he was surprised Kanryuu chased after such a fairytale, despite the man's insane greed. There were few legendary blades left in Japan; for example, the set he carried had belonged to a young Okashira back in the Meiji. And there were rumours of a reverse-blade katana wielded for reform and justice back in the same era. But for the most part, the strength came from the wielder, and their ability to channel ki through a blade. Puzzling.
"A sword." He said flatly, obviously not convinced.
"L..look. He says it changes. That it's never been beaten. But it's been lost...and...he wants it."
"Your Kanryuu is a fool. And I have a message for him."
The kodachi moved quickly, several angry flashes, before Aoshi hit the man in the back of the head with his kodachi's handle. There, left imbedded into his cheek, was the mark of Oniwabanshuu.
"Tie him up. We're leaving."
Hannya had nodded and quickly obeyed his request.
"Yes, Okashira."
Later that night he sat outside the temple, watching the fireflies drift lazily through the evening air, and thought about Misao.
***
Misao leaned against the railing of the ship, watching the busy port of Tokyo draw closer and closer, eyes fixed on the blue waters that reminded her of something else that was blue...Aoshi's eyes. They were a beautiful sea-blue, and most of the time, seemed to have the same sort of calm that was so natural to an ocean in times of smooth sailing. She knew, or, should she say, had known him well enough to recognize them when they weren't calm; like a storm at sea, flaring up in his eyes with barely restrained rage. When he was angry, Misao always thought of sea storms, the power of crashing tidal waves. Nothing else on his face ever seemed to change, but the pretty reporter could always read his eyes.
Her voyage had not been the safest, nor was she convinced that the boat housed the most reputable people. Several wealthy German-Americans were travelling onboard to Tokyo, and an uneasy hush seemed to settle whenever she went below deck to the dining hall. So she spent most of her time on deck, in the open air. Many of the other passengers were afraid of being stopped by warring vessels on the seas, but as far as interference went, the voyage was actually completely safe. Like the calm before a storm.
It had stormed a few days and Misao had braved the weather as often as she felt capable, hating the feeling of being holed up inside her tiny room below deck. It had gotten her a bit of a cold, but now, pulling into the port of Tokyo, she felt fine.
She watched the islands slowly crawl nearer and headed downstairs to gather her things. Stepping inside her small room she glanced around with a feeling of unease; having the distinct impression that someone had been there. Upon inspecting her suitcase, Misao could have sworn that it looked like someone had gone through her things and taken extreme care to place them almost perfectly back in place. Odd. Very odd indeed.
Setting aside her feelings of unease, Misao opened her bag and pulled out the letter from Saitou.
You will be recieved by one of my contacts, Sagara Sanosuke. He will be expecting you, Weasel. Sagara used to be a gangster, Zanza, and will have many underground contacts that you may find useful. However, as such, do not expect refined mannerisms. You will not receive them.
And Weasel...don't get killed.
She scowled, folding the letter and placing it in her pocket. The ship's horn blew, announcing their arrival to port.
***
Sagara Sanosuke leaned against a post of the dock, the image of a tall and lanky boy who'd suddenly found himself a man and didn't know what to do. In an age where men wore their hair neat, combed, swept back, and impeccable, Sanosuke's spiked rebelliously, held back by a red ribbon he insisted on wearing in memory of his mentor, who had died in the Great War. He wore western style slacks and shoes, but his jacket was definitely Japanese and more traditional; white, with a large black kanji embroidered into the back. Nobody could mistake Zanza, for such was his mark.
After Sagara's death, Sanosuke had taken up with some unsavory characters, earning repute as the gangster Zanza. It was as Zanza that he'd had his first run-in with the Wolf, that irritating policeman who refused to use a gun. It hadn't failed him yet. At any rate, Sano had cleaned up his act, in as much as could be expected from the lanky youth, and became one of Saitou's most important contacts in Japan. He had gotten a wire from the other man discussing the arrival of one Makimachi Misao, referred to by the wolf as Weasel. Sano himself wasn't too sure what he was going to think of this Misao lady -- why in the world was Saitou sending a woman to do a man's work?
Ah. There was the ship. His questions would surely be answered soon. He watched the passengers file down,and the first woman he saw was a beautiful Japanese-American speaking smoothly to a couple of foreigners in a language he didn't recognize, but that he suspected was German. With long black hair and stunning brown eyes that seemed almost maroon, along with pale skin and a beautiful complexion, surely this was the woman Saitou had spoken of. Although he didn't think of a weasel.
No, he thought she looked more like a fox.
Straightening his jacket, for Sano was always eager to make a good impression on the ladies, he hurried over to the trio.
"Excuse me. Makimachi-san?" He asked, shooting her a charming grin.
The fox turned to him with an expression of both confusion and mild irritation.
"No, I am Takani Megumi." She said calmly.
"Figures. You're way too beautiful to have been sent by.."
"Excuse me?" She interrupted, apparently irritated by Sano's frankness.
"Ah. Forgive me fox, but I must go."
"FOX?! WHO ARE YOU CALLING FOX...?! STUPID....STUPID....ROOSTER!" She yelled after him, and Sano turned around to shoot the pretty lady a wink.
"Ah! Fiesty! I like my women like that."
For a moment it looked like Sagara Sanosuke's life would end right then and there, but one of the foreigners turned to Megumi, speaking in awkward Japanese.
"Ah.. Miss Megumi-san. We must go. Kanryuu will be waiting."
And as Sano walked away he could have sworn he heard her give a soft sigh.
"Yes. Kanryuu."
Distracting him from that was a sharp tug on his sleeve, and he looked down at a short, tomboyish looking girl. Ah. It made sense now.
"Weasel?" He asked, forgetting to use Makimachi's real name.
"Ooooh, that bastard Saitou! I'm going to kill him!"
"Ah, ah. Calm down weasel, no use getting upset when the wolf's a hemisphere away."
"Shut up...rooster-head."
And Sano could only chuckle at his newly acquired nickname.
***
A week had passed, during which time Misao discovered that few Japanese had respect for American tomboys; so she'd changed her attire from the Western slacks to to more traditional Japanese clothing -- never a kimono, or the irritating Western skirts with fancy blouses, but the training gear a martial arts student might wear in a dojo. It kept people from underestimating her as well; the young lady who could have passed for a ninja once you really began to understand just how lithe and agile 'The Weasel' really was.
Sagara had grown on her, although the Rooster's lazy attitude could still be highly irritating, but so far, their efforts had been fruitless. Misao had not met anyone who could introduce her to Kanryuu, nor had she discovered any critical holes in his organization.
"If it really is him," Sano had explained one day, "Then the reason why he's so successful is because of the formula he's gotten for the opium. I supsect our best bet would be to find the doctor. He's probably paying the guy really well, and with a little cajoling, we could get him to abandon the organization and turn Kanryuu in. But I can't find anyone who knows where the formula came from."
"What about arms dealing?" She had asked. Sano shrugged.
"Also clean. The only arms he sells openly are the ones going to the Japanese army for expansion right now, so all of his shipments appear legit. But his weapons are finding their way into the black market."
It was so frustrating. The bastard was obviously a crook but whether or not he'd ever face justice was questionable. Misao paused at her questioning of Sagara, staring at a stranger headed down the street, his head bowed a little.
But to her, the mark on his cheek was unmistakeable.
Oniwabanshuu. Impossible. The clan of her ancestors didn't exist anymore, everyone knew that.
"Hey! You! Come back here!" She yelled, taking off after him, much to Sano's confusion. The man turned around to catch a glimpse of the young female chasing after him, braid lifting on the breeze, and took off running. Misao heard Sano's yell of confusion, but didn't stop -- her instincts said that catching this man was crucial, and she listened to her instincts. Finally, he seemed to run out of breath, slowing to a stop in a dark alley before whirling to face her, a small pistol in hand.
"This is the end of the line, miss."
Well that was cheap. Misao had forgotten, when dealing with arms dealers, one must always expect them to have arms. Looks like the Wolf would get the last laugh, afterall. Suddenly her eyes lit up with a brilliant grin, as a boyish voice sounded off behind the man.
"Drop it." Was Sanosuke's comments, two fingers pressed against the man's jacket like himself had a gun. "And kick it over to the lovely lady, or I'll shoot." He growled, fingers pressing deeper into the goon's back. Instantly he did as asked, and Sanosuke whirled the man around, landing a solid punch on the guy's jaw, smiling in satisfaction when Kanryuu's man spit out a tooth.
"Don't you know it's not nice to point a gun at a lady?" He asked with a grin, waving his hands to reveal that he had not actually had a weapon at all. "In Western Poker, they call that a bluff."
Misao picked up the gun at her feet, emptying the rounds while pulling out a kunai. She pointed it threateningly at the man Sano now had pinned effectively against the wall of the alley.
"Who gave you that mark?"
"Oniwabanshuu." He snarled, furious that he'd been outwitted.
"Try again, dumbass. The Oniwabanshuu don't exist." She snarled, glaring at him. "Who gave you that mark?!"
Sanosuke's grip on the goon lessened, and he let the man slide down the wall to the ground.
"...Actually, Weasel... Come on. Let's go. I'll explain on the way."