The girls dragged poor, unwilling Akabane to the back of the store and into a room marked "private sessions only" in brilliant silver paint. He tried to plant his feet, but the sandals he was wearing had absolutely no grip to them whatsoever. If it hadn't been for the security cameras… He still didn't understand why he couldn't break free of their grip and run, though. They had holds on him like pro-wrestlers, but he should have been able to get free. He'd broken better holds than theirs before.
"Let's see," the cop said, running a finger along her lips. "I like the 'chick in men's clothes' thing you've got going on, and this is a gorgeous coat. I don't like the fact that it fits you like you were wearing your older brother's Goth clubbing gear," she said, walking around him.
The other girl, dressed as a nurse, giggled. "Look at the size of that bust line! Some girls would kill for that, you know. Why are you hiding it?!" He crossed his arms stiffly over his chest, not liking the way they were walking around him like a pair of vultures. Time to make a break for it, he thought. He lunged forward, only to discover that since he'd become female… his center of balance had shifted. He fell forward, only to end up in the arms of the cop.
"What's your analysis, Anita?"
"I think you know my analysis, Tomoko," the nurse said back. "Off with her clothes!"
Their hands were all over him like tentacles, pulling. The safety pins holding his shirt popped with their effort. "Stop it!" he demanded, fighting against them, but again finding it as though he had strangely been drained of all his strength. "I need those."
"Not anymore, you won't," the one named Anita said, throwing the shirt aside.
"What if you do not have anything I like?" he asked as the one named Tomoko busied herself with trying to force his pants off.
"We'll find something you can wear; you just watch us!"
"What if I can not afford it," he asked, struggling against them as Anita started helping with the pants.
"Don't worry about it; you've got a credit card, don't you?" Anita laughed, waving his wallet. He lunged for it, but Tomoko had her arms around his chest and was pinning him in place.
"I can go to the cops about this. This is robbery," he protested, wishing his strength would hurry up and return if a girl in a cop uniform could keep him pinned in place. He wriggled, trying to free himself from her iron grip. That was it. He did not care if there were security cameras; he was going to take care of them. He ejected several scalpels from his hand… only for them to go clattering to the ground when he could not get a decent grip on them. He looked at his hands in shock. Shorter, thinner fingers… not the fingers his blades had been specifically designed for.
Anita picked up the scalpels. "Medical supplies, huh? I think we can do something for you after all," she purred. "Quick, Miki! Get those ugly clothes out of here!" she ordered. The guy standing outside snatched up the discarded clothing and ran with it.
"You had better give my things back…" Akabane threatened.
"Don't worry, you'll get them back. Although I don't know what you'd want them, after we finish dressing you up," she smirked.
"Look, the poor thing is even wearing men's underwear," Tomoko sighed. "We really need to give you the works, don't we?" she asked, removing the offending garments.
He crossed one arm over his feminine chest and stuck the other one between his legs. "Have you no respect for my decency?" he asked, his voice raised in anger.
The two looked at him and grinned. "Nope, none whatsoever!" they replied in unison.
He paused. "Are you two…Americans?"
"How did you guess?" Anita asked.
"I was raised there, but I moved back here to open this shop!" Tomoko smiled.
Akabane rolled his eyes. "How in the world did I ever guess?" he asked, shivering. Being completely naked in a public shop had not been on his list of things to do, and being the quiet and reserved type, he did not like showing himself to anyone even when in his male body. In this strange body, he especially did not like it.
"Look at those hips… that chest… that hair… the face… who does she remind you of?"
"A certain famous bondage model who happens to be dating a certain infamous rock star?" Tomoko asked, smiling. Akabane had no clue who they were talking about, and didn't care enough to ask.
"Let's try a corset then!"
"Would not it make sense to do underwear first?" Akabane asked, still covering himself… as he refused to think of himself as a herself no matter what… with his hands.
"A corset is underwear," Anita insisted, pushing strands of blue hair out of her eyes. "Move your arms!" she demanded, wrapping a sheet of vinyl around his… her?... middle and tightening it. "Tomoko, help me with this!"
The girls yanked on the vinyl and metal device, causing poor Akabane to let out a gasp. "How does it feel?"
"I can not breathe," he protested, tugging at the buckles on the front of what appeared to be a plastic torture device.
"You can still breathe enough to talk. Tighter!" Tomoko joked, binding the laces in their places.
"I do not like it," Akabane complained.
"You need it to support those knockers. Your back can't do it alone," Anita informed him, studying him.
"I do not like it, take it off," Akabane complained for a second time.
"Spoil sport," she said, undoing the laces and letting it fall off. Akabane took a gasp of air. He'd never appreciated being able to breath quite so much before. "Fine, if you want to go with a traditional bra and panties, I guess we don't mind if you're boring." She took out a measuring tape and wrapped it around his chest, causing him to jerk a bit. Her hands were cold, and he didn't like them on his body, let alone tender bodily parts. The girl whistled. "I'm going to need a 91 and a half, D," she called to Tomoko, who had disappeared out into the other room.
91 and a half? That wasn't right. He normally had a 102 centimeter chest, at the least, and his chest had gotten bigger since the incident. "I think you should measure that again," he informed her. "That can not possibly be the right size. My chest is much larger than that."
"I've been fitting bras for years; I know my stuff." She had her measuring tape around his hips. "I had a talent scout come in and tell me to call him if I ever ran into a girl with your measurements. I'll give you his phone number."
"No thank you," Akabane snapped, getting frustrated with the girls. If he weren't completely naked, he was certain he would have figured out how to hold his scalpels even if it wasn't the way he was used to.
"Here, put this on," she said, pushing something into his hands. He looked down at it.
"I can see right through it."
"So?"
"I prefer undergarments that are not transparent."
"At least try the fit on before you complain," Anita chastised, rolling her eyes. She watched him fumbling with it, and then let out another loud sigh, grabbing it away from him and putting it on him herself. "Where in the world do you come from, chests like those and not even knowing how to put a bra on? There, good fit, isn't it?"
"It does not hurt, if that is what you are asking," he answered, looking down. "I still would prefer less transparent under garments. What is the purpose of wearing them under anything if I can see right through them?"
"We'll get you something else in a minute, try these panties on first."
He held up the first pair. "I do not do thongs. Not in the past, not now, not ever," he informed the girls, throwing the first pair aside. "Something is wrong with this pair…"
"They're supposed to be crotch less," Anita said, rolling her eyes. He looked up at them, confused.
"Then… what is the purpose of wearing underwear if it's not covering anything?"
"What a boring girl you are," Anita yawned. "No wonder you were wearing ill fitting men's clothes."
Boring? If there was one thing Akabane hated being described as, it was boring. "I am not boring," he insisted. "I merely dislike everything you have shown me."
"If you dislike everything in our store, why did you come in here in the first place?"
"I liked the trench coat in the window."
Anita's eyes lit up. "Ah, now we're getting somewhere! I think we can work with this girl, after all." She put an arm around his shoulders. "Let's cut a deal, cuteness. You take the transparent bra and the panties that match it, and I'll get the coat and a nice white business shirt and tie to go with it for you without a fuss. I'll even give you a discount price."
He looked suspiciously at her. "What were you thinking I should wear for pants?"
"Pants? No, no. Look at those legs! How can you NOT wear a skirt?" Anita asked, flailing her arms in the general direction of his legs to emphasize her point.
"My job is not conducive to wearing skirts," he informed her, eyes still narrowed in hostility.
Tomoko threw up her manicured hands. "Hey, the customer is always right. Even when she's wrong, that is. At least get some pants that flatter those pretty legs!"
When I find the person that did this to me, Akabane thought, the very first thing I am going to do is force them to come into this shop. Regardless of their gender. Then I will kill them.
Finally dressed, Akabane was more than ready to leave. "I will be paying and going now…" he informed them, edging towards the door. The pants were far too tight for his preference, but he didn't want to go through the trauma of finding a different pair. Especially after the two vicious girls had essentially clothes lined him to the floor, grabbed him by the ankles, and then took fifteen minutes to force the pair he was currently wearing onto his body. If that gave any indication of exactly how tight they were, that was. He was secretly thankful that they were not retrievers; if they had abilities beyond annoyingness and strong sales pitch they would be truly lethal enemies, but not the kind he enjoyed fighting.
"Where do you think you're going with only those ratty sandals?" the girls asked, continuing to pin him down by his arms. If had, had an ounce less self-control he might have broke into tears. The fact that he couldn't seem to break away from them was also doing nothing for his self-esteem at the moment.
"Oh, and don't button your shirt up all the way," the Anita one said, tearing open the top of the shirt all the way down to the bra line. "It's sexier this way."
He just hoped he would find these girls in a dark alley after he'd regained his masculine body. He would not just slice their backs with Js. That was much, much too good for these girls. He would rip out their intestines and make them into fashionable scarves, then dance in their disemboweled corpses until his shoes turned a sexy red with their blood. Perhaps he would even flay off their skin and use it to make himself another trench coat. He was willing to bet their tattoos would look lovely as coat details.
Those mental images, at least, made the fact that they forced fifty pairs of shoes that he couldn't even stand up in on him before finally letting him have a "boring" pair of flat heeled boots. Had it not been for the arrival of another customer to torment, thankfully, they had been full scale intent on forcing make-up and a haircut on him. The man, who seemed to be just a prop in the store, took his credit card while they essentially body checked the other pair of girls who had the unfortunate luck of wandering into the store, which Akabane only noticed as he was paying, as appropriately named the "The Venus Fly Trap."
As soon as he was out of the store, he immediately buttoned the shirt completely back up. He had a lot more things on his plate than worrying about being 'sexy'. He checked to make sure they'd put all his regular clothes back in his bag, even though he knew that he didn't have the strength left after that day to risk the mental trauma that would accompany going back into the store. Fortunately, it was all there, and he found himself walking so quickly away from the horrible place that he was giving himself blisters with his new shoes. A pity to have spent so much money on clothes he wouldn't be able to wear anymore as soon as he found the person responsible, but he considered it ransom money. He hadn't paid for the clothes; he'd paid for the privilege of escaping the grip of those two high-heeled demons.
Bedraggled and exhausted from the day, Akabane dragged himself to the bar. Essentially, he was taking things one stop at a time at that point. The girls, whose names would be forever etched into the depths of his mind, had taken more out of him than he'd imagined.
He managed to pull himself up to the bar and rather unceremoniously flop himself into his usual spot at the counter. The tender looked over at him, making an interested sound.
"Seeing you this uncomposed is unusual, Doctor Jackal," he commented. Akabane lifted his head, displeased expression written across his face. In the process, he lifted his body up enough so that the tender got an interesting view. "Oh! I'm sorry. You looked just like someone else I know…"
Akabane folded his arms uncomfortably over the bulk of his chest. "And who, pray tell, do I remind you of?"
The tender blinked, cocking his head in confusion. "Dr. Jackal? Is that you under there?" At least, Akabane thought, his voice was close enough that it could be recognized. Other than the fact that his contacts still fit, it was the only thing about him that had apparently not changed too drastically. "Did you lose a bet or something?" the tender asked.
Akabane ignored the question. "The person who was sitting next to me last night, the one that I commented looked as though they were trying to be a Final Fantasy mage. Who was that?"
"I don't know; never seen 'em before. Are they the reason you've got water balloons down your shirt?"
"You could say that. I am going to ask around and see if anyone knows who that was." He held up the shopping bag containing his usual clothes. "Hold my bag for me."
As he started pushing away from the bar, the tender stopped him. "There's no time for that now. You have clients waiting," the tender said, gesturing to a back booth with a jerk of his head. "You'd better take those things off before you go to meet with them, though."
Akabane easily brushed the tender's hand from his shoulder. "I can handle this situation on my own." He walked over to the clients, head held high with as much of his old pride and posture as possible.
"Fortunately, they were not clients he had worked with before. He slid into the booth and pushed his business card at them. The two men looked down at the card, then disbelievingly up at him. "You're Doctor Jackal?" one asked, his voice incredulous.
"Do you have some reason to doubt?" he asked coldly, glaring at their sunglass-concealed eyes.
One of the men removed his glasses. "I do apologize, but we were under the impression that you were… a man," he said, glancing over at his partner.
"Does this change the offer you were going to make any?" he asked, replying with a question. He suspected that he was coming to understand the cryptic message he'd received on his phone. Only once he understood the difficulty of being a female transporter, he guessed, would he be given his male body back.
The two men glanced at one another again before looking back at Akabane. He distinctly noticed that their return glance was not on his face. "No… of course not… we've just never hired a woman transporter before."
"I assure you, it is no more painful than hiring a male."
"What we need you to do is a double transport. You will take a package to a location we will disclose to the driver we have hired There, you will exchange the package with another one and bring the second package back to me to get paid. The interceptors are interested in that second package.
"I take it the standard contract and wages will apply?" he asked.
"Of course."
"Then I will accept your offer."
They handed him a folded sheet of computer paper. "Meet at this address at the time specified tomorrow night. Your driver will be waiting for you." Akabane studied the paper after their departure. It was a boring job, not likely to bring him much enjoyment, but if he had to take it in order to get his male body back, he would do so.
There was one more stop he had yet to make that night, since he had accepted the job. He picked up his phone and dialed a number that even his female fingers knew all too well. "I'm closed now," a sleepy voice grunted when the other end picked up.
"Even to your favorite customer?" Akabane asked, voice smooth.
"Akabane-san! I hadn't expected you to call again so soon." He made a tsk sound over the line. "I told you, using your blades on bone too often will dull them faster."
"I need a full set of knives made before tomorrow night, but I need them in a different size than you usually provide me with. Before you complain, I will pay you twice your usual fee out of gratefulness.
The Artist sighed. "How quickly can you be here?"
"You know me. I will be behind you in a moment."
He walked over to the Artist's studio, noticing that the air was misty and threatened a storm, perhaps one with lightning and thunder. He smiled. If only the Thunder Emperor could see him now. He'd wet his little white briefs. Unfortunately, though, little Ginji-kun always traveled with the pugnacious Midou Ban. That man would never let him live the situation down, and he wasn't quite sure that the shocked look on Ginji-kun's face was worth the verbal abuse.
The Artist, a man who crafted weapons like an artist at a canvas, ran his hands over Akabane's new fingers. "Thinner, shorter, less veiny," he cooed. "Beautiful fingers. This will call for a more delicate blade, with a different optimal balance point." He started sketching. "Classic shape and ceramic again?"
"Of course," Akabane nodded. "I am a man of simple, classic tastes."
The Artist grinned. "I will have them in time for you to cut your dinner meat with them." He glanced over at Akabane's body, smiling. "If you decide to keep that body, I could use a model for my catalogue of new creations."
"As much as I appreciate your work and your vision, I am afraid I will have to decline your offer," Akabane answered, sliding his gloves back on. He'd seen what the models of the Artist's work were required to do, and he had no intent of making love to the barrel of a gun.
He began the trek home after leaving the Artist's place on higher alter than usual. Not due to fear that his female shape might invite violence, but because the scalpels that were currently too big for his hands lowered his attack accuracy. At least, after taking out his frustrations on a few of the Artist's testing mats, he'd managed to get the hang of holding onto them without dropping anything.
A man resting on a bench whistled, which Akabane ignored. He was still worn down from the day, and he hadn't had time to eat at the bar, resulting in his stomach rumbling. He yawned and stretched as he removed his keys from an inner pocket in the coat. He was thankful for the inner pockets. Even if the pants had, had pockets they were too tight to have possibly put anything in the pockets.
Of course, his first and foremost urgent need: the bathroom. He had been holding it since he'd left the store for fear that he wouldn't be able to get the pants back on. Now that he would home, he could finally go. It took a good ten minutes to get the pants off, after which he discovered that he'd gotten better of not making a mess all over the toilet seat or himself, as being female was less point and shoot than being male.
He curled up on his mat and rested, storing his energy for the next day.