A/N
I wanted to briefly give an apology for all the back editing, I know it's frustrating and I'm very grateful to those that are sticking with the story. There will be no major edits going forward as I've finally figured out the best way to get my final version down in this format, so please forgive me!
I do not own KHR, only my OC and the plot. Feel free to leave me a review! I think going forward I'll probably give a shout out to those that do:) Onwards friends!
When I eventually got out of the shower, I found that Reborn had returned from his morning patrol and planted himself in the plush armchair next to my bed. My eyes darted to the phone on the desk, the camera that was now reset to its former arc. My heart sank: I had forgotten about that. Avoiding Reborn's gaze, I turned and got into bed, hiding my swollen eyes behind the tangled mass of my dark hair and yanking the cool comforter up to my ears. A loud slurp and the smell of coffee signaled that Reborn wasn't letting me go so easily, and I stiffened involuntarily under the sheets.
"I see you made a call earlier. Have some trouble with the line?"
I didn't answer. It wasn't a surprising probe: the tan receiver had cracked slightly under the pressure of my hold, gaining black burn marks from the surge of flames I pushed through it. I'd pretty much given up all hopes of stealth and privacy when I fried the phone, no longer focused on the goal of keeping Reborn out of my life. In fact, the baby hitman had honestly ceased to exist in that moment, people I hadn't seen in years looming larger than life in my mind for the brief hour and a half Reborn had been absent. I was in no mood to play games, and I answered tonelessly,
"I got angry."
The espresso cup clinked subtly as it was placed precisely in the divot of the saucer. Reborn was always intentional when he moved, and without looking I knew exactly how much weight that one gesture had. There was a pause, and bone deep fatigue asserted itself once more, sleep weighing on me heavily now that I'd emptied myself of that barrage of emotions. Lulled to sleep by the sound of my own heart beat, I was brought to when he spoke again, not bothering to tread lightly after my response.
"You finally called headquarters."
It took me a moment to process the question, and grumpily I gave a short, "yes."
Reborn was not finished, his voice even as he continued.
"You went through an external operator?"
"Yes."
"Transfer through the main desk?"
"...yes."
"To report your situation and current project?"
"Yes."
"You observed the code of Omerta?"
"Yes."
"Were you successful in your report?"
"Yes."
"Did you speak with Rosemary?"
A brief flash of hurt and anger sparked within me, but I let it go immediately as though I'd touched a hot stove, unwilling to dive back into that sinkhole. There was more than one monster waiting for me down there. I could feel Reborn's eyes on me and couldn't stop myself from curling into a ball, hiding.
"No. Ricardo."
Reborn inhaled sharply.
So, they know each other.
Bitter spitefulness welled up as I considered the association, how quickly Reborn would learn about my new predicament, the "altercation" I'd had with my superior. I had been banking on Rosemary providing me some time, at the very least, a chance to set boundaries with the hitman to prevent him from shadowing me and breathing down my neck like all the others before him. After the threat to be dropped from red to black, to go in the bingo book, any hope I might've had of gaining some independence and space had evaporated. He'd probably know the new parameters of my probation by the end of the day, and if I was allowed to walk without a tracker I'd be surprised.
"I see. You usually go through an operator to reach a superior, using the jammer?"
"Yes."
There was no point in lying, though I couldn't see why Reborn would ask me these things. People like me used operators, it was well known and accepted, built into the hierarchy. That's how all freelance hitman and low level grunts accessed higher ups like Reborn or Ricardo or Nono. Actually, Nono had an additional level of security, but that didn't matter and I was never told what it was. I was never going to be in direct contact anyways.
"You disposed of the evidence?"
Duh. What do you think I am, a complete greenhorn?
Now it was starting to get annoying. Was he asking obvious questions on purpose to humiliate me? Yeah, okay, I knew I wasn't showing great form blowing up the phone and forgetting to reset the surveillance cam, but getting rid of the jammer was standard practice, grade one expectations. I sighed once and tersely listed off my process. If he was going to go down the list of evaluation question, I might as well head him off and answer without prompting.
"Destroyed the jammer in the shower, removed larger residue and flushed it; the bag is in the tank, number destroyed and any potential links to CEDEF removed. I was going to repurpose it and scatter the wiring tools later today, but obviously there's no point now."
"Hm."
"Anything else you wanna know? The guy next door is knocked out, there's no one in the opposite room and there's no room directly across from us. Below us is the indoor pool which is closed after midnight and remains closed until seven am. Above us the room was vacated in the afternoon and left unbooked until five pm today. Cleaning staff goes home at eight and since you left one person walked by, moving too fast to set up any equipment. The glass is tinted and reflective: you can't see in from the outside, and anyways I didn't turn on any lights. Happy?"
"Hm."
Irritation mounting, I scrunched down tighter and gripped the sheets hard.
I just want to sleep. I do not want to be conscious, I do not want to talk, I do not want to be analyzed, or questioned, or examined. I want to be dead to the world.
Reborn slipped from the chair and walked, presumably, to the desk. Maybe he was examining the phone, maybe he was looking at the camera, but whatever he was doing didn't matter. Once again sleep pulled at my mind, and I dozed off into blissful darkness.
OOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOo
Reborn glanced at the mop of black hair peeping from under the covers, the deep, even breaths assuring him that she was actually asleep this time. He'd noticed this morning that she was asleep, her clever and skilled faking slipping when he paused at the door. He'd been waiting for her to push back against the suffocating surveillance and safety measures he'd put in place, already well aware of how sensitive she was to any form of caging and stripping away of control. Arabella Kan did not respond well to commands, spoken and silent.
The room had been set up as a sort of test, an advanced version of the one he knew was used at the academy. He'd modeled it off Colonello's original plans for the CEDEF training curriculum, raising the stakes by releasing bursts of killing intent through the night to introduce an active psychological threat. Her sleep had been predictably poor the past nights, but she'd retained extraordinary control of her emotions and had not once lashed out or shown aggression towards him. He wasn't sure if she was too thick to realize he was priming her to respond negatively to his presence, or if she was remarkably resilient to such attacks. Either way, he was (grudgingly) impressed by the results.
As he'd thought, she had a good foundation and excellent skill in casing the scene. A lesser hitman might have missed the subtle tells she'd shown entering and exiting the hotel, eyes scanning faces and marking exits. Her total appraisal of the situation, from the rooms to the hall, to the outside of the building and her way of removing the businessman from the equation was masterfully done. It was only the end to the test that had been disappointing.
Turning the charred receiver over in his hands, he frowned. Yes, the girl was impressive, but sloppy, losing her head over a phone call and forgetting entirely to cover her tracks. What was the point of doing your research and prepping the scene if all that information went out of your head when you needed it most? For a trainee her age, the results were enough to promote her far and above her peers, but with her background it was still short of the mark she needed to qualify as the tenth's bodyguard.
As she was, it was too early to introduce her to his contacts and give her the responsibility to manage Tsunayoshi's surroundings in Japan. He was loathe to make her another grunt, but progress needed to be made before she could be trusted to manage complex cases alone. Placing the phone down and observing the faint marks on the arm of the swivel chair, he smirked. At least she had fire power, and when pushed, seemed to exercise a level of control.
He went through the recordings from the camera, frowning anew at the instances where her body appeared in frame and the blatant disregard for stealth shown towards the end of call. There was something off about these moments, and as Reborn replayed the footage again and again, a suspicion formed in his mind. He could not tell much from the three times her body appeared before walking off, but it was enough to tell him that something had happened. Ricardo had evidently effected the girl. Slowing the frames at the end, the camera had managed to grab an image of her from the side, electric green eyes set in a stone face.
He set the tapes away and approached the girl cautiously, charcoal eyes scanning her face. A pang of guilt went through him as he noted her swollen eyes and irritated nose, clear signs that she'd been crying. It had not been his intention to send her into a confrontation with Ricardo handicapped, though this unexpected outcome had given him a much clearer sense of her limits. The change in who received her report was suspicious, and he had no intention of allowing the variables in his tests to be altered without his input.
If he were to plan the scenario again, Ricardo would have to be a calculated move, not a curveball. Reborn knew that with Bella's history it was unlikely for the conversation to fade quickly. The guilt returned.
He sighed, and after watching Bella's face crease and frown, lifted one hand to hover over her forehead. Reaching deep within, he drew out golden yellow flames, the power setting his pacifier and hand glowing as he centered his thoughts on the girl. Moments later her face relaxed and smoothed, body losing tension as her mind healed from whatever poison Ricardo had spewed. Letting his hand fall, the hitman noted how vulnerable she looked without the big glasses and tight buns hiding her natural appearance. No doubt in a few years she'd be a beauty in her own right, and as he walked towards the window, he made a note of that in his evaluation book.
Everything, every last piece of information he had gleaned from her had gone into the steadily growing file he'd started after the dismal results from Colonello's end. If the rain arcobaleno could not offer hard and trustworthy information, Reborn would get it himself. Already it was proving useful as a way to guide his interactions and lessons with her, though he doubted she knew that. Here was a student that needed a less explicit form of intervention.
Ducking behind the curtain shielding Bella from the sun's rising, Reborn watched the waking city, hands in his pockets as Leon crawled about on his hat. For a moment he seemed lost in contemplation before suddenly tilting his hat down to shadow his face. Pulling a phone from inside his jacket, he was quick to punch a number, waiting patiently as it rang.
"CEDEF information and analysis department, this is Marco. May I ask who's speaking?"
"Caiossu, Marco."
"Reborn! I haven't heard from you in ages: what do you need?"
Reborn smiled a little. It was always good to hear the voice of old friends, and though Marco had retired from active fieldwork, there was no one Reborn would trust more to ferret out obscure information. Well, except maybe Viper, but the mist user had always been more of a hired hand than a friend to rely on.
"I need all the phone records for calls placed from Arabella Kan to headquarters, bases, operating centers, etc. If she made a call, I want to know where, when, and who it went through. I also need time signatures: how long she was on hold, did she spend time speaking to people along the way. If you have records of the conversations as well, I'm looking for three things: are the words Jinx, traitor or red list used."
There was a long pause as Marco typed away, and Reborn pet Leon's head thoughtfully. The man on the other end sighed.
"Well, I have the records here, but the calls are not generally recorded for the higher ups. If you want I can code those words into the system and scan the messages, but it'll take a bit of time. Still want me to do it?"
"That depends. Do you have the names of the individuals answering and the time spent on the phone?"
"Yes, though it's based off the schedule board. Anyone could have picked up to cover. It looks like she's made calls into headquarters at least once a month, and she's averaging about...five minutes through the operator, and something like...twenty minutes through the secretary."
"I see. Code those words in for whatever was recorded, and send me a list of the top ten persons most frequently fielding her calls with those three markers. I have some work to do."
"Understood. I'll have it to you by the end of your day."
"Good. Ciao, Marco."
"Ciao! Take care, Reborn."
Swiftly ending the call, Reborn went through the speed dial and punched one more name. By now, his face was stoney. It appeared that the underlings had been administering punishments well above their station.
Much of the day had passed by the time I got up, and the lack of Reborn's presence was both weird and comforting. He'd left a note with the address of a shop in Ginza and a time underlined firmly. I glanced at the clock: it was now 12:30 in the afternoon, and I had all of thirty minutes to reach Reborn by one o'clock. Cursing, I jumped from the bed and ran to my suitcase, tossing on a black print t-shirt and dark green romper, barely stopping to yank on yesterday's crew socks and shove my feet into reinforced boots. In a move totally disregarding culture, I ran back in the bathroom to splash my face and grab a comb.
Yanking my patched backpack from the floor, I darted outside, fumbling as I strapped on my watch. Digital numbers flipped: twenty-three minutes left. Screaming under my breath, I ran to the stairs and kicked off the first step. The fancy glass elevator would have to wait until tonight.
OOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOo
Somewhere in the process of running wildly out the door, yanking the comb through my hair, and realizing I had no hair ties, I found my way to the store. Was I on time? Not exactly. But, I did have a new and very interesting development to share with Reborn: I had a shadow.
Digging in my bag to try and find anything to save my terrible bedhead, I bemoaned my lack of glasses, listening as my stomach growled and moaned back. A dusty scrunchy was uncovered, and after much rubbing and shaking, held my hair in a loose bun. Slipping the bag back on, I glanced about casually. Usually my glasses reigned in my sharper-than-normal eyesight and actually helped me focus on things up close. On this day, my lack of glasses was surprisingly helpful.
One, two...just two. Okay, mister three must have gotten lost somewhere along the way. Let's see if I can't lose at least one more before I meet Reborn.
Nodding once at the baby, who by this time had come to the entrance, I darted off towards the cross walk, right as the countdown began. Just as I'd hoped, One and Two were following me.
"Oh boy, this'll be fun."
Sucking in a deep breath, I put together a string of words I knew for certain in Japanese.
"HENTAI! HENTAI! GAIKOKOJIN FECHI JIKAN!" (1)
Number One stumbled and tripped up number Two as he panicked, shocked as I sprinted away, screaming the same phrase at the top of my lungs. I could see from the corner of my eye Reborn pressing a hand to his face and shaking his head, and I couldn't help but grin. As number Two righted himself and kept on, face red and far more determined now, the police seemed to close in on number One. My grin turned evil.
Alright Mr. Two, let's play a game...
The count had reached ten and was quickly coming to a stop. Glancing back, Mr. Two turned to a flat out sprint, bulldozing several innocent civis to catch up.
Okay boyo, let's do this!
I made as if to dart across the street right as the light changed, causing one woman to shriek in alarm and several cars to honk. I ignored all of this, planting my left foot and swiveling sharply on the curb, dashing past the rest of the crowd now waiting to cross. More than one of these good civilians gasped and yelled, but the feint had fulfilled it's purpose: Mr. Two was lagging behind and very confused. Weaving in and out of shoppers, I ducked inside a McDonalds and merged into the crowd of customers. Mr. Two kept right on by, and I smiled.
Mission success! Oh.
The wet, unhappy gurgling of my stomach announced itself, and sheepishly I joined the queue. Right at that moment I suddenly realized how out of my depth I was. For whatever reason, this particular McDonalds did not seem to have the standard American fair I was used to, strange fusion french fries with chocolate syrup, of all things, right next to a wasabi burger...at least, that's what I thought it was. I couldn't exactly read the characters.
The line moved forward smoothly as I squinted hard at the board as if narrowing my field of vision would somehow make the Japanese turn into English, or Russian or Korean or any other language I could read. No such luck, the menu remained firmly Japanese, and before long, it was my turn to go to the register. My throat went dry as I tried to remember the beginner phrases I had practiced. Scrabbling for words, I failed to notice the guy behind the register was just as nervous as I was.
"Uh, onegaishimasu...one (I held up a finger) obychny burger...soshite...kartofel'fri." (2)
The guy stared at me blankly. I cleared my throat and tried again.
"Gomen, ya gaikokujin, watashi no ninonjin wa plokha. Wo yao, I mean, uh, hoshidesu nomer tri, san, cong menyu." (3)
He was still looking at me like I was an alien, and immediately I went through what I'd said in my head. I definitely used the wrong words, definitely, and as I muttered the phrase to myself again, I realized I was flipping into Russian and Chinese of all things. I nearly face planted into the ground, and bowing I muttered "sumimasen, hanasemasen!" (4) repeatedly.
I don't know who I embarrassed more, me, or the guy taking my order. He was very quick to pull up a laminated menu and offer it to me, indicating with one hand and a quiet mutter that I should just point. My face flushed red.
I should've thought of that, I should've- Oh my gosh, that kid is filming me.
Jabbing randomly at a burger, a drink and a desert, I quickly pulled out my card and handed it to the young man before turning and walking straight up to the boy not so subtly recording. On closer inspection, it looked like he was supposed to be in high school, but I wasn't familiar with what the uniforms meant. I wasted no time.
"Delete it."
"Nandesho?"(5) He had a polite and aloof look on his face, causing his two friends to giggle and turn away. My eyes narrowed, a subtle hint of green flashing in response to my growing agitation and the pressure of the situation. Smiling brightly, I listed off the request in every language I could think of.
"Udali eta. Shanchu ta. Suprimme-le. Cancellalo. Borralo. Sagk-je. " My eyes lit up as I remembered the word I wanted.
"Sakujo. That, sakujo. Now,"(6) I pointed at the phone and arched my eye brow at him.
By this point in time, a majority of the customers in the shop were watching us. I had the supreme advantage of ignorance and a culture praising outspoken behavior, and this coupled with the adrenaline high of running from two shadows and a completely empty stomach gave me a very low level of inhibition. I wanted what I wanted, and I wanted it now, manners be damned.
It seemed my high school boy understood, red creeping up his collar as he hastily deleted the video and showed me. Unconvinced, I tapped on several buttons until I reached what looked like the "recently deleted" file and erased it permanently. He wilted a little, and handing his phone back, I cocked my head and thanked him with a bright smile.
"Arigato gozaimasu. Insho nihon yoi. Anata nozomu shokuji yoi!" (7)
He blinked at me several times, and I turned quickly to run back and collect my card, apologizing again and making a general nuisance of myself. Literally everything coming from my mouth probably sounded, and was, gibberish. I think the staff and all the customers were relieved when I finally left. Only after I'd chomped through the burger, fries, coffee, and milkshake did I allow myself to duck into an alleyway to scream into my knees. What an embarrassing start in Japan.
.
.
It turned out the store in Ginza was fake for Reborn to shake off his own shadows. When I finally met up with him I was promptly smacked on the head with Leon and jerked out the door. We were meant to be in Ikebukuro, which meant more travel time. Honestly, I found it hard to be guilty for my pit stop once we started walking.
Yes, walking. I had thought losing our stalkers was the name of the game, but not so! Reborn had more insidious plot up his sleeve. We were not going to sneak into Japan, no we were going to announce our arrival. Does that sound stupid to you? Please say yes, because I don't want to be alone. Reborn is insisting on this ridiculous plan and I have no room to disagree.
He applauded me for my showy entrance, and when I (reluctantly) explained what happened in the McDonalds, he gave me a once over, ordered me to study, and grinned evilly. Apparently I should've let my shame be recorded and posted online to show how versatile I was with languages, to insinuate my experience as a hitman in different countries. I disagree.
.
"Whether you want it or not no longer matters: the underground is aware of our presence and its members are anticipating our move. Showing up on a Vongola plane, allowing myself to be tracked through the city in the first place, please tell me you did not think that was an accident."
"Err...no...never..."
Reborn pinned me with a look.
"You didn't think about it at all."
"Ahaha, not...really? I just figured you always do that...being Vongola and all."
He sighed, jumping up on a low wall to better match my height.
"Bella, while traveling in style and luxury is a must for all hitmen of importance," I couldn't help but snort at this, earning myself a hard kick to the head. "all hitman of importance, and is quite normal for those of the Vongola, it also serves a secondary purpose: intimidation and inpiration. The Vongola is more than a famiglia, it is also an idea. Sell the idea and the power the famiglia holds looms larger than life. What did you learn in school?"
"Useless facts and tactics." Another resounding kick, and this time I fell flat.
Should've anticipated that.
Getting up I glanced around. Mr. Two had returned, and he had made friends with Reborn's creepers. Fun.
"Try again."
I sighed, loudly, before flipping into Russian. If we were going to be tailed and spied on, it might as well be fun. Besides, Reborn was the one who wanted me to flaunt my skills in languages. I will readily admit I'm a fast learner in this arena, and it is one of the few natural talents I was apparently born with that I am proud of. The other is the fact I'm double jointed.
Reborn glanced at me once and smiled under the brim of his fedora as he listened.
"Taktika nomer pyat spravochnike: soberite svoikh vragov vmeste, zatem nanesite udar, kogda oni sobrany. U nas net rabochey sily, chtoby pokorit' yaponskiy prestupnyy mir, no my mozhem ispol'zovat' vashe prisutstviye, chtoby vyvesti nashikh konkurentov na poverkhnost'."
[Tactic number 5 in the handbook: draw your enemies out together, then strike when they are gathered. We don't have the manpower to subdue the Japanese underworld, but we can use your presence to force our competitors to the surface.]
.
Reborn nodded sagely, wicked grin passing over his face and gone before I had a chance to register.
This baby is scary! Well, I already knew that.
He slowed his pace, forcing me to match him and allowing the men following us to catch up to eavesdrop.
.
"Pokupka materialov - vot tsel' etogo porucheniya. Skazhite mne, chto vy dumayete, chto budet delat'."
[Buying supplies, that is the goal of this errand. Tell me what you think that will do.]
.
I raised my arms over my head and sighed, looking in the reflection of one of the store windows to monitor our new friends.
.
"Nu, ya dumayu, chto vy sobirayetes' razbudit' spyashchikh gigantov. Vy zastavlyayete zhir podnyat'sya, prezhde chem snyat' yego i brosit'."
[Well, I think you're going to wake up sleeping giants. You're forcing the fat to rise before you skim it off and toss it.]
He seemed pleased with my conclusion, and we spent the rest of the walk trading random facts in various languages. At some point Reborn started to speak in Japanese to test my understanding, allowing me to respond in whatever language I chose. It made for a rather hilarious reaction from our shadows.
.
"Bakudan wa doko ni ue raremashita ka?"
[Where is the bomb planted?]
.
Our pursuers visibly jumped to attention, our lagging third running to catch up as the others tried to signal him to hide himself. And this was land where the ninja originated. Tsk, tsk, Kakashi-senpai would be ashamed. I responded rapidly in Mandarin.
.
"Ó, bùyòng dānxīn, wǒ jiēchù dào de suǒyǒu zhàdàn dōu bàozhàle. Nǐ yīnggāi wèn wǒ guānyú jīguāng de wèntí. Guòqù yī nián zhōng, wǒ jīngcháng shǐyòng jīguāng."
[Oh don't worry, all the bombs I've accessed I've exploded. You should ask me about lasers. I worked with lasers a lot this past year.]
.
Frustration was evident in their faces until the third translated what I'd said. It seemed sticking to the big three languages in the area, Mandarin Chinese, Korean and Japanese, threw our friends for enough of a loop to keep them on their toes while not being so obvious that we were playing with them. Reborn had yet to show his own deck of languages.
.
"Sōdesu ka. Mā, watashi wa rēzā ni wa amari kyōmi ga arimasen. Jū o nyūshu shite imasu. Anata wa nani o konomu ka?"
[I see. Well, I'm not really interested in lasers. We're getting guns. What do you prefer?]
.
"Nan deo isang ssoji anh-a sasil, sayonghal daleun mugileul chajgo sipseubnida."
[I don't really shoot anymore. Actually, I'd like to find some other weapon to use. ] - Korean
.
"U ̄n. Anata ga shitte iru koto ni koshūsuru."
[Hm. Stick to what you know.]
.
"Rúguǒ wǒ bìxū dédào yīgè, wǒ huì dédào yīgè. Dànshì qǐng zhīdào wǒ bù huì shǐyòng tā, ér shì bù huì shǐyòng tā. Yěxǔ wǒ kěyǐ ná qǐ yóuqī qiāng huò qítā dōngxī, yòng chénshuì de dúyào huò qítā dōngxī tiánchōng kēlì."
[If I have to get one, I'll get one. But just know I won't be using it, not as it is. Maybe I can get a paint gun or something, fill the pellets with sleeping poison or something.] - Mandarin
.
Our pursuers were rapidly falling behind in this conversation, and as amusing as that was, it served as a harsh reminder that I needed to improve my Japanese skills pronto. It would not do to be Mr. Two or either of Reborn's friends going forward, especially if I was supposed to protect Tsunayoshi. If this game we were playing showed anything it was that deep barriers in communication prevented any respect for your opponent from taking root. Mr. Two might be a fantastic hitman with a specialty in information gathering and martial tactics, but that potential was hard to consider when he was frowning and bumbling around trying to unravel the nonsense conversation I'd had with Reborn.
The bottom line was clear: if you had no idea what was said, you really had nothing to offer since you could neither comprehend nor actively engage. I might be able to understand Japanese decently, which was a huge plus, but I was miles away from being conversational or literate.
School is going to be an actual bitch...ugh.
Reborn keyed me back into our discussion.
.
"Doku. Sono keiro ni wa ikutsu ka no kanōsei ga arimasu."
[Poison. There may be some, possibilities down that pathway.]
.
I looked at the baby carefully. I hadn't really expected him to support the idea of lowering my already meager lethality, and he'd also been oddly relaxed and, dare I say, kind to me throughout the day. Did it have to do with this morning, did he get something from that interaction I didn't? Did I miss something? Had I passed some test? Or, and this was uncomfortable to consider, had he known I'd been crying? Did he know what it was about? I stopped my thinking there, jumping lines to return to the idea of the paint ball gun. I had no wish to revisit the conversations I'd had. A brief ache panged in my head before disappearing.
Mulling over modifying a set of guns, I suddenly realized that my idea of exchanging bullets for drug laced paint might end making a weapon a lot more powerful than your average gun. In Reborn's hands, such a weapon could rapidly out class a regular firearm.
Lord, what have I done?
.
"Vy znayete kogo-to."
[You know someone.]
"Hai."
"Dîtes-moi." (8)
"Ha chiamato lo scorpione di veleno." (9)
"I've heard of her."
"Good. Ah, this is us."
The poor men shadowing us looked thoroughly confused. I allowed myself a giggle as we stepped inside the small shop tucked down a very green alleyway between an ancient looking teahouse and cute bookshop. At first glance it appeared to be some cross between a calligraphy shop and an art gallery, but on entering Reborn and I quickly ducked past the cloth dividers into the backroom. We would not be leaving through the front door, and our "friends" would be left standing for the next few hours before discovering the ruse. What they did then I do not know.
.
.
I turned the black Springfield pistol over in my hands. While I had no interest whatsoever in shooting people ever, at all, there was something admirable about how compact and well structured the little machine was, even if it was designed to kill. I'd been fascinated with weapons even before I was allowed to actually use them, and though memories of that time had faded, the admiration had not. Working in the Bovino famiglia lab had probably made this appreciation worse.
"I think I need this."
"No."
"Awww, but why not? Nono said he'd pay for it, and it's not like I don't know how to use it."
Reborn glanced at me with a dry, slightly malicious expression. I'd been seeing a lot of that look lately.
"There's no point in getting you a gun you won't shoot. They aren't toys, brat." I pouted a little, feeling the jab but not fighting the statement. I'd avoided being called a brat all day, it was annoying to hear the moniker come back.
Nevertheless, Reborn was right. If he put me up against an opponent it was unlikely that I'd actually make a shot. I don't do murder, even when my temper goes haywire, murder is off the table, not an option. That's why paint pellets with tranquilizers would suit me so much better! Apparently this particular pistol was not going to be modified and I set it back on the counter ruefully.
Reborn huffed and turned back to his pile, the Japanese seller rubbing his hands awkwardly at the exchange.
"Mah, mah! Okyaksama, perhaps there are other tools you would be interested in purchasing? We have a recent shipment in from-"
"That will be all, Koki-san."
The elderly Japanese man swallowed his words as Reborn stared at him coolly. Clearly the baby did not appreciate the seller trying to go above his stated wishes. I turned and walked away after that, grimacing as the two argued about prices, my least favorite part of shopping. My eyes traveled over the various guns and swords decorating the display cases. Even though we were in Japan, it didn't feel all that different from the other weapons shops I'd been in over the years, the same smell of polish and grease, the AC unit blowing that weird but oddly comforting aroma everywhere. It smelled like peace, cleanliness, and order.
That association was definitely Colonello's fault.
.
.
Translations:
1) Pervert! Pervert! Foreigner fetish pervert!
2) I would like one regular burger and fries. (certain words flip into Russian, like fries)
3) Sorry, I am a foreigner, my Japanese is bad. I want, I mean, uh, I want a number three, three, from the menu. (flips into Russian and Mandarin.)
4) I'm sorry! I don't speak! (she's trying for I speak Japanese poorly, but that was too difficult)
5) What do you want?
6) Delete (it's a version of the phrase "delete it" but it's incomplete, and therefore not correct)
7) Impression japan better, you hope meal good!
8) Tell me
9) She's called the poison scorpion
A/N
Hope you like! I used google translate for all the language stuff, so that's part of what took some time.
Next update: 4/18/20