Chapter Two – Idiot Thieves

Ayana tugged at her bow tie, grimacing at the tightness of it, and repositioned the silver platter she carried with one hand. This, she thought crossly, better be worth it.

Her eyes drifted to a figure clad in blue and silver, before she turned away to deliver a glass of wine to a balding, middle-aged man with an aquiline nose and a pudgy chin. His lecherous eyes slithered through the crowd, caressing the curves of one youth before jumping to another, still choosing a snack that would satiate his hunger. Ayana itched to dump her entire plate on his head but resisted the temptation. The man who took a seat besides the corpulent lecher was as thin as his companion was fat. This would be the Lord of Kinsen district. The prominent scar trailing downwards on one cheek and the dark soulless eyes were key features that made this man so identifiable. The other scar—the one that ran down the base of his skull and across his shoulder—was the one that Yukari had given him, Ayana remembered with grim satisfaction. It was still a dark shade of pink and healing.

She did her best to fade into the background, keeping her movements slow and unobtrusive. She and Natsuki were not well-known in the underground world of thieves and con artists, but she didn't want to take any chances. She had been in a relationship with Yukari for the past year. Though they had kept it quiet, it was hard not to escape notice from some of Yukari's more observant enemies. She hoped none of them would connect her to the daughter of the Chief of Police.

"A lively group tonight, eh, m'lord?" Lecher said, grinning lopsidedly, his bulging cheeks jiggling in merriment.

"A lively group indeed," Scarface agreed, his eyes alert, though his manner appeared relaxed. "Here's to hoping that tonight's auction will be a success." He raised his glass and sipped delicately.

"Aye." Blood-red wine slid down Lecher's cheeks as he took a hearty gulp from his own glass. "Ye got yer eye on anything in particular, m'lord?"

Scarface's eyes crinkled in amusement. "A man does not give his secrets to another, Yoshirou. If I had told you which items I would like to acquire, why, you would do your best to inflate the price of those objects." He raised his chin, white teeth flashing in a brief smile. "Best to keep my interests ambiguous."

"Aye," Lecher sighed theatrically, "you caught me, m'lord. This nasty little thief is no match to your sharp wits, I'm afraid. I am as dull as a hammer, and just as blunt. My tact is somewhat lacking, you might say. I need lessons in discourse before I can extract some juicy information from another."

"I commend you for acknowledging your faults, old friend," drawled Scarface. "Though if I may impart a bit of advice?"

"Of course, sir. I welcome it with open arms." Lecher raised his hands, spilling a bit more wine.

"Do not speak of your faults to others. If they learn of your weaknesses, they will use it against you. You have been forewarned."

"As ever, m'lord, you are correct." Lecher said soberly, catching a courtesan with one beefy arm and pulling her down his lap. "Which is why I would like to propose something—if you'd like to hear it."

"Give me the elevator pitch, good man. I have not all night to listen to your blabber, and from the looks of it, neither have you." Scarface eyed Lecher's roaming hands with apparent displeasure.

"If you will teach me or my lad the proper techniques at extraction, I will take you as my liege. My district is yours."

"Who would want your poor district, Yoshirou?" Scarface asked disdainfully. "No; if you want lessons from me, you will have to put more in the table."

Ayana left the two to their bargaining, choosing instead to re-enter the kitchen to refill her pitcher. When she stepped back into the main hall, she climbed up the steps into the second floor, pouring some wine to those who asked for another glass. Natsuki, who had been discussing the current politics in Gazth-Sonika, caught her eye and inclined her head.

"Any interesting news," Natsuki murmured as Ayana refilled her drink.

"Besides a possible alliance between the Lords of Kinsen and Heta district? Nothing really," Ayana replied.

"Like Kinsen would let a rat of a man clean his boots, let alone create an alliance with him," Natsuki spoke sharply. Natsuki had made a habit to call the lords of the underworld by their district name as it was easier to remember them that way. Ayana preferred using traits that best described them. "Heta would have to give more—a lot more—before Kinsen would even think to treat him as a normal human being."

Ayana made a humming noise nonchalantly, and left Natsuki's side to listen to another group of gossipers. It was still a couple of hours before the auction began. They might as well take that time to gather information concerning underground activity.

From among the shadows, a young woman watched the two, her glasses glinting predatorily despite the poor light. She wore a white pristine uniform without a single wrinkle on it, her long dark hair tied in a ponytail. She adjusted her glasses with her pointer and middle fingers, a slight smirk gracing her lips. She reached for a wine glass elegantly—

—and the static that erupted in her left ear almost made her drop the glass. A waiter who was holding onto a silver platter with the drinks looked at her oddly and shook his head, rolling his eyes when he saw who it was: Tatewaki Hikaru. She was the Great Lady Zhang's pet. A chess master who could win against just about anybody—this girl was rather full of herself and had very poor social skills. The waiter forgot about her almost immediately, used to her strange antics.

"Tatewaki, have you found our…friends yet?" A voice crackled in her ear. Hikaru's heart sank.

"Yes I have, Miyamoto-san," she murmured before taking a sip of the wine. It had a sharp taste and made her grimace.

"Any problems, Hikaru-san?" The other voice asked with just a hint of a smile to her tone. Hikaru thought the voice sounded heavenly.

"None at all, my lady," Hikaru added hastily, hoping that Miyamoto-teme had left the Comm lab to do some trivial servant-type work for Hitsugi-sama, so that she could be left alone with her beloved master—or at least, as alone as one could be in these circumstances.

"Proceed as planned, Tatewaki," commanded the wretched voice of one Miyamoto Shizuku in her ear. "We'll see you in 22 hundred hours."

Hikaru let out a despondent sigh and left the glass at a table nearby. Though she knew her value to the great Hitsugi-sama, she couldn't help but wish that sometimes she was in the same room as Hitsugi-sama, acting as her bodyguard, instead of lurking in the shadows of a run-down hotel, mingling with the denizens of the underground. But there were two women to be recruited, and she didn't have the time right then to muse about her misfortunes. It was time, she knew, to get back to work.


"You needn't worry, Benibachi-san," the doctor spoke calmly. "Your young charge is in the pink of health. Whatever caused her to faint and have a nosebleed must have already disappeared from her system."

Benibachi raised both eyebrows, bemused. "And I'm just supposed to accept that?" She asked dryly.

The doctor, a middle-aged man with greying hair, opened his mouth to answer and closed it again, his lips becoming a thin line of displeasure. "You don't seriously expect me to name you a disease based on those two symptoms alone?" He snapped.

"I expect you to act like this isn't such a common-day occurrence."

"Nosebleeds can occur due to a dry climate," he explained crisply. "Fainting can occur due to a decreased blood flow to the brain. Both symptoms may arise due to a different number of reasons. Shall I expand further? Would you like me to list to you every single possible disease that can be connected with these two symptoms?"

"No," Benibachi answered tightly, "but I appreciate the offer."

Stiffly, the doctor gave a short nod and exited the room, frowning with annoyance. Behind him, Benibachi resisted the urge to make a face, turning her attention to Hayate instead. The young child was sleeping peacefully despite the heated conversation, much to her relief. She stroked the Hayate's hair with gentle fingers and sighed. You really need to stop giving me a heart attack, luv. I am not as young as I once was.

Hayate's eyes fluttered open. "Ah, Sensei." She grinned almost immediately, though her eyes still bore the sleepy quality of one who had just woken up. "I didn't know you were so affectionate with your subordinates."

Benibachi grinned back, relief lightening the weight on her chest. "Only you would think of such a cheeky way to start a conversation, runt."


Isuzu, Momoka knew, was not much of a conversationalist. In fact, if one were to compare these two women, one would find that there were very few similarities between the two. Momoka was loud and outgoing—the kind of person who didn't think through her actions and liked to tackle her problems through sheer force of will. Isuzu, on the other hand, was quiet and meek. She was also superstitious and paranoid about plenty of things, rarely going out of the house unless she absolutely had to. Isuzu's idea of fun was poring over books about the uncanny. Momoka's idea of fun was playing sports, running around, and generally not staying still. Isuzu liked cats. Momoka liked dogs. Isuzu couldn't eat spices if her life depended on it, and Momoka ate spices like it was her lifeblood. Still, even with their various differences, they managed. Momoka couldn't imagine what life would be like otherwise.

Unfortunately for her, bloody stupid Kijimiya was standing in the way of their epic friendship, like a bloody stupid roadblock when she might as well be bloody stupid roadkill in Momoka's opinion.

Liquid trickled down her left hand, dripping onto the floor. She looked down and realized that she had unconsciously crumpled the soda can. She cursed.

"Are you alright?" Isuzu asked, looking at her worriedly, already half-standing from her position behind the massive desktop Momoka had helped her install in their tiny living room just a few months ago.

"Fine," she growled in reply. "I'm fine." She reached for a paper towel to wipe the mess. She didn't notice Isuzu's presence until she felt insistent hands prying the deformed can from her fingers. She met Isuzu's soothing gaze and flushed. "Ah. Y-you didn't have to."

"If there's something wrong, you need only to talk to me," Isuzu spoke gently.

"I was just thinking about a certain someone," Momoka admitted.

"From the police station?" Isuzu teased, throwing the can and the paper towel in the rubbish bin.

"Ye gods no," Momoka growled. "I don't think I'd last a day in the force if she was there."

Isuzu raised her eyebrows. "Ah. So it is Kijimiya who is in your mind." She smiled uncertainly. "The two of you seem fairly close."

Momoka sputtered and tried to protest, but Isuzu had already gone back to her computer, and was typing furiously once more, her fingers flying across the keyboard with monstrous ease. Momoka's lips became a tight, thin line. She breathed slowly, clenching and unclenching her fists, and sank on the couch, looking up at the ceiling dully. Isuzu wasn't much of a conversationalist, she knew, but there were times when she wasn't much of one either. She shifted her gaze to rest on Isuzu's still form. It wasn't so much because she was anti-social or sommat. It had more to do with her inability to talk to Isuzu specifically. Not that the girl was scary, mind. Momoka thought hastily. Sometimes, she just wasn't sure how to say certain things to her. "No, it's not what you think. Not with bloody Kijimiya, of all people." She wanted to say. "I just don't want her anywhere near you."

But what would Isuzu make of that? Momoka wasn't the type of person who got jealous if her friends had other friends. In fact, it would be nice if Isuzu had a few more. Momoka wasn't always there for her dear friend, and it would ease her mind a little if she knew that there were others who could visit Isuzu and made sure that she was feeling fine—happy even.

Kijimiya was different though. There was something almost predatory about her, something that made Momoka feel like Kijimiya might one day eat her friend. Of course, that was clearly unlikely. Kijimiya just didn't seem like the cannibal type to her.

That didn't stop her from continuing to feel wary whenever the other girl was around, however. Her instincts screamed at her to shield Isuzu somehow from this wicked woman, and her instincts were rarely wrong. Rarely.

The doorbell rang imperiously. Momoka closed her eyes and groaned. Today was a Saturday of all days—a day of rest. Couldn't that woman leave them alone for once?


Alone, finally alone. Jun smiled down at her hapless victim—her grin wolfish, her eyes mischievous. She reached down and began to unbutton the other woman's blazer. The blouse came next, revealing pale, untouched flesh. She had almost removed the dress pants when she heard voices inside the spacious washroom.

"What a pity! Did you hear the announcement, Naomi? Apparently, Mikado-san is getting married."

"I bet the bitch is as ugly as a dog. Why else wouldn't she be in the main hall when Mikado-san had made the announcement? He's probably ashamed to show her off."

"Language, language, Naomi. I'm sure she's just not feeling well like they said."

"Kaoru, that's just utter bull. Have you seen that girl's uncle? He looks like a freakin' bullfrog for crying out loud. No doubt that girl is—"

"You do know that they're not even related by blood."

"They're not?"

"Yeah, why do you think he was so willing to hand over his niece in the first place? I'm surprised his sister-in-law agreed."

Jun climbed halfway up, squinting at the two women through the narrow slits of the stall. She rolled her eyes and waited for the two of them to exit the room before clambering over the stall and landing on the marbled floor, using her shoulder to muffle the sound of landing as she rolled to her feet. She straightened from her crouch and tugged at the edges of her borrowed blazer with gloved hands. She stared coldly at her reflection, her objective suddenly coming unbidden in her mind. It was time to get to work.

Slipping into the hotel had been easy—seducing one of the hotel's security guards even easier. Now would come the hard part.

She took the katana from its hidden location underneath the counter and adjusted her collar with her other hand. She stared hard at the door and whispered under her breath, "Let's roll."

There were two sentries outside the side hallway. She incapacitated them with practised ease, leaving the first with a broken jaw, and the second with a broken nose and a fractured arm. The elevator ride up proved uneventful, and when she reached the 6th floor, she was relieved to note that there were no guards loitering in that area. She didn't want to kill anyone if she could, save her intended victim.

Just the thought of that made her shudder. Jun had never killed before, except in self-defence, and the prospect of killing someone now in cold blood made her uneasy. It just didn't seem—fair. Sure she was getting paid generously for this, but she just couldn't imagine putting a price on a person's life. So they might have stolen a few high-profile art pieces, or recovered information from dangerous sources, but they had never once taken an assassination mission before. Not until now.

She took the single key she had received from her employer just a few hours ago—along with specific instructions on how to kill the girl—and gazed at the inscription hollowly: Room 612. She took a deep breath. Well, no time like the present.

She marched towards the room, slid the key in and turned it slowly, meeting no resistance whatsoever.

"Who's there?" An angry voice greeted her from the poorly-lit room. Jun unsheathed the blade she carried and brought her chin up to look at the woman she was about to kill.

Her eyes widened, her heart clenched tightly. For a moment, she almost forgot how to breathe.

"A hired killer?" The woman growled softly. "About time they sent one. I was beginning to grow bored."

Jun could hear the sound of another blade being drawn from its sheath. She tensed, her arms and legs sliding into a more stable stance. The target walked, bare-footed, into the lamp light, wearing a loose purple kimono and the most intense and beautiful expression Jun had ever seen. If she hadn't been staring so unashamedly, she might have missed a flicker of fear and doubt from the woman's face.

"Don't think I'll go easy on you."

Jun raised her hands and met the opposing blade in a resounding clash of metal against metal. She frowned, the feeling of uncertainty washing away the last bits of her resolve. She met the fierce gaze of the other woman and managed to whisper hoarsely, "Have I met you before?"


A/N: Any future updates will be noted in my profile. Cheers.