If you haven't noticed, I changed my penname from yourstruly247 to thirteenchrysanthemums.
Turns out I wasn't the only yourstruly247 around and I've recently been confused with the other yourstruly247s. The only yourstruly247 accounts that are mine are the deviantart and THIS fanfiction one (NOT the sexstories account!). The yourstruly247 twitter, blogspot, ebay, myspace, socialblade, youtube, etc. accounts are not mine.
So to avoid being confused with other people in the future I changed my penname.
So…much…pink.
That is the first thing that comes to mind as Kagura watches the woman sitting on the table in front of her, eyes drowning in the sheer pinkness of the other lady's yukata. The woman practically radiates elegance. Brown hair in a loose ponytail with stray chestnut locks framing her face, the Yato-girl cannot help but stare in awe. This stranger is so unashamedly feminine in her appearance that Kagura feels the need to glance at the window beside her, just to compare her own dressing.
Succumbing to her temptation, she looks into the glass reflection and throws a wry smile at the lady staring back at her. She may be attractive to some, but she pales in comparison to this stranger. Her elongated red cheongsam — while popular in China — is as fashionable in Tokyo as wearing a bikini in winter. However the flexibility provided to her legs by the dress's high slits make it acceptable for combat, plus she's worn it for so long that despite how out of place it seems, she cannot imagine herself in anything else.
"Ohayo Kagura-chan! Will you be eating the usual?"
"Hai Ojii-san."
Her gaze wanders to her hairstyle next: one of the few things retained from her childhood. When young, she wanted desperately to copy that girl from Naruto but she had such difficulty tying her hair into two buns that she ended up rummaging through her father's bathroom for those blue ornaments to clip her hair in place. Umibouzo never told her what he used them for but once he saw them on her head he never asked for them back. She wouldn't have returned them even if he did. After all, it is these hair clips that distinguish her from other basic bun-wearing females. They are the only accessories she wears, the only items unrelated to her violent lifestyle.
Kagura envies this brunette civilian: she can dress up as much as she wants without having to concern herself over whether she could fight in it or not. She can take time to look beautiful and parade around displaying her beauty without worry of attracting too much attention or being the target of the Yakuza.
Bells chime as the doors to the restaurant open.
"Shin-chan!" The woman calls out, a smile adorning her face. She waves. "Over here!"
The redhead blanches at the plain-looking boy — Shin-chan was it? — heading towards the brunette's table with a man donning a suspicious perm-job in tow. As they chatted amiably amongst themselves, Kagura ponders their relationship.
What onlooker wouldn't?
"Here you go Kagura-chan." The sound of the tray being set on her table momentarily breaks her focus. "5 plates of egg on rice."
"Thanks ojii-san. I'll ask for my second round later."
She reverts her attention back to the trio, inhaling her meal the same way one rabidly eats popcorn when watching an R-rated movie's steamiest scene.
Who could blame her?
Calling this situation bizarre would be an understatement. Today's society is so superficial — with pretty women coupled with handsome strangers while the ugly ones scrape the bottom of the barrel — that the trio before her look foreign to say the least. There's no way a cherry-boy like this Shin-chan could know this fine specimen of a woman intimately, yet here this goddess is calling out to him so affectionately.
"Aneue, Gin-san and I have a favour to ask."
Kagura chokes on her rice.
'Sister?! Just how varied was their family's gene pool?! They look nothing alike! That's like saying Goku is actually Piccolo's long lost brother! One of them must be adopted.'
"What is it Shin-chan?"
The two men — their backs toward the redhead — discuss something about a client looking for a calendar model. Realising that she's been staring for too long Kagura averts her gaze to the plates of rice that she never stopped eating, eavesdropping while she stuffs her mouth with food.
"I'll see if I can do it." She hears the lady reply. "My work schedule is getting busier though."
"We want you to ask one of your workmates." The white-haired guy shamelessly corrects her, not bothering to lower his voice. He picks at his teeth shamelessly. "Nobody wants to look at you, Robert de flato."
"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"
A high-pitched scream reaches her ears. She looks up just in time to see the brunette deliver a swift uppercut to the man, her smile never wavering. The woman's expression is so similar to Kamui's that for a second Kagura considers the possibility of her brother in a yukata and a brown wig.
The man flies out of his seat from the impact of the punch, and it is then that the redhead notices the sword strapped to his waist.
'That's odd. Aren't swords out of practice? Is he…a samurai?'
Her heart goes out to the stranger as she finds another reason to loathe her clansmen, despite her desire to save them. It was the Yato clan who introduced firearms in Japan at the cost of the country's sword-wielding tradition. Swords quickly grew out of fashion in the wake of these inventions. However, while they promoted guns amongst the Japanese, the gangsters always made sure their own weapons were better, with newer modifications and developments that the public haven't heard of, even today. The burdensome weight of her own custom-made revolver in her thigh holster is a painful reminder of her gang's greed.
Deep in thought, Kagura almost fails to catch sight of a strange glint outside from the corner of her eye.
Almost.
Instead of dismissing it as her mind commands, she turns to the window, devoting her undivided attention to the mystery object. Hairs stand on end. Unease gnaws away at her insides. Cerulean orbs scan the outside of the restaurant methodically; the redhead doesn't know what exactly she is searching for but intuition — honed by years of exposure to violence and life-threatening situations — screams at her to do something.
Continuing to survey her surroundings, the sun blesses her with another ray of light aimed at the unknown object, it's reflection drawing her focus once more. This time her eyes are quick to locate the suspicious gleam, scaling up one of Tokyo's many high-rise buildings to find a particular window open.
She stiffens.
The sheen of light is not merely a distant window refracting the sun's rays; it's the barrel of a sniper rifle.
And it's aimed at her.
She doesn't think, doesn't breathe. Any normal human being's first instinct would be to panic, but she isn't any normal human being. The face of death is one she is all too familiar with, and based on the fact that she is still alive at this very moment is enough confirmation that the person on the other end of that rifle has yet to pull the trigger.
Any movement on her end however, could change that.
'It's all about…'
Staring at the open window, Kagura is fully aware that they — herself and her killer — are at a standstill. The sniper — frozen in shock at being discovered — awaits the redhead's reaction with baited breath, while the target appears to be caught like a deer in headlights. The instant she moves that trigger will be pulled.
'…timing.'
With a rush of adrenaline flowing through her veins she lifts her right hand. Taking a leap of faith she wastes no time in closing her thumb and index finger, catching the bullet inches away from her heart. Her fingers burn from its scorching heat but her will to stay alive burns stronger, forcing her blistering fingers to remain tightly closed around the metal ball and absorb the remainder of its kinetic energy.
A gunshot sounds.
The window beside her shatters.
Some customers scream, some crouch towards the ground with their hands over their heads, others turn to view the commotion is about.
On the other hand Kagura remains impassive, her glare remaining on the high-rise building, silently challenging the sniper to a second try. It is only when she sees the gunman tear their rifle from the open window — dismantling it at lightning quick speed — does she allow herself to breathe, knowing fully well that by the time she makes it to that room the sniper would be gone without a trace.
She brings her fingers eye-level, brows narrowing as she scrutinises the object. Dread overcomes her senses once more as she realises the implications of this discovery. The metal ball sitting in her hand is not a typical round nose bullet one can find at any ammunitions store, this is a hollow point bullet — one that causes larger wounds than your regular bullet and is seen as overly lethal and banned from warfare in most countries.
More importantly, this is a bullet only members of the Yato clan have access to.
Half an hour later a swarm of black and white vehicles roll up to the scene of the crime. Sirens wailing, honks blaring, the Shinsengumi dramatically throw their car doors open, rushing into the restaurant as though the person responsible for this mess would still be there.
"Ahh. We were too late."
Hijikata approaches the person he assumes is the restaurant owner: an elderly man sitting at a table with his head in his hands, utterly oblivious to the Shinsengumi's arrival.
"Takuma-san. What happened here?"
The old man raises his head to face the vice commander, wild eyes and trembling fingers clear signs that he has yet to recover from the trauma of what he had witnessed.
Hijikata sighs, pulling up a chair beside the man. "Oi! Get us some water over here."
With his chin resting atop his hand he prompts the owner to continue.
"Take your time."
"One minute," Takuma clears his throat, "one minute I was taking orders, a-and next thing I know I hear something like a gun being fired and a crash and turn around to find my window broken and—"
"Slow down." Hijikata stops the civilian from working himself into hysterics, handing him a glass of water. He gulps the liquid down offering a quiet "thanks".
"You heard a gunshot?"
He pauses. "Yes. I'm quite sure it was a gunshot."
Hijiikata's expression becomes pensive: dark blue orbs become distant as a frown works its way onto his face.
"Is something wrong, officer-san?"
Regarding him with watchful eyes the smoker speaks, "If someone fired a gun at your restaurant, where is the bullet?"
Takuma pales, realisation hitting him like a ton of bricks. "There was someone, sitting by the window when it happened." He stammers uncontrollably, "A g-girl! Kagura-chan!"
Hijikata freezes. The name rings a bell. "Describe her."
His witness hesitates before mumbling, "Red hair…blue eyes… light skin…chinese dress…"
The rest of the man's words fade away as he recalls the appearance of the obnoxious woman they interrogated weeks ago. Recognition dawns on the policeman's features.
At the abrupt change in Hijikata's expression the old man worries for his favourite customer. "Did you see her on your way here? You think she was shot?" Concern for his business melts away at the mere thought of the girl in trouble.
Takuma's apparent attachment to the redhead puzzles the Vice Commander yet he remains silent.
"She seemed fine after it happened…" he babbled on, "…walked out of here normally…maybe she was pretendi—"
"I saw what happened." A foreign voice interjects.
They turn to its source, a young blonde girl — one of the newer waitresses — fidgeting nervously under their heavy scrutiny.
When she doesn't elaborate any further Hijikata feels his patience wearing thin.
"Well?!"
Shaking her head, her gaze never wanders from her hands, focusing on how they tremble ever-so-slightly. "You'll think I'm crazy."
Both men share a look before the older one speaks, his tone imploring. "Megumi-chan, please tell us. It's a matter of life and death!"
Twiddling her thumbs she whispers. "She caught it."
"Caught what?"
The waitress takes a deep breath, staring Hijikata straight in the eye.
"She caught the bullet."
Dusk approaches, merging orange and pink with the vast expanse of blue until the colours are blended so intimately in the sky that you cannot discern where one starts and the other ends. The streets of Kabuki-cho grow quieter with every passing minute as people return home for dinner and a quick rest, preparing themselves to experience Tokyo's nightlife in a few hours.
One man, however, has other plans in mind.
"Take care, Ikumatsu-dono."
Behind his white coverings he watches — like a starved predator observing its unsuspecting prey — as a man leaves the ramen shop, his silky hair and pale blue haori swaying gently with the evening breeze. Making no move to hide the bandaged man follows his target against the crowd's current, swiftly sidestepping his way through the thinning throngs of people.
After minutes of seemingly directionless amble, the two figures end up in a deserted street with nothing but trees and abandoned buildings for witnesses. An amused smile breaks out on his covered face when he realises why the man has stopped here of all places. His prey knows exactly what his intentions are and is trying to minimise the collateral damage.
He chuckles. Noble men are hard to find and even harder to fight.
"So you must be the great Katsura Kotarou."
I'm no physicist but based on action movies and on the fact that the speed of a fired bullet surpasses that of sound, you should hear the bullet being fired after it goes through the window. If I've got this wrong please abandon the laws of physics for this fic okay?
On another note: you guys must be pretty confused with what is happening with and this chapter probably made you even more confused. THAT IS OK. I repeat. THAT IS OK. I purposely made Kagura's intentions cryptic (I'm such an asshole right?). I promise I'll explain everything in one of the later chapters.
Stay golden!
(AND HAPPY NEW YEAR BABES)