As a retired bounty hunter Sakata Gintoki has a knack for attracting danger. While a few years ago this skill was essential for his profession, he's not about that life anymore. There are better, easier ways to put food on your plate: ways that don't involve risking your testicles at every turn.
Yorozuya Gin-chan was supposed to be his ticket out of that violent lifestyle. Heck, you could say that the wooden sword strapped to his waist is more of a prop to complete his yukata than a weapon (although he cannot deny that it is uncharacteristically impenetrable).
Life as an odd-jobs worker — while lacking in adrenaline rushes — has never been uneventful. It may not be the most luxurious manner of living, what with being underpaid by clients and a stingy landlady shoved up your ass like a prickly pole, but deep down (very very deep down) Gintoki doubts he would swap his life for anyone's. There's not much to complain about.
Except for the overdue rent-part.
And his natural perm.
Anyway, there's a charm in idly watching time go by with your nose buried in the latest JUMP issue. All adults enjoy doing nothing, so when doing nothing occupies a large part of your working hours you know you're heading in the right direction.
But one can only lounge around aimlessly for so long.
Luckily for Yorozuya Gin-chan their moments of idleness are often short, although frequent. Just when the boredom kicks in and you start craving for an adventure, it comes right to your—
"Gin-san, I hate to interrupt your monologue but there's someone at the door."
He sighs, pretending to be immersed in this week's JUMP.
"Gin-san," his bespectacled subordinate stands behind him, donning a frilly apron with a broomstick in hand.
"I know you can hear me." Shinpachi chastises, hand on his cocked hip. "One of these days I'm going to disappear and then you'll wish you paid more attention to me!"
Overwhelmed by the the nagging tone and self-righteous posture of his effeminately-dressed employee, it is on absolute reflex that Gintoki yells out "Okaa-san?!"
"WHO'S YOUR OKAASAN?!"
At some point during their heated bickering they remember the cause of the quarrel: a visitor. Eager to avoid being nagged by the cherry-boy Gintoki hastily clambers to the front door.
"Sorry! We didn't mean to keep you waiting." Laughing nervously he slides the door open. Of all the types of customers he expected on the other side, the last sight he expected to be greeted with is a familiar mop of vermillion.
"Hey! Weren't you in the—"
He slides the door shut.
"Gin-san who was it?" Shinpachi peaks his head round the corner, eyes shining with curiosity.
"Be quiet Shinpachi!" Gintoki whispers, placing a finger to his lips as he ignores the pounding on the door. "It's the terminator…probably sent by that old hag to get rid of us for real."
"Isn't Tama-san on a break?" The younger man asks, deadpan expression a clear indication of his disbelief.
Nonetheless Gintoki keeps up his charade, staring pleadingly at his coworker. "It isn't Tama at the door. It's Tama 2.0: the updated version."
Like a mother thoroughly fed up with her child's antics, Shinpachi sighs. Trust his boss to come up with the most creative stories to get out of work. Assuming that Gintoki is being unreasonable again, he elbows his way past him ("Wait! Don't open it!").
He throws the door open…
"Well it's about ti—"
…and then promptly slams it.
"You're right Gin-san." He mutters with a wry smile. "She isn't Tama, she's much much worse."
Both men flinch when the knocking restarts, growing louder by the second.
"This is Yorozuya Gin-chan right?" A surprisingly chirpy voice calls, contrasting the rough and solid blows delivered to their door. "I need your services."
Remaining silent the odd-jobs men make eye-contact, mentally discussing (arguing) what kind of services a person like her could possibly need.
'Gin-san we can't turn her away. She's a client!'
Gintoki shake this head vehemently, white curls swaying with his movements. 'Absolutely noooot! I don't want anything to do with shady people. Once you're in the criminal world, the only way out is through death!'
"I know you're in there!" Unconcealed anger replaces the sugary tone, her patience running thin. If possible she knocks even harder on the wooden surface, the door shaking out of its frame with every blow.
Putting their mental conversation on hold they scramble to the door and frantically attempt to hold it shut. Shinpachi looks to his employer, hope swirling in his chocolate irises.
'Maybe we've got this all wrong. Maybe she wants us to do a normal errand?'
'We saw her catch a bullet with her bare hands! Is that normal to you?!'
Releasing a shaky breath Gintoki replies, his voice an oddly high pitch. "Uhhh we're closed for the day. Why not come back tomorrow morning?"
He doesn't need to see Shinpachi's withering glare to realise how stupid he sounds. No-one in their right mind would buy that cheap excuse, not when they've just seen both members of the Yorozuya present in their headquarters. Gintoki can only pray that their mafia client is either stupid or polite enough to take the hint.
To their relief the knocking stops.
However, the ensuing pause is too long for their comfort. Air laced with tension, the Odd-job members feel as vulnerable as two lone deers in a plain field with a lion prowling around in the bushes.
Gintoki's excuses sounds pathetic even to his own ears: there's not a snowball's chance in hell that she'll believe him. The redhead is probably plotting a way to enter the place this very moment, where she will then proceed to beat them into submission like the bullet-catching terminator she is.
Just when they think they can't handle the pressure any longer, a muted sigh and fading footsteps sound on the other end. They stare at each other uncertain about what to do next. While a part of them is tempted to open the door and check if the young lady really did leave, the other part — the one that keeps them alive — screams that this is all a trap.
Eventually curiosity gets the better of them. Opening the door, they collectively heave a breath of relief to find their balcony area empty. The female terminator really did leave them alone.
Smiling victoriously at each other, they turn to go back inside when—
"Michael Jackson!"
Shinpachi freezes. That voice resembles that of their unwanted visitor's too closely for comfort. When nothing follows his shoulders relax. Chuckling to himself, he realises that he must be hearing things as a result of paranoia — similar to how one hallucinates shadowy figures by their beds immediately after watching horror movies.
"Magic Johnson!"
Pushing his glasses up with an index finger, he smirks. 'Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. Isn't that right…'
He searches for his boss, only to find a pair of long legs sticking out of a large vase beside their front door.
"…Gin-san, what are you doing?"
"Uhhhh," his voice reverberates within the confines of the vase, "looking for a time machine?"
"Like hell you were!" Shinpachi yells, pointing an accusatory finger at the vase. "You're scared shitless!"
"Hey!" Gintoki's legs wave about frantically, displaying his protest. "I may have been surprised but my butthole is still untainted."
"Fine. I'm going home."
With that Shinpachi leaves, ignoring his employer's desperate wails for help as he descends the wooden staircase into the busy streets of Kabukicho. The night air is crisp and a bit too cold for his liking. One cannot expect any less from Tokyo's winter, especially at this time where the sun is completely out of reach. Tightly securing his scarf around his neck Shinpachi passes by Snack Otose — waving a small farewell to the workers inside — only to stop walking at the sound of sniffles emerging from the alley beside it.
"Maeda Tyson!"
He stills.
Paranoia acts up again: is that girl his personal boogeyman? His mind wanders to the few horror films he's seen, attempting to recall the actions the characters took to avoid death. Realisation hits him like a bucket of cold water after a dirty dream: nobody survived in those movies.
Looking around he takes comfort in Kabukicho's large night crowd; nothing happens when you're in a group this big. Besides, nobody else seems to be reacting to the girly voice so he must be hallucinating.
Then again, nobody else saw her catch a bullet.
"George Jackson!"
Legs stiffening in unadulterated fear, Shinpachi seriously contemplates walking in the opposite direction to get home. However his pride refuses to let him alter his route: by changing paths he is letting his paranoia affect his life. If he changes now he'll do the same thing if she's there tomorrow, and the day after that.
It would be a disgrace for him to run away; not only as the heir to Tokyo's only Tendo-ryuu dojo, but as a grown man too.
With his newfound resolve he approaches the alley, footsteps steady in their pace even when his courage wavers. Every step increases the severity of goosebumps across his body. Hands tightening into fists, he relishes in the sharp sting of his nails as they press into his palm, opting to channel his focus into that in order to keep his mind from straying to cowardly thoughts. If he is to be assaulted or murdered by this woman, he will be with dignity like a true swordsman.
Holding his breath he rounds the corner…
"Ben Johnson!"
…only to have it sucked out of his lungs.
A few seconds ago Shinpachi thought he'd prepared himself for anything. But nothing — he realises with a heavy heart— could have prepared him for the sight of a shivering figure pathetically curled up in the embrace of an overgrown canine.
Rubbing his eyes, he inspects the person before him. Surely there's no way this girl, laying half-asleep in a dimly lit alleyway with her dog's mane for a blanket and an umbrella for shelter, is the same woman who so calmly caught bullets earlier today?
With her eyes fluttered shut and lips parted in silent snores, he sees no trace of the woman who could stare death in the face without so much as batting an eyelid. Right now she looks like a girl running away from home to start a new life with her loyal furry companion in tow. Her pet shifts in its position causing a small frown to mar her features as she unconsciously moves in response, cuddling up to it as it wraps its thick tail around her protectively.
Despite the picture of blissful innocence the redhead paints in her slumber, Shinpachi instinctively gets into a defensive stance when she inhales, her nose crinkling followed by—
"Edith Hanson!"
Before he can comment on the sneeze — who sneezes like that anyway?! — a figure from behind emerges, covering the woman in a large duvet. The action rouses her, causing a bleary blue eye to open, glaring at the man who dares to intrude on her beauty sleep.
"Now now," a familiar voice reaches Shinpachi's ears, as a mop of white hair comes into view. "A young lady should be at home at this time of night."
Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes she mumbles, "Are you lazy shits open now?"
Gintoki observes the curled up redhead, cerulean gaze steady despite her teeth chattering and body quivering. It appears that the flame in her is not so easily put out. As troublesome as it is he's always had a soft spot for strays.
He doesn't know whether her willingness to camp outside his place in order to acquire his services impresses or saddens him. He doesn't know what moves him to help this stranger: whether it is the unyielding determination hidden within those irises or his knack for taking in strays.
What he does know is that his next decision will change their lives forever.
"Welcome to Yorozuya Gin-chan. How can we be of service?"
"Oryo-channnn, why won't you love meeeee?" a loud voice — hoarse from an overload of Dom Perignon — pierces Tokyo's empty streets, cutting through the silence like a knife. Despite the ungodly hour one man remains bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as he stumbles along the streets, desperately looking for love from anything that moves.
A few seconds later he finds himself head-first in a garbage can, heaving his guts out.
"While you're at it why don't you puke your soul out too?" Wiping away the residue vomit on his chin, the brunette removes his face from the trashcan to find a stranger standing behind him wearing a look of utter disgust. "I don't see any fun in doing it myself."
He rubs the back of his head sheepishly, "Nice to meet you, I'm Sakamoto Tatsuma" and raises his hand for a shake. "How can I help you?" Being friendly at all times of the day is an unspoken requirement for a man of his profession. Everyone is a prospective client, after all.
A tap on his shoulder jolts him out of his thoughts. "I'm over here."
Blinking twice, Sakamoto soon realises that he is introducing himself to the garbage can that houses his regurgitated dinner. Bellowing in laughter he turns to the man and hastily apologises, patting his shoulder in good humour.
"So, how can I help you?"
"Here's a question," a gruff voice sounds, befitting the man's built stature. "Which is worse? Dying in the arms of your beloved…"
Sakamoto stiffens.
"...or dying alone?"
This is unedited and will probably remain unedited for a bit (until I'm free enough to go through this with a fine-tooth comb). Sougo and Kagura will meet in the next chapter.
Thanks for reading!
Stay golden. :)