A mere six feet from the boy, Yukime abruptly swings her backpack around, its flap flying open from the sudden movement. Already rushing forward, she dives a hand into the pack, pulling out the quinque's case and flipping its switch open with her thumb. For a second, she's afraid she's made a mistake, and that she'll simply slam straight into the ghoul's chest – although honestly, that wouldn't be so terrible, she can't help but think –but luckily, the quinque blooms open in all its cobalt blue glory, veined with darker purples and reds. Immediately, she clutches it tight in both hands, braces her feet hard against the ground, and swings it at the ghoul with all the force she can muster. It takes everything she's got to control the quinque – after all, it was made for Shiki, not her.
His eyes widening in surprise, the ghoul jumps back, just barely managing to make it clear of the quinque's tentacles. A moment later, his own kagune erupts from his back: wings which look so much like fire that Yukime instinctively feels the need to back away lest she burn herself. It's a good thing she does too, for the next moment, the boy jumps forward, the smirk which once sat so smugly on his face now replaced by an ugly sneer. Already retreating, Yukime manages to thrust herself out of his way, effectively placing her quinque between them as a shield. Since he's already brought himself to her, she next shoves her quinque forward, not actually able to see her enemy beyond it, but simply hoping that by virtue of its writhing nature the quinque might hit him. As she hears him intake sharply a second later, she knows it did, and pulls back a little.
The ghoul stands a few feet away now, bleeding from a deep cut in his arm, and glaring at her with eyes full of fury. From this distance, she now notices the other minor cuts scattered over the rest of his body – wherever this ghoul's been today, he's been doing some fighting, that's for sure. No wonder his regenerative properties aren't working.
"Not bad," the ghoul remarks, breaking the silence between them, "for a shitty human."
"Mmm," Yukime mumbles, not sure how to reply to something so rude. I should teach you some manners.
"But I'm surprised," the ghoul drawls on, "that they're taking in pathetic little pipsqueaks like you at the CCG these days. They must be getting pretty fucking desperate."
"These are desperate times," Yukime says coldly, tightening her grip on her quinque. With her rinkaku against his ukaku, he doesn't technically have the advantage, but she knows he'll gain it fast if she doesn't keep up with him stroke for stroke. Whoever this kid is, he's good.
"But that's your fault, not ours," the boy hisses back. "You fucking humans always have to screw everything up."
Yukime doesn't bother to answer. In a battle like this, she won't last much longer, not when she already feels sucker punched, not from the enemy's weapon, but from wielding her own. So instead of replying, she simply hoists the quinque up and makes another wild swing. The ghoul dances to the side again, much more gracefully than her. But she can't give him any respite, not when doing so would obviously cause her immediate death. As soon as the quinque slows down enough for her to coerce it the other direction, she does so, the ghoul again dancing out of her reach, and then – and then miraculously, he falls.
When Yukime'd installed that little white fence she'd never imagined that it would one day serve a purpose other than providing her with the illusion of a normal life. But when the blue haired ghoul tripped over it and went sprawling into her long dead garden, crashing his head into the cold, hard ground, she swore she could've kissed that fence. Instead, she jabs at the now prostrate ghoul with her quinque, flipping him over and ensuring that he really, truly is out cold, and breathes a sigh of relief. Thank goodness that's over.
Immediately, Yukime drops everything – namely, her quinque – in the snow, and runs into her house. Slamming on the lights and leaving the door wide open, she frantically grabs at the tracking devices Shiki had bought for his investigations. Whatever money they saved by living in this decrepit place they frequently splurged on such things. Investigation was their life. On her way back out into the snow, she snags a needle and a spool of thread too. Normally, she'd use them for stitching up any rips she or Shiki got in their clothes, but today, they'd have to serve a different purpose.
Rushing back outside, Yukime ignores the cold – after all, there are more pressing matters at hand. She has three minutes, max, before the boy wakes up. A little knock on the head won't put him out for longer than that. Kneeling in the snow, Yukime hastily jams the tracker into the cut she'd given him on his arm, smearing blood all over her hand in the process. With slick fingers, she picks up the tiny needle and tries to thread it. In her panic, it takes her four tries – oh crap, please, please, please work – before she manages to get it through. With messy, uneven stitches, she sews the wound together, just barely. Flesh sure is a hell of a lot harder to sew than cloth, damn it. These stiches look like something from a Frankenstein movie. But that's alright – with his regenerative powers, the ghoul will heal in no time. Yukime just doesn't want the tracker to fall out. With this accomplished, Yukime throws the remaining needle and thread aside – after all, her garden's practically a dump anyways – grabs her backpack, quinque, and case, and heads back inside. Don't die, she begs him internally as she locks the door behind her, although she isn't quite sure why. Please don't die.
Ayato wakes up with an ungodly pounding in his head. He's lying on hard, cold ground, dusted over with a light layer of snow. As he instinctively tries to pull himself up, he's reprimanded by a painful ache in his arm. Glancing over, he sees a raw, bloody wound, his regenerative powers just starting to meld it together again. It appears to be stitched together, albeit not very well. That weirdo human must have done it. Now looking around for his assailant – and supposedly also his caretaker – Ayato finds that he's been left alone. The sun's setting too, so it's too dark for him to try to track the girl's footsteps. The lights in the nearby house have been turned on though, the curtains pulled shut completely. Better get out of here before that person comes to shovel their yard.
Ignoring the pain in his left arm, Ayato pushes himself up onto his feet. Other than the very obvious gash on his arm, he finds himself mostly healed now. It seems the meal he'd made of that old man was finally paying off. Even the pounding in his head is fading. Still, unless that gash heals up fast, I'd hate to go back to Aogiri like this. Dumbass Naki might find it just a bit too amusing. Just the thought of Naki, that arrogant, ignorant, insubordinate, panda eyed freak, makes Ayato clench his fists instinctively. I'd love to make mincemeat out of him someday. Naki thought he was safe from Ayato just because he was Yamori's right hand man – well, other than Nico. You're so wrong, Naki. Even Yamori doesn't dare to mess with me.
Still, with or without Naki, Aogiri is the only place Ayato has to go. I can't go running back to you anymore, Aneki. So, with his mind made up, Ayato jams his hands into his pockets once more and sets out for the eleventh ward.
Thankfully, it's the Bin brothers who control the majority of the Aogiri forces, so it's their sentries who spot Ayato first. As he passes by them, they salute him respectfully, no questions asked. It's not their place to ask where he's been.
It is, however, quite within Tatara's realm to ask that same question. So naturally, he does, right in the middle of the leaders' meeting Ayato walks straight into. Even as nonchalantly as Tatara says it, every word that comes out of his mouth is latched onto with the greatest respect. In the corner of his eye, Ayato sees Naki immediately sit up in his seat, interested again in this otherwise boring meeting.
"Just wanted to catch a meal in peace," Ayato replies calmly.
Of course, Naki has to speak up. "That sure doesn't explain the cut on your arm." He says it mockingly, like he knows Ayato doesn't have a good excuse for it – although for once, he doesn't. And that just makes Naki's remarks all the more annoying. Shut up, dumbass Naki. "Or why it's stitched in purple thread."
Impulsively, Ayato glances down at his wound. He hadn't noticed it before, outside in the dark, but sure enough, it's interwoven in a nice magenta thread. Against the gore of his half healed wound, it stands out like blood against snow. Oh, how well he knows that stands out. Even his brief glance down at his wound causes a few chortles around the room: Yamori's deep, amused one, Eto's light, childish one. Those two couldn't be more different.
It's Nico who speaks up: "My, my, following my example, dear boy, marvelous," he says in his overly silky voice, the one Ayato hates. Shut up, shut up, all of you.
Ayato glares briefly at Nico before turning back to face the rest. "I went to see my sister. She stitched it." The words come out through clenched teeth. He can't believe this is the lie he has to resort to. "And the wound came from our fight against the doves." Well, that one's not entirely a lie. It was a dove who'd given him that nasty gash, but not one the others had fought.
"How sweet of you," Yamori rasps, "but I seem to remember your sister lives all the way in the twentieth ward, and you don't seem to have been gone quite that long." He cracks his knuckles as he speaks; the sound echoes through the chamber.
"I took the train," Ayato retorts. "I can do that, you know."
"Perhaps we should send you to do the shopping then."
Naki jumps up. "Yeah, you're not even smart enough to do that! But I can!"
Ayato snorts derisively at him, not even bothering to respond. Luckily, Tatara cuts in. "Enough." And that word alone puts an end to all their bickering. "Ayato, we'll talk later. For now, let's continue the meeting."
Finally released from his interrogation, Ayato takes his usual place in the circle. The rest of the meeting follows quickly: just an update on their situation with the doves, and then they're done. As everyone else files out of the room, Ayato remains to speak with Tatara. As unemotional as always, his superior simply waits for his explanation, not saying any words.
Ayato cracks before him. Tatara isn't someone you can lie to. "I got attacked by another dove," he says simply. Now that he admits the truth, his previous lies sound weak and unnecessary. They make it sound like he's hiding much more than he really is. Damn it, I shouldn't have lied.
"I see. In any case, I expect you'll be ready to face any more investigators that come your way. We'll be counting on you in the upcoming battles."
"Of course," Ayato bows his head respectfully as Tatara leaves the room. It's a short conversation, but an effective one. Alone once again, Ayato finally lets his thoughts wander back to the girl who attacked him. You saw my face, you fucking dove. I can't let you live now. Do you know what you've gotten into?