WOW this story actually GOES somewhere! Somewhat.
TO THE GUEST: Thank you again for reviewing! It makes my dayyyyy ~ I'm glad you like reading this, haha :D
This couple has really grown on me. I'm a hardcore GinTsu shipper, but then I made an OC for Gin, felt bad because I love love love Tsukky, so I made an OC for her...at first, I wasn't really all that big on Zenshi, but I grew really fond of him (c'mon, badass Yato OCs!) and now they're my CanonxOC OTP!
Disclaimer: GINTAMA and all the Dondake?! moments belong to Sorachi Hideaki. Though I'd really like if (and this better not happen!) someone like Takasugi dies, for their last words to be along the lines of "AT LEAST GIVE ME MORE SCREENTIME, YOU WORTHLESS GORILLA" or something. That was inspired by lovely tumblr user 20pi lol.
Eyes of Wolves
- 7 -
.: Sunday, LAST WEEK :.
He drove an elbow into the fourth man's back, despising the fact that his blood boiled with a relishing gush of warmth when he heard bone crack beneath him.
.: APRIL, PRESENT :.
Between the irritated police officer — whose name, Zenshi learned, was Hijikata Toushirou — and the ever stony-faced Tsukuyo, the smoke off of their cigarette and pipe, respectively, was pungent and thick.
"Well? Did ya catch'im?" Tsukuyo asked gruffly, glaring daggers toward the man opposite her. Hinowa had offered him a cup of coffee out of what could be salvaged from their now-meager kitchen. He took a sip.
"Yeah, a few blocks down," replied Hijikata. His eyes shifted from Tsukuyo to Gin to Zenshi. "The police commissioner will review your case and see to the damage."
"So this was a terrorist attack?" exclaimed Seita, popping up between Tsukuyo and Gin. "Who was it? What gang? Was it the Joui?"
"That's classified, kid," growled the dark-haired man. "Besides, there's plenty of Joui running around. You can probably just guess."
"Oh, definitely," interrupted the younger officer seated next to Hijikata. He had plain, brown sugar hair and flat eyes that conveyed all the sardonic exasperation of his years in one derisive stare. "After all, you've got a big name terrorist right next to you."
"I'm not a terrorist! I am a good, model citizen," Gin cried, throwing his hands up.
"Oh no, danna, I wasn't talking about you." Without further elaboration, the boy stood up and, with his hands in his pockets, walked away whistling a simple tune.
"Will we be reimbursed for the damage?" asked Hinowa. "Or are there going to be carpenters for repair?"
"As I said before, the police commissioner will review your case." Hijikata stood up, casting a somewhat worried glance out the door, and thanked Hinowa briefly for the coffee. "Sorry for the trouble. Have a nice afternoon."
"Hey!" called Tsukuyo. "Ya haven't mentioned the fact that we nearly died."
Hijikata stopped, turning to look over his shoulder.
"But you didn't, did you?"
At this, Tsukuyo growled under her breath about rotten tax thieves — causing the Yorozuya crew to chuckle behind their hands — and rather violently pushed away from the table. Chair legs screeched against floorboards, scraping up dust and ash and debris. She was most likely put off by the fact that there were shards of metal littered here and there, along with broken glass and what used to be Hinowa's favorite ceramic mug.
The police commissioner had better move fast, or Yoshiwara's queen would come knocking down his door.
.: SEVEN YEARS AGO :.
Space, he finds, is horribly endless. There's no telling whether they are going forward or back, left or right, up or down. The myriad of stars and planets and passing spaceships becomes a pool of dead fish to him. All are the same.
If he leapt off, he would not fall.
He would only float into oblivion.
.: APRIL, PRESENT :.
Zenshi found himself — as he often did — following the Yorozuya trio back up into the regular streets of Edo, leaving behind Yoshiwara.
To his surprise, Tsukuyo decided to accompany them as well.
"I have business with the Oniwabanshu," was her curt, unquestioned explanation.
"Oh, do you and Sa-chan want to go shopping or something?" whistled Kagura, trotting alongside the taller woman. Tsukuyo answered with a negative, and Kagura went along with her own train of thought, babbling about how fun a shopping trip would be, and how someone named "Soyo-chan" would have enjoyed a day out of the palace, etcetera, etcetera.
"Well, here's where we leave," Gin said, stopping.
"That's a casino." Tsukuyo glared.
"Nice meeting you," Gintoki said, laughing nervously as he turned to wave at Zenshi. He narrowly avoided a few kunai, and then ducked into the entrance, the sounds of a hundred slot machines ringing as the door closed behind him.
"Shinpachi, he left us, yes?" Kagura deadpanned.
The only thing that really remained of the boy was a dangerous glint to his glasses.
"Yes, yes he did."
.: Sunday, LAST WEEK :.
The fifth Yato grabbed his throat and pushed him to the ground. Zenshi's umbrella spilled from his right hand and clattered a few feet away. Before his assailant could wrap a second hand around his neck, Zenshi struck a rigid fist into any spot of soft flesh he could find. The man grunted; Zenshi flipped them over so that he was straddling the man, dealing quick, concise blows until there was no consciousness left within his opponent.
He stood, wiping the blood from his mouth and nose, flicking it onto the pavement.
Suddenly, a searing pain tore through his left side, through his abdomen. It was forceful, yet not sharp — burning with the poison of a thousand snakes, yet aching with a slow, reluctant reaction.
Zenshi looked down and saw a hand struck straight through his body.
He didn't have to turn to know who it was.
.: APRIL, PRESENT :.
"What're you doin' with those idiots?" Tsukuyo asked sharply. She was in a clearly bad mood, but he was neutral enough of a character to keep from grating on her nerves.
"Following."
"Are ya gonna follow me, then?" She looked more exasperated than truly annoyed; she didn't mind his presence, but she wasn't intending to babysit, either.
He let his gaze trail from her face to the nearest building, and then back. Slowly, so she had to wait. His right hand, poised lightly on the hilt of his parasol, tapped a light beat with his fingers.
"You are," she affirmed. Sighing, she turned around again. "I guess ya can. I'm just goin' ta see a few acquaintances."
Zenshi followed, trailing a few steps behind her, sometimes appearing to accompany her, and sometimes appearing to be completely lost on his own, wandering. They walked in uneventful silence; Tsukuyo, completely focused on her destination, and Zenshi, completely immersed in the sensation of knowing forward from back, left from right, and up from down.
.: Sunday, LAST WEEK :.
"You're a dead man."
The hand retracted, slick and warm with blood.
"Am I?" Zenshi swiveled to face the boy, who appeared to be studying his artfully gory hand in the waning light. The crimson had a delicate, nauseating appeal. Zenshi pressed a hand to the wound, but only found himself to be bleeding openly. "I don't feel dead."
"Not yet, Zen," Kamui replied. "You have to be patient."
"Patient?" Zenshi echoed. He blinked slowly and then stared Kamui in the eye, unwavering. If there was anyone who wished to find the most patient man in the world, they would have found him in Zenshi.
"Sometimes, I wonder if your name should be patience," Kamui laughed. "But instead, you're a politician's boy who thinks he's a warrior."
"And you are the son of the universe's strongest." Here, it wasn't a compliment. Here, it was meant to tug at Kamui, to jab at his emotions. Zenshi thought it unwise to provoke the boy, seeing as he was already in a murderous mood, but this was the only way to hunt Kamui. "The son of a once-beautiful queen."
Kamui's blue, blue eyes glinted dangerously. The sapphire pooled darkly, his cheerful aura disintegrating beneath the blood that ran rampant through his veins.
"The older brother of a little girl who still loves you," finalized Zenshi. "I know, Kamui, and you know. Everybody knows."
"No," Kamui whispered, his voice threateningly low. "Nobody knows."
He came so fast that Zenshi hardly had time to react. Kamui's hands, which were so powerfully solid that they came forth in battle like razor blades, skimmed his shoulder. The pressure exerted by those bloody fingers was terrifyingly immense. Kamui could, and would, slice up a man with his pinky finger.
Zenshi dove for his umbrella, scooping it up and then pushing away. He scrabbled, however, on the pavement before Kamui landed beside him. The boy was light and nimble, stalking with a predatory glance like a hungry wildcat.
"I've never seen you smile, Zen," Kamui said, advancing a few steps.
"Are you sure?" Zenshi ducked and parried Kamui's next few strikes. Where the boy was strong, Zenshi was solid. Where the boy was fast, Zenshi was anticipating. Kamui could overpower Zenshi and even defeat him with the lightning speed of his strikes, but Zenshi had, as Kamui had mocked of him before, more patience than any fighter. He had the patience to coldly calculate Kamui's next moves, to take the next millisecond, no matter how close, to anticipate and defend.
"I'm sure," Kamui answered. "And you always just run away. Aren't you going to fight?"
"Perhaps." Zenshi knew Kamui well, which was yet another advantage. He knew the younger Yato's tendencies: the speed of his kicks, and angle of his rotation, the extent of his flexibility. There had been enough training time in their youth and on the ship for Zenshi to acknowledge his former captain's strength.
He did not, however, ever lose in the mental game.
Zenshi was, after all, a politician's son.
.: APRIL, PRESENT :.
"Aren't you the guy I met on the train?" asked the ninja, looking perplexed. "Aren't you the Yoshiwara woman?"
"Aren't you," growled Tsukuyo, "going to get Sarutobi like I asked?"
.: Sunday, LAST WEEK :.
There had been too much blood lost. Zenshi had successfully managed to dodge and apprehend Kamui's vigorous attacks, but there was a limit to how long they could fight.
"Captain!" came the anxious call.
"Danchou!" hollered Abuto. "Danchou, we have to leave!"
Kamui, hissing, paused briefly.
In that moment, Zenshi lunged forward with such wolfish blood thirst that Kamui was caught off guard. It was typical for the dark-haired Yato to suppress the naturally murderous aura that his bloodline seemed to emit. His demeanor was calm, cool, even-headed.
So when he went for Kamui's throat like a wolf for the jugular, the red-haired Yato missed a beat and did not defend in time.
Kamui flew into a building down the road, bricks cracking and windows shattering from the colossal impact. Structures rained down on the boy, and he momentarily struggled to free himself from a gigantic metal beam that collapsed. When the roof began to crumple in on itself, Zenshi heard the boy curse loudly and scramble for an opening.
The building engulfed him whole.
Several Yato crewmen ran to their captain's aid, but Abuto did not. Instead, he strode directly to Zenshi. The younger man balked, skittering defensively away from Abuto even though the whirling black dots in his eyes threatened to pull him to the ground. He was becoming nauseous, the increasing number of wounds draining the blood from him far too quickly.
"Whoa there, bud," Abuto murmured, as if soothing a spooked horse. "I'm not gonna go for your head, you can relax."
Zenshi only stared.
"I want you to run, but not towards Hosen's former place. Anywhere but there. We're running into police trouble, so I need you to hide. Got it?" Abuto placed a firm hand on Zenshi's shoulder. "C'mon, bud, you're not bleeding that bad! Man up and go."
There was a painful shove, and then Zenshi was fumbling with his umbrella and sprinting down the street, dodging into an alleyway before an immense thunder of metal and stone alerted him of Kamui's emergence from the ruins.
.: Monday, LAST WEEK :.
There were voices.
A woman bent over him, smelling of tobacco and flowers and something strange he couldn't put his finger on. Smoke stung his eyes and nose, but he was not conscious enough to make sense of it.
A warm, slightly rough hand grabbed him by the arm, hauled him from behind the trash cans. Dust and debris was brushed off of his bloody clothes, and he was propped against a thin, lean frame.
He vaguely remembered the flutter of maple leaves, interspersed among strands of silky blonde hair.
whAT the heckie how do you write battles XD
Also - I always interlude with the present, just to throw you off.
*evil laughter*
Well, it's not so evil, so...
*crazy Sakamoto laughter*