MORE FUN FACTS!
Random: I ate red bean pancakes yesterdayyyy!
Ch. 17: Officer Jinlin is named after my beautiful cousin. Hehe.
Ch. 12: I don't know if I already mentioned this, but "precious ore of Aokaminyte found" is a direct reference to the Aokami family from my other fic, Emeralds. (it's a Naruto story haha)
Random: My second Gintama OC appears in this. Say hello!
Disclaimer: Chome chome is never and will never be mine. But I can worship Otsuuuu-chan, all right?!
Eyes of Wolves
- 18 -
.: MAY, PRESENT :.
"Our boss has firmly told us to refrain from giving you any information," announced the masked woman in the driest monotone imaginable. At this, Zenshi stared at the woman with a flat gaze of half contempt and half disinterest. He dipped his chin, studying the ground for a few moments before looking up again.
"I would," he began in his slow, smooth way, "reconsider if I were you."
.: FOUR YEARS AGO :.
Someone has placed a cool towel on his forehead, but he's too disoriented to care. His blood throbs thickly through his veins, and his arms might as well be made of lead. The insistent, torturous thrumming of thirst in his chest and throat isn't the type to be quenched by water. His fingers itch to wrap around the throat of an another, and though the sensation makes his arms a tad lighter, it pegs his heart with an otherworldly weight.
.: MAY, PRESENT :.
The quiet abode of the Hyakka's modest headquarters was none other than an older shop tucked beside Hosen's old palace. Zenshi noted the organized, efficient manner with which the women traded posts and relayed various messages, from quotidian affairs to petty robberies. Yoshiwara in itself was like another Edo — massive, complicated, and busier than ever before.
"If yer gonna snoop," came the distinct voice, "then ya might as well try harder to avoid me."
Zenshi glanced over his shoulder to see Tsukuyo, of course, waiting with her hands on her hips.
"Who ever said I was snooping?"
"Sure looks like it," she snapped, stalking up to him. The sharp click of her heels against concrete rung throughout the now-quieted Hyakka, who respectfully issued short bows and came to attention. "If ya really want to know," Tsukuyo said, "then yer gonna drop this off at the post office above."
A tradeoff. Zenshi sighed, accepting the small, padded package from her hands.
.: FOUR YEARS AGO :.
When he regains the ability to comprehend his surroundings, he discovers a cocoon-like state of being. Wrapped up in several blankets and sweating through his shirt — who changed his clothes? — Zenshi freezes up, constricted.
"No, you're not being kidnapped, bud," drawls Abuto, who is sitting lazily in a chair next to him, browsing a magazine. "Do you know that this one is ceasing publication?" he mutters, nonchalantly. "It was a good one, you know. Lots of space gossip."
Zenshi ignores him and stares at the ceiling. He's in his own room, a plain, undecorated place where he only returns to at night.
"I'm surprised you don't lock this thing," Abuto continues, switching topics with ease. "Most officers so paranoid that they install secondary locks on the sliding doors."
"I have nothing worth stealing," Zenshi manages through a surprisingly dry throat. As if reading his mind, Abuto slides a glass of water across the nightstand.
"You might want to get up slowly," suggests the older Yato, closing the glossy magazine and setting it down. Zenshi takes his advice, seeing as the moment he tries to prop himself up on his elbows, a wave of nausea rolls over him.
"Why didn't you tell me about the blood?" he croaks, pushing his hair from his eyes once he is situated upright.
"I thought you could handle it," Abuto said dryly. "It has different effects on different people. Their race uses it as a defense mechanism, but it's quite mysterious. The fumes often just make people disoriented, like they're drunk, or it drives them nuts and makes them hallucinate."
"And for you?" Zenshi is curious, but guardedly so.
"Me?" chuckles Abuto. "Oh, I've been around them plenty. It just makes me a tad tired and a little tipsy, but I'm usually fine. Our idiot captain, however, does something like you."
Zenshi looks at the man pointedly.
"Go crazy for blood, that is," Abuto explains.
Zenshi returns to staring at nothing but walls and ceilings, feeling nothing but a mix of misery and disgrace.
.: MAY, PRESENT :.
The elevator ride up was serene, the seconds falling in time with the shaft's repetitive, mechanical clunks up the way to the surface. The daytime found Yoshiwara resting, now that the sky was open for all to see. Zenshi recalled his first glance of the city — dark all day and all night, twinkling with the red-light district's jeweled beacons.
The noontime sun bore heavily in the sky, directly overhead when Zenshi stepped out onto Edo's surface. His umbrella leaned casually on his shoulder as he made his way downtown, seamlessly blending into the crowd.
.: FOUR YEARS AGO :.
The man with the camera smiles encouragingly, prompting the little boy to smile. He is shy, however, and tucks himself behind his mother's long skirt.
"Come," says the woman, "step in front of me. Sit here."
She motions to a stool, which the small child clambers upon with some effort. She places her hands on his shoulder, telling him to smile. The cameraman is preparing his tools, setting up a tripod and tinkering with buttons. He's about to take the picture, but the little boy's confused protest pauses those endeavors.
"Where's Dad?" he inquires, looking almost forlorn.
"He'll be a little late," says the woman. The child is perceptive; he knows his mother is lying.
But to their surprise, another man enters the room, apologizing for his tardiness. The child's mother brightens considerably, and the boy clamors for his father.
"You came," says the wife with suppressed delight. The father presses a kiss to her cheek and smiles warmly.
"I promised this fellow," he says, putting a hand on the son's head, "that I would not miss the New Year's photo."
"You just want the year cake," giggles the child, one hand grasping his mother's and the other grasping his father's.
"Smile," calls the photographer.
And, for a moment that will never be repeated, the boy smiles.
.: MAY, PRESENT :.
The Oedo Greater Postal Service had once been a tiny office in the middle of Edo's eastern districts. Back then, it was simply called the "Mid-east Post Office". Having had quite a few years to branch into the city, it became Edo's largest and most prosperous mail delivery service in existence.
Despite the long lines, the office worked with impressive efficiency, despite their apparent shortage of hands.
"I'm sorry," chirped the boy at the desk into the phone, "Matsuoka-san is currently out of the office. May I take a message for you? Yes, ma'am, that will be fine. My name is Shinobu, I'll be taking care of Matsuoka-san's paperwork for today."
The boy looked up as the line moved forward, pushing Zenshi to the service desk. Upon further inspection, Zenshi realized that the so-called "Shinobu" at the counter was hardly a male at all. Though slim and slightly muscular, the figure on the phone was discreetly effeminate. The line of her face was smooth, her neck elegant and long. Despite this, she capped her hair into a baseball hat emblazoned with "Postal Service" and a little embroidered envelope with wings. With a sharp eye, she could be discerned as female; with blunt observation, she could pass as a feminine young man.
"Hi, can I help you?" she asked, setting down the phone, scribbling onto a notepad, and smiling. Zenshi was thoroughly impressed with her deception. She kept her eyebrows slightly knitted and her smile firm, knowing full well that widely-spaced eyes and soft lips were female cues.
"I would like to drop this off for someone," he began. "The addresses are already printed and registered, I've been told."
The girl took the package and read the writing on its backside.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, suddenly. "This is from Tsukki!"
Beaming, she quickly recorded the transfer of mail into a computer — Zenshi caught a glimpse of a pre-signed mail form officially affirmed by both the Hyakka and the postal service — and tucked the package beneath a desk, into unseen cartons.
"Say hello to Tsukki for me," she said, nodding. "Yoshiwara's moon is a familiar face to us mail people," she explained with a bright laugh.
Zenshi raised a brow.
"And what name do I tell her?" He watched carefully for the girl's reaction, and the slight surprise — but it was more like friendly delight — on her face temporarily dissolved her façade.
"Sayuri," she informed him crisply. "Yamiya Sayuri."
"All right then, Shinobu-san," Zenshi answered easily, nodding at the nametag clipped to her shirt pocket, "I'll pass on the message."
.: FOUR YEARS AGO :.
When he awakens this time, Abuto is gone, the lights are dimmed, and he is short of breath. Wrenching himself from the mattress, Zenshi staggers to the bathroom sink, feeling that his expansive quarters are suddenly too cramped.
He'd dreamt of his father, his family.
He'd dreamt of all the things he tried not to remember.
He'd dreamt of the photo in which, with his father's face posed lovingly next to his own, the two of them looked exactly alike.
He plunges his face into cold water and changes into a simple silk shirt tied with an obi in the midsection and black pants tucked into his scuffed boots. The top is a dull navy blue, like most of his other clothes, and resembles the dark colors worn by most of the Yato save a few. There are the odd days where everyone pulls out their more colorful clothing — the Lunar New Year marks the day where Kamui is not the only one dressed in bright red, for example — but most of the time, the Harusame's 7th Division lacks the bright optimism of a people continuously drenched in rain.
The knock at the door startles him, but only slightly.
"It's unlocked," he calls, staring at himself in the mirror. His hair is wet from splashing his face with water, and sticks damply to his face.
Mei peers into the doorway, the sliding door hissing open.
She is, as usual, donned in her auburn cheongsam, the one with an egret on the skirt. The only other thing she wears is a gray hoodie with matching pants, looking much like one of those Earth girls doing strange yoga-like exercises. Mei often decides to wear that uniform to cabinet meetings, where most of the higher-ups give her dirty looks but don't say anything, but her immediate advisor, Zenshi, has not expressed discontent.
"Zen?" she ventures, dropping formalities as soon as her foot crosses the threshold. Her eyes are genuinely concerned, her mouth set into a thin line. "You okay?"
"Fine," he answers curtly, hands balling into fists.
"Want something to eat? I can run down to the galley."
"No, I'd rather come with."
"All right." She politely steps aside to give him space, despite the fact that she has hardly even entered the room. The jerkiness to her movements signals wariness, and Zenshi feels it immediately.
"You're afraid."
"I'm worried."
He stares at her, but the gaze is limp and pathetic, and she probably knows.
"Hey," she comments brightly, breaking the unspoken disagreement, "I heard Guma is making year cake."
"Is it already that time of the year?" He picks up a towel and runs it through his hair. "How strange."
"Well, I don't know about you," she quips lightly, turning on her heels, "but I'm not missing year cake. You coming?"
He steps out the door after her, noticing nothing but the fact that her orange hair peeks out from beneath the bleached blonde dye.
.: MAY, PRESENT :.
"All right, Lieutenant," Kamui barked, a malicious smile crossing his face. "Are you ready for your first formal assignment?"
"With all due respect, Danchou, I've had my share of first formal assignments."
"As Lieutenant," Kamui insisted.
"Easy, Danchou, easy on the nerves. Lieutenant's a big name on this ship," Abuto cautioned, eyeing the tensions strung tightly between the two young Yato.
"Okay then," agreed Kamui, tossing his braid over his shoulder. "You take Jinlin and a petty officer of your choice on this assignment."
"Understood. And the goal of this assignment?"
Kamui pushed his swivel chair back from the table, pointing at cabin one's massive broadcasting screen. There were multiple camera views of Yoshiwara, the City of the Night. The captain points to Hosen's old palace.
"I need you to first of all, make sure that our administrations—" he was referring to his new position as overlord and the multiple assets he had placed within the city "—and then retrieve something from Hosen's place.
If the Hyakka apprehend you, you have permission to engage in combat, but only for a brief scuffle. No killing, because we need to keep this city."
"Yes, sir. Though it is strange to hear such a command."
Kamui laughed. "There is more than one reason to keep this city."
"Avoid any white-haired samurai," Abuto advised dryly. "You might die."
At this, Kamui shot the vice-captain an accusing glare. He continued, nonetheless.
"You're going to take this," he said, holding out a small, golden statue of a hare, "which is made of fool's gold, and exchange it for the one in Hosen's study. That one is a stolen remnant of Yato history, and there are some important people that would like it back with the least trouble."
"So they asked pirates," snorted Abuto, rolling his eyes.
"They asked us," specified Kamui. He turned. "Do you understand?"
"Aye, aye, captain."
"That's what I like to hear."
Kamui held out the shining, golden rabbit, and with increasing apprehension, the new lieutenant reached out and grabbed it.
She could not say that the daggers digging into her back were not the eyes of her captain, but she could not say that they weren't her own fears either.
Looking out the window, all Mei can see is the looming marble of Earth, growing ever larger with their approach.
This was kind of long.
Kind of hard to write.
What do you mean the Oedo Greater Postal Service doesn't exist?
What do you mean I just named it "Greater Edo Greater Postal Service" phshhs sounds cooler okay?!
BEBOP KAMUI-KUN IS THE GREATEST THING ON ALL PLANETS.