So I have a thing for S!Tsukki and cray cray sauce Zen.
BY THE WAY
SOME SCENES ILLUSTRATED ON MY DEVIANTART. :D
Disclamer: Could it be...you're A YATOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO?!
Gori-sensei you troLL I LOVE YOU.
Gintama is yours, through and through. Wouldn't have it any other way.
Eyes of Wolves
- 23 -
.: FOUR YEARS AGO :.
"Your arrival is certainly surprising," Admiral Abo says. The false inflection in his voice is typical of his attempts to ingratiate himself amongst the powerful and famous. His every move, however, is seen through by his guest.
"I happened to pass by," the man says nonchalantly.
"But what business does a man such as yourself have with the Harusame? From what I've heard, you tend to stay away from groups such as ourselves." The admiral smiles, sickeningly sweet. The other man, however, is inscrutable with his subtle nods and nonchalant ease of expression.
"Typically, no," he agrees, not quite oblique but not quite clear, either. "Personally, I find the Harusame to be an extraordinary preeminence in the galaxies. But at the same time, I must admit that with regards to morality and integrity, I hardly approve."
"Coming from you, that's quite interesting." Admiral Abo must think he's a skilled speaker if he can one-up this guest.
"Aside from petulant children and presumptuous neophytes for captains, the Harusame seem to be faring quite well." The man sauntered past the door, where the captains had exited and assembled their men. "I, on the other hand, have no fear of others undermining my intentions. I have no reason to hire a crew of yes-men."
"No?" responds Abo, bristling slightly.
"No," affirms the man, motioning to his secretary, who scuttles along after him with precise, quick steps. "To my ship, please."
"Yes, of course," says the bespectacled woman, motioning to a few others, who seem to be in charge of the man's ship.
"Well, it was nice of you to join us," Admiral Abo says as the man departs. "We would hope to see you once again, in the future."
The man turns.
"Don't hold your breath, Admiral, because I'm not holding mine." He raises a hand in salutation and exits the space station.
As he exits, the man walks briskly past several crewmen, most of whom regard him with surprise and vague recognition. As his diplomatic entourage marches regally past the docked ships, he casts a glance at the 7th Division.
From a distance, he spies a few Yato casting him momentary salutes before returning to their duties. He nods in approval, to himself.
He boards his ship, and as the floating sun that passes through this galactic region like wandering cattle rises from nowhere, he props his dark blue parasol on his shoulder. Distantly, he watches the 7th Division ship alongside his own until it parts ways, wondering with little amusement if one of the men in the bridge opposite his has an umbrella engraved with his name.
.: JUNE, PRESENT :.
"I was told," Mutsu said, just as she left, "to give this to you."
She handed him an envelope.
"From the embassy," she explained.
.: ELEVEN YEARS AGO :.
He is the quietest of the Yato, but the most perceptive and studious. He doesn't pick fights, but he's not exactly popular either. The other Yato, besides the few that attempt to talk to him — the famous Linter's son — and Mei, who doesn't fit in anywhere else — due to her more than delinquent attitude — there are few that find themselves in his presence.
The day Mei discovers that the quiet, brooding son of a politician is actually truly Yato is the day before the all-school assembly. The school itself is situated on a small, green planet divided into 50% greenhouse and 50% eco-friendly city. One moment, the land will be a flourishing, nearly tropical glade, and the next few acres over will be full of glass buildings and high-tech metro lines. Mostly known for the Omega Centauri Intergalactic Space Academy, dubbed "Ocentisa" for short, the planet is more often than not called "Ocengreen" rather than its native title, which is rather difficult to pronounce.
The all school assembly's most arduous task is most likely the fitting of the entire student body into the capital city's center auditorium. With over seven thousand Amanto of different shapes, sizes, and origins to account for, the trip from the boarding school's numerous apartment dorms to the speech arena itself is daunting.
In this colossal effort, students are arranged by planet and race — putting all the Inuisei, the Yato, the Dakini, the Shinra, even the Gorilla race together. Each race is fitted with their own traditional apparel, albeit in the school colors of gold, blue, and black (or white, depending on the event). Their typical uniforms, which are simply white collared tops emblazoned with the school's crest — a phoenix in flight surrounded by stars — in gold, with dark slacks or skirts. Some Amanto have such bizarre forms that their uniforms are modified, but the standards is standard, and bequeaths ultimate uniformity upon the students.
"I hate this," hisses Mei. "I hate all of this."
"You are the most pessimistic person I've ever met," complains one of her few friends, a slim Inuisei girl. Unfortunately, her race of dog-people are sequestered at the east row of buses, while the Yato are a ways away in the opposite direction. "It'll be fine if you just zone out or something."
"That's the point," Mei replies indignantly. "It's boring, and zoning out is boring."
"What, do you need fireworks?" snorts her friend, crinkling her muzzle. She pats Mei on the shoulder with a slender paw. "Just chill."
Mei rolls her eyes, but falls in line after her roommates, all of whom are Yato. There aren't many Yato, and though their numbers are small, they aren't the cozy, homey time of people. They are, by definition, the ultimate clique.
By far, they are the strongest race in the entire school, but the group of seven that usually adhere to one another like burrs are arrogant and condescending. Their leader is, quite unsurprisingly, the son of another politician. He's one of the rare Yato whose parents are not either pirates or businesspeople or simply hits for hire. Most girls follow him with strange, magnetic attractions, but he is, quote Mei, "an ass-kissing bastard."
Nevertheless, they're all put together for the assembly, and there's nothing she can do about it.
"You reek," Mei actually spits to his face as they step on the bus.
"I'm sorry?" he answers, with mock politeness. His name, she knows, is Rokudo, but she calls him "Weed" just to get on his nerves. Mei has that quality, evidently. "I'm sorry, did you want me to punch you?"
He's also very straightforward, like the antagonizing girl with the bright orange hair that sneers at him from her seat.
With his short temper, Rokudo takes a swing — and realizes that someone has caught his wrist and is currently about to break it.
"Sit down," Zenshi says brusquely. The tense silence locks them in an impasse, and Rokudo can either instigate the fight with the first blow or quietly comply. At this point, though the two boys are similar in height and build, Rokudo is arguably the strongest student in the entire school, the Yato cunning and blood thirst streaking through his veins like lightning. However, he is smart, and thus lowers his hand. Zenshi's grip reveals and immediate bruise, which Rokudo is imperious enough to ignore.
"Can you move any slower?" hisses Mei when he sits next to her, pushed by the next class.
"Possibly." He is silent for most of the bus ride not exactly inert but simply retracting into his aloof self. He is far from comfortable with the rancid aura emitting pure anger from a few seats behind him.
He never picks fights, but it doesn't mean everyone likes him.
.: JUNE, PRESENT :.
Zenshi tucked the envelope into his sleeve so that no one would see. After the Kaientai had long gone, he did not say much of the deal except a brief, "Don't count your eggs before they've hatched," which did nothing but leave Tsukuyo with a befuddled, irate expression.
"The Yato are plannin' to get rid of us. Sarutobi's sources place them in Sciuttla for a long period of time. I'm goin' to free this city."
You want to play the heroine, he thought rigidly.
"I'm not holding my breath."
.: MAY, TWO WEEKS AGO :.
She studied the silhouette of Yoshiwara's buildings with a comfortable quietude that melded her own shadows into the night. The faint wisp of smoke trailing from her pipe faded to nothing in the soft breeze, letting the gentle currents recant their whistling voices with the perfumes of red lights and Yoshiwaran penchants.
"Question number eleven," she said to the sprawling city before her. "Did you have any friends?"
Zenshi scoffed. "How rude," he quibbled lightly.
"Ya make me rephrase every single question," she complained, letting smoke dribble upwards from her lips.
"It's an exercise," he reasoned. "For your sake."
"For my sake?" It was Tsukuyo's turn to scoff, but she did so with a miniscule smile. "How rude."
"I can't take my turn unless you rephrase your question." They'd been playing the game slowly, a question for both of them every night, or two every now and then. Tsukuyo had the habit of stringing together almost insulting questions, intruding inquisitions that would have made any other opponent uncomfortable.
Zenshi, however, battled her verve with amusement.
"Did you," Tsukuyo pronounced carefully, "have any partic'larly close friends while in the Harusame?"
He was fond of the way she said particularly, lacing her sentences with her classic accent despite the attention she paid to her words.
"One," he said. "I'd venture to say two, maybe three at most."
"Who?"
"You wouldn't know them. And that's another question."
"That doesn't count."
"That would be the twentieth one we haven't counted."
She turned then, and since her back was to the lights and the rooftop they currently occupied was tucked in the dark backdrop of the city, he couldn't see her face. He did, however, see a glimmer of a smile.
.: ELEVEN YEARS AGO :.
Rokudo's fist connects with his jaw as soon as they walk into the auditorium. Zenshi finds himself sprawled in an ungainly fashion across the center arena, where a large, circular platform adorned with several microphones and wide broadcast screens has been erected. Comparable to a Roman coliseum on Earth, the rounded, amphitheatre-ring hybrid was open enough for all to see the young sixteen-year-old Yato rolling in the dirt.
"That was for earlier," Rokudo leered, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulder.
"You're an idiot," Mei says.
"And why is that?"
But Mei doesn't know either. She has never seen her stoic classmate ever really react to anything with more than a withering glare.
"Get back in the aisles!" calls a supervisor, attempting to herd the few that have broken from line format and have followed Zenshi into the ring, mistakenly believing it to be a jovial activity.
Zenshi is standing; he rubs his chin without so much as a grimace, but instead an exasperated sigh escapes his lips. He stands with his usual rectitude and stringent stoniness.
"You there, the Yato," calls an instructor. "Please return to yo—"
Zenshi brushes briskly past the teacher and then—
And then trips?
Mei yelps when he falls past her, landing face down in the aisle of slowly moving Amanto students inching along the way to their seats.
The instructor, startled, immediately demands to know what happened. Very quickly, the government teacher descends from the bleachers and comes alongside to investigate, trading confused snips of conversation with the general instructor in a foreign language.
As if on cue, Mei feigns a horrified sob and points at Rokudo, who begins to register subtle surprise and shock.
"Did you punch him into the arena? I saw him fly down here," says the teacher, shaking his head. "Come here, young man." A frown. "Rokudo, you didn't just hit your classmate, did you?"
He pulls Rokudo forth.
The Yato, almost by instinct, swings his arm and clocks the teacher hard in the chin with his elbow. Their regular teacher, a kindly middle-aged Amanto with humanlike appearances and a tendency to wear colorful ties, hits the floor, and the entire student section ripples into silence with a collective gasp.
"That was," Zenshi says with deliberate languidness, "probably my favorite teacher."
He lurches to his feet and his fist finds Rokudo's face before the bullet finds his shoulder.
you have experienced teenage!Zenshi.
also: Rokudo is a dick.
plus: I'm trying to write more ZenTsu GAH IT'S HARD MAN
I have so much I want to develop
but it's the type of fanfic that people are like "this is so unrealistic wtf" and then you all disappear like poooof.
less than three = heart :)
EDIT: I changed the Ocentisa crest because I doodled a cool phoenix...