Slightly longer today.
FUN FACTS!
Ch. 26: You didn't happen to recognize "America the Beautiful" parodied, did you? *sings Ocentisa into the distance*
Ch. 26: Yes, Mei was singing a parody of "December, 1963 (Oh, What a Night)" by the Four Seasons.
Ch. 26: Jean Rostrand's quote was inspired by an SnK tumblr post. It comes from Thoughts of a Biologist, 1938.
DISCLAIMER: Jugem-Jugem Poop Throwing Machine Shin-chan's Day Before Yesterday Underwear Shinpachi's Life Balmunk Fezarion Isaac Schneider One Thirds Pure Feeling Two Thirds Worried-Over-A-Hangnail Feeling Though Betrayal Knows My Name Or Does It ?I Know The Unknown The Cuttlefish Tastes Kind Of Different Than It Did Last Time Because It Was Caught Near The Pond And Served With Oil From A Hoofed Mammal, Pepepepepepepepepepepe Take Care From Here On In Please And Finally The End Bichigu Somaru
belongs to the one and only Sorachi Hideaki.
Eyes of Wolves
- 27 -
.: MAY, TWO WEEKS AGO :.
"This…is a dessert?" The befuddled half smile on Tsukuyo's face was at once amusing and tentative, as if someone had just suggested something risqué. She chewed. "I had expected a dinner appetizer or somethin'."
Zenshi tilted his head to the side, and she watched the degree to which he yawned his head back and smiled briefly. He asked her, without ever saying a word, what she thought.
"It's actually real good," she admitted, admiring the strange juicy yet jellylike texture of the dish. "It's just like the type of fruit jelly ya see on shaved ice. Except more mild, to make a whole dessert."
He propped up his chin on his hands, an enervated little smirk playing across his face.
"I think Seita would like this." Sometimes, Tsukuyo grew wary of doing all the talking. She changed the subject and continued, nonetheless. "So you made this?"
"Space jelly doesn't turn into fruit jelly by itself," he reasoned blandly.
"Hmm." Now she was simply uncomfortable because he was watching her eat. Rather ungracefully, she shoved the plate toward him and procured a second set of utensils. Before he could open his mouth, she snapped at him. "Don't argue, just eat it."
And for once, he abided in his nonchalant silence, never objecting.
.: ELEVEN YEARS AGO :.
Rokudo has an eccentric, unstable personality, but he learns to stay away from Zenshi. It is Mei and her Inuisei friend, Kougi, who find the two of them sprawled in the main hall of the western dorms, covered in blood. The roommates in fifty-three had long since fled in panicked escape, running frightened arcs until they hit the northern dorms, where they were discovered huddling in lounge sofas.
Zenshi leans against the wall, sitting with one leg extended and one leg folded beneath him. It's not comfortable, but he can't move the leg, so there's no helping it. Rokudo had brutally chanced a shot at his gut, going for a thick slice, but instead he struck Zenshi's middle thigh so hard that something cracked, and now the dark-haired Yato is adamantly against moving it.
Rokudo, on the other hand, has a broken nose, a broken cheekbone, a broken collarbone and a big gash up his left forearm, and a viciously sprained ankle. He lies face down on the repetitively patterned dorm carpet, which lines the hallways in redundant squares of blue and black.
The girls attempt to roll Rokudo over into a supine state, but he protests loudly with half-conscious groans. Though Mei doesn't reserve a warm spot in her heart for the boy, she's not unkind.
"Don't move me," the Yato boy moans in a gargle. "Don't."
"I can't tell whose blood it is," Kougi whimpers, patting Rokudo's face gently with a kerchief when they roll him over. The Yato's voice breaks in a strangled cry when the canine girl wipes his broken nose clean of blood. "I think it's Rokudo's. Zenshi doesn't seem to be bleeding."
"No, he is." Mei speaks in a whisper, and gestures towards the boy propped against the wall, overwhelmed and spent. Her eyes drop to Zenshi's left hand, which is cradled motionlessly in his lap. When Kougi looks closer, she gasps in a half bark and half whine. There is a pocketknife embedded in Zenshi's hand, bleeding rather profusely, and yet the boy just sits there as if it had been a part of him since birth. That, too, remains stubbornly immobile, and he continues to lull around uncomfortably in that position.
"You've called the supervisors, right?"
"I have," Mei assured her friend. However, more focused on the two injured subjects, points out the gash on Rokudo's left arm, presumably from the same knife. She deduces that since both are right-handed, they would naturally use that hand to attack the straight side of their opponent — hence Rokudo's left arm injury and the knife stuck in Zenshi's left hand.
The medics come in urgent fashion, organized but appalled. Zenshi is so out of it he nearly snarls at the nurse that tries to help him up, throwing his hand out so savagely that the knife is wrenched from his flesh and thickly stabs in the direct center of a random portrait lining the hall. Mei is reminded of a wounded wild animal, defensive and wary, its ears laid flat back on his head and lips curled up in a growl.
Even so, he relents eventually, his face going perfectly blank when they help him onto a stretcher. Rokudo just moans the entire time, and even when they are carted off, Mei and Kougi continue to stare.
"I always thought he was the quiet one," Kougi whispers.
"Me too," replies Mei.
.: JUNE, PRESENT :.
"So, how's Mei doing? I heard you two are coworkers," chirped Kougi, one of her ears flickering forward.
"Coworkers," echoed Zenshi, glancing up from the letters. "I guess you could say so."
"How's it going?" She didn't intrude, only inquired.
"I have, to say the least, branched out on my own." To put it in pleasant terms. "Last I heard, she was doing well, promoted, actually."
He thought this to himself wryly, recalling their esteemed Lieutenant Mei. How Mei must have enjoyed that title. She would, undoubtedly, use it to its full extent. He wasn't sure he wanted to open her letter though, not just yet.
"That sounds great!" chimed Kougi, always one for optimism. "Anyway, anything else you need?"
Zenshi flipped through his newly acquired documents before stuffing them in his sleeve. "No, that's it. Thanks."
"Anytime. Have a good one." She smiled her dog smile. Zenshi offered a curt nod in return, turning to weave past the masses of people inching forward in line. Once outside, he swung his umbrella overhead and found a quiet street corner to address the contents of Umibouzu's letter.
Oedo Central Terminal.
Zenshi stepped out of the alley's shade to look down the clear street, where the concentric circles of communities converged their roads to one point: The gigantic space-earth transfer structure that loomed high above all the skyscrapers, ominous and profound.
.: MAY, TWO WEEKS AGO :.
"What is this?" Seita snorted, poking at the space-jelly.
"Dessert," Tsukuyo replied. "Eat it."
"It's actually good," Hinowa prompted. "I tried."
"Well you guys have weird taste buds, I don't believe you." Seita folded his arms, staring dubiously at the gelatinous confection. "And why are you all staring at me?"
They were, in fact, seated at the dining table in stilted silence. Zenshi, for one, was perfectly content with the quietude, dipping a teabag into hot water and observing people as he typically did. Tsukuyo smoked her pipe, her perpetual glare softened until Seita questioned the perfection that was space-jellyfish's tongue.
"Maybe we shouldn't have told him it was space dessert," Hinowa whispered.
"He'll deal," Tsukuyo told the dark-haired courtesan simply. "Besides, we don't get dessert often."
"Would you like to try Omega Centauri filet mignon instead?" suggested Zenshi monotonously. "It's made of space cow's third quadrant tenderloin."
"Third…quadrant?"
"They have ten legs."
"They what?!"
.: JUNE, PRESENT :.
He knew that reading while walking was probably not the best idea, but curiosity eventually pulled Mei's letter from his sleeve and opened up a page of neat, blocked handwriting.
I don't know where you are, but I hope you get this. You hate intros, so here: Abuto says to take a short leave from Yoshiwara. Something about Umibouzu. If you leave, the Harusame won't terrorize Yoshiwara. If you're not there, our attention will be diverted, and you can probably return sometime later. I, for one, didn't know you were there. A heads-up would've been nice.
One thing: a letter from Sciuttla was bypassed in a security breach. I let it through as the new head of negotiations (which sucks, by the way) so I'm probably in deep trouble. So when you're done reading it (as well as this letter) burn everything.
There's also a warrant out for your head throughout all Harusame divisions, so watch out for Daraku. He's an idiot though, so I guess you don't have to worry much.
I hate your job, like, what the hell is this? I don't talk to people and I don't do the papers, I just give them to you.
Anyway. Tabs misses your silent company and wishes I'd shut up. Actually, the entire crew wishes I'd shut up. I pulled the seniority and rank card a couple times. It's actually really fun.
But stay away from Yoshiwara. All we need is a month or two, and then…well I can't actually tell you, this is something classified. You'll see.
Mei.
As he finished, he bumped shoulders with a man walking the opposite direction. Zenshi felt a sharp spasm of his own murderous intent, and balked sideways, whipping around to find the trigger. Between the confusion of Mei's vague reference to "something classified" and an unidentified "we," the dangerous aura jumbled his senses and threw him off guard. It had come to abruptly that he could hardly react.
"Sorry," said the man who crossed paths with him. "My bad."
"No, not at all," replied Zenshi.
The man, whose wavy brown hair obscures much of his expression, smiled through thin lips and narrowed eyes. Then he turned and walked away, leaving Zenshi with the impression of a spider retreating into the corners of its web.
.: ELEVEN YEARS AGO :.
"You have a crack in your femur bone, a sprained knee, and your — your hand!" Mei grabs his arm and gestures incredulously to the bandaged bundle that was his palm. Zenshi sits with an irritating sort of calm, mostly bothered by his slovenly appearance in hospital gowns. Ocentisa has its own wing of the hospital, given the fact that the school hosts thousands of prone-to-accident Amanto children. Intergalactic League A sports often result in several concussions and broken bones, hence the entire team of students currently settled in the same room.
His hair is disheveled, and falls across his face in messy disorder. His usual braid, which falls loosely down his back, has completely come loose, and it simply drapes across his shoulders like sad curtains of black.
"I never realized you had such long hair," Mei notes arbitrarily.
Zenshi shoots her an accusing glare through his eyes only, and she shrugs. Mei herself has tangerine orange hair that falls past her waist. She can even sit on it. Typically, she puts it in an elaborate updo braid or simply lets it hang in a loose ponytail — so that, she claims, she can whip people with it.
"It's as if it magically appeared when out of its braid," she continues in mock wonder. "Do you ever think of cutting it?"
"Are you asking me or yourself?" he deadpans, leaning back into the pillows. He briefly wonders where Rokudo is, for he's obviously not housed in the same room. The other Yato apparently went on a homicidal rage, nearly killing a few nurses before someone stuck a thick syringe of tranquilizer into his arm.
He must be crazy, echoes repeatedly.
"Maybe both," Mei quips, sitting on the edge of his bed. "So Kougi and I were saying, we should throw you a recovery party. Like, not a 'congrats you're better!' party, but more like a 'newly hospitalized party!' just for giggles."
"Lovely," he murmurs, though he can't kick her because she's sitting nearly on his injured left leg.
Kougi trots into the room then, half of a bright smile paralyzed on her hound-like features.
"I just saw Rokudo," she barks lightly. "He's wrapped up like a mummy and is out like a light."
"Good for him," Mei and Zenshi reply in unison. The former throws the boy a narrow glare, but Zenshi simply lets his head fall into the pillows, wondering when and how the peppy conversation of these two girls will transfer its energy to himself.
It rarely happens, but he's grateful for the fact that they cheer him up on their own time.
.: MAY, TWO WEEKS AGO :.
There was another point in the week where they made a pleasant little voyage to the space market. In fact, Zenshi was thoroughly pleased when Tsukuyo was the one to suggest it — on the claims of "tryin' the cuisines of diff'rent cultures, of course."
That day, unfortunately, turned out to be the forecasted day of rain that Hinowa had mentioned earlier. The clouds came like the advent of the weather god's rage, and the flash storm caught them by surprise. Tsukuyo, cursing their lack of planning, dove underneath the wide span of Zenshi's umbrella. Shopkeepers stowed their stands and outdoor ads with impressive efficiency, rolling away within seconds of the downpour.
The two eventually huddled within the small parlor overhang of a little dango shop, Zenshi finally able to retract his umbrella. While he remained relatively dry, under the constant guard of his sun-shielding parasol, Tsukuyo was drenched, having been wandering a ways away when the rain hit angrily. Her hair clung to her face and she shivered miserably, despite the obvious efforts to suppress her discomfort.
Wordlessly, Zenshi unwrapped his usual cloak from his shoulders and draped it over the tense blonde courtesan.
"I don't—"
"Want to catch a cold," he finished, repudiating her stubbornness.
So they sat there, waiting out the storm, tucked under a roof but excluded from the warmth inside the closed shop. Eventually, lulled by the constant patter of rain and thunder, the two of them sat in the dark, leaning against one another and waiting for the sun.
AND INTO THE MYSTERY.
Well, I got more ZenTsu moments, like I promised and planned. Please tell me what you think! Too fast, too slow, too...?!
AND SOMEONE MADE A CAMEO
oH MY JUGEM JUGEM
MY ICHIGO GUNYUU
It's...?!