Oh boy, are you guys in luck! I HAVE PROCRASTINATED! Here you have it...
Disclaimer: I don't own any Marude DAme na Ossan's, so obviously Gintama isn't mine.
But Zenshi, Mei, and half the crew you've met are.
Eyes of Wolves
- 56 -
.: NINE YEARS AGO :.
As the Ocentisa school anthem floats lightly through the air — a final ballad of sorts — Zenshi spares a glance at his fellow Yato. There's the quiet, bespectacled boy, who is a secret sadist of sorts. There's the clique of umbrella-wielding girls that follow Rokudo everywhere. There's Rokudo himself, looking abstruse and expressionless, having abdicated his figurative thrown to next year's seniors. And a few people down, there's Mei.
She has never once in their years at this horrid yet lovely school smiled so widely.
.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.
Time was not a line. Time was a mesh of circles and curves and swoops and dives, none of which took him where he wanted to go. The first second was infinitely longer than the next; the third second was affably light, and the fourth was heavy on his shoulders. Years of apathy, stacked on his shoulders, struck him hard in the gut.
An expression never crossed his face.
He only ran, and ran, and ran, hand outstretched, reaching for Kamui.
.: -Kaientai Command Center- SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.
"I sometimes forget you are a Yato." Abuto, conducive to finding his way out of this mess as soon as possible, adopted the most passive tone he could find. Somehow, sarcasm wheedled its way in, and he couldn't help but let a drop slip into his speech. The air was oppressive, confining. Abuto found it difficult to force words from his mouth without having them stuffed back in by the constricting atmosphere. "You haven't lost your touch, have you?"
"One can never be too lax in my world," Linter said. He'd relaxed his threatening stance on the Yato before him, but nevertheless had the entire room under his command. Not a one stirred. "Your orders have been overridden."
"Our orders? We're just cleaning up something silly. The real—"
"Well my orders were along the lines of perish with the Kaientai while the main ship aids the official military invasion and takeover," Tabs interjected vehemently. "And yes, that was happening today, by the way. They were going to start up north in Des Koyasus."
Linter cast a glance at the men loyal to Kamui.
"Son, you didn't need to spill, but I'll thank you for the intel."
.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.
Kamui knew full well how fast Zenshi was moving. There was sullen resentment hanging in the air between them, and if it hadn't been evident enough before, it became clear as day when Zenshi crashed through that barrier and shattered all previously understood peace agreements determined on a level of pride. The younger, red-haired Yato had taken a good slice out of Mei, allowing Zenshi's body slam to misguide his hand.
There was blood, and whether it was Kamui's or Mei's or Zenshi's, no one could tell.
But from the corner of his eye, Zenshi analyzed the surroundings.
Sakamoto, dragging Mutsu by the arm and helping her to regain her breath.
Tsukuyo, slashing left and right until she was just a dizzying blur of black kimono and gold-spun hair.
Mei, whose thin frame crumpled in on itself as she sank to the floor, relatively unharmed in terms of Yato perspectives. The pool of blood that glittered out beneath her were nothing.
"You idiot," she mouthed, "I don't need no savings."
You're dirt poor, he wanted to reply. Of course you need savings.
And then she said something else, but it was inaudible, and Kamui was before him. Suddenly, the world was horizontal and Zenshi must've suffered a heavy blow, because he saw stars inside the ship, floating aimlessly and without destination, in all directions except forward.
.: EIGHTEEN YEARS AGO :.
He knows what it's like to feel blood seep warmly into your hands and your sleeves and your collar. He knows what it's like to shiver and see little asteroids, trickling across his vision in little bubbles.
His right hand covers his right eye; thick, blood-strewn lashes, all a glob of viscous red and white, stroke his palm when he blinks.
Time is forever, even though he counts the seconds with each exhale and each heartbeat.
.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.
He was one the floor for the longest time. Or so he thought. He felt a stream of liquid under his fingers, and he realized that, sprawled across the floor of what used to be a main lounge, Mei was pushing him away from her.
His consciousness gorged on this sight, thrown awry with the metallic scent of Yato blood so directly in his face. Kamui's boot crushed down on Mei's wrist, but Zenshi reached out and grabbed the younger Yato's ankle.
"Wow, I was pretty serious there. You still moving?" Kamui peered down at his former lieutenant. "How're the ribs? I bet you I broke at least four."
Snarling, Zenshi threw himself upwards, leading with his elbow so that he could drive it into Kamui's face. Mei, who had clutched her arm back to her side, sloshed in a pool of blood. Her florid face had paled. It was hard to believe how much was inside a single person's body until it was gone.
"Hey, Zen," she croaked, her face still crushed against the ground. "I'm not dirt poor now, so I don't need any savings."
Zenshi reached for his umbrella, but with a start, realized it wasn't there. Kamui clocked him in the jaw, the small interval of time permitting Zenshi to slightly avoid a direct blow.
"So," continued Mei, fingers wrapping around an object she'd been laying on, "go save that prostitute of yours, okay?"
Zenshi's growl was caught in his throat, his words left behind as the inception of an old persona resurfaced. He let the blue umbrella Mei offered fall into his palm, crimson slicked over the gold insignia that bore his father's family crest.
.: APRIL, FIVE MONTHS AGO :.
He noticed a little bauble that hung on the wind chime. The cat-woman stood guard by the door, wiping down the furniture whilst keeping an eye on him. The old lady had yet to return, and the robot maid came in from time to time to check his wounds.
The window was open. The wind gently brushed through the chimes, sending a summery ring across the small room.
It was sunny, too sunny to be comfortable, but not uncomfortable enough to be sad.
.: -Kaientai Command Center- SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.
"Young man, your name?" Linter promptly knocked out the men that had accompanied Abuto, none of which sported a silver ring. He found a good length of rope and strung them together securely.
"Like that'll be of any use," Abuto snorted.
"It'll give you the split second you need to get yourself out of here," Linter told him. "Yato or not."
Again, he asked for Tabs's name. Abuto was his primary contact, the two having met in one of the Harusame meetings many years back.
"It's Tabs, sir."
"Tabs?" A peculiar name, Linter thought.
"Uh, well, Zhuyi by birth, but everyone calls me Tabs."
"Tabs it is, then. Now, can you connect us to anything out here?"
A glance out the window told the story: the Kaientai had been downed slightly outside the city, in a grassy landscape that opened into miles and miles of desert. However, directly to their left, the north, the enormous city loomed behind lengths of fencing.
"Yes, sir, I sure can."
.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.
Zenshi acknowledged himself as strong. But he also acknowledged Kamui as strong, stronger. There was a difference between talent, effort, and talent plus effort. Kamui embraced his Yato bloodlines with such fluent grace that his every movement was beautiful and deadly all at once. He was not quite a butterfly, the butterfly with poisonous toxins on its wings. No, he was a dragon, hoarding its gold and baring its teeth.
The time Zenshi had overcome Kamui had been a moment of unguarded brevity. There was no way, amongst the blows and the collisions, faster than the regular eye could determine, that a winning strike could be dealt. Zenshi parried and struck, but Kamui also parried and struck. And Kamui hit harder.
There was headstrong eloquence in Kamui's movements. He was a strong, fine curve, from each individual strand of scarlet hair to the slightly feminine lips that identified him as a son and an older brother. Zenshi had size to his advantage, but it did him no good if he wasn't fast enough to use it. Kamui's fingers were knives, cutting straight through fabric and skin and gut. At some point during their exchanges, Zenshi wondered how his innards were not spilling out grotesquely yet. He was sure Kamui had stabbed him enough times to disembowel him completely. Perhaps he was imagining things.
The boy enjoyed the blood that beaded on his neck when Zenshi yawned back, drew his parasol, and shot a bullet that grazed Kamui.
The ship rumbled just as the two landed equal blows on one another. Zenshi introduced his fist to Kamui's nose and Kamui kicked away the older Yato with sharp, brutal force. Zenshi's abdomen screamed, more because all he felt was shrieking tears where Kamui had quite nearly cut him in two. He hit the floor, shoulder blades first, choking on the impact.
Kamui himself backed up against a wall, thrown into his own men, most of whom had either been taken out as collateral damage or successfully countered by Tsukuyo. The blonde courtesan was ducked in a corner, waiting for a chance to pop back out, but slightly relieved that her part had been done. For now, she would worry about the two Yato beating each other to death. The one had a familiar face — Kamui — and had no qualms about throwing Zenshi about.
"You sure are quiet, Zen," whispered Kamui, bracing himself on the wall and wiping his bloody chin. "Get up."
Zenshi's fingers clasped around his umbrella.
"Danchou," he mocked in a low voice, "you don't look so well."
"Get up," hissed Kamui.
Zenshi fired the gun, and the bullet pierced Kamui's thigh, but the other Yato didn't even flinch.
"You know those papers with perforated lines?" Kamui said, sauntering up despite the incorrigible stagger and limp. "You look like one of those. I just have to—" Kamui drew a line with his finger across Zenshi — "tear and fold you a little bit here. And then we'll have a top lieutenant and a bottom lieutenant."
"Danchou," repeated Zenshi. "Perhaps you need to visit the infirmary."
"I always knew I liked you better quiet."
Zenshi could not move, not even when Kamui stepped over him, a foot on either side of his body, crushing his arms under each and immobilizing him.
"You know how I like you best?" asked Kamui. It was as if he was describing how well done he liked his meats, how salty he liked his foods. People were objects. People were tools. But Zenshi had never been a tool, only a questionable if not compliant spy of sorts. Kamui never liked him. But they recognized each other's strengths and knew how to hide secrets as well as pasts.
Kamui's lifts his hand — the fatal blow. And he smiles, because though it is Zenshi, he upholds his pride and his integrity, sending off each and every sinner with an expression of appreciation.
Zenshi mouths how just to humor his former commander.
"Silent."
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^ self-explanatory ^