Chapter 49

Saturday Shopping

Kyoko sighed. Conscientiously refraining from checking the phone in her pocket, she walked up to the counter. A greasy-haired boy stared at her through the thick lenses of his glasses. Frowning, the redhead took an instant dislike to him. He was obviously older than her, but the lank hair and stooped posture made him seem much, much younger.

Not to mention that pathetic outfit, she thought to herself, in a bit of a mood.

The man-boy swallowed, steeling himself as she approached the counter. "Can I-"

She tossed a crumpled bill to the counter. "Change." The man flattened the bill, his eyes widening at the denomination.

"W-would you like t-ten one-thousand, or five two-thousand, or two-"

"Surprise me," Kyoko said, bored with the math. The damn machines wouldn't accept any of the other bills she had left from the wad of cash that wasn't currently stashed away in her secret place. As she watched the man begin to exchange the money, she allowed herself a brief moment to contemplate her situation.

For the first hour or two, it had actually been fun. Her heart had been heavy, up until the moment she had turned and headed off toward her newly appointed destination, the Mitakihara Mall. As the annoying clenching feeling around her stomach dissipated, the veteran realized how hungry she was. She'd kind of had this image in the back of her mind that Sayaka would sneak her some of the food her mother undoubtedly prepared for the family, just before she herself snuck out the window.

Hadn't quite worked out like that, though.

Mustering all of her self-restraint, she'd moved on. Kyoko wasn't used to feeling worried, and this particular situation was intolerable. But… what could she do? Feeling helpless, and hating herself for it, the redhead took a deep breath and spun on her heels, walking towards the commercial district.

It was a long walk, but Kyoko never even considered the bus. It was a beautiful, if chilly, morning, and she was used to traveling under her own power. She kept a sharp eye out for anything, but all thoughts were forgotten when she caught a whiff coming from a bakery that must have been just around the corner.

Perking up, Kyoko eagerly swallowed the saliva that had flooded her mouth, the target in clear sight. She'd approached, feeling ravenous, but upon opening the door had been dismayed by the size of the line in front of her.

Glancing down at the glass which held the delicious smelling treasures, she did a double take. Adorable, smiling faces looked up at her with black, cartoonish eyes. Cats and bears and pigs and frogs and something she was sure was supposed to be a panda. Frosted, glazed, iced and decorated donuts so adorable-looking she would literally eat them up.

The clerk had looked at her incredulously as she'd ordered the entire tray, plus a hot cinnamon bun slathered with icing and a liter of citrus soda to wash it down with, her ideal complete breakfast… except for- "Do you have any bacon?"

The woman gave the redhead an odd look. "Ah, no, sorry." She cracked a wry, wrinkled smile. "Is that for here, or to go?"

Kyoko looked around, seeing that only one of the several small tables scattered throughout the shop was occupied. "Both."

"...Both?" the woman asked, confused. It was early, and she'd perhaps been a little too subtle with the sarcasm.

"Half bagged, leave the rest. I'll take the drink," she stated obviously, having immediately cracked it open.

"You're going to eat twelve-" The older woman cut herself off. It was none of her business, but kids these days were such fools. Eyes larger than their stomachs; self-absorbed gluttons who didn't know the meaning of austerity. She'd been further annoyed when the redhead handed her a ten-thousand yen note to pay. "I can't make change for this!" she protested, not strictly true, but it would make her dangerously low on one-thousand yen bills she'd need for the other customers.

Frowning, Kyoko dug out another bill, peering carefully before stuffing it back, only to draw another. This one she handed to the woman behind the counter, who was by now growing suspicious about this raggedly-dressed teenager digging out large amounts of cash from her pockets. The redhead noticed, and tried to disarm the woman with her widest smile. The clerk paled, shakily handing her the change.

The clerk moved on to the next customer, pretending to completely ignore the strange, evil-smiling girl as she processed the order with just a little less efficiency than usual. From the corner of her eye, she'd seen the redhead picking up one of the frosted rings, staring at the cute little face and the content smile before biting into it. The girl had no manners whatsoever, at one point actually cramming the last inch or so of donut into her mouth with the heel of her hand.

The woman behind the counter could only shake her head. Rapidly, over the course of eight minutes, the dozen donuts had all but disappeared, and two-thirds of the soda had been drained from the bottle.

A brief lull allowed the woman to get a better look at the strange customer, pretending to wipe down the spotless counter-her patrons knew better than to get their greasy hands all over her display glass. She worked her way over to the corner where the girl sat, facing the storefront windows but staring at the white donut she held in her hands. It was one of the first this shop had perfected, a white-frosted cat with wide-set eyes and one of those cute little anime double-smiles.

The girl muttered something, and then quick as a snake bent her head forward to tear off a hunk of the pastry, ripping her head away violently in a spray of crumbs and frosting. Even from behind, the tendons along her jaw stood out, teeth gnashing together. Her hand clenched around the remaining, now faceless, donut until it squished through her fingers.

The woman slowly, carefully backed away, deciding it was time to check on her next batch back in the kitchen.

Twenty minutes later, still licking white frosting from between her fingers, Kyoko entered the arcade with a box full of donuts under one arm, letting its splendor wash over her.

An immense, dim room lit up with flashing lights, glowing screens and luminescent paint across the walls and ceiling gave the place a sense of darkness, even as the sun outside was approaching its zenith. The carpeted floor was well-worn, and the obnoxious, clattering noise coming from multiple machines created a familiar symphony of chaos that made her look around eagerly, uncertain where to begin.

She fought in a tournament of mortal combat, and blew her way to victory on a life-sized replica of Kaneda's racing bike. Zombies fell to her pink, plastic gun and she drew a small audience as she head-shotted her way through the infested zoo. The motion-sensor based sword game was the best she'd played, and she spent several thousand yen cutting down her opponents.

But by then, things had already begun to get old.

She couldn't understand it, and tried throwing herself into more games with reckless abandon. Car racing, dinosaur hunting, spaceship flying. The only thing she didn't play were the ticket games; something about paying money to play a game to acquire fake money to buy something worth much less than the money you'd originally paid to play the game… it just didn't seem right.

Plus, you had to interact with whoever was behind the counter.

Then, something caught her eye. She approached the plexiglass cube, looking down into the bin of plush animals, assessing. Crouching down, she glanced up into the top of the machine, estimating the maneuverability of the claw that hung poised, ready to drop down and clamp around her target. Nodding to herself, she felt her pockets; no coins, no tokens. Flipping through her remaining money, Kyoko realized that she needed change; she was down to her ten-thousand yen bills, and the token machines only accepted smaller denominations.

This is a fun problem to have, the veteran thought to herself. I can't play anymore because I have too much money. With a smug half-smile, she approached the nervous looking kid standing behind the counter filled with crappy prizes, feeling invigorated with a fresh sense of purpose. Even if the goal was winning a stuffed animal.

Pausing to catch her breath, Sayaka glanced back up toward her room. No screams of panic or cries of rage, no fist-waving father leaning out the window demanding that she return. Shrugging, she didn't really know what to think about the apparent ease of her escape. Her nerves were alive with a familiar lightning intensity, the pulse beating in her ears making her feel like she was really alive. She almost craved for something dramatic to unfold…

Stupid tricky zombie body, she thought, but the feeling was half-hearted. She had her doubts about the accuracy of that idea, now, and even if that was just hopeful delusion… It was hard to hate herself, knowing that a stubborn redhead, ah, appreciated her. So much. And so… Whew, Sayaka half-thought, feeling suddenly and distinctly warm under her light jacket.

She was free!

An incredible smile seemed to split her face in two. Hitching up her jeans and adjusting the already-heavy backpack, she set off, hugging the edge of the building just to be safe. At the end of the block, she stopped suddenly.

What do I do now?

Kyoko stopped enjoying the arcade an hour before she'd left it. The thing of it was, at that point she had two pockets overflowing with tokens. As her shirt and shorts sagged under the weight, she couldn't help wondering if if would have been better paying as she'd went. But with a pocket full of the shorter bills, she'd plopped in two rumpled five-thousand yen notes, astounded and grinning as the machine had spat out a stream, a river, a flood of tokens. She'd had to lift her green sweatshirt up at the bottom to create a makeshift container, carrying her haul to a corner before divvying it up into strategic pockets.

She wiggled her hips uncomfortably, the controls of the robot she currently piloted requiring both hands. Her back pockets bulged with their recently reassigned contents. It had been a struggle to make room, but it would suck pulling out a bottle cap when the damn timers counted down to Game Over: 4...3…2...

Scratching her chin along her shoulder, Kyoko fired the final volley of missiles, watching the pinpoint explosions blossom into a spherical nova of death. She heard a muted curse from across the machine, snarling in satisfaction as she approached her fallen opponent. Standing over his corpse, knowing that his point of view would be looking straight up from the point of his demise, she began to repeatedly crouch down over the enemy robot's charred husk. Stand, crouch, stand, crouch.

"Wow, really? Is that necessary?" the cursing voice asked, a college-ish looking male who'd been playing versus the computer before she'd challenged him. A small group of onlookers who'd gathered were applauding; someone hooted derisively.

Continuing to mash the command for crouching, the redhead reached down to scratch a long-suffered itch along her leg. "I am the victor, and to the victor go the spoils." She'd heard that somewhere, and it sounded about right.

The man got up to leave. "Hey, you don't wanna buy some of these tokens, do ya?" she blurted, suddenly inspired with the idea. He looked at her in confusion, shaking his head. She raised her eyebrows, jangling the coins in her pocket.

"Jerk," she muttered, turning away as the man left without another word. She eyed the DanceVocaloidDance machine for around the hundredth time in a few hours, but the side-by-side screens and danceboards made her feel uncomfortable. Wistful. And, if she was honest with herself, there was some regret mixed in there as well.

Shaking her head, she walked over to the claw machine. She patted her left jacket pocket, feeling the soft, crumpled form of her first prize, safe and sound. Focusing, not thinking about how maybe, Sayaka not only couldn't call her, she wouldn't. That she was in Big Time Trouble and that it was in every waymy fault-

Dammit, exactly what I don't want to think about! Snarling, she pumped in several tokens, staring with a ferocious intensity. Maneuvering the claw into position, she let it drop down, watching with the eyes of a predator as it pounced upon its prey.

Forty minutes later, holding nearly two dozen plush toys, Kyoko exited the arcade. Her stomach was tingly with nervousness. It was time for action, time to do something. If only they'd set up some pre-arranged meeting pla-

Dashing across the crowded mall, Kyoko paused momentarily in the food court to approach a table where a middle-aged woman sat with her young daughters and a baby. With her least intimidating smile, she offered the stuffed animals to the children. Getting no response, she tossed her armload at the table, heedless of the plates of rice and egg. "Hey!" the woman shouted, more annoyed than upset, nearly drowned out by the cheers of the two little girls.

The redhead was already in motion, drawing a few stares as she abruptly stopped, spinning around and returning to the table. The woman looked afraid momentarily, but this quickly changed to annoyance as Kyoko sifted through the pile of animals, retrieving two of them and snatching another out of the hands of one of the girls before stuffing them under her arm. The veteran hastily making her way through the high-ceilinged building at a swift lope.

She skidded to a stop just beyond the automatic doors, glancing around absolutely certain that she'd see that shock of familiar blue hair…

But, no. Of course not, she thought to herself. Maybe she just couldn't see her… glancing side to side, the veteran walked around, but other than the usual assortment of Saturday afternoon shoppers, nothing drew her attention.

Kyoko caught something out of the corner of her eye from an entrance further down the building, but as she spun her head it was too late. That long, black hair… well, this was Japan, after all. Lots of girls had long, black hair. And it couldn't have been her, she was walking with someone, and Homura is a diehard loner.

Think, Kyoko, think! she thought, pounding her forehead with a clenched fist, drawing more than one concerned glance from passers-by. Ugh, this is so annoying. Here she was, temporarily rich, on a Saturday at the mall, completely free… and she wasn't enjoying it. Stupid. Frowning, she closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. Digging out her phone, she typed in: You ok?

Staring at the phone, thumb poised above the Send button, she had a strange moment of self-doubt. Like, maybe she should let Sayaka get in touch with her, first. Kyoko had no idea what sort of consequences her poor blunette was dealing with right now, but she was certain that, whatever was happening, it probably wasn't pleasant. Tough it out, she thought. To Sayaka, but mostly to herself.

Carefully, she erased the text.

Well, since I don't have shit to do… what's another place she might go, if she were to get away, hypothetically? Smiling, Kyoko decided to try a specific park, which happened to be on the way to a certain best friend's house, which wasn't too far from a particular school… Lots of places to explore. It might eat up the rest of the afternoon! And, thinking of eating...

Homura's lips were compressed into a tight line, her face even paler than usual. As she strode through the crowds, she couldn't keep her eyes from meekly staring at the floor, feeling uncharacteristically nervous about the glances, the looks, the stares-

"Hey, little lily," the woman at her side said, a trace of sing-song in her voice. Homura looked up as she felt Junko bump into her playfully. "Relax, you should be enjoying yourself! It's not every day you get to go shopping for a new wardrobe." The purple-haired woman sighed, thinking about tossing out the majority of what was in her closet. Starting all over was very appealing, and definitely justification for a massive spending spree.

But, she reminded herself, today wasn't about her.

Perplexed, she observed the young woman at her side; the tenseness, the sense of unease. "Psst!" she whispered, drawing the girl's attention and a little yip of surprise as she gave her a quick pinch. "If you're worried about people seeing us, don't. We're nothing more than a boss and an assistant, doing some business-related shopping, no different from dozens of other pairs and partners here today." Junko pointed out several examples, invariably aging or outright elderly men in expensive suits, followed by subservient, often pretty young women.

Homura's eyes narrowed for a moment, until she felt a comforting arm slide across her shoulder. "Come on, my lily, turn that frown upside down!" Her arm lingered for a moment. "That will be your first official duty; be a good sport about this!" Junko smiled widely, liking her own idea immensely.

"I don't actually begin until Monday, so it's not really official…"

"Don't be silly. You began the moment you signed the application. I've just been too nice to use it against you."

Homura couldn't keep a grin from creeping out behind her mask, and the brilliant purple eyes staring down at her sparkled with delight at the transformation. "I am starting to realize that I may come to regret working under you."

Junko shook her head sadly, giving the black-haired girl a look of mock-pity. "Oh you poor thing, that thought never occurred to you before now?" She clicked her tongue. "Such a shame, and here I thought you were the smart one."

Homura laughed lightly, ending with a thoughtful look. "What do you mean, the 'smart one'?" she asked, narrowly avoiding a collision with a large-waisted consumer. She had to raise her voice; there was a droning buzz as they walked past the food court, and with a well-practiced scan noticed nothing more interesting than a table full of stuffed animals filled with crying children among the early lunch crowd.

Junko leaned in; Homura was pretty sure she was using the background noise as an excuse to get so close, but the woman's arm was still around her and the gentle squeeze to her shoulder sent an electric thrill course across her skin. "Well," she began, the heat of her breath causing an errant strand of raven-black hair to twitch, "amongst your little ringed gang, Madoka is the nice one, right? Sakura Kyoko is definitely the wild one." Homura nodded in confirmation, thinking it a fair assessment. "You're the smart one!"

"But not the beautiful one?" Homura asked, less than half-serious. Mostly, she wanted to avoid the whole 'ring gang' idea. She was flattered at the woman's comment; her intellect was something Junko had repeatedly commented on. In some ways, it was a match made in heaven; Junko loved to tell stories about the world, and more specifically her own experiences, and Homura had an insatiable appetite to learn and a tremendous capacity for patient questioning.

Junko glanced at her, looking shocked. "Oh wow, you're totally guilting me right now. My gorgeous little lily, making me feel bad so that I buy her all sorts of presents to make up for hurting her precious feelings-" Smiling, Junko dodged the half-hearted punch Homura threw at her arm, feeling pleased with her nimbleness. "Oh no, I can feel it working! Must… buy… presents-"

Feeling color blossoming in her pale cheeks, Homura shook her head in exasperation, trying to hide her smile with the long fan of black hair. The older woman grabbed her hand, tugging her along. "What about Miki-san?"

The purple-haired woman turned her head, shooting the girl she dragged a grin. "Excellent subject change. Miki Sayaka… well, she's…" Junko paused. Homura had made little effort to hide her dislike of the blunette originally, but had been pleasant to the girl the night before. "Sayaka has been a good friend to Madoka, mostly, but she's just so… so hopelessly average."

Homura stayed silent, digesting this. "She means well, I suppose, but… well, take that Kamijou boy for an example. Years, pining away, so obviously smitten, and she lets Hitomi snatch him away without a fight." Junko shook her head in disapproval. "Madoka told me most of how it played out, and the rest was easy to guess, reading between the lines." She glanced at Homura, two shades of purple meeting amidst the furor of the crowded walkways. "Life lesson: nobody's going to think you matter unless you think you matter."

Perversely, Homura felt an urge to defend the blunette. "But… that night, when I first, ah, came over…"

Junko shook her head. "Everyone feels bad about themselves, or the world, or what they think the world has done to them. Sometimes, at least. But at that moment, Homura," she stated, using the real name as she did when she was at her most serious, "I felt the fire inside you, that burning combination of determination and desire some people call drive but what I see as potential. Potential to become better, to improve yourself. Maybe improve the world, if that's your kind of thing." She smiled wickedly; some of her favorite conversations with Homura were about ethics and the meaning of right and wrong, good and evil, and if there were such things to begin with. She shrugged. "Sayaka has strong feelings, and her heart is in the right place… but as the saying goes, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. Feeling strongly about something is not at all the same as going out and doing something about it."

Homura couldn't understand it; this chain of conversation was vaguely discomforting. She was amazed at how well the woman's perceptions matched her own… but they were the perceptions of days ago, already feeling outdated.

Junko waited, seeing the struggle playing out across her fine-featured companion. As the black-haired girl leaned closer to her, Junko obligingly lowered her head, not certain what to expect. "I'm feeling strongly about something, and want to do something about it," Homura whispered, and the tone of her voice and the feel of her breath sent shivers down the purple-haired woman's spine.

Junko had learned not to bring up the idea of fate; after she'd broached the subject, Homura had displayed an abhorrence for any notion of predeterminism, and had clammed up for half an hour before she'd gotten her to smile again. But, strangely, wondrously… she couldn't help feeling like this was somehow destiny. The way they clicked, complimented one another, was almost magical.

Shaking her head at her own stupidity, Sayaka stopped. She'd walked around her block, with some idiotic notion that she'd run into the lounging figure of Kyoko, patiently, or more likely impatiently, waiting for her arrival.

It's been, what, two hours? Three? I wouldn't have waited around that long, Sayaka thought to herself, even though she knew it was a lie. She would have waited forever. But there's no way Kyoko could have known she was going to get kicked out of her house. Or run away. She couldn't decide which option to go with; they were both somewhat true, but as she considered them, she felt both sounded pretty horrible.

She didn't feel horrible. It was almost like an adventure.

The Quest for Kyoko-kun, she thought to herself, giggling.

She turned in the direction of Mitakihara Mall, thinking about breakfast and a place where a video game obsessed redhead might spend some time. A window across the alley, eye-level, drew her attention almost magnetically. She stared; the glass was broken, a pattern of spiderwebbed cracks running across it hypnotizing her. The cracks, the pattern… something about it was worse than the Runes in a Barrier. It was horrible. Disorienting. She felt nauseous. Tearing her gaze away, she staggered a step, immediately recovering. Blinking vigorously, she hesitantly glanced at the shattered window. Just a broken window. Nothing strange… but even as she looked, the twisting, jagged pattern of the broken shards of glass began to pull her in, a feeling of intense disquiet verging on horror-

What is wrong with me? It's just a stupid window. She shut her eyes tightly. Just a stupid-

A sharp, icy pain distracted her from the crushing sense of dread. It was more an ache than a stab, but Sayaka nervously glanced at her ring, stumbling as she fled the alley. Her gem, when she'd checked it, had been cloudy, but not dangerously so. She'd poured a lot of energy into Madoka's attempted super-attack, more and more while the girl waited, all for nothing. Afterward, lying in bed waiting for her parents, she'd examined the Soul Gem, surprised at how murky it had gotten. She'd barely used much of her energy, other than slaying a few familiars and the failed Madoka experiment.

Okay, what do I need? she considered, trying to calm racing heart as she walked across the street. Another, stubborn part of her was thinking: It had to be that attack. Or something to do with Madoka's powers. Because, if not, that meant… what? My gem is leaking?

Shutting down that train of thought, she considered her immediate situation. She needed to hook up with Kyoko again. She needed… everything. She had two changes of clothes, her schoolbooks and uniform, and a few essential hygiene products.

And a Hello Kitty wallet with around two thousand yen.

All I need, she thought, trying to encourage herself. For the next few days, at least. Then… well, one problem at a time.

Trying to shake off the remnant feeling of dread, Sayaka picked up her pace, jogging down the sidewalk without a backward glance at her family home.

Homura emerged from the dressing room, cheeks flushed and hair slightly disheveled. Behind her, another figure emerged. Junko had graciously offered to help the girl fit into the unfamiliar clothes, some of which required, according to her, "Expert adjustment."

The multiple, angled full-length mirrors in the common area could not be beat, however, and once everything was in it's proper place, the purple-haired woman had forced Homura back out into the store.

It does look pretty good, Homura acknowledged, just a tiny trace of self-confident smugness flavoring the thought. It was unfamiliar, and instantly addictive.

Junko cradled her chin between thumb and forefinger, standing back to admire the overall effect.

Homura looked years older. Back straight, she swayed only slightly on the modestly-heeled black shoes. The white button-up blouse was as soft as silk, with a similar sheen, and she wore black slacks with a thin white belt, and a black jacket. Everything had a strange European sounding name.

This was her third outfit. It had taken an amazing amount of time, and trial and error, for Junko to decide on exactly the right outfits. She had a skirt with dark hose stockings, and a pair of naughty-looking fishnet stockings thrown in, as well as another, lighter suit. Not to mention several blouses and two pairs of shoes.

Junko had practically demanded she get five pairs of shoes, but Homura had refused, already embarrassed at the exorbitant wealth being displayed and knowing she'd find the one pair she liked and wear them all the time anyway.

"You're sure this won't seem… pretentious?" Homura asked. It seemed a little overkill, for an assistant. Not that she was complaining-

"Dress for the job you want, not the job you have," Junko muttered She glanced significantly at the clerk who'd been helping them, who was dressed rather casually in a sweater. The clerk, blushing and muttering, excused herself to gather the tailoring equipment. "That's essentially the definition of pretentious. Or at least, a real-world example," she added, knowing full well Homura's preference for unexaggerated opinions. "In a good way."

The woman came back with cloth tape measures, chalky pencils and scissors, and a whole lot of pins sticking out of a wristband she wore. The woman had Homura stand on a small stool, and the next twenty minutes were comprised of standing still, getting poked and occasionally groped and a few times outright stabbed with a pin.

When she got to the mall, Sayaka decided to walk to the arcade first, despite the gnawing hunger that was making concentration difficult. The smell of the food court was amazing, but more pressing concerns required her immediate attention.

Unfortunately, the arcade had been empty of the person she'd been looking for. She decided to do a quick walk-through of the mall, just in case. Her first stop had been the entrance where they'd met the day before, again without success. In the back of her mind, she couldn't help wondering. Surely, there were probably tons of things Kyoko would want to do, taking advantage of a little alone time. It might not be a case of her finding Kyoko, but of waiting until Kyoko came looking for her.

Mitakihara was, after all, a pretty big place. Regretfully, she wished she had taken her phone.

Feeling suddenly overwhelmed, Sayaka paused, taking in her surroundings. All the lights and colors and chattering people having pleasant conversations, everyone seemingly happy, probably with homes to go home to filled with family and food…

Her stomach growled. Sighing, she turned to go back towards the food court when she happened to glance inside a fancy clothing shop, her eyes stopping on the pale, raven-haired girl that stared back in surprise before disappearing back into the room. What the hell? Homura?

"Alright, I'll get started on these right away," the tailor stated, and Homura took the cue, grateful to have this particular ordeal over with, and more than a little excited to see the finished products. Just as she walked through the dressing area's doorway, her eyes locked in on a crystal-blue gaze that looked at her through the window with a look of startled amazement.

Shit.

Homura backpedaled, gently but firmly pushing Junko and the tailor back into the room. Junko looked at her questioningly. "It's Miki Sayaka. She saw me."

"Excuse me," the tailor said, barely polite as she tried to step past the customer who'd so rudely pushed her.

"Stay where you are," Junko hissed, and the woman stopped. "She saw you, eh? Well, the whole backing away thing will certainly pique her interest. I'm just your new boss, after all, getting you prepared for the job… but if it looks like you were hiding something… hmmm." Homura could see the thoughts play across the beautiful woman's face; Sayaka, telling Madoka, who'd have questions… if nothing else, her daughter would feel upset at having been left out. At worst...

Junko's face lit up, obviously with a brilliant idea. "Got it. Here," she handed Homura her platinum credit card, and the tailor's eyes bulged at the sight. Her boss never gave anyone his credit card. Glancing at the tailor, she added "She has my permission to use this, alright?" Receiving the necessary nod of understanding, Junko held her hand up in the air. Homura stared at it for a moment, before raising her own hand and giving it a half-hearted slap. "It will have to do, although you'll need to be ready for that kind of thing, if we're going to be working together." Junko smiled, and when she half spun to walk away, her hand darted up and was instantly slapped by the black-haired girl.

Wincing, rubbing her aching palm, Junko flashed a pained smile. "Much better. We'll split up. Wish me luck," she added, crouching as she moved toward the door labeled Emergency Exit. An intense purple stare held the tailor's eyes, and Junko asked, "Does this trigger an alarm?"

Helplessly, the tailor shrugged. "I've never-"

"Useless," Junko muttered under her breath. Out loud, she said, "Thank you so much for your help, and Homura will pay you when the alterations are complete. Plus, anything else that tickles her fancy." Conspiratorially, covering her lips with a hand, she whispered to the tailor, "Not to exceed a hundred-thousand yen." Finally, as an afterthought, she firmly stated "I was never here."

Then, trusting in whatever force seemed to shield her from life's consequences whenever she acted definitively and boldly in the face of overwhelming odds, she slammed into the door, which popped open with a creak. No alarm. Smiling, Junko gave a brief wave at her young protege, and then took off down the concrete hallway, into the bowels of the mall.

Homura swallowed.

A note about currency: Roughly, a yen is worth about a cent, American. So 10,000 yen is like 100 dollars. Also, 2,000 yen notes are rare, like $2 American I guess, but in the psychofuture Japan realizes the utility of having a denomination like the $20. Imagine life without $20 bills! Insanity!

Your reviews, as always, are amazing to read and intensely gratifying. Your thoughts and feelings and guesses and ideas are something I treasure immensely. Thanks so much for interest and feedback; I'm glad if you're enjoying this half as much as I am (half of which, truth be told, comes from reading your responses).