A/N: Posting this today because I have a flight to catch tomorrow, so I'll be busy all day. Enjoy!
Mitsuri gasped, and her palms burned as her nails drove in along with the bedsheets. The ceiling fan blurred, and it rang in her ears.
After a moment, she swallowed. Her heart gradually quieted down. Someone's warm palms landed gently on her knees, and Obanai grinned at her with glistening lips.
"Well?" He asked mischievously.
Mitsuri stared at him, then squeaked and covered her face with her hands. Her cheeks felt as if they were about to burst from embarrassment. Obanai laughed. The mattress dipped as he scooted closer to her. Without taking the hands away from her face, Mitsuri rolled to the side. As she snuggled to his chest, his hand wrapped her firmly around the shoulders.
The sound of the churning fan interweaved with the traffic coming from the open window. Mitsuri listened to Obanai's breathing, enjoying how he played with her curls. After a while, her hands spread away from her face and traveled across his chest around to his back.
"Obanai?" She whispered into his shirt. He hummed lightly.
"Are you sleeping?"
"No," he chuckled quietly. Mitsuri squeezed his back, pressing him as close to her as possible.
"I'm so glad you're here," she whispered. "I want you, all the time."
His fingers lifted her chin upwards, and Mitsuri felt his lips on hers. She sank into the kiss, a little sour, but consuming and long. When he let go, his lips traveled upwards to her nose, then to her eyelashes. Mitsuri closed her eyes and found his hand.
"Do you have plenty to eat? How much takeout did you have?" Their fingers intertwined.
"I'm not that bad," she felt him murmur into her ear, her hair catching into his mouth. "I made pasta yesterday."
Mitsuri giggled and gave him a reassuring pat. "Oh, I'm so proud," she teased and heard Obanai grumble something incoherent against her neck. She tapped him on the shoulder blade.
"What about sleep? Are you getting enough of it?"
Her neck pricked with goosebumps when his tongue passed over her skin. "Stop asking useless questions." As if to emphasize his point, he bit her gently. Mitsuri wiggled her leg in between his and wrapped him tighter to her.
"What do you expect?" Hugging his head close to her chest, the love hashira watched how the translucent curtains swell with the wind and graze the bed. The skyscrapers glimmered against the dusty sky. "I'm stuck here with my thoughts all day long—"
"A considerable force, I agree," Obanai smirked, passing his hand up and down her hip.
"You're missing the point," Mitsuri sulked as the snake hashira pressed on her hip bone, forcing her to roll onto her back. Her leg unraveled from his and fell lightly on the mattress. Hair scattered, the love hashira gazed upwards at the silent man.
When they were younger, she used to be so bashful. A single look, and her incessant flow of words didn't even make it to her throat.
Mitsuri cupped his face and brushed her thumbs carefully around his scars.
"You came here also to work, didn't you?" There wasn't a direct giveaway, but somehow she always knew. The way he was frowning more than usual, but at the same time not annoyed after he interacted with the rest of their colleagues.
"You saw Kyojuro-san before this, right?"
Now, the heterochromic eyes weren't the ones doing the hypnotizing. Pupils wide, like a snake mesmerized by a mouse, Obanai watched every ripple on her face and flutter of eyelashes. Paralyzed, he allowed her to pull his lips slightly down with her thumbs.
"What is there to work on with Kyojuro-san anyway?"
His shoulders tensed. Her thumbs released his bottom lip quickly.
"No, I mean, I'm glad you talk to other hashiras apart from me," Mitsuri hurried to add, afraid that he'll take it the wrong way. Instantly, the woman felt like kicking herself. Way to go, she blew the seduction.
Her fingers quivered, and she pulled them away when his low voice stopped them midair.
"How can I make it up to you?"
Mitsuri blinked at him. Her lips relaxed into a smile. Guess they could ignore the slip up. Her hands reached and wrapped around his neck.
"Make me feel good."
The mouse swallowed the python.
Although he didn't know this alley of the city, his feet carried him as if he had walked here a million times. His head felt light. The fragrance of her perfume wavered around his nose, and he clung on to it desperately as it slowly disappeared.
The blue light spread across the canvases hung between the garages. Moist and worn out, they swayed dangerously above the young man's head. Trapped within, humidity stretched the air. The electric sparks illuminated the shallow puddles.
His watch vibrated cautiously, reminding him of the demon. Kneeling down, Obanai propped the sagging canvas with his elbow. The unwieldy fabric pressed down on him with all its weight, and he made his way quickly out of it. Straightening out, Obanai glanced over his shoulder. The canvas shook heavily.
Loosening his tie, the snake hashira turned around. Reaching into his inner pocket, the young man took out an origami square made of metal. As his left eye squelched slowly, he unraveled the square into a wave-like form. Taking a hilt from his other pocket, Obanai pieced the katana together and gave it a curt swing. The weapon fit snugly into his palm.
He bumped into Kochou as he entered the room. The first thing he saw was a beaming, blinding smile; then, he felt how his forearms were squeezed by the ridiculously tiny hands.
"Excuse me, Iguro-san." Like always, Mitsuri's friend was too quick for him to do anything, and before he could even collect his senses, the doctor moved him out of the doorway and disappeared.
She changed her perfume to be laced with wisteria, Obanai thought absently as his mind brought back the olfactory memory. It was a little surprising, given the general conservatism among the hashiras.
The cybernetic eyeball twitched inside the socket. Without dropping his pace, Obanai half closed his right eye to get a better view.
The wobbling electric scan displayed an ordinary trash disposal site. A demon was rummaging through the garbage bin. It was probably hoping to find some run-over rats or electrocuted birds.
Sitting in a rotating armchair, the flame hashira looked over his shoulder when Obanai walked in.
"Good morning, Iguro."
Obanai nodded and eyed the small woman standing next to the monitors. The crow mask was pushed up to her forehead, leaving red marks around her cheeks and nose. A cup of steaming tea in her hand, she answered him with a curious glance.
"Kochou told me that you've asked to use the system for a while." Her fingers tapped interchangeably on the cup. "Do you need any help?"
"No," Obanai answered roughly.
"What we're doing is not that big to involve a Crow," Kyojuro added. Smoothing out the situation, like always. Obanai suppressed the uneasy itch; what wasn't typical was Kyojuro glazing over the case.
Ginko shrugged and started down the room. "I've already logged in, so you don't need any passwords. Please be careful with my monitors."
She closed the door quietly behind them.
His eyeball jerked upwards, and layered canvases floated before his vision; Kaburamaru moved his head. The dismal scenery etched in the hashira's mind like a blueprint.
Obanai sat down on the edge of the table next to the monitor. Typing across the touchless keyboard, Kyojuro kept his gaze focused on the screen. The corners of the large square of tape holding small tubes inserted into his arm cut into the skin. To anyone else, his concentration would seem natural. Obanai averted his eyes somewhere towards the edge of the chair.
Pressing his back against the garage, the snake hashira halted movement in his entire body. His trained hearing picked up the unenthusiastic chewing and shuffling. The demonic stench washed out the nearly-gone perfume, and Obanai grimaced.
"This is the profile we currently have on him."
The generated photograph of the demon and columns with demographic information appeared on the monitor. Kyojuro leaned back in the chair and massaged the sling absently.
"The only new pieces of information we obtained since the last encounter was that he was a former Upper Moon Six."
"Do the archives mention anything about it?" Obanai inquired as his eyes traveled across the data without processing it. He knew the statistics by heart at this point.
Strong. Cautious. Decently tall. Nothing like that foolish animal scavenging through the trash pile.
The demon's ears pricked up as the katana swung above its head. The creature whipped around, face ugly from terror. His hands shot up in surrender.
"Spare me—"
The brains splurged from under the blade. As the demon's skull fell apart in two, the hashira drew a single horizontal underneath its chin. The demolished head dropped with a sickening squash on the ground, and the body began crumbling into ash.
Obanai straightened out and lashed his sword to get rid of the blood. Several droplets landed on the canvases, and he remembered that the Lower Level residents asked specifically the Corps to minimize the collateral damage. Oh well, he'll be more careful next time.
Kyojuro shook his head. "I checked them earlier today. The oldest ones date to the Taisho Era, and no mention of the demon. So either he existed before that, or the archives were altered." He paused. "Not entirely implausible given the inconsistencies we've been having with this demon."
Curled around one of the pipes, Kaburamaru flicked his tongue and swayed his head. Walking over, Obanai stroked the snake's head absently. He hated to ask questions during investigations; he liked being the one to solve them much more. That's why just recalling that he rely on Kyojuro for leads made him burn until the roots of his hair.
"When you fought, did anything stand out?" Obanai asked in an even tone. The impulsive desire to have been the hashira that encountered the demon squelched his heart. The flame hashira frowned. Obanai could see how his friend descended back into that night. His nostrils widened as he inhaled deeper than usual.
"I remember being taken aback by his technique. It was hard to grasp." His shoulders relaxed, and Kyojuro laughed uneasily. "I could be just thinking things up."
At that, Obanai raised his eyebrows. Most demons fought in a way that was tailored to their powers or physique, and after years of being a demon slayer, he had seen pretty much everything. Kyojuro winced. He also seemed unsatisfied with his observation.
"AB only used two blood arts, the wings and the feather projectiles," he said, more to himself than Obanai. "The rest was…" Kyojuro didn't finish. The snake hashira was silent, not wanting to spook his friend's chain of thought. He personally thought they were going in a dead-ended direction, but it's not like they had a lot to work from anyways.
A dead-ended direction?
Embarrassment consumed him head to toe.
Kaburamaru glanced up in confusion as he felt his owner's composure shift. Obanai stared at the canvases swaying before him. When his watch lit up, the young man swallowed the knot in his throat and looked down. There was another demon about two blocks away. Kaburamaru barely managed to slide down onto his shoulders when the hashira started down the alley.
"One moment." Kyojuro rolled up to the monitor. His forehead wrinkled. "Let's do a breakdown of his movements. If he adheres to specific techniques, there's a possibility we can scrub something about his persona."
"Perhaps." Obanai crossed his arms over his chest. "But will it lead us out to his hideout?"
The flame hashira chuckled mirthlessly. The bright block of the footage reflected in his eyes. "I doubt it." He turned his head and gave a small smile. "But at least we'll know something about him."
Exhaust gas burst from under his feet, and Obanai covered his face with his elbow.
An A.I. avatar appeared on the screen when Kyojuro double tapped the keyboard.
"HB-370," the bot politely introduced itself. "How may I help you?"
"Identify which techniques the demon uses," Kyojuro ordered curtly.
"On it, sir."
"They're not worth such consideration," Obanai commented as the bot worked on the data. Kyojuro glimpsed at him.
"What?"
"The demons' pasts." The snake hashira watched how the images from the footage ran across the screen. "Even though it has a direct influence on their fighting styles, everything comes down to strength."
"It's not entirely obsolete," Kyojuro replied after a short pause. "The past may hold the demon's psychological pressure points..."
"As if you're going to do a quick history search of the demon during a fight," Obanai interrupted. Kyojuro smirked softly.
"You're right. But we can test it out with this one."
Someone cleared its throat inside the monitor, and both hashiras looked back at the screen. The footage was scrolled back and paused at 00:00:00. The little bot hovered next to the duration bar.
"I've classified all the movements and included short descriptions too," the A.I. explained proudly. "Would you like me to read them out loud?"
"That's unnecessary, thank you." Kyojuro leaned forward. His cursor lingered at the highlighted time stamps. "Kenjutsu, aikijutsu, kung fu…"
Obanai shifted on the table as he found a comfortable angle to regard the monitor. He peered at the screen, eyes darting through the categories. They halted at one of the later time stamps.
«13:09:46 Twist of the ankle, a figure pertaining to betsujiutsu, a technique that originated in the 12th battalion during the Continental War of 2453.»
"Rengoku," Obanai called, suspicious. "Look at this."
"Hmmm?" Kyojuro leaned over and read the description quickly. He blinked, and the snake hashira could see the gears turning in his colleague's head.
"The Continental War? That was fifty years ago."
Obanai's own mind beat rapidly; the piece of information caught him unaware, and now his brain was searching for possible links. Not finding any, he searched impatiently down the time stamps.
"Let's see what else is here… 14:33:00, diagonal feet work with weight over heels, developed by Ishii Matsumoto. Hey, you," he raised his voice to the bot. "Who's Ishii Matsumoto?"
"A mercenary who worked for the Japanese, Korean, and Chinese governments," the bot replied instantly. "His notable enterprises are the Coup of 2164, Sakhalin Maneuver from 2170-73, and participation in sub-aqua warfare development in the 2180s. At its peak, his unit consisted of 10,000 people."
"That's four centuries ago." Obanai instinctively reached out with his hand to pet Kaburamaru, but realized that he had sent his snake to scout the patrol district.
The second demon was not much more difficult than the first. Avoiding the steadily expanding puddle of blood, Kaburamaru slithered curiously around the crumbling corpse. Sitting on one of the overturned crates, Obanai wiped the sword with his handkerchief. The blood was mixed with some form of adhesive secretions, and it wasn't getting off the blade. He regarded the disheveled mass in front of him. 23:07:18 A derivation from a practice exercises used by the Special Forces in the early twenty-first century
30:00:01 Unclear, as the movement is done in air, but resembles the fifth figure from Itto-ha-ryu, a sword style practiced from 13th to 17th centuries.
31:43:06-32:01:58 Unclear, but resembles the now extinct Tenshin Shoden Katorin Shinto-ryu which developed in the fifteenth century and persisted until the twenty first century
35:30:11 Unclear. Possibly Mugen-ryu, a sword technique used mostly during the Sengoku Period
His grip tightened, and the blade pressed into his palm through the handkerchief. After the footage of AB-4527, the small fry demons seemed even more laughable. His lips curled involuntarily into a bitter grimace. The small fry demons were the number one death of rookie demon slayers.
A demon that has served in the military for almost one thousand centuries.
They sat in stunned silence as the screen glimmered between them. In complete loss, Obanai tried to picture the Sengoku Era. Nothing but blurry prehistoric ink drawings came to his mind.
"No wonder two hashiras were not enough."
That sudden statement shook Obanai from his stupor. Straightening his shoulders, the snake hashira looked at the flame hashira.
"Don't even think about bringing anyone else to the case," he said harshly. Kyojuro glanced at him, and irritation flashed in his eyes.
"Of course not." Obanai could hear the frustration in these words. He bristled, but before he could retort, the flame hashira turned around and faced him directly. "But how do you plan on taking him down? In terms of strength, he's beat us by all parameters. And you can't deny that," he added. Obanai clicked his tongue, disliking the insinuation in that statement but didn't say anything. He looked at the screen, trying to find anything that could give him a clue.
Technique names, movements, wars…
Obanai stood up and proceeded down the alley. Kaburamaru slid after him obediently. He didn't like the solution he came up with. It went against his methods.
"We could build a profile."
Kyojuro stared at him, before narrowing his eyes warily. "I don't follow."
Obanai touched the screen next to one of the time stamps. "The Continental War was only fifty years ago. There are still veterans left from that time. Not to mention other recent wars."
"Tens of thousands of people, if not millions, were involved in these conflicts." Kyojuro didn't argue, just voiced out considerations. Obanai was aware of that and being reminded of just how thin his proposition was vexed him.
"How can you guarantee that we'll find the ones that fought with him?"
Obanai dropped his hand. "I can't."
Kyojuro regarded him for another whole minute, then sighed. His shoulders slouched, and Obanai could tell just how defeated he was by the entire situation.
"You're right, it works for a start."
"Do you have anything better?" Obanai couldn't help himself; the bitter words left his mouth before he could think about them. Kyojuro flinched slightly, and the snake hashira regretted his rudeness.
"No… no."
Obanai squeezed his fist with his hand. After a beat, he lifted off the table.
"I'll check with the active military. You can pay a visit to the life extension center that's at Kaunan. There's bound to be some veterans there." Some deep part of him wanted to wish the flame hashira to get some rest, but that was way too out of character for him. He simply left.
He originally didn't plan to see Mitsuri after he visited Kyojuro. Obanai was afraid she, with her inexplicable intuition, would pick up on something, and, in the end, she did. The snake hashira began making his way to the other red dot that lit up on the screen. However, after what he found out with Kyo, he had to lose himself in her.
No matter how much AB-4527 hid the evidence about himself, he seemed to have left traces in not only street cameras and news reels which could be easily hacked and falsified.
The demon's head fell on the ground as Obanai sliced his blade. Hoisted on top of a broken traffic sign, Kaburamaru hissed in satisfaction.
AB-4527 remained in human memories.
A/N:If there is anything I did not expect when I began writing this fic, it's how enjoyable I would find the Kyojuro, Obanai, and Mitsuri dynamic. Unlike from other hashiras, I feel that there is so much genuine friendship and tenderness, even with Obanai's occasionally nasty personality, between the three. Because in comparison to the major dynamic, Giyuu, Sanemi, and Shinobu, there is far less hurt. Mitsuri's and Kyojuro's optimistic, hopeful personalities play a huge role as well. I calm down whenever I write about Kyojuro because he just reminds me of a big comforting teddy bear.
(... all in relation to this story, of course)
And the first scene… well, I won't say anything because such scenes are better left unsaid :)) I did like adding an extra tag though xD
Another week, another update! I hope you have been enjoying this, and thank you for reading! Feedback is greatly appreciated :)