Transmission #9-0-6-2 Addendum "Dog Daze"
Subject: Inuzuka, Kiba
Location: Right where he's supposed to be
Temperament: Volatile
Occupation: At this moment, trying to be a good boy
A sharp press of a canine presses into the fleshy part of his lip. Like a dagger, it pricked, dug, and edged away a bit of the skin little by little till the tang of copper hits his senses. Hands balled and fidgeted within his jacket pockets, his foot bounced up and down on the kick-start of his bike, and Kiba tried to look every other way to make it seem he wasn't paying attention. Hard not to; the Fangs have enough Zainichi in their ranks that Kiba knew enough Korean to understand what was being said. Muddled by the Northern slang, he managed to pick up every other word the blockheaded xaptain was complaining about.
He wanted more security along the waterfront. Three companies were moving into position, and they needed the cover. Kiba wanted to shut the ass down - the man was complaining about all the picayune shit only a hard-ass really got bogged down with. Ammo wasn't an issue, there was plenty of it on the south shore. Metro PD didn't have the manpower to cover all the entry points both on the river and under it. And forming a command center at the Fangs warehouse? Absofuckinglutely not. Considering how Kiba just got pulled, that should be the last place anyone should set up shop. Probably as many bugs in there, than fleas on Ginta.
Still, Major Blow-hard over here wanted things by the book.
Guy was a veteran of the Chinese advance through the peninsula. Both when the Kwantung army was pushed out in '45, and later in '52 ousting the remnants of the Rhee dictatorship. Zabuza could respect the man for his service, but that was about it; being former IJA, Momochi wasn't a huge fan of peninsula dogs.
Kiba would've loved to fucking drop this charade and leave these assholes to fend for themselves. But Zabuza - the Alpha told him to keep his mouth shut; Gato wanted - needed - the notoriety to die down. Only a little; the show of force at the precinct was a justifiable application of what the little mafioso deemed "appropriate force". Still, the little prince needed to be careful; Gato was only going to front the bill for so long.
"I don't need that kid of yours to be waffling between being a simple pain-in-my-ass, and a fucking liability, Tsume." Gato says in their last meeting. Just after Kiba got picked up fro the precinct, the little man and his private guard were already waiting at the warehouse by the time Tsume and The Fangs showed. He wasn't pissed, he said. Only perturbed. And wanted to se the record straight just spoke there weren't any more misunderstandings in the future.
The acrid stink of a cigarette wafts in the air when Gato decides to light one up; Kuromaru - Tsume's erstwhile companion, and the only male to never truly leave her - slinks off with the rest of the pack to the kennels; the dog ever minded the smell of nicotine. "Everyone gets one: that's my deal. But this is it - no more Get-Out-Of-Jail Cards."
"Fair: I run the same sort of set-up, too, Gato. And you got your 'one'. Appreciate you sending Payne to get Kiba, but don't you ever fucking presume to call him a liability again. Or think you're the one to 'handle' him, either." Tsume snarls through her chapped lips. "Ballsy of you to come down here and say that to my face. I can at least respect you for that."
"Jesus - Keep it in your damn pants, Tsume! I'm not here for a fucking pissing contest. This goes for not only him: you, me - we all got to be careful. Benefactor we're working with ain't one for patience. Or fuck-ups." Gato paces between his two bodyguards - two foppish cutthroats by the names of Waraji and Zori; Kiba pegged them long before as not being able to guard a door knob, but put weapons in their hands and they look intimidating enough. "Warranted or unwarranted, Metro PD is going to be slinging shit at us like their monkeys in a cage. We need to haul as much material across the water, with as little interference as can be managed."
Tsume put her hands in her pockets, and pretended like Gato wasn't there, like he weren't nothing, not a thing. She snorts, before hawking a loogie at the cold concrete floor. "You got us working with the goddamn enemy, and there hasn't been one incident of us ripping heads or tearing assholes. Safe to suggest, I think we've been behaving pretty goddamn well in spite of it all."
"You need to stop with that fucking attitude. Right fucking now. What they plan on giving us shpuld more than makeup for whatever misplaced sense of pride you all have for a government that hands you all a few veteran meal stamps, and a monthyl allowance not good enough to even but a pot to piss in.. So quit being indignant and biting the hand that feeds. Which still happens to be THIS one!"
The little man throws up a hand and puffs our a thick plume of cheap smelling nicotine. Kiba's nose rankles at it, but he was told specificslly to jeep his mouth shut; Tsune had amade a point telling her wayward son no matter what is said, no matter what Gato does, Kiba was going to he a good boy and take it.
He shrugged his mother off and asks when the hell The Fangs took EVERY order from the Bando group. "When did we all of a sudden become Gato's lapdogs?"
Tsume didn't answer her son then. Only telling him he didn't need to respect Gato, just her. And if he knew what was good for him, if he wanted to continue operating around here with a clean sheet, then Kiba WAS going to obey mother's orders.
Or else be stuck abiding by Zabuza's.
Which is where Kiba finds himself now in this piss-stinking, dreary, hobo's wet-dream of an alleyway on the Sumida's northern side. Cold as sin tonight by the waterway tunnel, and as stifling as a fat hooker's tits. Kiba is constantly cracking his knuckles to keep the blood flowing lest his fingers go numb in his cheap calfskin leather. The gloves were ratty and torn and won in a poker game Kiba cheated to win at. "Fuckin' hell," he curses under his breath.
He should've opted for the whiskey instead.
"지난번에 사람들이 하차를 처리하도록 했을 때 메트로 경찰이 몰래 들어왔습니다." The Zainichi captain barks, his combat boots crunching on the broken glass strewn at his feet.
"Ugh, for fuck's sa - How many times do I need to tell this guy, she weren't no goddamn cop. She was one of the Old Man's. One of the flower-tenders from the Emperor's garden."
"난 상관없어요 - 당신이 물건을 조심하고 있다는 걸 믿지 않아요. 경비병을 두 배로 늘리겠습다!"
"Doubling the guard isn't gonna do shit, but slow the entire operation down. You want this done quick and easy, then keep to the damn schedule and quit the bitching." Zabuza waves his finger along the harbor front, detailing the amount of Metro patrol boats that had started combing the waterways since the Ginza attack.
"나는 당신을 믿지 않는다!"
"I don't fucking care if you don't trust me or not. Long as your ass is on this side of the river, you keep your damn mouth shut and listen to people who know. Or you're gonna be on the last boats over there. Can fucking promise you that."
The Zainichi captain had a hair across his ass, and a hard look about his block-face. Zabuza didn't like him, nor did Kiba; he was too straight-laced, too uptight froths foraging along the Yalu between China and Korea. Friends on paper, yes, but not enough that Mao and Kim trusted each other. If the news cycle in the ROJ was abuzz with everything going on behind the Fourth Internationale's closed doors, imagine the hell was going on in the bed itself. Made Zabuza smile every time he heard it.
Or at least give everyone the impression he was smiling behind his bandages.
Man like to stay glued to the television in their wreck room back at the warehouse. Could stay there for hours just listening to the news. At first, Kiba thought he was just sweet on Yuhi-san like every other dog with a bone. But every time Momochi heard anything of the riots happening in the Soviet eastern republics, of the Czech Spring in Prague, or the Syndicalist French being turned into ground meat in Morocco, he would be stone still like a pillar of salt God fashioned for punishment; Sodom and Gomorrah were real for the former Rikugun-Tai-i, and it was anything on the tv recounting the misfortune of his enemies.
Was a German word used to describe that kind of pleasure. Schaudenfraden...? Schadenfleegan...?
"Schadenfreude." For anyone other Japanese person, the word would've sounded a jumble of awkward sounds and dissonant syllables which shouldn't ever go together. Yet, to Haku everything and anything sounded like it was wrapped in silk, and daubed in the sweetest smelling perfume.
Partly, because the man himself was always dressed accordingly in that regard.
After their jaunt across the water, Zabuza's contingent made its way back through the Akatsuki tunnels. Kiba still couldn't believe there was practically an entire frigging city underneath Tokyo. The roar of their engines rattled against the drab concrete, and the slick puddles strewn here and their rippled as their Kawada rip-offs of the Harley Roadster's trekked on by. Kind of made Kiba feel like he and their group of seven were like some roaming band of knights delving deep into some forgotten dungeon. When he told Haku that after making it back to Metro the young man chuckled.
"You always did fashion yourself like some sort of hero." Haku chided, pinching at the younger boy's cheek. "What Hana thinks makes you so adorable."
"Quit it! I'm in no mood - besides, food's here. Keep your hands to yourself."
"There was a time when you weren't so worried about what other people thought of you. But, alas, puberty does a terrible thing to our attitudes and bodies." Haku graciously thanks Teuchi for his large bowl of ramen; spicy garlic with the beef and chicken, no fish, and with plenty of scallions. Just the way he preferred it. "You need a girlfriend. Instead of hanging out with me all the time. A companion can sometimes offer us a perspective in order to grow."
"Like you and Zabuza?"
Haku smiles his unnervingly pleasant, easy smile, a little beam of light which could entrance any, and disarm pretty much all who come too close. Tonight he says was an "off" night for him, so all he wore was the sleek winter coat with the fur mantle about the hood, a form fitting, strapless green dress underneath to accentuate the almost hourglass shape of his body, and Testa heels the shape of ice-picks. Haku did well to hide the hard edges of his well-toned muscles - an itimidating surprise for any mark he'd spend the night with.
"Zabuza helped me in more ways than I could've ever thought. Because he was so broken himself, it allowed me to learn from his example. Fix the better part of me which in the end allowed me to be...well...'me'. I'd like to think in some way, I can do the same for him eventually. Little by little he lets his guard down, but, Kiba, men like him - like you - need someone beyond your dogs."
"Aw, c'mon; Zabuza doesn't see you like one of our mutts. You're more feminine than half the hookers walking Kabukicho. Where one half have all the attitude of my mom - which is great for a hard-on, by the way. And the other with squealing, high-pitched voices begging to give you a bath." Kiba snorts, nodding to Teuchi as he throws a coin down for the man's trouble.
"Big Mom's girls have a tendency to overdo it with the cleaning... Then again, you do need a bath. What? You know it's true; Akamaru's got better hygiene than you do. You're turning into the smelly kid in class, and no matter how charming your fancies, no girl will find that attractive."
Woof!*
"Says you who just got done licking your own ass." Kiba remarks over to his companion in the hog's passenger cart.
Haku twiddles his chopsticks around with elegant grace, effortlessly jabbing at the slabs of beef floating in the broth. "You know, for a while I honestly did think he saw me as nothing more than a quirky little pet. He'd fed me, pet me, train me. And because of that, for a time I did wonder if maybe there was nothing more to our relationship than a matter of simple transaction. But when I got to your age, I realized it no longer mattered to me if it was: for I was already happy. About who I am, what I am, and where I was. Now? It's about him, and what I can do and be for our Alpha."
"Think our Alpha is just looking for another bone to break his teeth on. Guy's never looked more content than when he's doing Gato's dirty work now- despite all his bitching about working with the Zainichi. And there I am riding behind him with my tail between my legs." Never minding the chopsticks, Kiba simply grabs the bowl and tips it into his mouth.
"I remember when your father died, how saddened Zabuza was when it occurred. He was upset he couldn't have been there with him by his side."
Kiba snorts into his bowl. "Then he would've been Swissed like cheese on the steps of city hall."
"Doesn't matter - Zabuza loved your father. Very much." Kiba puts down the bowl down when Haku says this, hits him with a marked look. "Not like that. But in a manner, perhaps stronger. One day I hope to feel an iota of something close to that. Or, judging by Momochi-san, maybe that would be unwise."
"Hate to say it, I don't think love is in the cards for people like you and me." Kiba says sadly
"How so?"
"Cus we're the bad guys."
Haku doesn't answer right away. He just gives Kiba a long, knowing look across the weathered wooden counter of Ichiraku's. Outside, the street hums with life—cars rolling past, neon signs flickering in the drizzle—but here, in this quiet pocket of the city, it feels like they're the only two people left in the world.
"Coming from you, that's a sad thing to hear," Haku finally says.
"It's the truth." Kiba idly picks a piece of chicken from his noodles and flicks it to Akamaru, who snaps it up without hesitation. "Mom only wants what's owed to the gang since Pops died. Used to think she was tough for never talking about it. No one did. We just kept getting angrier and angrier. And now…" He shakes his head. "Now I wonder if all that did was just make us forget what Dad actually wanted for the club."
Haku studies him for a moment. "You sound so sure this isn't it."
"It ain't."
Kiba doesn't say anything else, and Haku doesn't push. They just sit there, rain tapping against the ramen stand's awning, the city moving on without them.
Poetic, he thinks.
Kiba always envisioned the club being this last hideout of a forgotten type of loyalty, a brotherhood Tokyo had foregone or left behind. He thought they were cool, being these wandering loner warriors still clinging to a code, fighting to give the finger to a world telling them to get in-line with everyone else. People like Tsume, Zabuza, Koga, Ginta, Hakkaku, all the rest of The Fangs at one time felt like rebels trying to find a home. Now, he wonders if maybe they're all just a dying breed.
He remembers once when his dad took him to Tokyo's natural history museum when he was little. One of the few memories Kiba had left of the man, and maybe the only one that hadn't been tainted by everything that came after. In his mind, he can still picture how big and important his dad felt walking beside him, the rough warmth of his hand engulfing his own. Everyone stared when they walked in—like they didn't belong—but Kiba hadn't cared. He'd just been happy to be there, to be with him.
He'd loved those trips, always in awe of the dioramas, the way they made history feel alive. But none of them had captivated him like the Dire Wolf display in the main lobby. A pack of twelve surrounded a wounded elk, circling, nipping at its wounds, waiting for the right moment to bring it down. He remembers thinking how much the pack was like the club—how they worked together, watched each other's backs, fought as one.
And now, just like those ancient predators, Kiba felt like they were all on the verge of going extinct.
So long as they kept running with Gato and those Northies.
He throws down the little bit of cash he's got to cover the bill, despite Haku's protests. Funny—after all this time, he still acted like Kiba's older brother. Or, well, "sister." He and Hana had always looked out for him whenever he got in these moods, never judging, just keeping him steady. And for that, Kiba appreciated him. But he also knew that if he was going to make it through this, he had to start fending for himself.
"My dad used to say given enough time, everyone has the capacity to change—or else they die before they get the chance to." Kiba swings a leg over his bike, fastening Akamaru's harness in the sidecar. "Personally, I think that's a load of bullshit. People don't change. Not really. All their faults, all their decisions—good and bad—it all adds up to who they really are. And everyone pays in the end." He exhales sharply through his nose. "Pops died becoming his true self: a martyr. And I'm wondering if Ma and Zabuza aren't tracking along the same route."
"With age comes a lot of experiences, Kiba. Some not so easy to shoulder. Some not so easy to forget." Haku leans against the bike, watching him carefully. "I don't disagree there are plenty in the club who struggle to accept harsh realities. But we shouldn't blame them for it."
"Who says I am?" Kiba mutters, adjusting his grip on the handlebars. "I ain't saying we gotta let go of the past, or change everything about who we are. I like brawling over territory. I like the smuggling. I love revving my engine so people turn their heads and see our colors. But I don't think Dad would've wanted us to keep lashing out at everyone and everything until there's nothing left."
Haku studies him for a long moment, something unreadable in his gaze. Then, finally, he smiles—that same soft, knowing smile, like the flutter of a bird's wings caught in the rain.
"You've been thinking about this a lot, haven't you?"
Kiba doesn't answer. He doesn't need to. Haku reaches out and squeezes his shoulder. "Take it from someone who's spent years coming to terms with themself—to become who you want to be tomorrow, become what you need to be today. Take strength, Kiba, where you come from. Ground yourself where you are now. And have the courage to point yourself in the right direction. Then if you're lucky…" His smile turns wistful. "People will follow you."
"Would you?" Kiba asks.
Haku meets his gaze, still smiling—that quiet, unreadable smile—then looks away.
"Not tonight."
The rain has started to fall in earnest now, drumming against the awning, streaking the pavement with neon reflections. The city moves on without people like them.
"The Alpha has a mission for me," Haku continues. "We need to make sure the shipments and the men make it across in one piece—without the Oniwaban taking note. A little bird has been flitting about, and I've been tasked with catching her."
Kiba furrows his brow. "Her?"
"Yes." Haku's smile widens, just a fraction. "You might've even had her once. Mitarashi Anko. She's popped up here again. Despite past incidents, Jiji has set her on our tracks."
"Yes. And assuredly, she's already run to Chief Yamato at Metro PD. Why do you think they brought you in, too?"
Kiba grimaces. He hadn't missed the way Metro had been sniffing around lately—too close, too frequent. He figured it was just a matter of time before they started throwing people in holding to shake the tree. And now, knowing Anko was in the mix? That meant things were about to get real messy.
"Fucking great," he mutters, running a hand through his damp hair. "You got any idea what she's after?"
"Beyond making our lives hell?" Haku tilts his head, considering. "Hard to say. If Jiji sent her, it's serious. He's not the type to waste his best bloodhounds without cause. Could be she's looking for something bigger than just us."
Kiba snorts. "Bigger than us? Damn. Hope she likes disappointment."
Haku chuckles, the sound light despite the weight in the air. "Perhaps. Or perhaps she knows something we don't."
That thought doesn't sit right. Kiba grips the handlebars of his bike a little tighter, glancing at Haku. "You gonna be alright handling her?"
Haku's expression turns thoughtful, his fingers tapping idly against his chin. "I suppose we'll find out soon enough." Then, with a small, almost teasing wink, "Unless you'd like to take this one off my hands?"
Kiba barks a laugh and shakes his head. He'd rather facedown down Tsume than have to deal with that woman, he goes.
Haku laughs through his nose, and couldn't agree more. But alas, they are but pawns moving up and down the board. He steps back as Kiba kicks the engine to life, the rain falling like a sheet across the child environs of concrete mazes and bright luminescent light. Reflections run past, shifting and dancing in puddles off wet pavement. A hard boiled stink which permeates off the streets tonight, a mix of trash and road salt that stings Kiba's nose. Tokyo like a beast stirs in its sleep, and Kiba couldn't wait to get back home.
But not Haku.
No, never him.
He was born and bred on these streets, and if there was anyone more equipped in dealing with Anko Mitarashi you'd be hard-pressed to find one.
"Take care, Kiba." Haku softly says, hand falling from his shoulder as his heels smack against the wet alleyway. "And make sure you go see your sister more often. She misses you."
Kiba flashes a toothy grin. "Yeah, yeah."
Then, with a twist of the handle, the demon roars to life. Akamaru's ears perk up as they shoot off into the night, tires slicing through puddles, the city swallowing them whole.
Haku watches them disappear into the neon haze, the rain drumming against his skin like a familiar rhythm. Another night, just like every other—a dour promise of pent-up tensions and violent frustrations threatening to bubble over.
With a sigh, he pulls up his hood and steps into the dark.
The hunt begins.