Death Before Dishonor

[Kagami Suzaku]

The ledger was full of Aya's meticulous notes on the museum's treasures. Rich eyes were sliding down every detail as her First Lieutenant silently leaned against the back of the leather couch watching her assess the youngest of the clan's progress. In truth the girl was getting very detailed in her notes, capturing the things the Oyabun herself would have noted.

 

Across from her Ren sat like a gargoyle in the window, fingers delicately playing with a small ball of water he controlled in his palm, the deep furrow on his brow saying he had come in here with something to say that he still was holding back. As another page flipped the youth seemed to snap, enable to bear his own silence any longer.

 

Aya is sleeping with a Gaijin!

 

Clearly the Shatei had been secretly following his little sister again. The jade jewels didn’t bother to look up from the ledger as she continued to go over the numbers Aya had been keeping.

 

… and I suppose you have been celibate since coming to New York?

 

It was no secret the Shatei was smitten with the winged little sister. He kept it absolutely secret so of course the entire clan knew. The entire clan except Aya that was, who seemed totally oblivious of the boy's affections as she tortured him with her sisterly tendencies to stick close to him.

 

..that's not what I meant.

 

The sulk in his tone was thick as he let the water die in his palm and folded his arms over his drawn up knees.

 

It's just… it's not safe...who knows what he is getting out of her.

 

Long fingers plucked a pencil from the silver container on the desk to make a note on the ledger beside Aya's own as the jewels still didn’t lift to the youth.

 

 If she has breathed a word of the clan then it is your duty to kill her.

 

The seriousness of the tone was an odd mingle of tease and truth. After all to betray the clan, was to ask for one's death. Death before dishonor. But the tease was lost on the youth as the Shatei stood abruptly on the windowsill, knocking his head violently on the top before dropping back down into a squat again gripping the injured skull.

 

IIE!... I mean I don’t think she is doing that….

 

The green eyes lifted finally to the love-sick pup.

 

Then what exactly is the issue?

 

The sulky expression was almost heart breaking as he slid off his perch in the window.

 

Nothing I suppose.

 

The partial bow came before he shoved his hands in his jean pockets and shuffled out of the office to sulk alone. The rare jades trailing him to the door before flicking to Hayato, the silence of her First Lieutenant was telling.

 

… I want to know everything about this Gaijin.

 

She was sure he already had the thought in his head. They tended to think alike the longer they were exiled in this western city. The large leather bound ledger was closed as she leaned back in her chair, long fingers drumming silently on the rich mahogany desk. While she wasn’t really concerned that Aya would betray the family, the girl was still young and naïve in many ways despite her rough upbringing in their former clan. She would hate to make an example of her. Finger tapped the ledger lightly.

 

… the Philadelphia recovery added nearly thirty percent to our worth.

 

It had been a surprisingly impressive recovery.

 

We will need to get the paperwork to Reynolds-san to process the ownership deeds.

 

She knew Hayato was still not thrilled with an outsider getting information on the clan, even if it was just their "legitimate" holdings. But they needed to legalize ownership. If they were accused of "stealing" their collection, too much attention would come their way in the investigation.

 

Jade eyes fell on the expanse of windows that brought a glimpse of the outside world to the Yakuza home office, the back of her fingers rubbing under her chin. The Oyabun….was tired. She had been a machine since they had set foot on New York soil, building their empire, training relentlessly and still finding time to be the "face" of the Guggenheim. It was a pace she could not keep forever. It was only in the quiet company of her First Lieutenant that she shared thoughts that alluded to what had been lost in Japan.

 

… Mainichi ga watashitachi no meiyo o torimodosu tame ni,-betsu no chikai

(everyday is another closer to restoring our honor)

 

The deep greens lifted to look at him directly, the words strong but quiet.

 

….mainichi.

(every day)

[Guest Hattori Hayato]

Hattori Hayato was dressed comfortable, which to him meant a gi with the traditional hakama pants favored Aikido and even Kendo practitioners.  He had a bokken leaning against the couch close at hand, and he was bare foot.  He was often bare foot, as often as he could get away with it.  He had performed his katas, and come to his Oyabun’s office to ascertain the level of their success, for he knew that the excursion had been successful.  Their purpose, because his Kumich­­ō and he had discussed the possible outcomes, both of them being students of war and movement.  Everything was war.  Everything.  They would enrich their position, and test their brothers and sisters, particularly one of their youngest sisters.  Hayato did not sit, more out of habit than tradition, he thought better on his feet.

 

He glanced to Ren’s casual display of power, and Hayato wasn’t sure if he approved.  It struck him as mildly ostentatious to be playing with water as Ren did, but then he supposed there was a difference between idle water-play, and mild earthquakes of boredom.  Hayato neither flinched nor blinked at Ren’s outburst.  He only took a slow breath.  He did not add to Suzaku’s comments, preferring to let the Oyabun handle this particular situation.  Delicacy was not his strongest suit.  His dark eyes cut to Suzaku when Ren tried to offer a reason for them to interfere in Aya’s personal affairs, it was simply justification, to his mind, a childish act.  He would have said something, but as usual, Suzaku had the right thing to say, and the right way to say it.

 

When Ren was shocked by the ultimate result of the line of reasoning his jealousy offered, Hayato straightened up and walked the younger man to the door. 

 

Emotions are natural.  We are human.  Being ruled by our emotions, however, is not acceptable.  Animals are ruled by their emotions.  We are better than that.  You are.  Think on this.

 

Hayato returned to the position he had abandoned, and said, Hai.  In response to the order.  He would do just that, he had meant to anyway, as soon as Ren brought it up.  It could, in fact, lead to Aya’s doom.  He did not wish that, of course, he rather liked his Little Sister, but Hayato would cut her down without hesitation if he had to.  He would be upset about it, however, though none would ever know.  He was silent as the Oyabun tapped on the ledger, and he remained silent as she began to recount facts that he was already patently aware of.  He made the slightest expression of disapproval, at which point Suzaku reminded him why they needed men like Reynolds.  It was all for appearances sake, and the laws of the land, which they were not native to.

 

His Kumich­­ō turned her gaze to the world beyond the large window, and looked out over the part of the city that it revealed to her.  His eyes, dark as pools of ink, remained fixed on her.  He admired the whorl and curve of her ear, and the line of her jaw, his eyes moving along her neck.  Her words in their native tongue pulled him back to the here and now.  Hayato’s response was nearly reflexive,

 

Sore wa kanojo no meiyo o kaifuku suru tame ni hitsuyōna koto anata wa arimasendeshita.

(It was not you that needed to recover her honor.)

 

It was Suzaku that had been honorable, and it was Suzaku that chose Family over reputation, leaving to create her own Clan, rather than to struggle to keep one that had lost all sense of itself, its honor, and its tradition.  Every man that sided with their enemies forswore themselves, and yet they played the injured party, as if Suzaku were not the right and proper heir to the high seat.  It still annoyed him, and that is what those jade eyes saw when they found his own.  He nodded,

 

Mainichi, kikaidesu. Wareware wa seikō shite iru to, tashikani Aya-chan wa mada hontō no shinpai wa arimasen. Anata modesu ka, Kumichō?

(Every day, is an opportunity.  We are successful, and surely Aya-chan is not a true worry yet.  Are you well?)

[Kagami Suzaku]

She almost laughed at Hayato's words to the youth. Always so serious, he didn’t seem to find the humor in poor Ren's situation the way the rest of the clan did. It was one of the small things that offered brevity to the clan's tightly wound existence in this city so far from home. They were still so small, it took so much for her to keep them safe and that tension tended to bleed into the clan, so moments of humor were rare and precious. Were they large there would not be an eye batted at a little sister sleeping with an outsider, if they were discovered they could squash any that came calling and demand the little sister's blood be spilt. But as small as they were, they simply couldn’t be rash, or careless.

 

She would need to speak to Aya.

 

Sore wa kanojo no meiyo o kaifuku suru tame ni hitsuyōna koto anata wa arimasendeshita.

 

Hand waved off his comment. It was a debate they had too often. They were outcasts from the world they had known, a price on her head that dripped of insult. Their honor within the outside world had been compromised and as the head it was her responsibility to restore it, regardless of the honor they held fast to with eachother and regardless of how honorable her First Lieutenant insisted she was.

 

Bridge of her nose was pinched as he spoke once more, hand falling away with a sharp jade glare cast in his direction at the inquiry on her health. He only dared ask such a thing when they were in private, the implication of weakness bristled too easily under her skin, there were too many that had mistaken the "little girl" as weak, a fact she had time and time again proved false.

 

Pushing the chair back from her desk she stood in a single fluid motion, the heather gray silk suit whispering along her skin as the pants slid back down to hang impeccably in place as she walked over to him, the motion was swift as the instep of her foot caught the bottom of the bokken, even in the executive heels the accuracy was startling as the wooden ken flipped exactly half a cycle around right into her waiting palm without so much as a quiver.

 

Anata no o shiri de anata o oku tame ni jūbun.

(well enough to put you on your ass)

 

While she sparred with all the clan, Hayato was the only one with the stamina to combat her without use of any abilities for exhaustive hours at a time. The sharp green eyes met his without wavering as the bokken was thrust back in his hand before she walked out of the office towards the clan dojo. The clan was scattered tonight, a day of rest to do as they pleased. Ren was the only brother in the Guggenheim and after the horrifying thought of being told to kill Aya he had likely snuck out as well.

 

The rich corridor passed beneath her feet in silence despite the stilettos that perched her several inches higher than she had been created to be. This entire wing of the upper story of the Guggenheim was the sanctuary of the clan. No outsider eyes had ever been cast upon it.

 

The shoji doors slid open even as the shoes were stepped out of, left to stand guard in the hallway as feet wrapped in ebony stockings passed into the dojo. It was highly traditional, the viewing platform in wood before it stepped down to the tatami battle ground where she often stripped her young family of their pride. The dim lighting was moody and yet appropriate as no windows marred any of the walls here. This and her traditional bath were the sanctuaries of the Oyabun. This was where she found she could breathe again in this western city.

 

Long fingers pulled on the silk fabric to free the dark gray button beneath her breast, the blazer sliding off her shoulders to reveal only the pale blue silk tank beneath, the gentle hue a sharp contrast against the heavily painted upper arms that tossed the blazer over an arm of the wooden training dummy that was already worn smooth where her hands and those of her family had pounded it into submission. Jade closed as nostrils drew in more air than the lungs could possibly hold only to draw in just a little more before holding it several moments and then releasing.

 

… we need to expand our business soon… and begin to form alliances.

 

Clearly she was not speaking of the business of the Guggenheim.

 

 

dojo -

[Guest Hattori Hayato]

Hayato saw the humor. What he didn’t see as funny was that Ren’s feelings were having him stick his foot in his mouth, and putting Aya’s backside in a sling. He and Suzaku were not blind, and their small numbers meant that any connection beyond their brotherhood was going to come under scrutiny, but to frame it as Ren had, was almost an accusation. The boy hadn’t meant it that way, but that was precisely how it had sounded, which was why his Kumichō had said what she had said. Of such things misunderstandings and perceived betrayals were bred, and Hattori Hayato had seen enough of that in truth and in rumor to last him a lifetime.

She didn’t engage in their old debate, because it did not go anywhere. She could not more change his mind about the whole thing, than he could change hers. Hattori Hayato did not measure his honor by those that dishonored themselves, and tried to dishonor him and Suzaku, and indeed their loyal few. He did not necessarily disagree with her stance; accruing honor was good and proper, but he disliked that she believed they had to regain it, when she had not ignored her honor or her duty. He asked his question more to inquire about what might be on her mind, rather than to inquire about her health, but when she snapped her eyes to him, he understood how it must have sounded. He should have chosen his words more wisely. However, having her challenge him was preferable to having overthinking their situation. They would do what they would do, what they must do. Hayato watched her cross the room to stand before him, looking as perfect as ever, not a bit of ink showing, all covered and demure. She flipped the bokken into her hand, and spoke her challenge.

Hayato allowed himself a single raised eyebrow, and then inclined his head respectfully,

Misete kudasai.
(Show me.)

His statement was perhaps as contrary as he would allow himself to be. She needed to be challenged, as did he, and his best challenger in the Clan was the Oyabun herself. They would only grow in skill by challenging each other. Their matched had become part of Clan legend. Almost everyone but the littlest brothers had heard or seen them engaged in dynamic and intense combat for hours at a time. If they hadn’t seen it, they’ve heard about it, or heard of it from one of the others. They had chased Ren off, he was sure. There would be no audience today. No one might see the match that was about to happen, and Hayato knew Suzaku well enough to know one was about to happen. He followed her, watched her open the doors, and step up onto the mat. Hayato knew that if there was tension in his Oyabun, this was where he could best assist her in relieving herself of that burden.

Hayato was silen as she removed the blazer, her tattoos a reminder of who she was, not that he needed such a sight to know it. He watched her take a moment to find her center, and then knelt on his end of the mat, sitting on his heels, his back straight, the bokken laid on the floor horizontally before him. He closed his eyes, and allowed her to make her own preparations. He was limber and ready from prior training earlier, and his mind was clear and prepared. He had wandered into this, he would see it through as he saw all things through, right to the often bitter end. Hayato listened to her breathing, and pushed aside that one day, clearing his mind again. He did not open his eyes when she spoke, he simply replied.

Anata wa sudeni ichū no hito o motte imasu ka? Korera no gaijin wa meiyo o motte imasen. Karera wa sukurappu no tame ni otagai o korosu. Wareware wa sorera no naka de dare o shinrai dekimasu ka?

(Do you already have someone in mind? These gaijin have no honor. They kill each other for scraps. Who can we trust amongst them?)

 

 It was one of his carefully phrased disagreements. He did not entirely disagree with the idea of allies, he just didn’t think they had many options, and he managed to give her that advice, without seeming to disagree.

He could sit in that posture for days if necessary, and so he maintained it, and would, until his Kumichō declared herself ready for combat.

[Kagami Suzaku]

Misete kudasai.

 

She hadn't planned on a spar with her Wakagashira. Her body was exhausted, but that was when she tended to push herself the most, forever seeking the end of all ends, the point at which life and death made one inexhaustible.  To push past the point of absolute fatigue was a habit of the Oyabun.

 

The clan would be disappointed to learn they missed a chance to watch the heads of the clan clash in combat. Truth was when she was like this, focused and determined to push past her limits, she preferred to do so without the cheering crowd of the clan.

 

The rich orbs flicked to him as he complained about honor of the westerners. He had a point. They just didn’t have the same level of respect that was ingrained in her and her Wakagashira's very beings. But if they made no alliances their small clan would extinguish before they could ever become the empire she envisioned them to be. And with young ones like Aya stumbling their way through the western world, they were risking exposure all the time.

 

Subete no gaijin wa uyamawa renai koto wa arimasen.

(not all gaijin are without honor)

 

But who indeed. Hayato knew better than to ask the question and not expect she had already thought through potential answers. As he sat quietly upon the battle ground she folded her arms over her chest, shoulder leaning against one of the wood supports of the dojo.

 

Aura-san

 

Their private encounter at the Guggenheim's grand opening had solidified for the Oyabun that her hunch on the woman was right. The woman was quiet with her power, but Suzaku was assured she had power. There was still the problem of figuring out how to extend the branch of alliance but that was the head of the clan's responsibility. Hand lifted to rub the back of her neck.

 

Gaspari-san..

 

She knew that one would go over like a ton of bricks. They had had just one arms deal with the head of the New York criminal syndicates. She had no choice as they had been new to New York and lacking in contacts as well as firearms when they had arrived. The head of the mob Bakkhos family had set them up nicely, a bevy of weapons to get Izanagi started in building out their own custom arsenal. They had not needed to go back to Gaspari again, but there was sense in ensuring they were on the good side of the man.

 

In a way it was no different than forming an alliance with another Yakuza clan, but it was also very different from an alliance with another Yakuza clan. Mainly because they were not Yakuza. The Bakkhos family was a powerful mix of people that were not family and there was no real telling if they had the same commitment to eachother and respect for their leader the way a Yakuza clan did - but she strongly suspected they were as family as her clan.

 

It was a risk.

[Guest Hattori Hayato]

Hayato always had a fair sense for what Suzaku needed, perhaps when she was not even aware of it yet herself.  He knew that she was tired, but that she would never admit to it.  He could read it in the set of her shoulders, the look in her eyes, and the way she responded to an off-hand comment.  He could read it in her silence, as well as her voice.  It was his job to do so, or so the controlled voice at the back of his mind insisted on telling him.  As her Wakagashira, it was his place to support her, and noticing such things was a duty of his office, simply that, and nothing more.  Hayato felt her gaze upon him, and nodded slightly at her reply to his words.  His eyes remained closed, as he calmly spoke.

 

Tabun. Gaijin, anata ga atta - mottomo meiyo aru namaewotsukeru.

(Perhaps.  Of the gaijin you have met – name the most honorable.)

 

He seemed to think about the mention of Aura, and then he replied,

 

Watashitachi wa kanojo ni tsuite ōku o shiranai ga, kanojo wa watashitachi no shirukagiri, kokodeari, kore wa kichōna dōmeikuni to shite kanojo o keishi shite imasenga, koko wa, wareware ga makotoni hitsuyō to suru monode wa arimasen.

(We do not know much about her, but she is an individual as far as we know, and while this does not discount her as a valuable ally, an individuals is not what we truly need.)

 

At the mention of Gaspari, Hayato opened his eyes.  He regarded his Kumichō quietly, as if to gauge the seriousness of the suggestion, and then he took a breath and closed his eyes again, before responding.

 

Gaspari,  He began, most notably dropping the honorific,

To kare no ‘kazoku’ wa, korera no gaijin shizoku o reiji shite iru. Randamu. Gyōshū-sei o kaku. Mattaku yōhei. Dono yō ni wareware wa, kore made karera o shinrai dekimasu ka?

(Gaspari and his ‘Family’ exemplifies these Gaijin clans.  Random.  Lacking cohesion.  Utterly mercenary.  How could we ever trust them?)

 

He took a breath, deep and cleansing, before he offered his opinion on the situation before them.  Watashi wa sore ga kikendearu to itte imasu, sore wa hitsuyōde wa nai to itte imasen. Dochira kara yakusoku wa muimidesu. Nihon no fumeiyona dansei ga ari, wareware wa kore o shitte iruga, soreha, rūru no reigaide wa nakatta. Kokodesu ka? Dare ga iu koto ga dekimasu ka? Izure wa risuku ni narimasuga, wareware wa sore ga kachi no aru monodearu koto o tashikamenakereba narimasen.

(I am not saying it is not necessary, I am saying it is risky.  A promise from either is meaningless.  There are dishonorable men in Japan, we know this, but that was the exception, not the rule.  Here?  Who can say?  Any one will be a risk, but we must be sure it is a worthwhile one.)

 

He opened his eyes once more, and regarded her for a moment, speaking in English,

Are you prepared?

[Kagami Suzaku]

Head shook at his assessment of Aura Edler. He didn’t see what the Oyabun felt about the woman.

 

… kanojo wa, koko no ijiyau no monodesu…..isso

(she is more than an individual…. much more)

 

When she got these hunches there was usually something of value in her sixth sense. It was like with art, the woman always knew when it was a fake. There was something about that woman. Aura was no aging socialite, there was far more to her than that, the Oyabun was sure of it.

 

She didn’t miss the reaction to the second name. Hayato was so easy for her to read. While others found him often expressionless, she thought he wore his thoughts on his sleeve, picking up the faintest crinkle at the corner of his eyes, the change in his breath, a direct result of a large amount of time spent together both before and after the Resonance. Her very first memory of him was of a boy that stood ramrod straight and expressionless beside his father in the presence of the clan Kumicho. She had been eight and Hayato a very "old" eleven years.

 

Lips couldn’t help the faint upturn at the corners as he dropped the honorific in the name to display his displeasure. So predictable, like the mountains that changed so slowly. Her rock. Every word he spoke was true, the Bakkhos clan was mercenary and perhaps not the tight knit family the Kaminari were. But she didn’t entirely agree with his assessment of their own "honorable" culture.

 

Īe Hayato-san wa, meiyo wa, wareware ga sonzai shite ita inchi ga kagira rete iru tame, sekai no kihandatta to omou.  Wareware wa shinde hinshudesu anata ya watashi.

(No Hayato-san, you think honor was the norm because of the limited world we existed in. We are a dying breed you and I.)

 

Long fingers rubbed the faint crease on her forehead as the deep jade orbs stared at the woven lines of the tatami that stretched over the battleground floor. The deep breath almost sighing from her lips.

 

There is risk in our mere existence in this world. And the risk of being extinguished is greater the longer we stay small and unallied. 

 

Are you prepared?

 

It was a double edged statement, it referred as much to being prepared for the consequences if her choice in risk-taking went horribly wrong as it did to her readiness to spar. Both were valid questions.

 

We know he runs the most powerful syndicate in New York. With our size, it is better to be allied than an enemy. He also has access to resources and contacts that we have not yet made. An alliance is too important not to consider.

 

Stepping away from the wooden column she moved to the wall near the wood dummy, hand pressing to the large panel that clicked before pushing out once more, the hidden compartment behind sliding free. The soft blue tank was slid over her head, inked skin writhing into view as the fabric was tossed over the top of the wooden panel while she reached behind and unhooked the ebony hooks of the black laced bra to absently toss it over the tank top. Hand reached into the compartment to pull the sarashi coil of white from the wood shelf and methodically wrapped her chest tight the bandage ends vanishing, neatly tucked away beneath the wrap. The Oyabun never would be so casual with the brothers of the clan, but with the Wakagashira it was all too often that their paths had crossed in less than "proper" settings and she felt no need to be coy. She had been nearly eleven when she had climbed into a shower with him after a sparring session, oblivious that the boy, at three years older, was in the throws of emerging masculinity. Kaito-san had laughed so hard even as he smacked the hell out of her and told her never to tease like that again. Fighting as one of the boys it was not till years later that she actually understood what the Kumicho had meant by teasing.

 

… if we stay as we are we will never survive the hunt we know is coming.

 

There was a faint snarl in her tone at the thought of the price on her head that threatened the safety of her entire clan. The silken slacks fell off the hips that were barely covered in sheer black stockings, the ink beneath shadowy but prevalent as she shook out the black hakama pants and slid them on, the sash wrapped and knotted at her waist traditionally before she pulled her discarded clothes from the wall and tossed them with her jacket on the arm of the wooden dummy as fingers pulled the pin from the bun at the back of her neck to release the cascade of ebony silk to tickle her waist before the hands ran over the strands to pull them all back into a neat ponytail at the back of her skull.

 

Her own bokken was slid from the compartment before a foot shoved the bottom of the panel and it slid back into place to once more hide its contents. The rest of the clan used bamboo shinai to spar, it lacked the threat of death that the bokken had when used in expert hands. But the head of the clan and her second had long ago exceeded the level of shinais, many a bokken had been shattered in their combat, a feat that always left the clan gasping in both awe and horror because each battle risked real injury.

 

Barely gloved feet padded out onto the battlefield with him, sinking with a powerful grace to her knees as the bokken was set before her and her hips rested back on her heels. Unlike her second, she was not warmed up but it seemed she would not pause to do so either. Breath pulled slowly into her lungs as the thick dark lashes closed over the jade jewels.

 

 Do you worry I cannot hold my own against these gaijin leaders?

[Guest Hattori Hayato]

Hayato sensed her disagreement, even before she spoke her words.  He understood that his Oyabun had her instincts, and he had to admit, her instincts had never failed them or her as an individual.  He hoped he was present if such a thing ever happened.  She would need his help then, and likely he would need hers.  He remained as outwardly calm as a reflecting pool, absorbing her words, before he spoke on them.

 

Anata wa kanojo ga mitame ijō ni jūyōdearu to omowa reru baai wa, watashitachi wa kanojo to issho ni hajimemashou.

 She had mentioned only one woman, she would know whom he meant.

(If you think she is more important than she seems, let us start with her.)

 

Aura seemed the safer gamble, to his way of thinking, and it would put them in a better position to bargain with others if she were in their corner and his Kumichō’s instincts were correct.  If Aura were more, they could then deal with others, like Gaspari, from a position of greater strength.  Right now, they had little to offer saved the gratitude of highly trained warriors, which would not do.  If Gaspari were the largest crime cartel in New York, then an alliance would have to be worth his while, and they would have to make that happen.  Hayato did not have to like that option, however, and he had said as much, bordering on outright contradiction, albeit carefully and artistically stated.

 

He opened his eyes again,

Meiyo wa sentakude wa arimasen. Gaijin wa sore o rikai suru hitsuyō ga ari, mata, namae de yonde imasuga, sore wa dochira ka ga aru ka,-sōdenai wa arimasen. Mattaku meiyo ga nai baai ni dono yō ni soko ni wa, shinrai suru koto ga dekimasu ka?

(Honor is not a choice.  The Gaijin do not need to understand it, nor call it by name, but it is either there or it is not.  How can there be trust, where there is no honor?)

 

Hayato’s eyes remained open, and his gaze lingered on her as she rubbed her forehead and stared into the mat.  He nodded,

 

Every venture has risk.  Nothing ventured, nothing gained, is the saying.  I am not against the idea of allies, Kumichō, not at all.  We must choose wisely.

 

He was not a foolish man, and if patience had a representative in the dictionary, it would have a picture of ‘The Earth Dragon’ beside it.  He could wait, just as he was, for hours if necessary. 

 

We know that he would make a bitter and difficult enemy.

He offered calmly, his eyes still on her. 

 

We know that he is the master of the most powerful syndicate of criminals and cutthroats in New York.  We assume that he can grant us access to contacts and resources that we have not yet made.  We need an ally or allies, if you prefer, that will stand beside us.  Contacts, resources, those are things that will come in time.

 

Hayato watched her move to the built in panels of the room, and the compartment sliding free.  She changed behind the screen that the penal offered, and he looked on.  He wondered if she did this thing on purpose, as she had when they were young.  He heard the whisper of fabric being removed from her skin, felt the tiny vibrations of her movements on the wooden platform that lay beneath the mats.  He saw the black lace thrown over the panel, and then closed his eyes, his head aligned straight as he continued to breath calmly.  He cursed his ears however, as he heard that whisper as she tied her chest down.  Hayato had already seen much more of his Oyabun than others might think was proper, and she of him, he supposed.  He took the reins of his mind once again, and cleansed it, emptied it, reaching for Mushin, which he would need in the match ahead.  He did not open his eyes,

 

When that hunt comes, we will need allies willing to bleed with us.  Are Bronx and his lot going to do that?

 

He didn’t have to look to hear the consternation in her voice.  The whisper of silk nearly distracted him, until he heard the snap of heavy cotton that would be her hakama pants being put on.  Hayato heard her move her clothes, and retrieve her bokken, before she sat before him, a mirror to his posture.  He heard her breathing, knowing that she was preparing herself.  Her question elicited a soft grunt, a very subtle sound of disapproval.  If there was one person Suzaku could count on believing her capable of anything she chose to do, it was Hayato.  There was no lack of confidence in the Wakagashira for his Oyabun.

 

Hayato spoke her name, so that she would pay attention, and there would be no mistake. 

 

Suzaku-ue,

 

Even in English, he addressed her formally, the suffix denoting his great respect for her and her abilities. 

 

I believe that you can hold your own with anyone at all, human or not.

He opened his eyes then, to gaze into hers, if she chose to open them as he had. 

 

It is my duty to question.

 

Then, in a very rare moment of relaxed familiarity, rare even when they were alone, and they certainly only happened when they were alone.  He smiled very, very slightly,

 

Unless the Boss would prefer I simply agree with all that she says.  Yes, Kumichō.  No, Kumichō.  Whatever you say, Kumichō.

 

They had both seen such men, and neither had much cared for them.  He raised an eyebrow in question.

[Kagami Suzaku]

Dare ga, kare wa uyamawa renai kotodearu to iu kotodesu ka? Kare wa wareware no horidashimono o sonchō shinakattashi, watashitachi no shizen o sekai kara himitsu ni sa rete imasen?

(Who is to say he is without honor? Did he not honor our bargain and has he not kept our nature a secret from the world?)

 

She knew Hayato would not like to admit it, but Gaspari had not so much as peeped at them since the initial arms deals. Not even a snide reminder that he knew who they were. So as far as his actions were concerned, they had been honorable. But still she listened to his words. It was his above all others that the Phoenix listened to because the Earth was ever steady. A syndicate the size of Bakhos would truly make as bitter an enemy as it could make an ally. They did need to proceed cautiously.

 

As she changed clothes her thoughts mulled this over.

 

When that hunt comes, we will need allies willing to bleed with us. Are Bronx and his lot going to do that? 

 

It was a valid question. At this point, she doubted it. But then he had not yet been made ally either. Which came first was the old riddle. The chicken or the egg, the promise or the blood. Difficult to say. As she sat before him and posed her question the closed lashes tickled at the corners with mirth at his grunt. The question had been in jest yet partially in honest truth. She knew he would not appreciate her assuming he thought she were lacking against this western cultured leaders. Perhaps she just needed someone to say it aloud that she was as good as any of these Gaijin.

 

….. Unless the Boss would prefer I simply agree with all that she says. Yes, Kumichō. No, Kumichō. Whatever you say, Kumichō.

 

The day you do is the day I will kill you, Oni no Hanzo.

 

The eyes remained closed as the nickname that would get others smacked flowed so easily from lips that learned long ago to tease the man older than she. There were things she had gotten away with so long ago because she was just a dirty child that refused to cry when others beat her up and who quickly became as good as any boy in the clan, and now got away with because she was the Oyabun.

 

Her poor Wakagashira had never stood a change, not then, and not now. There were times when she was still the dirty little eight year old who barely came to his chest, stomping her foot and demanding they go another round.

[Guest Hattori Hayato]

Hayato’s lack of expression at her words was an expression unto itself. His eyebrow twitched, and his posture remained straight and perfect as he had been moments before. He took a breath, slow and even, and said,

Bijinesu ga aru to meiyo ga aru. Wareware no teki wa, kare no saishin no kokyaku ni kansuru jōhō no tame ni koin o teikyō shite kita toki ni wa kare no meiyo ni tayoru nodarou ka?

(There is business and there is honor. Will you rely on his honor when our enemies come offering coin for information about his newest customers?)

 

He kept his mind from the events of the moments before, the black lace, and the wall-panel that was not any kind of changing screen, and let her consider the question that he had asked. Hayato was not being contrary. He was legitimately concerned, whether or not he knew they had to do something was beside the point. He did not ask a question unless it had to be asked. What was the measure of Gaspari’s character? Had they been able to take it? He did not think so. Did they have many choices? The Earth Dragon knew that they did not. They needed friends, and that was the truth of it, but they had to start somewhere. He believed that they needed more strength, or at least a display of one, before they went to Bakkhos, but he was not entirely certain how to accomplish that.

 

Suzaku teased him with her rejoinder to his own teasing, and his lips twitched. Hayato was not the biggest fan of his Ninja ancestor, proud to be in the same line, to be sure, but not so proud to wear that ancestor’s epithet. His lips twitched slightly. She was the only person he knew that could get away with that, the only one he would allow, and possibly the only one that had thought to uncover his Family history to pluck that name from it. Hattori Hayato did not let her get away with it because she was the Boss, she got away with it because she was Suzaku. That might seem like the same thing to others in their Clan, but to Hayato, it was not, and because it was not, he would never say a word against her teasing, nor would he ever be offended by it when it fell from her lips. It was almost an endearment, but he refused to think of it that way. He gave yet another soft grunt of disapproval, the only protest he allowed himself.

 

He opened his eyes to regard her lovely face, and he was glad that her eyes were still closed. Had they not been, they would have seen a crack in his composure as he took in the lines of her face, recalled fondly the hue of her eyes, and that particular expression she could have when she was feeling smug about something. Hayato schooled his face back into impassivity, and answered her teasing, You would, of course, try.   And he allowed himself the tiniest smirk.

[Kagami Suzaku]

He was being stubbornly difficult, which meant he felt strongly about it. She let the issue fall away for now. Gaspari was an unknown variable they would need to approach carefully, but that they would have to approach. But now was not the time. Earth felt they needed more foundation and the Phoenix grudgingly had to agree. But growing the clan was so difficult here in the Western world. They looked on any Japanese here with suspicion, cautious that they might be there simply for the price on the Oyabun's head. And the Westerners would never be a fit for the Yakuza clan.

 

Which left them where they started. Stagnant and small.

 

The soft grunt touched her stronger ear and drew a faint upward curl of her lips. He wouldn’t say it, but the nickname was one that he didn’t exactly receive as a term of affection. And yet he never once had asked her not to use it. It really was only used in affection and typically when alone. Truth was there was almost a childish satisfaction in knowing she could get under the Earth Dragon's tough skin. Somewhere beneath the fire and ice exterior, the emotionless leader of the Thunder Clan had an impish heart that only came out with Hayato.

 

You would, of course, try.

 

Dark lashes parted to let the narrow gaze appraise him with a faint smirk in mirror of the one he had permitted himself.

 

 I believe you, of all people, know that I never…simply….try.

 

The little girl that started to break swords against grown men never had just "tried". It had been all or nothing from the very start. It was how a woman had become Wakagashira, how a Phoenix had been reborn a leader.

 

Hands lightly pressed to the tatami before her as she bowed deep over her bokken, pausing there as a slow breath swirled deep into her lungs and pressed out once more through her nostrils before she raised once more and rocked back on the balls of her feet as the hilt was slid over and captured by long fingers as she fluidly stood once more.

 

Hilt nestled into both hands in a wide grip as the weapon centered itself before her, stocking'd feet lightly spreading right before left as the dark lashes dipped deceptively low, the jade orbs having chilled to ice as they studied the "enemy" from across the battlefield.

[Guest Hattori Hayato]

Hayato would have said he was being perfectly reasonable, which said something about when he actually was being stubbornly difficult.  He was balancing necessity with suspicion, because he had to.  He knew that they would have to have allies, that they would have to grow, but he also knew that to extend such ‘olive branches’ from a position of weakness cut both ways a bit too readily.  Hayato was advising caution, great caution, over surrendering to what they both knew was absolutely necessary.  Necessity could not lead them to desperation, that was as bad as doing nothing, in his opinion.

 

Teasing him made her smile, he was sure that it did, though she hid it well enough.  That alone had him allowing her the luxury of doing so, that and the fact that they, together, had seen too much from when they were both young to no allow <i>some</i> familiarity.  She was the only crack in his traditionalist manner, and Hayato had a fair idea that she knew that she was.  He took a long steadying breath, as if he were meditating, and finally observed her amidst their banter.  She smirked back at him, almost the very same expression he had briefly shared, and her words threatened to make him smile again.  Hayato didn’t, of course, they were about to engage each other in battle, and he must not seem charmed by her, even if he was.

 

Hayato bowed over his bokken as well, took it up in his hands, and slipped it through the sash at his waist, before rising to his feet.  He rolled back onto the balls of his feet, and straightened his legs, all rooted strength, grace and power, his back perfect straight as he rose.  He inclined his head again, and drew the ‘blade’ slowly, holding it in the middle guard position.  The point of his wooden blade aimed at the center of her chest, the hilt pointing at his navel.  He was, a study in stillness, his expression impassive, his demeanor, utterly serene – making even the wooden weapon seem out of place with the veil of the no-mind, the mushin no shin that he seemed so readily able to achieve.  It was a deception, she knew.  It was not Hayato at his calmest, it was Hayato at his most dangerous.

 

Then, without permission, introduction, or a ‘Mother May I’, his foot shifted gracefully, gliding over the mat as he barely lifted it to make the step, and his bokken came at her in a sudden and deft attack that was meant to crack her wrist and disarm her, were it to connect.
 

[Kagami Suzaku]

She watched the bow over his bokken as the next breath pulled all the way down into her abdomen, the tickle of heat percolating through her limbs to warm the muscles. This was why she could face such a deadly and loose opponent without warming up. The Phoenix crept through her veins to warm every fiber. This was why she could go from relaxed to lethal instantaneously. Why surprise rarely aided an attacker. With a single breath the woman could ooze warmth into every limb.

 

The silence could be cut with a blade it hung ominously thick on the battlefield. They both were so still and yet the energy was different. Earth was grounded, the relaxed mountain able to slice through the river, sheering it into two streams. And across the vast battleground was the silent volcano, the picture of serenity on the surface hiding the percolation of heat just below.

 

Both were lethal.

 

The shift was instantly read as her own foot nearly mirrored the slide forward, shortening the reach of his attack with her own. Like a clap of thunder her bokken met his, neither restraining as the wood threatened to break on the very first strike. Like the flicker of a flame undulating around metal she fluidly moved, soft flutter of the hakama around her ankles whispered as she spun and bent like ember over steel to snap the bokken around. The Migi-do strike going for his ribs.

 

Unlike a refereed match, there was no kiai, no announcement of the strike about to come, no pause between impacts, no backing away to reset with one's opponent. After the first strike, it was kill or be killed. This was how the Oyabun and Wakagashira trained.

[Guest Hattori Hayato]

Hayato knew what she was doing.  He could sense it, even as his own gifts rooted him to the Earth, hers kept her warm, limber.  He decided to avoid the rest of that trail of thought, and focused on the moment, entering into the no-mind with practiced ease.  He listened to her breathing, and he imagined that Suzaku listened to his.  Hayato lived for this moment; that small moment before violence erupted, that odd sense of extended time, the strange peace of it all, where every sense seemed enhanced.  It was a unique experience, a unique moment, and one he tried to capture even without the violence that usually followed.

 

He broke the stillness, that first strike might as well have been a clap of thunder so thoroughly did it break the stillness.  Wood cracked together, and she went for a passing cut, but rather than retreat, he checked the maneuver by interposing his blade to protect his ribs, and moving into the strike.  There was another loud crack, as his motion continued and he essentially hip checked her with the solidity of a mobile mountain, stepping into her stance.  The move was less a shove, and more a result of motion and positioning.  Hayato made a soft sound of focused breath as they came together, and when the check bought him enough space, he drove a  very short kick to her knee, followed by a downward cut as he set his foot down, rooted again.

 

It was an oshomen cut, aimed at her forehead.  Hayato expected it to be parried, but knew she would not met his force head on.  Hayato knew Suzaku would slip the cut, but even a deflecting block would give her options.  He prepared to defend himself, a step or two in advance, knowing full well that Suzaku played the same game in her own mind.  Despite his tactical mind, the strike flowed swift, precisely, crashing down like an avalanche.

[Kagami Suzaku]

The block of her bokken was expected. Unlike the brothers of the clan who were so often cracked on the ribs or hip or spine on just her second move, the Wakagashira was on par with her skill. Like the Oyabun, he could read a fight with nearly the speed with which it was executed, mapping the next moves and anticipating the next likely strikes.

 

But the flicker of ember was fluid, motion continuing even as he stepped into her strike, as his foot came up to strike and reset, her own floated away from the mat and stepped away. Had someone been able to slow down the speed with which they moved it would seem a well choreographed dance as the combatants moved in unison.  His focused breath exhaling even as the fire breathed in. She kept the fluid spin moving around his side even as he lifted for the oshomen strike. Her left knee bending and dropping to the mat just behind his leg as her right hand lifted the bokken over her head, the "blade" pointing down her back to protect her shoulders from the downward thrust of his weapon that would find her not where she was "supposed" to be. It was a move she had stopped doing when they were teens, and for good reason, she never would let her tease be taken as insult by others.

 

But tonight they were alone.

 

Fire wrapped like wisping smoke in the wind as the left knee hit the mat for only the briefest moment to take her out of his line of site and strike path, even as she spun on the knee the right leg was lifting it off the ground once more, the bokken still protecting the back of her shoulders as the left hand snuck out and goosed the warrior's backside in a very "unprofessional" move that used to send him into a furious lecture about taking her lessons seriously.

 

The oyabun didn’t take lessons anymore…. she gave them... and he was too concerned... too serious.

 

By the time she had finished the spin and stepped aside, she knew he would have wheeled around to face her again. With a faint softening to the side of her straight lips she reset with the bokken in front of her form as though no impropriety had been breached.

 

It had been a very long time since she had truly teased him. She had forgotten how light it made her feel inside to face the scowl of the earth.

[Guest Hattori Hayato]

Hayato and Suzaku were well out of the learning stages of either Kendo or Kenjutsu.  The Martial Arts were, indeed, learned by rote, be it muscle memory or intellectual memory, you learned via repetition over and over and over again, but it did not become an Art form until the individual practitioner learned how best to apply what was learned to their own bodies.  In short, the journey only begins when you have made the fighting form your own, and then after that, practice, practice, practice, either by combat or by sparring.  He and his Oyabun were well into those years, they were deep into their own self-discovery, and it turned their matches into something that seemed as artistic and well-choreographed as any dance, but it wasn’t.  It had more in common with a chess match, where every move and thought was one and the same.

 

He was the avalanche, and she moved with him, gave ground before him, though Hayato knew better than to call it a retreat.  Hayato followed her as she pivoted, and he took deceptively light steps, his strikes always rising from the balls of his feet and through his body.  He struck, and she defended, her blade angled to protect her back, and force his blade to guide past her body.  It was not an ideal position for Suzaku, and attempted to move quickly behind him, pivoting on her knee as he began to turn – and she goosed him!  Hayato jumped in the opposing direction, a bit surprised by the move, the playfulness and the resurgence of the thought she had banished not moments ago.  Hayato spun to face her again, realizing that the space he’d created in surprise disengaged them.  He scowled slightly, which for him, spoke volumes of surprise and displeasure.

 

Hayato regarded her, and noticed the very slight smile she hid quickly.  His brow furrowed, again, just the barest hint of his consternation.  She had not done that to him in ages, or at least that was how it seemed, and he wasn’t sure that it was appropriate to be doing so now.  His eyes barely stopped looking her over, and as his lips pressed into a thin line, he banished those thoughts of Suzaku that had resurfaced with her teasing.  Hayato was a man of control, tradition, restraint, but even he knew there were some things that a he could not always contain.  It was then that he called upon the iron bands of honor and tradition to bind things into place.  Hayato sniffed, a soft rumble, barely noticeable seemed to rise up from deep beneath them, and he advanced on her again.

[Kagami Suzaku]

As he leapt back and scowled she couldn’t help the faint smile cracking further on her lips as a soft sound in her chest was swallowed. She couldn’t help the small chuckle that the displeased scowl brought to her lungs. She had grown up at the side of this "boy", became a force of nature alongside him. It had been so long now in formalities that she felt it good measure to remind him that the earth need not always be stoic. Hayato had become a man somewhere along their journey but at times, she still saw the thin teen that used to wrap her knuckles with his bo when her grip was incorrect, causing seven year old lips to pucker in agitation.

He was the disciplinarian back then…. he still was now.. though not for the Oyabun, but their clan. Young eager Yakuza who didn’t fully immerse themselves in the old ways and yet were expected to behave within a certain decorum else the Wakagashira would quickly put them in their place with as little as a look from the dragon of the earth.

Jade eyes watched the man rebind himself in his honor as composure returned, the soft sniff of dismissal of her actions making the corners of the cool stones soften before growing still once more. His little "tantrum" almost made her want to do it again… almost. She knew better than to press with her second in command. These moments were rare and existed only in the vacuum of seclusion when no others were around.

As they reset before eachother the rumble beneath the earth did not go unnoticed by the flickering ember that seemed to barely have weight on the ground. To pull that from him she had definitely gotten under his skin. She was perhaps the only one that could crack the rock façade.

As she advanced on him as quickly, the lips parted, heat pulling in with the air to warm muscles to a fluidity that seemed inhuman. The grip on the end of the shaft changed, sliding in towards the center as the wood slid through her palms until both hands had the center just as she neared him, the pivot point used as she slid down on a knee to whip first the left and then the right end to his ribs, the shorter distance between her hands and the tips of her weapon causing it to fling with a speed that could not be accomplished when the hands had to guide the full length of the weapon. The speed and power could easily snap ribs, which was why the move was done slower and with less strength when sparring. But when the two masters took to the "stage" neither held back. It was why they were so good, it was how they trained to keep their small family safe.

[Guest Hattori Hayato]

Hayato did not allow himself to respond to Suzaku’s continued teasing.  He had already gotten himself back under control, but he could see the faintest hint of a smile on her lips, and hear the soft laughter that she restrained.  He wondered, however briefly, if she understood how very frustrating that was to him.  He knew that she saw it as an opportunity for him to possibly relax, to be himself, and it was a moment only possible with her, alone in her company, but she wasn’t just another woman, she was his Oyabun.  He had a long history with her, he remembered those early training sessions as well as she did, but even then he was restrained by the fetters of tradition.

 

He could not honestly decide if things were easier now or harder.  She was the Oyabun now, and he was Wakagashira, they couldn’t get any closer than they already were.  His emotional tells were subtle, but he knew that she could read him.  He saw her gaze soften a bit, before she relaxed into her stance.  Hayato felt the earth beneath him, and would have berated it for betraying him if he could have.  Instead, he stood ready, waiting for her to make her move.  Hayato knew that she would, so he assumed the neutral stance, his expression impassive, and let his eyes go distant as he focused at a point beyond her chest, so he could read her movements.

 

It would have been easy to fall into admiring her again, her beauty, her grace, but it was a match and he was not a spectator.  She left the bokken slip through her hands, and he scowled almost instantly.  That was not something one could do with an actual katana.  One could use the bokken as a weapon, of course, indeed, it was often done to shame one’s enemy.  Miyamoto Musashi was so skilled with the blade; he fought only with sticks, refusing to honor anyone with the bite of steel.  However, Suzaku’s maneuver remained unorthodox in the extreme.  Rather than retreat, Hayato pulled his elbows in closer to his body, and slid his opposing foot forward, so that his body angled alongside hers, very close.  Were she standing, they would be chest to chest, but she was not standing.

 

The move carried him forward, within her guard, unable to capitalize on the position, but it stole the power from the swift strikes she made by being too close to allow them any real velocity.  He would never bring his hilt down on her head, and truthfully, the angle was bad for that, because they were so close.  His defense was also hers.  So, instead, Hayato stepped forward again, changing the angle to step through her center to push her off balance, and to the mat.

[Kagami Suzaku]

He never found a rhythm of relaxation even when they were alone. It was both comforting and frustrating at the same time. He was her rock. Hayato was unchanging even as the world blustered its fury around them. When all else crumbled around her, she was certain he would be there.

But too refusing of change and one became a fossil. A relic more suited for hanging on her walls in the museum than fighting at her side in the new world. Adaptation wasn’t exactly a Japanese strong suit, especially old school Japanese. And Hayato was the epitome of old school Japanese.

Sometimes…… she worried for him.

She did not miss his scowl as her grip changed into something decidedly unorthodox. It was moments like this that drew her concern. She was not sticking to an unwritten set of rules and it drew his disapproving gaze. But this was not Japan. The people here did not fight within the boundaries of well formed honor, on the contrary, they worked hard to utilize every means within their power to succeed. They would sacrifice their last shred of honor to be victorious here; and while she refused to do the same, she also know they needed to train as though everyone else would.

As he pushed into her guard she let the agile toes slide on the mat, ebony stockings allowing her to nearly skate over the surface as the fire flickered around the stone, undulating like a reed on the wind to step around his forward foot, other foot sliding around to follow as she stood, back of her shoulder gliding up his hip and back as she stood slightly behind him. There was a breath upon which they stood back to back… her smaller shoulders leaning against his as the words came softly.

 Hayato-san, gaijin wa koko ni anata no rūru ni shitagau koto wa arimasen.
(Gaijin here will not follow your rules Hayato-san)

She wasn’t gaijin…. he was likely to point that out. But the need to train for all enemies that would come their way was too critical for their survival for them to stick to simply the old ways. Her weight against his back became decidedly solid and relaxed as the breath sighed from her lips, her posture no longer threatening.

Wareware wa totemo zeijakuna, mada hijō ni chīsai 
(We are still so small, so vulnerable)

There was a hint of frustration in the words. She had been fighting for her clan since the moment they had left Japan. The outside world would never understand what he did… she existed for her small family… to protect her small family… to elevate and make proud her small family.

And lately it felt as though she was just spinning her wheels in this western world.

[Guest Hattori Hayato]

Hattori Hayato was a man of principle and tradition.  Just because the world had changed did not mean principle and tradition had to be abandoned.  He could adapt, within limits, there were some things he would not surrender to the vagaries of time and change.  If everyone abandoned civilization, there would soon be nothing – no civilization, no order, no simple humanity.  He was Yakuza, and there was honor in that fact and that history.  He was descended from men who had lived their principles, and died for them.  Hayato hoped to be half so well remembered as them.

 

He knew what Suzaku must be thinking.  She was wondering if pragmatism was better than tradition, and if survival was worth the compromising of those same traditions.  Even as he slid forward, Hayato could almost see her thoughts, because they were not new thoughts, they were the same.  She was concerned for him as much as their Clan, and she was concerned not only about their survival but their success and what it could cost them.  He knew her thoughts, because it was his place to know them, and his place to remind her who they were.  Never where others could see, but here, when they were alone.  Suzaku had never been weak, but she had more vision than he did, and such vision required balance.  He was the base of the pillar, and they both knew that.

 

She moved with him, and seemed to slither up against his back, pressed to him.  He felt her relax, and he did the same, knowing that the match was essentially down in that moment.  She spoke her worries, and he closed his eyes, trying to ignore how it felt to have her pressed against him, even in so chaste a fashion.  Hayato took a long breath, rooting himself and his thoughts.

 

Anata ga gaijinde wa arimasen. Shikashi, gaijin ka dō ka wa, hito wa jibun no hadaka no te ni katana no ha o hoji suru koto wa dekimasen. 

(You are not gaijin.  However, gaijin or not, one cannot hold a katana’s blade in one’s naked hands.)

 

She leaned against him, and he supported her, as he did as he always would.

 

Mata, chīsaidesu. Sore wa anata ga yowai koto wa arimasen.

(You are also small.  That does not make you weak.)

 

He could hear the tone in her words, and knew that she wanted more for their Family.  Such took time.  They had done very well, but still, they did not have the foundation of generations they had in Japan.  They were beginning anew here, and that took patience that was often difficult to muster.

 

Watashitachi wa chīsana to ajairudearu. Doko seizai gaijin ichizoku wa shibashiba dekinai watashitachiha, ōtō suru koto ga dekimasu. Anata wa, watashitachi wa nani Suzaku wa nani o motte irudeshou ka? Watashitachiha kanjadearu baai, chansu wa jibun jishin o shōkai shimasu. Watashitachiha tomodachi o tsukuru hitsuyō ga arimasu, watashi wa gōi shitaga, watashitachiha watashitachi no kōdō de seikyūdearunaraba, wareware wa wareware ga teikō suru junbi ga dekite inai hitobito no ikari o kaki oroshimasu.

(We are small and agile.  We can respond where the lumbering Gaijin clans often cannot.  What would you have us do, Suzaku?  If we are patient, opportunity will present itself.  We should make friends, I have agreed, but if we are hasty in our actions, we will draw down the wrath of those we are not prepared to resist.)

 

Hattori Hayato was silent for a moment, and she felt him begin to straighten, almost guiding her back on to her own feet.  He turned towards her, gently took her shoulder, and turned her about to face him.  Silently, he gazed into her eyes for a long moment.  His gaze flicked over the lines of her face, the set of her mouth, and for another heartbeat longer than necessary, they settled on her lips.  He then inclined his head respectfully.  He spoke very softly, his voice was deep and in a whisper it could carry, but he knew how to pitch his words for her alone.

 

Suzaku, you are my leader, my Kumichō, and more than that.  We are small, but prosperous.  When we can do more, we will do more.  We are proud and close, and I do not miss what we left behind, because I am honored to be a part of what we are now.

  In a rare moment of intimacy and understanding, he reached out as he had done dozens of time in their youth, his fingers graced her cheek in a brief caress, and then he gently lifted her chin so she could see his small smile.  Watashi wa kono shiai ga okonawa reru to kangaete imasu.   I believe this match is done.  He stepped back, and bowed to her.

[Kagami Suzaku]

No one knew her the way this man did. He had half raised her with the former Oyabun. Lesson after grueling lesson. But it had been more than that too. He had looked out for her, protecting her even from herself. Puberty had brought a raw sexual awakening and he had been there to clean up the mess her appetite had often left behind. Scorned suitors that couldn’t take no for an answer had a tendency for quietly disappearing. It wasn’t until years later that she understood he had been ensuring her secrets and her honor. Her behavior would have been acceptable, had she been born yakuza male. But there was nothing normal about the Asian woman's upbringing in a man's world.

She felt the strong back relax beneath her shoulders, his long breath mirrored by one of her own. The smile tickled across her expression as he did precisely what she knew he would, declare her lack of gaijin status. But the pronouncement that one could not hold a katana blade in the naked hand drew the frown once more. It was comments like this that worried her. The world was unstable, full of unstable people that did things they "could not" do all the time. Lips pursed slightly at being called small. She knew what he meant but there was a reason she wore heels in this western world, her stature was decidedly smaller than females here.

The unseen scowl etched her brow as he spoke of their agility and need to be patient. He was right. She knew he was right. But it didn’t make her any less driven. As he straightened she reluctantly took her weight to her own feet, rare jade studying him even as he did her.

I am honored to be a part of what we are now.

And there was the crux of it all. She felt the same. The corruption in Japan had reached staggering proportions. They might not live in that world anymore, but she still had an ear to the east. She feared the day the bounty on her head would bring the two worlds together. She fought to be sure her clan was ready. The gentle touch on her chin drew a brow faintly upward, it was a rare touch from the Wakagashira, as rare as the small smile he offered with it. But she still was pondering his refusal to acknowledge that not all fights would be so structured, so formal.

As he stepped back and bowed she moved. A faint smoldering ember could roar to uncontrollable flame in the blink of an eye. The rock had softened for a moment and she took the opportunity to teach her own lesson. The bo dropped from its center grip to swipe around with a vicious speed at the back of his legs as she dropped to a knee to give a grounded strength to the strike, a trick he had taught her. As the mountain went backwards, the bo was tossed aside, crimson flickering to life from her palm even as her body surged forward.

The dimly lit dojo suddenly bathed in orange as the phoenix made itself known. It was a rare siting of her strength, one most of the clan had not yet witnessed. The burning nodachi erupted from her hand only to be tossed upward and caught in the middle of the blade as her weight came down on his hips, thighs straddling as the roaring weapon was held close to his throat, heat billowing around them as her intense grip forced the edges of the burning blade into her own palm. The first drop of her own crimson slid down the heel of her hand to quiver at her wrist a moment before free falling to stain his gi.

Jade were ignited by the flicker of the inferno as the serious expression studied him over her extended weapon, words were soft, concerned. Of all the clan, she could not lose him. She could not build anything in this western world without him, he was her foundation, her strength, her mentor, her companion…… her friend.

Kono shifuto shita sekaide wa, karera ga okonau koto ga dekinai nani o suru no ni jūbun'na zetsubō mono ga arimasuga, kesshite wasurenai.
Never forget, in this shifted world there are those desperate enough to do what they "cannot" do.