overflow 6

[warmskies]

As he has done so for many years now, Chikusa opens his eyes to stare upwards at the dull wooden ceiling straight above him. In the gloom, it and so much else seems to lurk.

His left side is completely taken over by Ken, curled up and burning hotter than a fireplace. To his right, Mukuro is spread out neatly, and their hands barely brush. For a moment, he stays inbetween the two other boys and basks in their comfort and warmth. Not for the first time, he reflects on how it would be so easy to stay right where he is. There is nowhere else in the world he would rather be, now, than with Ken and Mukuro. Nonetheless, there is work to be done, so rise he must. It has taken many months of practice, now, but Chikusa untangles himself delicately from the blanket nest that they've all nestled into over the course of the night. While they aren't in the coldest months that Dunwall can punish its inhabitants with, the nights are still becoming chill. Here, in the Flooded District, this is especially true.

Once he's free of Ken's limbs and stepped delicately over Mukuro's slumbering body, Chikusa begins the same routine as always. Lowering the ladder from the attic to the bedroom takes skill to do so quietly, and even more of it to step down. A pan is ferreted out from their stashes, as are canned meats that will taste at least a little bit better once they're cooked through. He's only gotten the fire properly roaring, its light competing with that of the sun that's finally filtering through the windows, when his company awakes. Ken is the first. Ken is always the first. Perhaps his senses are sharper. Maybe he knows the loss of Chikusa's body and wakes up automatically. Chikusa himself has long since stopped questioning it. He only swats Ken's hands away when he tries to sneak pieces of food to sate his hunger. Once, he used to waste energy telling Ken off for such, but he doesn't anymore. If his best friend hasn't learned from the hundreds of times Chikusa has scolded him, then he's never going to. His energy in the morning is never a plentiful thing, and he could use it for more important tasks.

There's never really been any doubt to Chikusa that Mukuro is always up earlier, and yet he takes his sweet time rising. Only when the food is nearly done does the ladder creak with his weight. As Chikusa maneuvers some meager amount of food onto a dirty plate, he glances over at the other boy. He's stretching his arms high up over his head, spine curving with the movement, and his smile is indulgently lazy as he directs it to the others. "Smells good," he says by way off greeting, accepting the plate Chikusa hands over to him. To the side, Ken is already stuffing his face. One day he'll make himself sick eating so fast. "But we should get fresher things, sometimes," he adds, a regular comment.

Chikusa has the same response ready, as this is also practically a part of the routine. "If you can find us more money," he says duly, getting the remainder of food for himself. None of them ever have more than the other; Chikusa is careful to divide whatever he cooks into even thirds. This hasn't done anything for his frame. As the months have passed, he's only become taller and lankier than he was when he still had parents. If there's a sort of science to how Ken can fill out and he can't, it's one he doubts he'll ever know.

The routine continues as they eat: Mukuro and Chikusa talking about their plans for the day (same as usual), Ken tossing out the occasional commentary, and the dishes are cleaned as best they can be in the circumstances that they're in. They really only have the one set, after all. It's rather tough to find plates and bowls and forks and other things. Such household items haven't been in the Flooded District for ages now, long taken when Ken and Chikusa were first learning how to explore their changed home. Thus, they make do with what they can. Only when the plates have been aggressively scrubbed and painstakingly rubbed dry do they find their shoes, all set to head out for the rest of the day.

Nothing of value lies within the Flooded District now. The patient efforts of themselves and others have cleaned it out, bone dry. Regardless, the three of them go through all of it again, just in case. So long, and they've come to learn their home quite well. All the weakest buildings, the sturdiest places to put their feet.... It's as known to them as their own hands. All that are worth looking at are the River Krusts. The jewelry in that fine wooden box is a precious commodity they can't waste. For one thing, they can't sell everything at once lest they look suspicious both to any of the pawnbrokers of the city or to anyone who might spot what they're doing. It'd either give the wrong idea, or have people snooping. Neither is ideal. For another, expensive trinkets like that are best saved for special occasions.

So, in the time being, they keep an eye on the River Krust population which flourishes in the Flooded District's damp conditions. Really, there's nowhere else where they can grow as they do without workers scraping their fledgling selves away. Chikusa still thinks it's a bad idea, courting danger this way, but he has to admit that it's otherwise an easy way of farming currency for themselves. Most of the time, they cull the nuisances when they're still young but just old enough to have formed pearls within their innards. It's a talent that has taken a lot of time to cultivate, partially because Chikusa has demanded caution above else. Ken already sports a jagged scar across his face from that time the hagfish got him. They don't need to get anything else on that skin of his, although perhaps that might be a losing battle when it comes to Ken.

At least with three people that means it's easy to fool such simple things. One as bait, one as a lookout, and one to harvest- a solid plan that they came up with all on their own. This morning, however, there's no need to do such work. Most of the Krusts are still too young, their spit falling a little short, and the single entity that they're encouraging to grow larger for more reward has a ways to go yet. Their little "Krust farm" needs no tending, and it's the last thing on their route before they head back the other way.

With nothing in the Flooded District, that means they've come to spend more and more of their time in Dunwall proper. Ken still knows its streets best, of course, yet Chikusa and Mukuro have learned plenty enough as well. If nothing else, they know the better shortcuts, and they know what gangs lurk in what dark corners. Most importantly, they know enough to only need to stay together for a little while, in the time it takes for Ken to lead the way to a pawnshop where Mukuro can use that silver tongue of his to good effect. Even without pearls, after all, or jewelry, there's always something to sell. Money passes hands, from the pawnbroker to Mukuro to Chikusa, as it always does. From then on, they separate.

Where Mukuro goes, they can only wonder. He could be lazing about in some nice sunny spot for all Chikusa knows. It's not really any of his business, or Ken's. All he focuses on is making his way to the shops and markets, where he picks out the cheaper things they can afford and which will keep in their dilapidated home. Ken tries to stay with him for as long as he can, but patience has never been one of his particular virtues. Inevitably, usually when Chikusa is only a quarter through his list and looking over how many bruises are on some sort of fruit, the blond detaches from his side.

Unlike Mukuro, it's a lot easier to know what Ken gets up to. Sometimes he gets into fights, although at this point in the day it's only with kids his size instead of anyone twice it. There's a little bit of game playing, when he's not feeling so worked up. Mostly, however, Chikusa is pretty sure that Ken just steals. When the blond had first started up such a habit, Chikusa had fussed. What if he got caught? What if a City Guard went after him? Nowadays, he doesn't bother. Ken doesn't have the finesse for things like pickpocketing, but he has a quick hand and quicker feet. If something is left out in the open, vulnerable, then it quickly becomes his whether any of them need it or not. All that matters is that he doesn't steal too much. That's the key to being a successful thief- knowledge Chikusa would never have known in a different lifetime. Usually, he can find his best friend before it gets to that point, his legal shopping finished, and the two of them beat feet before they get too many strange looks.

Such mundane trivialities take up the whole morning, more often than not. When they're done, the sun is high in the sky with its heat bearing down on the streets. In the winter, that's a boon. In the summer, it's one more trial for them to deal with. Either way, together they always venture off towards the river where they sit along its edges where concrete still stands against the waves. Street vendors are easy to find all over the city. Better yet, they're cheap. Chikusa gets the two of them something, not sparing any mind for Mukuro, and they watch the ships and smaller boats pass through along the river. Times like this, Ken loves to point out different ships, and points them out with all their details. It's been a long time since he's ever heard about such things, but Chikusa is certain that no one in Ken's family were ever involved with the sea enough that would warrant such knowledge. Where he's picked it up is as much of a mystery as where Mukuro goes to on his own. He doesn't question it too much. Instead, he listens with a strange sort of serenity curling comfortably in his chest.

When they're sitting together like this, Ken's voice filling his ears, Chikusa almost thinks that they could be as they once were again: sitting along the window of his home and watching busy streets far below them.

This is where Mukuro is always sure to find them, whether it's information they've told him or not. Sometimes he sits with them, too, and talks pleasantly with Chikusa and laughs at things that Ken says. Other times, he eagerly rushes them to their feet. Today, it seems to be the latter as he comes up to them with his thumbs hooked into his pants pockets. "Come on, come on," he urges, bright eyed and energetic. "Let's see what she's left for us today."

"If she's left anything," Chikusa reminds him, taking his time in getting up to his feet. Mukuro's voice was all Ken needed to hop to his immediately, which makes him the last one. "Some days she doesn't."

Waving off his concerns with a lax hand, Mukuro sets off as soon as Chikusa is up. "I have a good feeling about today," he says. "I'm sure she'll have left something." With that said, he leads the way to Granny Rags' home.

This, too, has become a part of their routine. Ever since they first proved to her their ability to get things done, little tasks have always been available from the strange old woman with her white eyes and withered fingers. Sometimes she's there, but, more often than not, little notes much like the first one are left for them to find somewhere in the general vicinity of her home. At first, Chikusa thought they'd be simple if often dangerous, but...

"I hope she's straightforward with this one, if there's one at all," he mutters, slouching in his distaste. One would think that finishing a suspicious old lady's "grocery list" would be rather simple. Yet despite this general idea, it's not always so with Granny Rags. Every now and then, instead of outright listing what it is she wants them to get, they stumble upon riddles or strange sing-song rhymes instead. During those kinds of days, it takes them just as long to figure out what exactly it is that she's asking as much as it does to actually complete them. If there's any bright side to the whole annoying endeavor at all, it's that she never seems to demand them too quickly. They can afford to take their time a little if there's something difficult, or that they don't understand right away.

Mukuro only laughs a little bit at him. He laughs even harder when they find a note rolled up and tied to her door that, when unfurled, reveals yet again another bizarre nursery rhyme of a puzzle and which draws a scowl onto Chikusa's face. Yet if he's scowling, then Ken is scowling all the harder. Slumping against Chikusa's side, he groans. "Not again!"

"Now, now." Mukuro sounds amused as he reads over it. "It's not that bad." Then again, he would say that. If there's anything that Chikusa has learned in all the years that they've stayed together, it's that Mukuro thrives on theatrics. If he wasn't the supposed child of a witch, then Chikusa wonders how long it would take for him to end up in theater and on a stage. While him and Ken sulk to the side, Mukuro finishes reading and hums a little bit. "No.... I think this might be easy. Although..." Pausing, he looks over to the two of them. "You two might not like it."

Ah. Somehow, the way he says that wipes away all of Chikusa's grouchiness. In its place, uncertainty and anxiety faintly coil. There's no worry from Ken, however. Instead, he cocks his head to the side and asks, "Why, is it really hard?"

"It might be." Stepping away from Granny Rags' door, he nudges his shoulder against Chikusa's to get him to follow. And where Chikusa goes, Ken follows. Mukuro says nothing else in explanation. Instead, he's utterly quiet as he leads them out of the district all the way until they can find an alley that hasn't been claimed by any gangs. Only quiet and garbage wait around here. After a quick look around to make sure they're truly alone, he gestures them closer and crouches onto the ground. With their heads bowed together, he whispers, "I think she wants a human eye."

Chikusa freezes up. In the back of his mind, he's thinking of a kitchen knife in his hand again. Ken is much louder, his whisper barely able to qualify as such when he leans in close. "Like from a person?"

"That is what 'human' means, Ken," Mukuro says dryly. After a moment, he adds, "They probably don't have to be alive." He squints down at the paper. "I think."

What a reassuring answer. Letting out a long slow breath, Chikusa closes his eyes. In a way, it's a mistake. He can remember how it felt to drive a knife through the sturdy muscle and flesh of a back. He can remember how it looked and smelled to see the hagfish tearing into it all. This kind of bloody business is something he isn't unfamiliar with, is it? Opening his eyes again, he looks over to Mukuro. "Where are we going to find a dead body? It's not like those are just left lying around."

"Now that's the question..." Tucking the note into his pocket, Mukuro rests his elbows on his knees so that his face can do the same in his hands. "Maybe from a hanged criminal?"

Poetic, but with a problem. "They haven't done public hangings ever since the Empress happened," Chikusa points out. He's heard enough guards and adults talk about this sort of thing to know. Nowadays, everyone just goes to the prison to rot there. There's no way them or anyone else will ever be able to break into there.

Mukuro's cheeks puff out. "Maybe from a gang fight?"

"So you want to hang around gangs and have a knife waved in your face all the time..." Clearly his answers aren't pleasing Mukuro at all, judging by the sulk that's making itself more and more at home on his face. Still, well, this is what Chikusa is best for. For the most part, he'll go along with whatever the other boy has in mind. It's more comfortable that way. Yet sometimes he has to be reined in. If him and Ken are left to their own, after all, then they'll just get themselves hurt. Chikusa knows this for a fact. He can help at least a little, however, and Chikusa tries to think of some solutions himself. Granny Rags' little errands are the only leads they have on learning anything more about the Outsider, even if she's never given them much more than one charms and other such trinkets. Until they can find something else... They're stuck with this. "Well... Is there anywhere dangerous, but that a person wouldn't tell their family or anyone else that they're going to?"

Chins in their hands, they all try to think, and then Mukuro smiles. "Ah," he says simply. "I think I know just the place."

No amount of asking from Chikusa or Ken has him reveal what idea has suddenly struck him. All he does is get them to follow him, off into the twisting maze of alleys which make up the city. On more than some level, Chikusa is worried. He did say "dangerous", and they are going to find a dead body. Who knows where they'll be led?

At the same time.... This is Mukuro. He's strange, and his mind wanders into dark places, and he's pretty arrogant no matter what seems to happen to him. These are all true facts. Yet in the entire time that he's been with them, he's watched out for Chikusa and Ken better than any adult Chikusa has ever known. Few things have ever harmed them, and that which has he's always made sure to get back at twice over. His presence is a reassurance, and his leadership a comfort. Even considering the worst which might happen, Chikusa follows him regardless.

When they step into the streets proper, Chikusa has to crane his neck back to take a good look at the building before them. It's enormous, pale white walls seeming to shine in the sunlight. It rises up above many other buildings that surround it, and the dome which tops it all off glints blindingly. While he can't see it, Chikusa is fairly certain of what is perched up on its very top: a thin metal cat, gold and brilliant.

Ken is just as shocked as him, staying behind as Mukuro steps forward. For a moment, Chikusa thinks he might continue down the street or make a turn somewhere- but no. Walking past the boards positioned along the street, he makes his way right towards the opening among the tall walls that are around the Golden Cat's entrance. "Wait," Ken squeaks, his brown eyes wide, "we're going to the whorehouse?" Chikusa doesn't smack his arm for the language coming out of his mouth. He's too busy staring at Mukuro as well.

Pausing in place, Mukuro glances back at them with a couple of innocent blinks as if he has no idea what the problem could possibly be. It doesn't last long. In only a few seconds, the look cracks apart, and he gives a cocky little grin. "What, are you scared?"

Chikusa isn't entirely sure if scared is the word that he would use to describe the feelings going through him right now. Perhaps "tentative", or "bewildered", or "just a little embarrassed". Ken doesn't think that long on it. All he does is jolt forward, taking Chikusa along with him, and says far too loudly, "No I'm not!"

There's nothing around the Golden Cat which hints that it's particularly busy. That means there's no one to really see the three of them step past the walls and to its front door. In the entire time that Chikusa has faintly been aware of buildings that- well, buildings like this, with business that it does, he's never particularly thought about what they would look like. It's been far outside of his experience, and he's never had reason to ever go near them. Certainly he would never have thought that it could be beautiful, but the space filling the journey from walls to front doors kind of is. He's seen the idea of gardens in various paintings, just never seen the real deal. In real life, the experience is different than anything he could have imagined. It's a small area, to be sure, but the greens of life pop vivaciously compared to the dull grays and browns that the city is so heavily coated in. Flowers dot bushes or vines here and there, lovely bursts of color that fill his nose with an alluring scent. Everything is such a pleasant surprise that Chikusa almost forgets what they're entering.

He's hit with the reminder when they go up the stone steps and step past the wooden doors into a room drowning in red. As the former child of a noble, he's used to richly decorated places. This is something else, however. The lobby of the Golden Cat looks like a murder scene, with red everywhere that can be used. All that offers his eyes a reprieve from the brilliant color are the little things: a small bell at the counter, portraits which line the wall up the curving back stairway, two doors which are on the ground floor. In all the time that he's explored the city, it's no longer felt so imposing. Chikusa thought he had gotten over that particular feeling. Here in the Golden Cat, it hits him all over again, and he doesn't know what else to do besides stand there right in the middle uncertainly, Ken just as lost at his side.

Perhaps to no one's surprise, Mukuro clearly doesn't feel the same. He peels away from the two of them to a door that's on the right, trying its handle. When it doesn't give, Chikusa half wonders if he'll lockpick it, and then wonders for what reason that Mukuro could do so. He had to bring them here for a reason, right? Yet a, er, brothel isn't the kind of place that should have anything to do with dead bodies, is it? There's not much time to ponder the peculiar mystery. From above their heads, heels click against wood, and all he can do is hunch up his shoulders. Should he hide? Should he turn and run out the door? Ken has about as many ideas as he does, apparently, because he stays right where he is.

Before he can come up with a plan of what to do, a figure comes into view from the top of the stairs. It's a woman older than he would have thought, dressed more moderately than he would have thought, and one hand of hers trails along the shining railing which follows the stairs' curve. She doesn't come even halfway down when her eyes catch sight of him and Ken, and she huffs out a sigh of exasperation. "Oh, Outsider's filthy ass," she says, and Ken can't hold back the giggle which bubbles out of him. "So, is it just one of your fathers, or, so help me, is this a double mess? I can warn you right now, you rugrats, I can only tell him that you're here. If he doesn't want to come out, then he won't, so long as he has the money to pay for it."

The mental image of his father coming to a brothel stuns Chikusa into silence. It just doesn't mesh, both because noblemen shouldn't do such things, and because his father was such a worker that he's not sure he ever would have had the time. Then again, how well does he remember his father, anyway?

Ken's answer comes much quicker. "Nah, my pop wouldn't have money to even come through the front door."

That makes her laugh, and she draws down a couple of more steps. This is apparently enough for her to see more of the lobby, because she doesn't have a chance to ask anymore questions before the sight of Mukuro hanging around the side door has her eyes flicking that way. "Oh!" she says, not sounding particularly surprised. "So it's you, huh? Well, you're a little later than usual, aren't you, applehead?"

For the first time in all the years that Chikusa has known him, the faintest traces of a flush begin to burn along Mukuro's cheeks. "I've told you that's not my name," he says, trying for firm and imposing. On other kids, it tends to work. Chikusa knows it does for him and Ken. The woman, however, only snorts at him a little for his trouble and continues her way down the stairs. Mouth twisting, Mukuro keeps talking. "M.M. is here, isn't she?"

The older woman stops before him and the door he's at, hands on her hips. "Well, she hasn't run away from her mother yet," she says bluntly. "But you're not going to find her in the staff quarters. I told you that you're late, didn't I? She's up on the higher floors, cleaning things before her mother and the others get to work." Mukuro opens his mouth, but he doesn't get a chance to speak. The woman holds her hand up before he can get the words out. "Let me guess: you want to go up there to go and see her, huh?"

"And I wanna take my friends too," Mukuro adds, grinning a little. The blush seems to have faded, for the most part.

"Yeah, I figured they were with you." She glances over her shoulder to where Chikusa and Ken are still standing awkwardly. "You know I've gone and told you that this isn't a place for children like you to play around in, haven't I? This is grown up business, with grown up acts that go on."

"I thought you had a bath in the basement, and did theater, sometimes." Her hand snaps out to box his ear, but Mukuro is alas too quick. He dodges it, skittering around her so that he can back up to where Chikusa and Ken are.

"Yeah, you better run off to your friends," the woman grumbles.

"We wouldn't be playing around," Mukuro grumbles right back. "We just want to talk with her and stuff."

"Oh, 'and stuff', I bet."

"Come on, Madam, it won't even take that long, and we'll be out of your hair before your evening customers start coming in."

For a second, she only gives him the stink eye with not a hint of trust resting in the gaze. Eventually, however, she sighs and shakes her head. "I'm getting soft in my old age. You're obviously a bunch of gutter shits, but maybe some friends from outside will do her some good. Alright, just a few minutes, and then I'm sending someone up there to start chasing you off with a broom straight to all your asses."

"Aw, no you won't, Madam." Mukuro's grin is incorrigible. "We'll bring you something nice one day to make up for it." He's already heading towards the stairs himself, and he jerks his head back at the two of them. "Come on, follow me." Jolting at being addressed, Chikusa hurries forward and bows his head politely at the Madam, especially since he knows that Ken, tugging at his hand, won't do it himself. At least one of them should remember their manners when it comes to situations like this.

Higher up on the other floors of the Golden Cat, the constant presence of red begins to ebb away a little in favor of other things. There are various statues decorated all over, marble and gold and silver standing out, and the center of rooms are overtaken by beautiful plants that put the garden at the front door to shame. Befitting of the dome which Chikusa knows is high over their heads now, all the floors seem to be circular in some way as they go up higher and higher. So are various couches, filled with scarlet cushions. It all seems like it could be dizzying to get lost in, yet Mukuro continues to stride along with utmost confidence.

It's not only the three of them and the older woman that are in the building. As they go along, various women soon make themselves apparent. Chikusa has no idea where they're going to, or where they come from. Really, it's hard to pay attention to such a minor detail like that. It's hard, at least, when all of the women are scantily clad in only bustiers or, even more revealing, simple cloths around their chests. Chikusa tries to ignore it, his stare focused hard on Mukuro's back, but Ken isn't so lucky. When he glances to the side at his best friend, urged by how tightly his hand is being held onto, he's met with a ferocious amount of blushing. Ken's face is so shockingly scarlet that he could be placed anywhere within the various rooms they pass through, and he'd blend in with little trouble at all. Occasionally, some of the women they pass by laugh softly at the sight. It's hard to believe, but Ken's face only gets redder.

Eventually, with a floor that has numerous doors leading out to balconies, he comes to a stop. "M.M.!" he calls out, and Chikusa peers around Mukuro's back.

Quite a production has been made out of one door, with a small marble platform and steps leading up to it. A girl around their age is kneeling down on it with a wet rag in one hand. If Ken's face can temporarily match the rest of the decor, than this girl's hair is in a permanent state. Cut into a bob which hangs plainly around her face, every strand is bright red. They don't match her eyes at all, which shine a sharp dark blue when she raises her head. Her clothes are about as plain as any of theirs, although, Chikusa has to admit with no small amount of envy, what she wears is far cleaner. Upon seeing who's calling her name, M.M.'s face twists and she sticks out her tongue. "Ugh, it's you! And you brought friends." The way it leaves her tongue makes it sound like a moral failing.

Mukuro only laughs at her as he goes over to the stairs. "Is that any way to greet me?"

"You haven't bothered to see me for a week, you bet it is." Her eyes narrow in warning. "I just cleaned this thing, so don't you dare step on it in all your dirt and junk. I'll shove you right over the balcony if you do!"

"I know you will." He's far more happy about the statement than Chikusa really thinks is warranted. "How long until you're done with this, then?"

M.M. snaps the rag towards him, aggravated. "What's it matter to you?"

Drawing himself up proudly, Mukuro drawls, "It's a business proposal." When she lowers the rag and regards him a little less hostilely, he continues. "But we can't talk about it while you're working."

Blowing a raspberry, M.M. leans back. "Well, I still have everything else to clean. If it was so important, you should have come here in the morning when all the weirdos were still trying to remember how to be anything but drunk!" She eases up after that, however. "No one wants to see a single part of me when it becomes evening and all the men come here. That's a good time. I can meet you then, although I hope you don't think I'm going to walk anywhere around in the city." With her free hand, she presses her fingers lightly to her chest. "I'm a delicate lady."

"No you aren't."

"Why don't you come and say that to my face?"

"Then I'd have to step up onto those steps you just cleaned."

"And?"

"Didn't you say you would throw me over the balcony?"

M.M. quirks up an eyebrow. "Exactly." While Mukuro laughs again, she continues. "Anyway, I'll be over by the side door, on the workers' side of things. Just knock and I should be there. Now go away. I still have scrubbing to do." Turning away, she presses the rag against the marble once more and gets to work. That's all that Mukuro needs, and he turns on his heel as well. Still holding on tightly to Ken, Chikusa follows after him.

It's a little hard keeping up with Mukuro enough to whisper to him. Ken still refuses to look up anymore, and the amount of blood in his face doesn't seem like it's leaving anytime soon. Chikusa manages when they're on the stairs, his long legs coming in handy. There are a lot of questions on his mind. So many, he isn't sure where to even start. Yet he can't waste his chance while he has it, so he whispers, "Who was that girl?"

"Oh, right," Mukuro says absentmindedly, without a care in the world. "Sorry, I didn't properly introduce you. The Madam did say not to stay around too long, however. Anyway, that was M.M., you know, like the letters."

"Is that her actual name?"

"No clue." He shrugs, beaming at the Madam behind the counter and waving to her before he escorts them out the front door. Chikusa has no idea if she waves back, all his attention still on Mukuro. "Everyone calls her that, even her own mother." Stretching in the warm sunlight, he hums. "She knows some pretty interesting things. All the actual courtesans here do, too."

Courtesan is a pretty fancy way of referring to the women who work in the Golden Cat. Then again, after having stepped through the building just now, Chikusa supposes it isn't exactly a misfit. "So the courtesans are going to know- well." His brows draw together faintly, aware that he can't really say their goal out loud here. Even when they step through the garden and past the walls, he doesn't quite say it. Instead, he tries, "They can help us with what Granny wants?"

"I'm not sure." Once they're in the grime of the alleys, away from the gilded nonsense of the Golden Cat, Mukuro shifts to lean against a wall. "Still, I think it fits the kind of place you were talking about. All sorts of things can happen around here, especially with the Distillery District as it is and the Bottlestreet Gang so close. If anyone can help us, it's M.M."

"Why? Is she reliable?"

"Well, she's bribable, so." Mukuro laughs again and, for some reason, Chikusa finds some tension he's been unaware has existed easing away. So they're not really friends, then, are they? She's just someone who he goes to for his own reasons- information reasons if he had to guess. He doesn't stay with her like he does with Chikusa and Ken. That feels like an important distinction to make, for reasons Chikusa isn't entirely sure he can articulate in the moment. He definitely doesn't have a chance when Mukuro speaks up again. "So is Ken still out if it?" he says, face crumpled up into a teasing grin as he leans forward.

Chikusa looks back to Ken again. "I think so," he says slowly, taking in that still furious blush and how Ken's eyes are planted firmly on the ground. As a test, Chikusa swings their linked hands through the air. "Are you okay, Ken?" There's no answer. Sighing, Chikusa reaches over with his free hand to pinch his side, and his best friend jumps sharply. "Ken. What is it?"

With big wide eyes, Ken looks inbetwee Chikusa and Mukuro with his mouth sort of hanging open without much coming out of it save air. Right as Chikusa is wondering if he'll have to pinch him, harder and in somewhere softer, he speaks up again. "The women.... They were..." His mouth snaps shut for a moment, face blazing hard still, before he can force the words out in a hushed whisper laden with shock. "They barely had any clothes."

The reason hasn't exactly been a secret, but Chikusa still makes a soft amused noise regardless. "Now who can't finish The Prince of Tyvia?" he says quietly. Bristling from head to toe, Ken whirls on him and smacks his shoulder. It's hard to take the attack seriously when Ken is still so bright in the face, and Mukuro has burst out laughing again.

"Shut up! I can too finish The Prince of Tyvia!"

"They had women with no clothes in it, too, so I don't think you can."

"Shut up, shut up!" By the time Ken is done yelling about it, Chikusa probably has a bruise developing in his upper arm and Mukuro has laughed himself all out of breath from where he's crumpled against the ground. He's clearly not going to win this battle. Ken realizes that much with all the overwhelming evidence, so he jerks his hand out of Chikusa's and crosses his arms. There's a huff. "It's different in a book," he mutters as he shuffles awkwardly to have his back to them. Chikusa can't find it in him to draw up much pity. Ken has made fun of him for this exact same sort of thing for ages now.

For now, he focuses on the more important things. "So what are we going to do until evening?" he asks. That's a good few hours ahead of them, at the very least, and they can't spend the whole time sitting around in some alley. For one thing, there's no telling who might come skulking through it. For another, once he finishes his own pouting, Ken won't have the energy to just sit and wait around. That's like demanding a hagfish fly, with about the same level of bad idea attached to it.

Pushing himself up to his feet, Mukuro links his fingers behind his head. "I suppose we could do whatever we wanted," he muses thoughtfully. "We just have to make sure that we don't go too far off. Maybe there are neat things in the river?" There are hagfish and river krusts in the river, that's what neat things there are. Mukuro doesn't wait for any feedback, however. With his mind set, he turns on his heel and begins to head back off into the alley they came from in the first place.

Well, there's no point in arguing with him now. So long as they stay near the more populated parts of the city, they should be fine from anything too bad. Getting up to his feet, Chikusa steps around Ken only to pause. Without a word, he offers his hand and stars at the blond. There's no response for a good few moments, going on nearly a whole second. That's long enough for Chikusa to start worrying if maybe this is serious.... except then Ken suddenly snaps his hand up, and lunges onto his feet so suddenly that both of them nearly lose their balance. "I want to find a shark tooth in the sand!" he announces, tugging on Chikusa's hand. Together, the two of them attached, they rush down the alley to make it back to Mukuro's side.

In the end, spending time at the rivers edge is one of Mukuro's better ideas. It's a little hard, and requires some scrambling off the decks that wait for boats, but they manage to find their way onto the actual shores of the river from there. Sure enough, so near to the Overseers and the money makers that are the distilleries of the district, river krusts aren't much of an issue. More of a danger is getting stuck in the mud or wet sand, their feet slopping through all of it. Fish bones, the occasional seashell, and dead birds are the most that they find, with nothing else of interest let alone shark teeth. When they finally drag their tired legs to back to concrete and stone, the sun is hanging low near the horizon. Back into the alleys and shadows they go, squeezing past all manner of garbage that blocks their way. It's a far different route than they first went through, honestly, and all Chikusa can do is trust that Mukuro knows where he's going. If he actually gets lost occasionally in the twisting paths... Well, he hides it just fine.

Soon, the three of them are making their way to the open area of a building. Maybe some sort of open lobby or something? Chikusa has no idea. All he knows is that it's mostly abandoned, with a cold stove shoved to one corner and boxes populating plenty of other spaces. When Mukuro hops onto one to take a seat, Chikusa and Ken both find some for themselves as well. A door awaits them nearby, a cat symbol drawn onto it.

It doesn't take much waiting before sounds begin to come from it: metal sliding against metal, at various heights. M.M. pushes open the door, a piece of thin meat hanging from her teeth and a bread roll in her other hand. Behind her lies a much plainer wooden hallway than the lavishness he remembers seeing from the rest of the building. "Oh," she says, almost disappointed. "You showed up."

A lot more re-energized since he actually stepped foot into the Golden Cat, Ken bristles. "Hey! That's no way to talk to us!"

Snapping the meat up in her teeth, M.M. tucks it into one cheek so that she can stick her tongue out at him. "You don't get to tell me what to do!" she says haughtily, speaking around a full mouth. "Besides, I thought you needed my help."

Mukuro leans forward before Ken can say anything else, or a fight can break out. Without any subtlety or preamble, he says bluntly, "We need a human eye."

For a moment, M.M. says nothing. Instead, she just chews noisily with a dull eyed stare at him. Finally, she swallows. "That's disgusting," she announces. How gross she finds the idea is more than apparent. Yet there's no fear, or outright refusal. Chikusa suddenly has a feeling he knows why Mukuro likes this girl at all. "What kind of girl do you think I am that I'd be able to get you somebody's eyeball?"

This is the question that Chikusa has been wondering as well ever since Mukuro first set off for this place. No doubt Ken has, too, because he's not subtle as he turns his head to look at the other boy. At least this time, they don't have to wait too long for an answer. "It's not you, exactly," Mukuro drawls. "But isn't this the kind of place where, if a body went missing, it'd be hard to pin him down to having disappeared here?" A laugh bubble out of his throat. "It's one thing to talk gossip about how some noble or politician or another likes having baths, but it's something else entirely to know that he ended up dead around somewhere like the Golden Cat. It's bad business for you, too, right?"

Leaning against the wall, M.M. eyes him with a small huff. "No one," she finally admits, grudgingly, "wants to go to a brothel where people end up dead. It starts up all sorts of rumors, some of them maybe even true."

"Rumors like what?" Chikusa asks quietly, Ken's hair brushing against his shoulder.

She waves a hand dismissively. "Stuff like disease, or a guy getting choked to death during sex." M.M. says the word so bluntly that it doesn't register to Chikusa's mind for a second. By the time it does, all he can do is stare, and she's still talking. "Accidents happen, sure, but that doesn't mean Madam has to own up to them. That's not even talking about whatever gangs decide to roam around, although the Bottle Street guys usually have things settled from what I've heard."

Suddenly, he's learned a lot more about brothels than he ever thought he would learn about up until five minutes ago. While him and Ken are absorbing all this new and strange information, Mukuro takes the reins on the conversation once more. "That's exactly what I'm talking about. I'm not saying you should murder anyone, although that'd be fine too, but just if a corpse happens to come along, we want a go at it."

"You're always such a freak." It's said about as derogatorily as anything else that's come out of M.M.'s mouth, which means it's relaxed and not as bad as it could be. For a couple of moments, she thinks about it while tearing through the roll she brought with her. It doesn't take as long as it would for most people, Chikusa thinks, who have just been asked to alert some boy about a free corpse. "What's in it for me?"

Mukuro bares his teeth at her in a grin. "A date with Ken, the blond one." The blond in question squawks, going a little pink.

"Ew. Gross."

"Chikusa, then?"

"He's barely better."

Leaning forward, Mukuro bats his eyelashes. "And me?"

M.M. promptly turns on her heel and starts to open the door. "I'm leaving."

Ken's laughter bounces off the walls as Mukuro lets out an indignant shout. Leaping up off of his seat, he grabs at her before she can leave for real. Even Chikusa has to admit that a faint smirk tugs at his own lips. With how long they've been together, Chikusa is certain that he'd do a lot of things for Mukuro, maybe even almost as much as he would do for Ken. The fact that he's going along with this ridiculous quest, to get a person's eyeball for some creepy old lady that might be a witch, is proof of this. Still, they wouldn't be friends if he didn't take some amusement in the other boy being teased now and again. By the time Mukuro looks back over to them, however, the smile is gone from Chikusa's face. That means that when Mukuro gets his revenge, he only tugs off one shoe and throws it straight at Ken with a sulky huff. Ignoring Ken's resulting whine, he turns back to the girl whose arm he has in his other hand. "You're so stingy. You know that, right?"

"It's how I get anything worthwhile done." Tearing a piece of bread off with her teeth, M.M. scowls at him. "Be serious for once or I'll never see your face again."

With someone like Mukuro, that's honestly a thing easier said than done. No one is quite as stubborn or cunning as the other boy, even if at times he's a little ridiculous. Sighing, he leans back and cocks his head as if that will help him look at her any better. After a moment of gears turning in his head, Mukuro wets his lips quickly. "We'll get you some expensive jewelry," he finally says. "Something nice."

That stirs M.M.'s interest, and she perks up a little even while looking more than slightly suspicious. "And how are you gonna do that?"

He winks at her playfully, finally letting go of her arm and stepping back so that he's not in potential hitting range. Chikusa doesn't know her all that well yet, but she seems like the kind of girl who would. "It's a secret. But I promise we'll give it to you when you show us a body."

Crossing her arms, M.M. stares him down for a moment with a set frown on her face. After a long dragging while, she jerks her chin up. "No jewelry, no dead body," she announces. With that said, she holds her hand out- the one not holding onto bread still. "Deal?"

It's impossible for Mukuro to look anymore pleased. "Deal," he agrees, reaching over to give it a firm shake. "We'll check with you every morning to see if anything has happened."

"Ugh, you're so needy."

It's only when M.M. has disappeared back into the Golden Cat and they're well on their way home through Dunwall's dark oppressive alleys that Ken speaks up. "Are we gonna steal some stuff?" he asks, pressing up close around Chikusa's side to peer at Mukuro. Chikusa lets him ask the questions for now. They're on the same page for this, after all, and, besides, he needs to keep a sharp eye out on their surroundings. Venturing out when the shadow are at their darkest, street lights lone beacons in the night, is something he likes to keep them all from making a habit. It's fine, in measure, and with specific purposes in mind, but too much feels as though it's tempting fate.

"You'll have to be more specific," Mukuro says lazily, peering around a corner to make sure that the coast is clear before he ushers them along. Once they've made it across the street and ducked into another alley, he continues. "We steal stuff all the time. I bet you stole this morning." A nod is made in the direction of Chikusa's bag, where all their groceries and misbegotten gains end up. At some point, that just became how it was, for all that he's made out of fish bones and bitter prayers. "So you'll have to be more specific on 'stuff'."

Ken huffs, and would no doubt wiggle in place if they weren't all already on the move. "I mean," he says, leaping and crawling his way up a fence, only pausing to grab Chikusa's hand to help him in turn, "you told that M.M. girl that you were going to get her some jewelry, right? So are we gonna steal some from a place? Like one of the pawn shops?"

"And ruin the good standing that we have with the pawnbrokers?" Mukuro shakes his head and slows his pace; they're nearing their usual streets, now. Best to not look like they're in too much of a hurry, lest they look suspicious. "If one pawnbroker thinks we're thieves, then the others will hear pretty quickly. That's how that sort of thing is. Anyway, I thought it was obvious." Shoving his hands into his trouser pockets, Mukuro smiles back at them. "We'll just use something from Chikusa's stash."

Inside his chest, his heart freezes. Ken seems to sense something is immediately wrong, his brow furrowing together as he glances up into Chikusa's face and then to Mukuro's back. "Is that okay?"

"It's just like when we take some things to sell to the pawnbrokers, right?" He waves his hand dismissively. "And M.M. will ask even less questions. It's fine."

Chikusa doesn't bother to correct him. In fact, he doesn't speak for most of the night, falling into silence all the way from the abandoned streets they finally reach to the creaking floorboards of their flooded home. Even when he starts to get their dinner for the night ready, Chikusa stays silent. It's questionable if Mukuro even realizes for a long while. This is nothing new, after all, and Ken fills up the quiet well enough by virtue of existence. Chikusa can't really say. All he does is slip away from their small group huddled around the fireplace, and places his hand upon the ladder leading upwards.

His mother's jewelry box is still in the same place it always is. Of course it is. Chikusa is always so careful to take care of it. It's been months, years- what feels like an entire decade, although he knows such time hasn't passed, and neither she or his father have ever come looking for him. He's accepted this fact, that they're never going to come back. At least, he thought he had accepted it. There should be no problem in agreeing with the plan that Mukuro has already set ahead for them. It's perfectly practical, and saving these pieces for pawnshops can take forever. They don't have that long. It's fine to go with a paln like this, just give the jewelry up for something in return if they can, so long as it's important enough. Right? He tries to tell himself this, again and again, and yet the words never sink through. After staring at the closed lid of the box for Outsider knows how long, Chikusa finally lets out a shaky breath and nudges it open. Nearby, a whale oil lamp waits patiently for him, and he reaches over to draw out its pale blue glow.

When he first had the box in his possession, and the air still smelled thickly like rain and ruin, it had been close to overflowing. His mother, he recalls distantly, had always felt so proud of it. He had been able to tell that much from the way she had smiled down at it. Almost had bad had been his father's own pride in giving her something new. They'd really been fond of this collection, he thinks.

Now, it's a mockery of its former glory. All the rings had clustered together, thick and sturdy as the walls of their home. Now, he can see the wood making up the bottom. Various earrings and pearls had made tangled nests inside their little boxes. It's so easy to pick them apart nowadays. Out of everything in the box, it's the necklaces which are closest to staying as they once were. Such a centerpiece, so large, and that makes them a lot harder to sell to pawnbrokers for any kind of worthy price. Even they, however, are looking rather thin in their space. Gently, he runs his fingers along them. All these years, and he hasn't lost the electric feeling which coils in his spine as if he's touching something forbidden. It has less to do with how he's a gutter rat, now, and more...

Behind him, the ladder creaks again. He's expecting, or maybe hoping, Ken. Chikusa doesn't bother to look up to confirm one way or the other, however, and can't find it in himself to be surprised when it's a much darker figure that settles besides him. "I was thinking a brooch," Mukuro says conversationally. "Earrings and necklaces of this length would just look silly on her, and I expect that she'd tell us off for trying to make her look like a fool." Pausing, he listens for Chikusa's reply, and gets nothing. There's a pause where he could be making any sort of expression, if only Chikusa cared to look. "Do you actually still miss them?" he asks, no doubt making an attempt at curbing the incredulous tone to his voice and only partially succeeding.

Does he? Chikusa honestly doesn't know. It doesn't feel like he should miss them. His parents barely paid him any mind, at least that's what all his memories tell him. They fed him, and clothed him, and made sure he had a fine education no matter his young age. Was all of that just because of duty, or in consideration to the image they had to portray? He wants to think otherwise, even now. He wants to think that they looked at him and, for even a fraction of a second, thought that he was something that deserved to be there, with them.

Even as he thinks that, Chikusa knows otherwise. If they cared, they'd have been looking around the Flooded District when its name still clung to it. So why can't he treat the contents of the box so carelessly as Mukuro does?

Fingertips tap impatiently along the wood, nails rattling against them dully, and Chikusa doesn't have to look up to know that Mukuro is getting fidgety. No doubt he thought this would be a lot easier than it's becoming. Before the silence can get to be too much, Chikusa finally opens his mouth and lets out a sigh. "It's still mine," he says quietly, rubbing his fingers against the finely carved details of the jewelry box. Throughout the years, it's seen a few bumps and scratches. No matter how diligently he watches it, after all, accidents do happen. Still, it's as good as could be expected, considering the conditions that they live in. "It's still mine, and you didn't ask."

There are a lot of things that Chikusa will allow Mukuro access to, without any argument or trouble. The same with Ken, as Ken. Their blankets switch nightly from who they're wrapped around with, and the only issue that they experience with clothes is when something doesn't fit quite right but they make do regardless. They all ignore how some breeches are a little too short on anyone but Ken, or simply rolling up the sleeves on a shirt that belongs on Chikusa's longer frame. Even food has no boundaries, although they'll bicker over it with no real weight in their words. How common is it for them to see if they can slip something from another's plate, and grin when accusations get leveled their way? And yet...

And yet.

Down below them, the fire still crackles lazily where it is, and Ken's pacing gives away his impatience. Unlike down there, the shadows of the attic are steady in the face of whale oil burning. It matches how still the two of them are, unmoving, their breaths slow. Mukuro's stare has weight to it, and simultaneously feels as though Chikusa could be turned see-through by it. When he focuses, he certainly focuses. Chikusa has to admit that. He has no idea what might be churning through the other boy's head, or what he might say. So it's a surprise when he finally leans back, and Chikusa at last turns his head to follow him. Aggravation, anger, boredom- Chikusa is expecting any of those, and others, and even more combinations. Instead, to his surprise...

It's hard for him to describe it. He's still staring straight through him, eyes as eerily bright as always, but the muscles in his face are so relaxed. Like he's found another bonecharm, or something strange and familiar. "Ah," is all he says. "I see."

What does he see? Chikusa so very badly wants to know, the twists of desire hitting him hard and fast. He leans forward, the hunger perhaps showing in his eyes, because Mukuro laughs and suddenly things are perfectly at ease.

"Well, don't worry about it." He leans forward, long enough only to lay his hand over Chikusa's to guide it into shutting the jewelry box. "If you don't want to by the time M.M. comes through for us, we have plenty of other options, right? We can always steal, as usual, although, as I told Ken, it would do us best if we don't target the pawnbrokers. Those are bridges we don't want to burn right now." With the box shut, he pushes himself up onto his feet. "Shall we go back to him?"

Something... has happened. Chikusa is sure of that much. What that something is, well, it's a mystery that he suspects he won't solve anytime soon. Regardless, he nods his head, and puts the box back into its place. When they come down together, no yelling or fights having happened, he can see that Ken practically melts in relief from where he's paced himself all the way to the other side of the room. Still united, they curl up near the fire until the night is too dark and their eyelids too heavy. So late, Chikusa nearly forgets that a new part of their routine has now been added.

He's given a reminder come early morning- far earlier than they usually wake, which is saying something. It begins with something nudging into his side, stirring his mind into consciousness, and that's when he realizes that the warmth on both sides of his body are gone. Immediately, he shoots upright and leaves his brain behind, panic at the helm of his thoughts. Fortunately, he doesn't have to look far. The faintest patch of light is visible when he looks around- the door leading down into the bedroom, moonlight offering its meager self best it can through such a small opening. Right there are two figures, and he can barely see their heads turn towards him as he begins to crawl his way over. His glasses are left somewhere else, leaving him half blind, but Chikusa doesn't care.

"See?" Mukuro says, quietly exasperated but fond in his own way. "You've gone and woken Chikusa up now. There wasn't any need for that." Still, he doesn't go anywhere, and Ken reaches his hand out over to help draw Chikusa closer. At this distance, he can see now that Mukuro is partially on the ladder, with only his shoulders and head poking through.

"Where are you going?" he asks, a quiet terror gripping his heart tightly. Mukuro has no chance to answer for himself. Ken steals the opportunity, his shoulder bumping against Chikusa's as he leans in close.

"He was just gonna leave us to go see that girl!"

Sighing, Mukuro shakes his head. At least, that's what Chikusa thinks happens. It's a little difficult to tell in the darkness and without his glasses. "We have to go check with her to see if anything has happened, remember? It's not a job that needs more than one person, surely." Blindly, Chikusa fumbles around until his fingers find the cool metal of a lamp, and it's glow reveals Mukuro's exasperated smile.

Not that he needs to see his face to have come to a decision. "We'll come with you," he says quietly, ignoring the fog of sleep filling his skull. The brightness of Ken's triumphant smile is visible with or without glasses.

"Oh, come on." It's a rather weak protest coming from Mukuro, honestly, and one which Chikusa firmly ignores as he crawls back to their nest of blankets to feel for his glasses. "You two worry too much." Or maybe they worry just enough. Regardless, Chikusa ceases his complaining when he makes them a quick breakfast, and the food muffles anything else Mukuro says.

Lit by the last vestiges of the moon and not yet claimed by dawn's sun, they traverse familiar streets made unfamiliar with the time, and it gives them nothing in the end when they arrive at the side door to the Golden Pussycat. M.M. takes one look at them through a crack in the door with her eyelids heavy, curses, and slams it shut.

So that's a "no" on the corpse front, apparently.

The routine changes from that point on. Not too much, but enough for Chikusa to feel the differences distinctly with every passing day until he adjusts. A visit to M.M., a lazy drift back to the Flooded District where they can be safe, and then the usual chores that they've all assigned themselves. Bit by bit, Chikusa finds himself getting used to it. That's what he thinks, a couple of weeks into it, when he's suddenly surprised.

It comes to him when he's squinting at the lines of fish that are on a fishmonger's stall, trying to decide just how sick of hagfish and canned meats they are, in the form of a breath suddenly blowing sharply along the back of his neck. Chikusa yelps, startled, and his fists are already curled at the ready when he twists around. Mukuro laughs, taking a step back. "Oh, you weren't expecting that?"

Obviously not. More than he wasn't expecting the breath, however, he never would have expected Mukuro to suddenly appear in the market. It doesn't fit their schedule at all. Chikusa and Ken do things there, whether legal or not, and Mukuro... Mukuro goes off to do whatever it is he does. Apparently, that means sometimes making friends with the daughters of courtesans. His life outside of them could have anything going on in it, if that's the sort of thing he does out of their sight. Such a thought makes him nervous, sometimes, Chikusa has to admit... Right now, there's only a faint confusion. "Did you want me or Ken to get you something?" he manages to mumble, taking in the other boy. He's rocking on his heels, hands hidden behind his back.

Mukuro chuckles at him. "I would have remembered to tell you in the morning before we separated," he reminds him. Mukuro isn't as careless or forgetful as Ken sometimes can be. It's a trait him and Chikusa share. "No, it's the opposite." Before Chikusa can question what exactly he means, Mukuro's hands snap out and something alights upon his head. Blinking in befuddlement, Chikusa reaches up.

It's... a hat. Some sort of cap, to be more exact, like the sort he sees on the heads of boys selling newspapers. A firm bill at the front, a button on top, and softness everywhere else. Well, maybe 'soft' isn't the right word, considering how worn down it feels. As Chikusa explores with his fingertips, the bumps he comes across signifying torn through and roughly handled fabric. Clearly, however old this thing is, it's seen a life. "What's this?" he asks when there's nothing more to be discovered by touch alone.

Mukuro has been watching him the entire time looking quite pleased with himself, which isn't new. Then again, maybe he's been enjoying the utter bewilderment that has drenched Chikusa so utterly. Both are probably true. "Something to be yours," is all he says, stepping closer and leaning forward enough so that he can look up into Chikusa's face. Not that it's a hard thing, honestly. Chikusa has noticed he's been hitting even stronger growth spurts than anything he experienced in his youth, and, no matter how much Mukuro grows, he's still always a little behind. "Don't you like it?"

"I don't even know what it looks like," Chikusa points out, and earns more laughter. Mukuro reaches over again, but this time not towards his head. Instead, he grabs Chikusa by the hand and begins to guide him elsewhere. Chikusa could ask him where. He doesn't. What kind of answer is he expecting, anyway? It'll become clear in a moment and, sure enough, it does. Mukuro comes to a stop a little out of the marketplace, near some of the more established shops of Dunwall. The windows aren't in the squeakiest clean condition, no, yet they're better off than in some places in the city. Here, where the people are busiest and their wallets at their fullest, it pays to be at least moderately clean with windows that can show off fine wares. Decent ones, anyway.

They're clean enough for what Mukuro wants, which is for his and Chikusa's reflections to look back at them. Even discounting dirt and dust, the hat atop of his reflection's head is a sturdy brown that looks warm no matter how many shadows are around. When Chikusa reaches up to tug it down, he feels... different. How, exactly, he isn't sure. All he knows is that the boy with the messy short hair in the window is a very different boy than how he's ever felt. Or is it because of Mukuro's reflection right besides his, the warmth of his body pressing in at his arm. "So what do you think now?" he presses, impatient.

What does he think? His fingers curl along the side of the bill, slow and uncertain. "I.... like it," he answers at last. In fact, he's amazed at how much he likes what he sees and who that other boy is. "It's nice." Besides him, Mukuro's smile is long and satisfied.

"I knew it would look nice on you."

"Where did you get it?"

His answer is a sharp dismissive shrug, which says all it needs to even without words. "It's unimportant," he says. Leaning in closer, their arms against one another, Mukuro hums. "It's yours." Inside his chest, Chikusa's heart does something strange and funny. "Completely." For a moment, there in the street with dozens of people passing them by and the buildings thick in their unity as they rise high up into the sky, he feels detached from it all. It's not in the usual way, however, where mind and body are at an odds. Instead, it's... with someone, for once. It's with Mukuro, this strange story-telling witch-child with his mismatched eyes and clever knife-wielding fingers and secrets he wanders off with that no one else is privy to. The rest of the world exists, sure, just only in the most distant sense where it doesn't exactly matter. At least, it doesn't matter as much as being right here, right now, with him.

Mukuro continues to look right into him, as he did some years ago in a dark room with the moonlight watching them, and Chikusa can't put into words what is going on inside his chest.

"Hey!" Like that, the moment is broken, and Ken's voice draws Chikusa back down to earth as it always has hundreds of times before. The world is back with a single blink of his eyes. The crowds suffocate, the buildings intimidate, and Ken shoves his way against the tide. "There you are!" He stumbles to a stop besides them, huffing up at Chikusa. "You looked so weird I couldn't find you!" A prompt shove into Chikusa's lanky frame shows how annoyed Ken is.

Well, it's sort of stupid to blame him for this change in appearance, and Chikusa promptly frowns. "I'm not the one who got it," he huffs. "Why are you shoving me?"

"Because you're the one wearing it, Kakipii." Sticking his tongue out at Chikusa, Ken turns back to Mukuro like he forgot he existed. "I want a hat too!" When he's laughed at, he puffs up and whines.

With an indulgent ruffle of that wild blond hair, Mukuro points out the obvious. "Wouldn't you just forget to put it on, even if it was raining? Besides-" He ruffles harder, which only serves to make Ken dig his head up into Mukuro's hand all the more. "You couldn't fit it over all your hair anyway."

Instead of arguing like he probably would with Chikusa, Ken just shrugs and grins when Mukuro's hand leaves him. "Yeah, probably," he agrees easily. "So are you gonna stick with us for the rest of shopping?" The conversation dissolves, then, into the usual relaxed chatter that goes on between the three of them, and Mukuro indeed sticks around for once.

Yet.... After that, it keeps happening. Not every day, not every week, but, or the next six months, Chikusa begins to find himself with more hats than he ever has had in his life. That's not saying much, honestly. His parents had given him two hats, the only things which ever seemed to steadily fit him, with one being for summer and the other winter. Both had gotten wrecked years ago, when he'd outgrown them, and Ken had gotten the bright idea to reuse them as patchwork for their bags. Yet Mukuro always does his best to bestow him one, eventually and one way or the other. Soon enough, Chikusa finds himself the proud owner of four different hats, with each one being different than any of the others. There's the plain cap, the very first. It fits the best, and Chikusa likes it the most. A close contender is one that's a least two sizes too big, navy blue gone paler from too much exposure to the sun, and it's the best for hot days where he wants to tug something over his face. Number three is gray and thick, if a little snug, made for winter, and that leaves number four. It's certainly a hat. That's the best that can be said for the thing, made up of patchwork as it is. No same piece of cloth matches in color, material, or pattern. It's hideous. Chikusa loves it.

Even Mukuro can't quite seem to believe how taken Chikusa is with the whole thing. "Ken is going to get jealous at this rate," he says, his cheek resting in one open palm. In front of them, the fireplace has quieted down into embers. It's a warm night, honestly. There's no need to feed the flames. Their blankets are enough, perhaps too much, and the pair of them sit in the emberglow. Ken is sprawled out inbetween both of them, his head against Chikusa's legs and his feet brushing past Mukuro's. Whatever the other boy might say, he seems content enough in his sleep if the snores are any indication. Mukuro's eyes follow the dim shape of Chikusa's fingertips, slowly tracing out each bit of stitching in his ragdoll hat. "He'll start chewing on them to get your attention again."

How silly. Ken has been with him always. If there's anyone who has to worry about the other's attention wandering, well, it's not Ken. Still, Chikusa goes along with the tease. "We'll save up for something sweet to make it up to him," he says quietly, and finally looks up. The moon is bright, tonight. With the water outside reflecting its light, there's enough to see Mukuro sitting near him. Barely enough, but enough regardless. Once was a surprise, second pleasant, and third would have been more than enough. It's the fourth which has him give voice to the question that's been waiting on his tongue. "Why do you keep getting these hats for me?"

In the moonlight, once more, Mukuro looks so ethereal. Lately, or perhaps it's only in Chikusa's eyes, it's become more noticeable, similar to the way Ken glows underneath the summer sun. It's almost funny. Hasn't he known these two boys for ages now? Yet there's so much new to them that he's started to pick up. With Mukuro, there's so much to see. There's so much that feels as though Chikusa is seeing it for the first time. His dark hair, here in the gloom, betrays the way it shifts with color as he tilts his head to the side at Chikusa's question, and he thinks he can see the darkest depths of the sea in the way it moves. "We're alike, don't you think?" he asks, a coy smirk playing upon his mouth.

Ethereal, but still a complete pain. Chikusa's eyebrows lower a bit, hinting at how unimpressed he is even if he's not outright scowling. That's more a Ken kind of expression. "That doesn't answer anything at all..."

Mukuro chuckles, as he so often does. Whether it's annoying or charming, Chikusa still hasn't decided after all this time. "I want a lot of things," he says, confident and at ease in his greediness. "It's why I couldn't stay home. It's the same for you, isn't it?"

...Is it? Chikusa has never thought about it. Perhaps it's the station he once was fortunate to hold as a child, the child of nobility, which has allowed him to be blind to such a question. Clothing, food, and all of that were well, but he never ached for them. Yet the more he thinks about the question Mukuro has posed, the more he realizes that he's hungered for other things. Independence from his father, once upon a time. Knowledge, most certainly. But what he's wanted most of all....

Carefully, he moves one hand from the hat in his lap and lets it curl gently around Ken, as not to wake him. Mukuro hums.

"But," he continues on, resting his hand against the floor and leaning back, "I want to own things that are mine, and mine before anyone else's. Everyone has to have something that's just theirs, right? It can't be passed down. It's why I never would have accepted anything of my mother's, even if she had cared for me." The words end with a proud snort.

"Does it matter?" Chikusa asks quietly, his gaze unable to rest on Mukuro any longer. Instead, it drifts down to the hat in his hand. Even if he's asked that question, Chikusa knows the answer for real inside his chest. He knows it like he knows what Mukuro's response will be, coming from the dark.

"Of course it does. If someone wants to keep something that isn't theirs over something that is, don't you think you should ask why that is?"

Mukuro.... doesn't mention the jewelry box. There's still no denying that its presence seems to weigh quite heavily on Chikusa's shoulders as he sits there, and the question haunts well alongside it. Why does he want to keep it so much? His thumbnail worries a little bit at a stitch that sticks out too thickly. Is his inheritance really so important? What does he think will happen with it? Suddenly, he viciously wants Mukuro just tell him what to do about it. Keep it, give it away, some sort of direct order.... Anything so long as it's that. Thinking about it too heavily is so frustrating, and he's sick that his parents' ghosts can still haunt him for this long.

No answer or order comes from Mukuro. Instead, there's a thmp, and Chikusa looks over to find the other boy having flopped back into his portion of the blanket pile. Moonlight stretches across pale skin, highlighting how his dark lashes curve along his cheeks. "Are you going to sleep there?" he asks, blinking. They rarely sleep in the bedroom, even as most people haven't dared to venture into the Flooded District anymore with how empty it is. Even beggars and other such homeless types stick to the dryer parts of what was once Rudshore, although Chikusa thinks he's overheard chatter in town proper that has talked about starting to rebuild. Old habits are hard to break.

A smile flickers across Mukuro's face, and he doesn't open his eyes. "It's a little too warm a night to go to sleep up in the attic, right?"

"I suppose." Chikusa doesn't lay down as well. Instead, he stays sitting where he is, watching Ken's breathing and how, in time, Mukuro's own chest slows down to match it. When he's certain that both of them are well and truly asleep, he begins to move. Getting Ken's head off of him requires a truly delicate touch. Out of all of them, Ken is the lightest sleeper. More than once in the past has he jolted upright, and Chikusa has awoken to find his best friend prowling about with the declaration that he thought someone had broken into the home when it was only the wind. So he's slow, and careful, and it takes a long time until he can finally settle Ken's head against the rest of the blankets. Fortunately, sneaking away is at least Chikusa's forte. It has been ever since he was a child for more trivial things, and he's learned to be even quieter now that he's a little older. Neither of his friends wake up as he sneaks over to the ladder that's stayed down. It sighs and creaks a little under his weight, as it does, but neither shape has moved when he glances back down from the very top.

Good.

It's been a while since he's looked at his mother's jewelry box, he realizes when he pulls it out. The pearls have kept them fed enough, and Mukuro hasn't mentioned in quite some time about using the box to pay for whatever they need. A bit of dust has gathered across the fine lid, and it creaks when Chikusa opens it. Everything is exactly how he left it, months ago when he last looked through everything. The necklaces are all lined up. The rings and earrings are cluttered together in their respective spaces, wood seen past the space that is inbetween them.

There are indeed brooches. Many of them. Lovely cameo type things are lined up here and there, of women whose names Chikusa does not know and doubts he will ever know. A couple of them have miniature pictures, framed in metal, painted with the utmost care and detail. Plenty of others are finer things, shining with jewels and gems. He picks them up, looking hard down at them as if they can give him any answer. Yet metal and precious stones tell him nothing, no lungs or mouths to bestow upon him any knowledge. They only lay there, valuable but worthless against his touch.

Eventually, Chikusa puts them back, a hollowness in his chest and a hat flopping against his head. All he can do is put them back. With the whale oil lamp snuffed out, he slips back down the ladder where Mukuro and Ken await in their sleep. When he lays down with them, Ken inbetween him and Mukuro, the blond wiggles back into him. Chikusa lets out a breath.... and goes to sleep.

M.M. alerts them to a corpse a week later.

It's clear from the second that the Golden Cat's backdoor comes into view that things are different this early morning. Unlike all the other times they've ever paid a visit, M.M. is already there for once. The door is cracked open, her hands visible on the doorknob, and Chikusa can see for only a moment that she's looking back into the hall before her head snaps back at the sound of their combined footsteps. "Finally!" she hisses, jittery with energy as she swings the door open wider. "Come on, come on!"

Mukuro's eyes light up, and he follows her hurrying gesture to duck in past her. "Someone died?" he asks, voice low and excited. Ken is right behind him, eyes alight with fascination and his hand tugging Chikusa in so that he's not left behind. The second all of them are inside the Golden Cat, M.M. closes the door behind them with her tongue sticking out. It doesn't escape Chikusa's notice that she's careful not to let her movementd be too noisy.

"No, I invited you in for tea!" she snaps quietly, shoving past Mukuro so that she's leading the group. "Follow me, and don't make any noise, okay? There are still clients around, and the Madam is trying to keep this quiet!" She doesn't explain why, but it doesn't need to be. They've already gone over how no business wants to be associated with a murder. That goes double for a business like the Golden Cat, considering its rather less than moral activities that it sells. So even Mukuro keeps his mouth shut, not protesting that M.M. is in charge, and keeps his step quiet. How fortunate that, due to their own various immoral activities, all three of them are good at that.

The Golden Cat is different at night, or, rather, early morning before the sun has even risen. The lights which illuminate it give it an even more red glow, and it's utterly strange to Chikusa. Chatter buzzes from the higher floors, heard even down on the ground where they are. There are other noises, too, of course. They're harder to hear, in the part of the Cat meant for housing, but they get clearer the further along all of them go. From the plain dull walls of the rooms where the women sleep, to the redder parts of the building, and.... Oh. As M.M. guides them along the stairway, pausing every some steps to keep an ear out for anyone coming down the stairs, he starts to realize what some of those noises are. A heat begins to rise along Chikusa's cheeks, ever so faintly. Ahead of him, he can't quite see Ken's face, but he can see the back of his neck and ears. Even as Chikusa watches, they burn pure scarlet.

There's no such reactions from M.M. and Mukuro, so far as Chikusa can see from his position in the very back. Their self-claimed leader is too busy buzzing with excitement, glancing back at them occasionally with eyes that shine and a razor sharp smile. M.M. is all utter focus in contrast. She freezes at portions of the stairs, her ears almost visible as she strains to hear if anyone is coming near, and continues the same action all the way through the curving halls and little rooms they duck through. Most of the rooms seem to be.... occupied, with only the occasional woman and sometimes her customer hanging about in the comfortable couches that litter the building. When they pass through one room that seems to lead to an entirely different section of the Golden Cat, Chikusa catches the faintest sounds of what sounds like the Prince of Tyvia being recited and echoing. They don't linger long enough for him to get any more of an idea than that.

When M.M. finally comes to a stop that's more than a pause, it's before a closed door. There's no marble, like with the door they first met her at months ago, yet there's no denying the richness of the wood. Perhaps it's only Chikusa who can tell such a thing. Regardless, M.M. digs through her dress and pulls out a particular key to undo it. There are too many people around, even at this hour. When she hurries them in, it's even more demanding than when she'd gotten them into the building in the first place. Just like then, it's Mukuro, Ken, and Chikusa, with M.M. shutting the door firmly behind them.

Destination reached, Chikusa takes a breath and nearly chokes on the amount of incense that fills the room. With the rush they've all been in, he hasn't had the time to really take in everything as he did before. Right now, he knows there's only a few scant moments to do even that much right now, so he squeezes the pause for all its worth. As with just about every single part of the building that they've been in, at least those meant for the paying public, it's completely curved around. Maybe that sort of energy is what helps the incense fill up the room so much- a thick scent that speaks of spices and flowers. Distantly, he recalls that his mother used to instruct the servants to do the same thing.... only in more moderation.

The scent certainly fits the room, at least. A large vanity, almost obnoxious in the length of it and the mirror that is propped on top, dominates one part of the room. Chikusa has only a glance to take everything in, and he can't name a good handful of the things which are displayed upon its surface. Some are perfumes, others seem to be oils, and then there are tools he can't begin to name. Frankly, he's not sure he wants to. Across from it is the main piece of the room: an enormous bed underneath a (probably) expensive painting with dozens of pillows strewn across it.

A lump is hidden beneath the sheets.

Mukuro is already hurrying over to it, ignoring M.M.'s hiss of "Hurry up! They wanted to grab the corpse and hide it before the sun comes up! We don't have a lot of time before some gang member or other gets here!"

"You worry too much," Mukuro says dismissively and, with a wide sweeping jerk of his hand, tugs away the sheet.

The man- the corpse- underneath has gone utterly cold. Chikusa can tell even at a distance, and it only becomes all the more apparent as he steps closer with his fingers still curled along Ken's. His skin has gone pallid, veins far too apparent beneath the surface, and wide bloodshot eyes are stuck staring unblinkingly at the ceiling. Around his throat rope marks stick out vividly, as if even the individual strands could show in the imprint if one only looked close enough.

"Awesome," Ken says, voice soft with awe.

"It won't be if we get caught- wait!" In a flash, faster than Chikusa would ever have assumed from her, M.M. is at their side and getting right into Mukuro's face. "Payment up front! Or I'll start screaming, and that'll draw the whole place down on you."

Backed up against a bed with a corpse on it, Mukuro's lips thin and he narrows his eyes at her. "You wouldn't bother to try. I doubt screaming is an uncommon sound around here."

Her eyes flash. "It is if it's a young girl screaming and not someone older."

Mukuro huffs but he doesn't argue. "You're such a nuisance, you know. More than six months with not even a little lead, and-"

Pressing in with his hand fishing through his pocket, Chikusa takes one of M.M's hands and shoves a brooch in it. She starts, her other hand half curled into a fist, before she realizes what's just happened. Blinking, she unfolds her fingers and stares down into what has been given to her. It's a thin delicate thing, a bird on some sort of meaningless curling symbol that's more for art than meaning, and pearls line every bit of it that can be lined. Many of them are delicately minuscule, yet still glow with that characteristic white. The only odd parts out are the small bright red jewel which makes up the bird's eye and a larger one in the cluster of pearls.

"Oh," she says, flabbergasted, before a wide pleased smile sweeps across her face. "Oh." Closing her hand around the brooch once again, she tosses her head back and leans against him to stare at Mukuro. "It's good to know which of you is the one with real money around here. Or at least one who remembers to pay up. No one likes a poor person, Mukuro."

Rolling his eyes, Mukuro puts a hand on his hip. "You're hardly anyone of note either." While M.M. bristles at him, Chikusa can't help noting how the other boy's shoulders have lost some of their tension. Still, she's right-

"We have to hurry," he reminds both of them quietly.

As if some sort of rule has been broken and given him the all clear, Ken bursts out with, "I want to tear it out!" Perhaps if they were normal little boys, that sort of sentence would never come from Ken's mouth. Then again, it's Ken. He's always had a delight for the revolting and gory. At least, he's never been too afraid of it, or shied away. With their lives as they are and the sort of things they've had to do, perhaps that's for the best.

Laughing softly, Mukuro adjusts himself so that there's a little more room at his side. Instead of drawing over Ken, however, he gestures for Chikusa. "Ken, you'll be a little too rough. Let's get it out, first, and then you can clean it." What it means for Chikusa to be brought forth has him want to stop breathing for a second. Fortunately, Mukuro continues. "Chikusa, you have a steady hand. Can you hold his eyes wide open for me?"

Well. That's a little better.

After that, things become... a little distant to Chikusa's recollection. He knows he presses his finger over and under the eye, stretching the lids wide. In an academic sort of sense, he knows that Mukuro draws out a knife and a spoon, and does.... something. Somehow he knows that Ken was called upon to handle the knife, although the details elude him. M.M. also does something, and he can't remember what. All he knows is that one moment he's besides Mukuro and the next the three of them are being shoved out into the street once more by the redheaded girl.

"And don't come around for a while!" is the last thing he hears from behind him before the door clicks shut.

Ken is digging his fingers, his nails, right into the back of Chikusa's knuckles, and the weight of his stare is one of the first things that become clear to Chikusa's eyes. At that same moment, Ken eases up with his brows drawing apart from each other where they'd otherwise been scrunched up in worry.

There's no time to talk. In the distance, gruff voices reach Chikusa's hearing, and Mukuro whispers, "This way!" The Bottle Street gang is near, exactly as M.M. had said, and one can only wonder what they would do with a small gang of boys wandering the streets at such odd hours. Mukuro is ducked into a tight alley, different than the one they often use to get through to the Golden Cat, and Chikusa doesn't have to think twice. Instead, pulling forward as if that will help pull him away from his own strange foggy state of mind, Chikusa follows and pulls Ken along with him instead of the other way around. This alley isn't one he's as familiar with as their usual routes. Normally, he'd ask Ken, who knows them best, or Mukuro, but they're barely in time as it is. As they're near halfway through the alley, light shines through the hole of a street and Chikusa feels suddenly sick.

He doesn't have to worry. When he glances over his shoulder and over Ken's mess of hair, no one is peering into the alley. The light is only residue as the men, typical of Slackjaw's lot, pass by on the way to the very same door that the three of them have just left. Their voices echo down the alley of the early hours, how attractive the women are, if they'll be paid money or favors. It's all a jumble, and Chikusa can only hear that much before Ken nudges him sharply in the side to keep moving.

Right as they squeeze out from the alley, at the very second the last of Ken's hair is out of it, a scream suddenly rises sharply above the roofs of the city. Chikusa jolts, his heart smashing into his chest, but Mukuro can only spare an annoyed sigh. "That must be the distraction she mentioned," he mutters. What distraction? Chikusa suddenly realizes he's missed a lot in the time he's been 'absent' from his own head and body. He wishes he could ask. Mukuro gives him no opportunity to, hurrying down the street. In his hand, Chikusa realizes suddenly, a small rag is held tightly like a pouch. "Alright, this way. The City Watch will be all around here soon, and I bet the Overseers will be nosy enough to start poking around too if they can." With no other choice, Chikusa and Ken follow after him. Their usual shortcuts aren't viable, at least so close to where the scream originated. They need something new.

As they three of them hurry through the night, ducking into shadows and corners, lights begin to flicker into life from the buildings they pass. Voices murmur out from their windows; the scream has woken people up. This means even more hiding, more running, and everything blurs together save for Mukuro's body ahead of them and Ken's hand in Chikusa's. Soon, they're scrambling upwards, over a fence, and Chikusa grunts as his tumbling feet crash into the ground. There's not a lot of space in a city like Dunwall, at least for the places which the poor live in or the lavish rich who take up entire apartment complexes. Not many have gardens. The yard they're in is around as tiny, maybe as big as a small room itself with weeds stretching their leaves up towards the sky. Taking up a good chunk of the yard is a pair of sheds. Mukuro makes a beeline for one, not caring which. Both are equally locked tight, it seems, with a chain at both doors. As he hastily gets to work on the lock, swearing quietly under his breath, Chikusa glances up towards the building which owns the little space. All the windows are dark, but that doesn't mean anything. "What are you doing?" Ken hisses, hovering nervously over Mukuro's shoulder. He still holds Chikusa's hand.

"We need a place to hide," Mukuro whispers back, harried and aggravated. The lock is giving him trouble. "We can't break into a building, a real one, so this is the best option! At least until things quiet down again." The seconds drag by, slow and torturous, until at long last the lock lets out a quiet noise of surrender. Heaving out a sigh of relief, Mukuro tugs it open and ushers all of them inside. No light follows them inside, even before Mukuro closes the door. Immediately after, there's a thump and he hisses. "Stupid stuff all along the floor...."

There is a lot apparently stuffed into the little shed. Chikusa can feel it too, catching at the edge of his pants and where he bumps the side of his feet into them. Crouching down, he finally lets go of Ken's hand to feel about. "It's.... a lamp, I think. Let me see if it has anything in it..." Carefully guiding his fingers, he forms a mental image of the object he's touching until he bumps into the knob to light it up.

A purple glow fills up the room.

Years have passed since they last saw this shade of purple, and yet the connotations associated with it have never left. A sense of breathlessness passes between all three of them. The shed is by no means as fancy as the room underneath the apartment building that they first saw years ago. There's not enough room, for one thing. Still, there's no denying the symbols that can be found carved into the walls, or the small shelf which holds its forbidden ruin. No bonecharms, no purple cloth. Still. They know where they are.

Gesturing for Chikusa to lower the lamp's brightness, Mukuro grins wide. "Good luck eye," he says quietly, and Ken smacks his hands over his mouth to stifle his laughter. "We'll have to remember this place for later, if Granny continues to give us nothing to go on." Glancing back to the door, he thinks for a moment. "Let's sit down. We might be here for a while."

With all three of them crammed into the little shed together, there's barely any room for them to sit down. Chikusa has to draw his legs up nearly halfway so that they aren't forced against the opposing wall, although that only means Mukuro sprawls his own atop Chikusa's feet. Ken is by far the most comfortable, able to curl along the ground as well as any beast. "Don't fall asleep now," Mukuro reminds him.

"I won't," Ken says stubbornly. Some five minutes later, a snore rumbles out from him. Across the shed, Chikusa and Mukuro exchange a glance but neither of them bother to wake the blond. Mukuro gives voice to an excuse a moment later.

"We've had an exciting morning," he says, "I suppose a small nap before sunrise will be fine enough." Faintly, Chikusa wonders if that's an excuse. Still, there's no complaints from him. All he does is nod, and tuck his chin down against his chest. Between legs and chest, he scrunches up his hands to make himself as small as possible. There's no reason for it, really. Simply comfort. Soon the frantic beating of his heart eases, his mind settles... and Chikusa drifts off to sleep.





Rudshore is drowning again.

Far beneath him, the water is rising, and Chikusa's back cannot press any tighter into the stone wall which is behind him. Under his feet is a ledge barely wide enough to give him any hope. There's no rain, he thinks, although distantly he is aware of how the sky is a bloated gray. He is in no danger of the ledges being slick. Still, he stares deep down into the water that, for the time being, is still far below him. Two floors high, he thinks, and with no signs of stopping. As he watches, something churns through the void-dark water. Bigger than hagfish. Bigger than people. Bigger than anything he has ever seen before, and well at home in depths he cannot fathom.

He has no choice. Chikusa begin to move.

All he can do is edge sideways against the wall, stone grinding at his back and his bare toes curling over the edge of his narrow walkway. Occasionally, he comes across a window, and most of them are closed with his fingertips only meeting smooth glass damp with condensation. He's particularly careful around them, wary of slipping and relying on their frames to get him past. Even more than the closed windows, however, he's careful when he comes upon an open one. None of them show any light shining from within. No meager light from the sky pierces through. It is only a window, a ledge inside showing, and darkness past that. At least, so he thinks. He never dares to actually look inside.

Chikusa keeps going. And going. and going.

He's not sure how long he goes. There's one foot sliding forward, the other sliding to join it, repetition that would be boringly mundane if not for the water threatening to rise up to claim all it can reach. Another floor is swallowed up, and something from within the water keens so deeply that it vibrates throughout the stone and up Chikusa's bones. It will reach him soon.

There's another window, and someone is leaning out of it. Chikusa stops.

His eyes don't dare tear themselves wholly away from the sight of the water, so he can only tell a little bit of the individual who is now next to him. They are dark and pale, and it seems as though their arms might be crossed against the window pane as their head and shoulders stick out. Surely, they must notice him, and yet they say nothing. Chikusa says nothing either. The two of them stay there, wordless, silent, and the water rises ever higher.

Much like his journey, Chikusa isn't entirely sure how long he stands there with the stranger as they both stare down at the water. Yet soon the water is less than a yard beneath him, and Chikusa lets out a shuddering breath that rattles the air. His fingers edge towards the window frame next to him, finding grip, and he purposefully directs his gaze skywards as to not look at the stranger. This, too, is barely thick enough he thinks, and Chikusa grunts as he draws his legs up. It's hard, getting up to such a precarious spot without smashing his legs into the stranger's head, but he manages. Up ahead, as he pulls himself higher, he spots another ledge. If he tries, uses all his height, he thinks...

Below him, the stranger exhales in a way that almost implies a laugh.

Chikusa keeps climbing. As his hand digs into the next ledge, he realizes that the sky and air are filled with shattered pieces of-







Ken smashes into them, and Chikusa wakes up.

Around him, the world churns uneasily. Thick gray clouds shift and twist, intermingling with purple-tinted wooden walls. Without thinking, his body jerks for balance and stability as though he still might be precariously close to tumbling over deep into water. His heart beats in his throat, his lungs stop working, and then he blinks reality back into existence. There are no floodwaters rising up to try and steal him. His feet are on solid ground. Him, and Ken, and Mukuro are all still in the same shed that they dozed off into. All he has to worry about is Ken's knee digging into his ribs.

"I saw him!" Ken hisses, the faint purple light from the lamp making his normally warm brown eyes seem strange. They shine too bright, too dark. He's not upset, Chikusa doesn't think, for all that his brows are drawn tight together. Instead, he's merely agitated. Chikusa has seen that kind of look before, although not so intense with emotion, when he's tried to explain some of the words in a book to him. The look on Ken's face now is the same kind as then, when something is far too complex and he's not sure how to parse it but too proud to admit it. Usually, in the face of such times, Ken is quick to dismiss whatever it is. Instead, with this, he says, "Mukuro, did you hear me? I think I saw him, the Outsider!"

Chikusa's brain stutters at the news. For a moment, he wants to say that Ken is just waking from a dream, that it had to be a dream. Yet when he looks across to Mukuro to say as much, the words freeze on his tongue. The other boy barely seems to have noticed that Ken has crashed into both of them. Instead, his eyes are alight with that same burning eagerness as when M.M. confirmed that she had a body for them, and he's looking down into his lap. Even more than Ken, the light shines on him strangely with shadows distorting his face, and his mismatched gaze flicks up at them. "I know," he says quietly, shoulders shaking in silent laughter. "I saw him too." And with that, he raises his left hand. There, etched on it with something that feels deeper than ink with only a look, is the same symbol that he showed them on a dirty floor when they were still relative strangers to one another. It's the same symbol etched into the runes they've seen.

Ecstatic, Ken almost shouts before slamming his teeth together, and he shoves his hand out too- also the left. "Just like mine! He said it was a gift, and then it showed up, and it hurt only a little bit!" Grinning with all of his teeth, Ken turns towards Chikusa. "He came to see us, Kakipii! He finally did!" When no answer comes, his grin dims a little bit, and he squints over at him. "Kakipii, did you hear me?"

He did. But he doesn't answer. Chikusa is too busy staring down at his hands, a slow cold feeling crawling up his heart. Finally, when it's no longer in his throat, he speaks up softly. "I don't have it."

"What?" Ken asks, gaze wide and uncomprehending. Across the shed, Mukuro straightens up and a faint frown appears on his mouth.

"I don't have it," Chikusa repeats, still quiet. "The mark- I don't have it like you two have." He turns his hands over, as if it might show on a wrist or a palm, but no- both are as blank as the top of his hands had been, all bone and pale taut skin and veins.

He has nothing.