"You know, Mukuro-chan, entering without knocking is why you couldn't get a girlfriend," M.M. muses aloud, not even bothering to make eye contact with the illusionist whether by turning around or looking at him through the mirror. Instead, she stays right where she is, lips puckered as she patiently wipes away every trace of lipstick. She doesn't really care for a "nude and natural" look. It's just a lie men feed themselves to think they're better. When she wears lipstick, she wants people to damn well know she is.
Coincidentally, the man sprawled out on the floor unconscious is one of those types, and M.M. catches the flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye where Mukuro idly nudges the pig with his trident. He might be disgusted with the man or he might not be. With the types like Mukuro, everything is hidden behind an insufferably smug smirk a solid 75% of the time. "Oh, but not a boyfriend?" he says with a lazy drawl.
M.M. pops her lips, both in disdain and to make sure everything is clear of her skin. "We both know the only reason you have two is because they never had a chance to learn better," she says bluntly, turning her head to the side to cast a critical gaze upon her skin. There's no reason to wipe away any of the foundation. A little blush here, some eyeliner there, and she thinks this can be a salvageable look. "Isn't it lucky that you have a more worldly woman like me to know what you're really worth?" Digging through her purse, she pulls out a tube of brilliant red lipstick that's a lot more eyecatching.
From behind her, she can hear the click of Mukuro's obnoxious heels as he approaches her long before his arms slide against hers. For any other person, maybe this would be considered a pinning maneuver with the way his chest can just barely be felt at her back and his gloved hands press down against the counter. M.M. doesn't bother to be worried. Even with his eye able to enhance his own combat ability, she's more than confident she could twist his arm right off her if she was worried. Instead, as he leans his head over his shoulder, she uncaps her lipstick and offers it up him. "So what am I worth?" he asks, amusement coating his voice, before he obligingly purses his lips together.
She could rush it, because they're in the private suite of one of the richest corrupt businessmen in the world (which are most of them honestly), and any fucking around could have both of them jumping out of an extremely tall building... But she doesn't. Instead, M.M. patiently traces red all along Mukuro's mouth until it's a nice brilliant crimson. Only then does she say, "For tonight, $6,500 dollars, although I can convert that for you if you only have euros or yen on hand."
Laughing at her, Mukuro pulls away and leaves his trident where he'd rested it against a wardrobe. "So demanding," he says.
"Say the man who needs most of his pawns brainwashed into self harm," M.M. murmurs around her lipstick, somehow managing to speak without smudging even a little bit of red out of line. Frankly, she's quite proud of the fact that she's managed to get this far in their relationship without having that trident ever even touch her skin... or be tossed aside back into the slammer for being too useless. One would be annoying, but the other would be downright infuriating.
She's not about a life back in prison, which Birds and his two pathetic dogs have to deal with for as long as their no-doubtedly short lives will go on. M.M. wants the finer things in life: the good food, the extravagant hotels, the beautiful clothes, and everything else the world has to offer her. Life is short, and M.M. has never found herself to be a particularly religious type. If there's no guarantee on her life, whether from a random sudden heart attack or surge of cancer or a plane's engines failing... Why not?
Maybe if she'd ever forged one of Mukuro's little contracts with him, not much of her life would change... Maybe. But M.M. knows better than to hand that amount of power over to another person like that. After all, if she wouldn't date a man who'd insist on if she worked or not, or on what kind of clothes she could wear, or who she could speak with... Why would she let a man take utter control of her body? Better to keep things simple and upfront with cash.
Besides, while she's pretty sure they were like that long before any blood contracts were made, she can't imagine living in such slavish (and dirt poor) devotion as Chikusa and Ken. Ew.
By the time she's done applying her lashes and eyeshadow, Mukuro has freely rifled through most of what few business papers are in the bedroom proper. M.M. can see just the slightest pinprick down on their target's legs, right on the back of his calf where it's unlikely to go noticed. No one seems to know how Mukuro can worm his way into powerful organizations and businesses, learning things that should be the most closely guarded secrets- not yet at least. M.M. is fairly certain that it's only herself and a small amount of the Vongola for fairly obvious reasons. Well, and Mukuro's own group, of course. That should go without saying. Stepping over the body, M.M. leans against Mukuro's back with her elbow digging into his kidney. On purpose. Of course. "Find anything fun and interesting?" she asks, blowing into his ear so that his earring sways.
"A few things, but nothing too indepth." He waves his hand dismissively through the air. "I'm sure I'll have access to more of what's really useful later." Tucking the folder back onto the desk, almost guaranteed to be exactly how he left it, he glances back down at her body and lets out a snicker. "Are you really going to go for a night on the town in that?"
Asshole. The innocent floral dress and cardigan look really isn't her style, she knows that. M.M. puts her foot down as she turns around, hoping to nail him on his toes only to miss. If only it was that easy to be appropriately petty against him. When she really wants to strike, she has to be creative about it. "Of course not," she sniffs, pausing by his coat rack to dig around until she finds the guy's wallet. This will do as a decent enough tip. "I packed an extra set of clothes. Who the hell do you think I am?"
"A golddigger?" he offers, smug and sly all at once while he stretches his arms up over his head.
M.M. flips him off before leaning down over the unconscious body at her feet. He'll be suspicious if he wakes up like this, more than he will be already at having what looked to be some random girl steal his wallet. The least she can do is dump him on his bed. It will help the impression that she was only that, instead of the way in for someone much worse. He's a bigger guy than her, as most guys tend to be, but M.M. doesn't let that stop her. She's spent years building up her body, all the better to crack her clarinet into a person's skull with maximum force. A mere businesman isn't enough to even make her bust out a sweat as she hauls him up and tosses him carelessly onto the bed where he'd hope to get laid instead of laid out.
His eyelids don't even flutter. Those were some really impressive drugs she managed to slip him. Well, for the amount she paid for them, they better be.
("The amount" being literally any amount. M.M. has found that she can put her money to much more self indulgent uses, and it's more pleasurable to do so.)
"So you're taking me out to dinner, aren't you?" she asks plainly shrugging off her cardigan as she goes over to the slightly ratty backpack she'd walked in with that contains clothing worth more than some people's lives. She doesn't even blink as she reaches down to slide her dress up over her hips and then her head. There's nothing of her body that Mukuro hasn't seen before. If anything, they're both quite familiar with one another on that sense.
As a matter of fact, Mukuro seems more concerned with what she's said than that she's readjusting the hidden straps of her bra so that there's a slight criss-cross of them across her collarbone. "I don't believe that was part of our deal," he drawls before something seems to hit him. "Also it's three in the morning."
"Then it's breakfast," M.M. says offhandedly, sliding on a skirt that's just short enough to get her banned from most schools and a leather jacket which says she wouldn't care either way. Combined with a good pair of boots, and she's all set. There's nothing holding her back from walking over to Mukuro, a sway in her hips, and she smirks up at him with her arms wrapping around his hips. "As if you really have anything else to do in this city, Mukuro-chan." He smirks right back at her, the two of them leaning close enough for their faces to brush.
He blinks. "...Is that your hand in my pocket trying to steal my wallet, or are you happy to see me?"
With their lips maybe a centimeter apart, M.M. makes a couple kissing noises. "Your wallet is the only good thing about you, Mukuro-chan." But then again, her ability to lie, murder, and steal are probably the only good things about her.
The guy takes one look at who he's bumped into, goes about ten different shades of pale in record time, and turns on his heel so fast for his escape that not even Squalo has a chance to pull out his sword. That much is actually almost commendable. Not a lot of things are faster than either Squalo's sword or his bloodlust, with the two often being hand in hand. Left behind in the escape is an enormous bouquet of flowers, and Lussuria, the recipient of such a bump, gracefully raises up her leg to catch it before it can hit the ground.
"That horse is really employing some cowards these days," Squalo snorts, lowering his sword arm.
Peering around him, Bel's lips peel back in one of his usual mocking grins. "Didn't know you were so familiar that you could recognize Cavallone men at first sight, Vice Captain." Apparently, that's far too many mentions of Dino for their boss, and Xanxus forges ahead to lead his group on the way out of this needlessly annoying mafia get together with his lips curled in distaste. If Squalo weren't bristling to start with, he definitely is now.
"It's called having preemptive knowledge of the enemy, you shitty little brat!" Despite Squalo's yelling, all of them trot obediently after Xanxus, following the natural flow of things. It's Levi who notices Lussuria's acquisition first, unable to break past the united shitshow that is Xanxus and Squalo yelling at each other while Bel gleefully eggs things on.
His nose wrinkles slightly. "You're keeping that?" he asks, taking in a look at the bouquet Lussuria now has in her arms as she trails behind most of the pack, picking through the flowers with an idle but gentle touch.
"Well, of course," Lussuria titters, taking a whiff and sighing in delight. "Aren't they beautiful?"
With his idea of 'beautiful' being the six foot brick shithouse that was converted into a distillery with a temper management problem- that is to say, their boss- Levi apparently can't because he raises his nose in the air a little bit. "They're nothing special," he says, which is perhaps the nicest thing he could say about anything that isn't Xanxus.
Lussuria's sigh says she expected nothing else and, while it's a mystery to just about anyone, the chances of her eyes rolling is fairly eye. "You would say that." She ducks her head into the bouquet again, taking in a deep breath and curling one hand to her cheek dreamily. "One day, maybe you'll awaken to the classic beauty of a damsel receiving a bouquet from her lover."
Everyone screeches to a halt.
Well. Lussuria doesn't, sidestepping the sudden traffic jam in the hallway with a kickboxer's ease. Mammon also doesn't, now around the physical age of seven and able to keep up a little bit better these days. Around them, familiar faces are contorted in various expressions of shock. Levi in particular looks as though he's trying to solve a high level arithmetic problem to the dismay of his quickly combusting brain. Bel's is a little more subdued, if only because that's what happens when half of your face is hidden from view, and all he can do is glance up at Squalo and Xanxus with his mouth slightly agape. They, in turn... Either of them run on rage at any given time, so that there's even a hint of bewildered confusion trying to break through is impressive in its own right.
Mammon picks up the conversation with ease. "I thought that's what it was, but I didn't want to say anything right off the bat. That was a fairly clever maneuver, using a cowardly messenger in that manner so that he could discretely send you something. Did he tell you ahead of time he was going to do it?"
"Oh, no. But, you know, the last time we were able to get a bit of time for ourselves, he told me how fitting it was that I had a peacock for a box animal, because I look stunning in every color."
"What a lady killer."
Finally snapping out of it, the rest of the group surges forward to follow after, and Squalo points an accusing finger down in Mammon's direction. "How the hell did you know that Lussuria was dating anyone!?"
Much in similarity with Lussuria and Bel, Mammon's eyes also can't be seen yet they have ways of getting around that minor setback. For them in particular, they're an expert in the use of their particularly plush mouth, and they use it to great effect in twisting in the perfect way to radiate how unimpressed they are. "Because we talk," they state bluntly. "Regularly. Besides, I know everything about everyone in the Varia."
Squalo pulls his finger back. "Fair enough," he says disgruntledly, as they all take a moment to consider that Mammon could auction off their most embarrassing or deepest secrets if they ever though the payoff would be enough to warrant all of their rage. As it is, they're probably lucky that the illusionist is happy with hoards of cash and a quiet place separate from most of society so that they can conduct their research in peace.
That's all he gets to say before Lussuria glances back at him, one finger at her lips as she grins. "Now, Squ! Are you curious about how me and my dashing Romario met?"
Perhaps foreseeing more talk incoming on Dino's lot, Xanxus forges through all of them again with a grunt. "No."
Lussuria knows better than to stop him. She steps to the side instead, waving at their boss' retreating back. "I'll see you back at the base, Boss!" No one else gets to be so lucky. Still having gotten to the front of the pack, she casually weaves her way so that anyone trying to make their way past doesn't get a chance in hell. "Now then, so on how we first met properly, after that time in Japan..."
The only person who is perhaps even genuinely interested in the whole tale she regales them with would be Mammon, and Lussuria knows better than to assume it's from any sort of kinship. They're only there until, in the middle of raising her voice over Bel's complaining, Lussuria slides the illusionist her credit card to charge as they see fit. That's when Mammon subtly slides out of sight back to the main gathering, disappearing with no trouble. Everyone else gets to deal with Lussuria's purple prose ridden tale of the time Romario first took her out to a date. Sure, sometimes she has to speak over Squalo's yelling... and Levi's threats... But it wouldn't be very Varia Quality of her if she let little things like that stop her from doing things.
By the time they all step outside, Squalo is look exhausted for some mysterious reason, and Levi is more stiff and awkward than Lussuria has ever seen him. Even Bel manages to be slouching a little bit in a way that he never did when they tried to use various punishments and trials on him when he was eight. Lussuria radiates a quiet smugness as she hangs back, watching them react to the fact that Xanxus has taken their main form of transport. At least that seems to perk all of them right up... but she's not really paying attention to that. Rather, she's waiting for the tell-tale cool feeling of Mist Flames rolling over her to hide the truth from sight. And this particular truth is...
Romario's hands are warm and calloused as they rest along her arms, and Lussuria's lips curl into a smile as she feels the bristles of his mustache accompanying the kiss he presses to her jaw. "I take it you liked the bouquet?" he asks, eyes sparking from behind his glasses. Just like every time they meet, including their very first date, he manages to look so distinguished.
"Oh, you know I did," she says, kissing him back. "I liked it so much that I ended up telling everyone about our early days of romance. I thought Squalo would appreciate it more, since he's the romantic type who promised never to cut his hair for Xanxus. Well, at least I enjoyed it." Leaning back against him, she looks over to see Squalo still swearing loudly while Levi seems to have a look on his face as if he's debating hotwiring a car. Bel is the only one with his phone out, because at least they raised their youngest to have the common sense to call another car over.
"Well, there's no accounting for taste," Romario says. "I hope you put me in just the right light."
Lussuria's grin gains a mischievous tint. "Well, I didn't say anything too inappropriate, but I may have swooned a little bit when I was describing how you took care of that ruffian who accosted us on our way from dinner. How you gave me the choice to take care of him if I really wanted, but you thought I looked so wonderful in my outfit that it'd be a shame to mess it up..." She laughs again when he kisses down to her neck.
"I wasn't wrong. But we should go out for another date sometime. I've heard Grenada is wonderful, if you can arrange things..."
She taps his cheek. "I'll see what jobs are available and get back with you, handsome. In the meantime, it looks like we might actually be going soon. Take care of your boss, now~." They share one last kiss before Romario pulls away, allowing Mammon to guide him back while illusioned so that no one else is any the wiser. Adjusting her coat, Lussuria lets herself daydream. Grenada, huh? A beautiful place in the tropics that are almost guaranteed to have gaudy trinkets like Hawaiian type shirts. Maybe even matching couple designs. So garish and sappy... She loves the idea already.
"Does this sort of thing always happen when you have 'business meetings'?"
Dino doesn't answer him for a quick second, having bent over slightly as he pours a bottle of water over his head. The past hour, give or take a few minutes, has been full of nonstop fighting right out of a den where a secret meeting was supposed to be held. But what does he get for his trouble? An attempt to double cross him so that the Cavallone could be weakened and taken over. It was kind of an embarrassing try, honestly. Some people just don't seem to understand that he was trained by the world's greatest hitman, and that training probably threatened to kill him a couple of times. They really need to do better. Putting the bottle to the side, he rights himself up quickly, flipping his hair back and helping it with a quick run through of his fingers. "I mean, it could have been worse," he say, a grin matching his tone. "If they really wanted to kill us, they should have used explosives to bring everything down on our head, but then I guess they would have had to deal with the police interest on that one. That should have been their first clue not to bother trying at all."
A light snort that is a tinge amused leaves his bodyguard, and Dino glances at him from the corner of his eye. Lancia has been working with his Family for a few months now. It had been a hell of a chase, trying to find the man. Dino can understand why, after all. Thanks to Tsuna and Reborn, he'd been able to hear a lot on what exactly Lancia has gone through. Not only a pilgrimage to visit the places he was forced to execute so many without his own consent, but also... Well.
Dino has had the good fortune to not have been targeted by Mukuro Rokudo. He could spitball a few theories on why. Maybe it's because his Family has been too close to the Vongola for many decades now, and it would have drawn further attention to the illusionist's vendetta before he was in the best position to counter it. Maybe it's just because the Cavallone Family, for all its illegality could never be denied, has never in its existence crossed the very worst of lines such as experimenting on children. Maybe they were just lower on the list of Families for him to take down.
Whatever the reasoning, Dino can say with relief that he's never had to deal with possession of either himself or any of his men. He can still imagine the damaging effect well enough. To kill everyone you cared for, the people you promised to protect... He can see why a man might not want to stay in any one place for too long, or get to know more people than he needs to. That kind of trauma can't make it easy to sleep with any confidence he won't wake up covered in blood again.
Tonight, he's not covered in blood. Rather, it's the same slick black suit that any self respecting businessman would wear. Sure, a little ruffled here and there, sort of torn in places where someone had made the ill-advised choice of trying to grab onto a man whose best skills are in close combat... But that's better than the alternative. He looks good, frankly, as the two of them take a breather in the small side street far away from where the action took place. Dino isn't too worried about any of their enemies catching up to them. Last he had checked, most of them were either unconscious or couldn't use their legs. By the time any of them recover, the two of them will be long gone.
But for now, they're here, and Dino can't help but admire the figure that Lancia cuts standing right besides him like the perfect bodyguard. Streetlights some distance away illuminate the strong shape of his jaw, dark eyes shining and alert despite the shadows underneath them. For all the fighting they've had to do- well, Dino isn't tired, of course, because Reborn has made sure that he could run a marathon and not be. However, he's one of the three people in the world who's trained under Reborn, and Lancia is definitely not. So it's really pretty impressive that he can stand there, hardly out of breath, a thin sheen of sweat stretched along the bit of throat peering out from his white collar-
Whoo, okay. Dino averts his eyes before he can get lost on the broad stretch of Lancia's shoulders (and too late for that too, damn). Nothing like a little bit of adrenaline to get the heart and other, uh, similarly throbbing parts of the body all worked up. "So how do you feel?" he asks, hoping to distract both of their minds.
Lancia glances back down at him, blinking his way out of whatever thoughts were taking up his attention. "Sweaty, unless you were thinking something more specific."
"I was actually thinking more-" Still slumped down on a bench, Dino reaches up to lightly knock against one of his temples. "-up here. I know this is the first job I've taken you along for outside of Cavallone territory." Well, away from the Cavallone headquarters, to be more specific. Dino likes to think he's not a complete asshole. Sure, he's a criminal, and sure, sometimes he messes with people for fun... But he's not such a bastard that he'd overwhelmed a man suffering from PTSD who hadn't had a home in years. It's been slow and careful going, which Dino had felt no need to rush. After all, there's always plenty to do even within the safer areas of his territory. The Cavallone are large and prosperous, which means busy as all hell in a lot of different areas. Even now, Dino isn't entirely sure if now was the right time to bring Lancia along with him on a little 'business transaction', for all that he thought it would be a good time to put the rumors to rest of him hiring a famous Family killer.
Heaving out a sigh, Lancia leans back against the wall and raises up a hand as if to rake it through his hair except his fingers stay buried right in there instead of moving on. "I'm going to sound like an asshole if I say it."
"I mean, I regularly interact with Squalo whether he likes it or not, so if you can out-asshole him, I'll frankly be very impressed instead of anything else."
That actually manages to earn a brief and almost surprised laugh out of the other man, enough for a smile to stay on his face just long enough to not be a hallucination. It's not the first time Lancia has smiled while under Dino's employ, but it's an incredibly uncommon sight still. Like every time before, there's something strangely fragile about the expression, not too unlike seeing a shattered sword or shield. Inside his chest, he can feel something a little more tender shimmer in his attraction. "I guess the Varia do make it a high bar, huh?"
"It's Varia Quality, or so I've heard."
"Varia Quality bullshit?"
This time, Dino is the one who almost bursts out laughing, and he has to hastily press his hand against his mouth so that he's not so loud that he gives away their position. "I mean, I never asked for clarification, so maybe!"
Lancia shakes his head, smile a little sturdier for a brief moment before it gets lost to something quieter. A little more contemplative, maybe. "Anyway... I guess... I think I'm relieved." Hand swinging back down to his side, Lancia leans his head back against the wall until it hits brick. "I wasn't entirely sure I would be, fighting that close again. With a weapon, there's always that degree of separation. That make any sense?"
Attached to his belt, his whip digs lightly into the side of his leg. "Yeah, it makes sense."
"Up close and personal this way.... It felt real." Lancia tilts his head down, the light not able to catch his eyes exactly right this way as he stares down at one fist. "Probably one of the few times where it felt that way, not counting when I was working alongside the Vongola." When he turns his head to look at Dino, it's a little easier this time to make eye contact. "I think you helped with that."
Count that as one of the things he wasn't expecting to happen tonight. Dino raises his eyebrows. "Yeah?"
"If I wanted to just pick a fight, I could probably do that with any idiot in Italy," Lancia says, which is a solid point. There are frankly no shortage of hotshot idiots, in the mafia and out of it, who would be down for a fight that they would almost immediately lose. "But it's... different. To fight for someone."
"Now I'm feeling like I didn't pull my weight!"
"Please." Lancia shakes his head. "You know you held your own as much as I did in there, which I'm amazed to say considering that your weapon isn't built for those sort of close quarters." He tilts his head towards Dino. "Probably another reason why they thought they could possibly get the drop on you. Everyone knows about the Bucking Horse's whip."
"Trust me, I know all about what they say about me and my whip," Dino says dryly. There is an alarming amount of speculation on his sex life.
Lancia carries on. "But even if you can handle yourself even in difficult situations like that... You still hired me as your bodyguard. Protecting you, thinking about where you were and what you were doing so that I could still keep you safe while not getting in your way... I can't explain it. I suppose I'm just glad I can remember doing something, and being able to protect someone instead of..."
Yeah. Dino understands that. Pushing himself up onto his feet, Dino turns around to face Lancia with his hands rising to rest along his shoulders. There's no need for him to say anything else. It's fine. "As long as you're with the Cavallone," he says, quiet and earnest as he looks into those dark eyes, "then you'll always have a place to feel like that. I know you can't get rid of your past so easily, and that's fine. As long as you're alive, as long as you can still feel alive, then it's fine. Right? So stay with us. Protect us. I'll do the same for you."
Another fragile smile. "Do I look as though I need protecting too?"
"Everyone needs protecting some times."
"Even Varia Quality?"
"Varia Quality jumped straight into a giant great white shark's mouth, so I think he can shut his own on this sort of thing." Lancia lets out another huff of a laugh, and Dino smiles slightly. Good. Anything to help lift that weight off the other man's shoulders. The only things that should be weighing him down are things like this, where his own hands rest firmly down to keep him tethered to the important things, to living. He's not really thinking too hard on how close they are, at least not until he sees movement from the corner of his eye. It's Lancia's hand, moving past Dino's own shoulder and pressing tenderly into the wet length of his hair.
Anxiety is something Dino sort of left behind a long time ago, back when he was a teenager going through, well, a lot. Not wanting to inherit his father's criminal legacy, dealing with an emergency in their territory only he could manage, the death of his only immediate family... It had been a lot. Perhaps because it had been so much, combined with Reborn's ever demanding training, that anxiety had burned out its ability to stay in his body. Now he's glad to say that, for the past few years, Dino has been able to keep his cool in all sorts of situations. Right now?
Right now he can feel his stomach doing some very interesting maneuvers he didn't realize it could physically do, and he's suddenly extremely aware that it would only take a very slight movement to have his hands go from Lancia's shoulders to his very well developed chest. As he does his absolute best to keep his visible cool (internal is a lost cause), Lancia speaks up. "You've done a lot for me. More than I feel I can owe back, sometimes. If I had been left to wander throughout Italy, I have no idea what I would have ended up doing to myself. That you ended up hunting me down and giving me this chance means a lot. I want you to know that."
It's platonic. It's platonic. Dino tries to remember that, even as he smiles back at Lancia. "I'm not going to be the idiot who doesn't hire the strongest man in Northern Italy, even barehanded against Box Animals."
"I'm grateful for both the praise and that you aren't an idiot." Then there's a pause, where Lancia is just a little too close, a little too in reach, and Dino wonders for a second if the whole moment is reading like he hopes it's reading-
Off to the side on the main street proper, there's the low light of a car flashing on and off a couple of times, and their hands drop down from one another. "There's our ride," Dino says, wondering if he should be thankful for the interruption or not. "I guess we should get out of here before they manage to organize in any effective way." As he begins to walk over to the car, Lancia striding ahead to open the door for him, Dino figures he'll just be grateful. More time to plan and figure out if he's just being overly optimistic or not.
Lost in his own head about romantic problems as much as business ones, he misses the way Lancia watches his fingers rake back through his wet hair with water dripping back down along his neck.
The first words out of Xanxus' mouth are, "What the fuck." He doesn't even bother to phrase it as a question.
A Tsunayoshi Sawada who is not nearly tall enough for the maturity in his face doesn't even bat an eye at the words, or Xanxus' sudden existence on a bed in front of him, or the amount of smoke that is slowly dissipating throughout the room. Instead, he just continues to undo the tie he has around his throat and looks mildly exasperated. "Well, this is definitely one way to start a vacation."
There are a lot of things Xanxus could say in response to that, most of them more swearing or a variety of insults. With how many languages he knows, that's quite a selection. Instead, he adjusts himself, arms resting against his knees while he takes in the situation he's now in. When that stupid time traveling missile had broken right at his feet, he'd been lounging in one of the fanciest hotels Japan could produce while that worthless brat of a fake heir's group had tried to have a conversation with his Varia on working together further in the future. The settings had been all smoothly polished furniture, glittering lights, and rich food. the room he's in now is essentially... the very opposite of that. The light is warm and natural, a kaleidoscope of different colors coming in from two different stained glass windows at opposite sides of the room. All the furniture seems to match, being fairly plain , and a set of stairs to the side lead downwards. There is a woman at a large standing mirror, adjusting her hair. Xanxus doesn't recognize her until she turns her head to glance at him. It's Varia common sense to look up the family members of those attached to any targets they might have, just so that they can figure out if there's anyone who would be a problem somewhere along the bloodline. While her hair is much longer and the structure of her face has changed into that of a woman, it's definitely the sister of the "official" Sun Guardian, Kyoko Sasagawa.
Much like Sawada, she doesn't seem particularly surprised at his appearance. Instead, she just grins at him. "It's a church," she explains, almost as if she could read his mind. Xanxus glowers a little harder, to no effect. Off to the side, Sawada seems to be doing his best not to grin, which only makes Xanxus want to smash his head into the floor even harder at the same time that a part of him almost likes it. While he'd hated the idea of a coward taking over his rightful place, there's something to be said in the moments when he found a spine. "You thought it would be funny if people like us stayed in a remodeled home that used to be a church."
She's actually not wrong. A snort leaves him before he can stop it. There's something a lot more interesting to note in her words, however. "Us?" he asks, lip curling while disdain drips from his voice to practically stain into the floor.
"God, I can't wait until we're old enough that we don't have to deal with time travel," Sawada says softly, tossing his tie on top of a dresser.
In contrast, Sasagawa just laughs and moves over to him with a grace most normal women admittedly don't have. She's actually fairly attractive, he has to admit. (They both are, and he's kind of pissed off about it.) She's even more attractive for the sheer audacity she displays when she nudges him back with one deceivingly delicate hand, wiggling down onto his legs as if he's the throne and she's the queen in charge here. This way, he can feel the definition of her legs a little better than he can see them past her flowing pastel dress- muscular and defined. "That's right," she says airily, leaning right into him with her hands at his chest. "Us."
The next bit of clothing that Sawada carelessly flings off of himself is his jacket. "Us," he agrees casually, his casual apathy apparently extending to what Xanxus can only presume is his woman draping all over another man. Now a layer or two freer, it's even more obvious to Xanxus that the little runt has actually gained some muscle peering out past his open collar. "This may be a surprise to you but, ten years in your future, I am in fact a bonafide criminal, although I'm pretty sure that doesn't impress you."
"It doesn't," Xanxus sneers, before Sasagawa's hand presses down against his chest insistently. For him, it's all the weight of a kitten, but he lets it happen... in no small part because she's starting to slide down inbetween his legs.
"You can bicker with everyone you like in your time," she tells him. "But we have around three minutes left, so I think we should make those count."
"She has a good point." Sawada, as it turns out, isn't just standing to the side while his girl gets on another man. He's also falling onto the bed, mostly on his hip with one hand holding him up. They both seem to used and natural towards the idea that, briefly, Xanxus wonders if he's having a drunken dream. "Well, I think three minutes is enough time for us."
He has a lot of fucking questions, especially on what exactly these two plan on doing in three minutes... but he doesn't need to ask them out loud, as it turns out. Not when one of the two pops open his pants, and the other dives in for a kiss that catches him completely and utterly off-guard.
When he comes back, Levi has been tossed into the chandelier, Bel is peeking in from outside the window where they're on the tenth floor, Squalo is snarling out curses in Portuguese as he tugs his hair out from underneath a whole couch, and Lussuria is standing way off from the blast radius as possible sipping a martini. Mammon is nowhere to be found; they've probably used illusions to stop existing for a while until things settled. Over near Lussuria, an entirely different couch has been overturned to become a makeshift barrier, and he can see the heads of the brats peeking out warily. What's most egregious, however?
Almost all the booze he had initially set up around himself for this shitty fucking meeting has been downed.
He was gone for five fucking minutes.
A vein threatens to pop in his skull, heat already stirring in his fingertips, and the brat group dives for cover again, Lussuria turns on her heel to outright leave, and Bel ducks out of sight again. After a second, however, he realizes that he was wrong. There is still some alcohol left. To be exact, there is one big thick bottle of whiskey on the one untouched piece of furniture in the whole suite... right next to the paperwork for further talks of alliance between this 'Tenth Generation' and the Varia.
Xanxus narrows his eyes and ponders how to fight his own future self.
After a hot second, he growls, and cools off his hand to grab the bottle for a long deep swig. "Fuck it," he snarls, getting a pen with his free hand and making the barest excuse for a signature where it's needed. That's all he bothers to do with this whole mess before he steps over the coffee table where both whiskey and paperwork had been set. He wants to get drunk while he's still faintly enjoying himself. As he passes by the overturned couch, listening to harried Japanese being exchanged. He doesn't bother to look too much at the lot, besides for one quick glance out of the corner of his eye. Tsuna Sawada at this age still looks like something of a coward, but there are hints of how he'll be in ten years like the muscles developed in his arms from being forced to fight for his life ever three months and the hints of exasperation not too unlike that which he'd expressed when grumbling about time travel.
Which, fucking cheers to that, frankly.
Ignoring the sounds of Squalo yelling at him to hold the hell on and Levi trying to get out of the chandelier, Xanxus leaves the room with his only acknowledgement of his group being how he raises his whiskey bottle to tap it in cheers to Lussuria's own martini. It's when he's a decent length down the hallway that the air shifts, mist thick, and Mammon is there again. "Your fly is loose, Boss," they say bluntly, not mentioning that his belt is also loose, and that they've discretely been keeping this fact hidden from everyone else. Xanxus doesn't really care about such shit most of the time, but he can at least acknowledge that it's a good thing to know about. It's shit like that which gets Mammon some large tips on their paycheck, since they look out for such bullshit during moments that are, arguably, vaguely important.
Right now, Xanxus doesn't care. He just grunts and takes another swig of his whiskey. "I'm heading to my room," he says simply, and the illusionist shrugs and hangs back. Good.
He needs a second to come to terms with what kind of future is possibly in store for him and ponder when exactly Sawada gets so good at going down on him or when Sasagawa learns how to use her tongue like that.
The first time she meets the woman, it's when she's on a shift for Mukuro's general store.
Well. They call it a store. Certainly its wares are very general, in the broadest possible definition of the term. Chrome almost isn't entirely sure if it counts as any kind of store, instead being a more board sort of dumping ground for the varied and occasionally strange. She thinks it actually might be a pawnshop instead, only she can't really prove it. She just has no idea where Mukuro picks up half the things that he does for "Kokuyo Land", a deceptive store that looks small from the outside but which she thinks might actually take over a few of the neighboring buildings and possibly even go underground. A part of her kind of wants to call them a thrift store, honestly. Some of the things they carry in the neon-lit gloom seem second-hand, if not third-hand, or twelfth-hand. At the same time, there's no denying the fact that they carry what seems to be... literally anything.
In one corner of Kokuyo Land, Ken has set up what is basically a gas station pitstop but without the gas, or the cars, but with plenty of pre-packed or prepared foods that are mostly unhealthy save for the sparse amounts of fruits and water bottles Chikusa insisted he carry on hand for selling. If she can be certain about nothing else, Chrome is pretty sure that Ken eats most of the snacks he's actually supposed to sell. Maybe that's why there's an insistence on some actual healthy foods, which he never even bothers to sniff at.
Chikusa has claimed just about most of the basement- or the first level of the basement? Even after a year of working at the place, Chrome is sometimes a little unsure of how big it is or how many floors it actually has, a fact which isn't helped by the constantly changing inventory. At least Chikusa's section of the shop is perhaps the most stable section of the whole building, if perhaps the darkest and most bizarrely lit. Neon signs are a regular sight within Kokuyo Land. In fact, they're the primary source of light for most of its interior, with even the front windows having been blacked out with thick paint that Mukuro has decorated with grim skull and owl imagery. However, the light is still fairly manageable on her floor all things considered, and Chrome rarely has a problem there. Downstairs? Is different. Downstairs is even darker, with the glare of neon being almost blinding in some ways, but placed in a few select spots. The rest of the light actually tends to be blacklight, which doesn't help with how many mirrored surfaces are down that, compromising even shelves or CD racks, while a low throbbing dubstep pounds up from the ground. It's horrendously easy to get lost down there, which she thinks might be on purpose so that Chikusa doesn't have to sell some of his DJ equipment. Or, really, interact with people at all. The only reason he even goes upstairs or sees the sunlight is because Ken occasionally dives down into the depths to drag him out again. Unlike literally any other human being, Ken never gets lost. Mukuro tells her he relies on following Chikusa's scent trail like a dog. It's hard to tell if he's joking when he says that.
That just leaves the entire rest of the store, stocked at Mukuro's discretion and interest. A lot of it is almost bizarrely mundane, the kind of things which could be found at any quick grocery store like baking soda, canned pasta sauce, noodles, or even things found at dollar stores, such as bags of glitter, cheap plastic cups, and painkillers she's not entirely sure they can legally sell. Somehow, that only makes all the weird objects stand out even more. The first thing she ever was introduced to when she began working at the place was a glass coffee table, curved in an unusual shape, with two skeletons holding it up while one skeleton tried to choke the other with one hand. These days, she's not sure if it's still in the store. If it is, she's not been able to stumble onto it again. Another notable example was a giant T-Rex made out of dozens of specifically colored balloons that Ken had adored before it had inevitably been bought for what Chrome thinks might have been a children's birthday party. In a surprising twist, when he bothers to be dragged out of his EDM music hellhole, Chikusa seems to have a fondness for the homeware they've collected such as a vast collection of mugs that can be both simple or strangely complicated, or a soft green pillow with plush mushrooms "growing" out of it. As for Chrome? The longer she's worked there, the more things she's found interesting, but one of her favorite things would be the collection of strange transparent Christmas ornaments that tend to be filled with things such as snake skins or the skulls of small animals.
It's hard to say if there's any item in particular that Mukuro likes. Presumably it's literally everything in the store.
A normal person would wonder if such a... peculiar business model could really succeed in any way, let alone thrive, yet Mukuro has somehow made it work through a combination of factors. First of all is the impeccable and bizarre social media presence him and Chikusa maintain together, with the latter patiently maintaining all the essential housekeeping while the former oozes out his unique brand of charm and humor that somehow seems to attract people. (Chrome can't really judge. After all, she's here.) That's enough to get regular tourists wandering through the store on any given day, and even occasional people who live in the city sometimes visit for a unique gift. Secondly would be that there seems to actually be some sort of method to all the strangeness, because there are actually fairly regular customers who drop in for their more mundane items or a quick grab of food. Mukuro has somehow managed to find just the right location where they're nearer to some people than any of the grocery stores, filling in all the little niche areas that local delis don't usually stock. And finally, well... Chrome has to admit that Mukuro certainly sniffs out any and every chance to twist his way, such as the multiple times when he's lied to various ghost hunting shows.
...Well. She supposes she can't really says it's a lie. If there's any one modern place in the entire country that could be haunted, it would be Kokuyo Land. Chrome can't say she's ever personally experienced a haunting but she'd also be the first person to admit that she's desensitized to all sorts of bizarre sights, sounds, and smells that can be found in the entire building from top to bottom. Is it a ghost? Ken scuttling among the shelves and furniture on all fours with an umaibo stick held in his teeth? Is it Chikusa lurking like a long dead Victorian era ghost looking for their murderer, when really all he wants to know is what time it is because his watch broke? Is it Mukuro hanging up what may or may not be a real skeleton right behind regular and unaware visitors so that they scream when they turn around and see it, because he finds it funny?
It's a mystery.
Regardless of the exact methods, everything seems to have somehow worked, and, not only is there a fairly regular stream of customers, but Chrome has found that it's been the most diverse group of patrons- or people in general- that she's ever had to deal with. There are the average tourist types, looking for a neat story or a fun memento of the time they went into whatever one could reasonably call Kokuyo Land, and then there are the people who are just there to gawk and giggle in ways Chrome is all too familiar with from her time in middle school. A lot of the time there are the gothic types, or the punk types, various niche groups who find what they're looking for in the wild darkness the shop seems to embody and who all often seem to offer Chrome their phone numbers. There are even some collectors of varying types who drop by, hoping to stumble across a rare or interesting find. Some people even become collectors after spending some time there. And then there are the regulars who are just there to pick up some salt, grumbling all the while about Mukuro's bad taste in.... everything.
So it's nothing new when she hears the small computer ding go off, letting her and everyone else know that someone has come through the front door. Chrome doesn't even bother to look at the security cameras. All she does is stay curled up in the extremely comfortable chair which functions as the cashier's station, fiddling with Love Nikki on her phone. Sometimes people end up wandering into her view, or actually purposefully seek her out, and other times they end up wandering, lost, throughout Kokuyo Land. On rare occasions, they end up at Ken's register to get slobbered on by Bon. Chrome is content to stay within her Schrodinger's Expectations. If someone shows up, then they show up. If they don't, they don't. Yet even with that work philosophy in mind... She still doesn't expect what ends up swanning past the shelf full of knit toys that all looks like vivisected small animals.
It's a woman, much taller than Chrome, and she realizes most of the reason for that would be the mile high platform boots that are on her feet with every centimeter covered in a deep amount of glitter. They match the visor on her face, worn even indoors, and the fingerless gloves coating most of her arm. There are leggings underneath what look like a pair of transparent shorts, also covered in glitter, and a scale-patterned bikini top. All of this would... definitely be some sort of look all on its own. What it's literally topped off with, however, is the woman's hair style: everything completely shaved clean save for a extremely short and straight set of bangs, and what looks like an 'S'... tattooed on?
For the first time in a long while, Chrome has some questions.
As she does with most of the customers that come in through the store and in direct conflict with normal retail sense, Chrome doesn't interact right away. Instead, she watches with a wide eye partially from behind the cash register as the woman stops in front of a small rack of hanging necklaces. One in particular is a round pendant filled with glitter, small plastic pink pearls, and a rodent's skull. With a sort of reverent delight, the woman delicately hooks her finger through the chain and pulls it up to admire in the neon light. It's only whens he looks over her shoulder that Chrome realizes there's a man following right behind the woman, holding up a camera and dressed in fairly normal hipster fandom. Yes, including the fedora. Or trilby. Chrome has never learned the difference and doesn't care enough to.
It's the man that actually speaks. "Oh, we are not putting that in the house."
"We should put it in our house."
"Hell no."
"You wouldn't let me buy the barbie doll face rings, and now not even this?"
"So, can we not say anything on what I will and won't let you do, because we both know that you do whatever you want anyway, because I don't have the power of mind control? I'm just reminding you of the budget we have, which is a thing that exists. If you want to spend it on weird bone glitter jewelry, by all means, be my guest, but you're going to have to make some sacrifices here."
There's a certain tilt to the woman's head that hints she's enjoying the entire spiel, and Chrome can't help but wonder if she's a little like Mukuro in that aspect: purposefully asking about things she knows she's not supposed to do if only to get a rise out of the people around her. There doesn't seem to be any particular broken heart evident in the way she lets the pendant swing back into place, although she does at least... blow a kiss from her pinkie towards it. "So later, then."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Slowly, he casts his lens over the rest of the shops, taking it all in, before it pauses a little above Chrome's head. "Oh, yeah, wait, someone works here?"
Now that she's been spotted, Chrome straightens up from her position as, indeed, someone who works here. "Someone has to," she answers bluntly. She guesses that's a little bit of a fudge. No one has to work here. Mukuro doesn't have to do a lot of the things that he does, for example. This could just be an empty building full of ordinary empty building things, like dust and rats. There might still be rats. However, in order for it to exist as Kokuyo Land, there do indeed have to be workers here. At the very bare minimum, there has to be electricity and workers. She thinks. Sometimes she worries about the legality of just how Mukuro keeps everything running, but she thinks it's better no to ask. It's definitely better to not start on all of it with some random hipster.
"I mean, I guess...?" Before he has a chance to really say anything else on that, the woman is already coming forward. Chrome isn't entirely certain what she does, or why she does it, but the pose she ends up in is with one leg crossed with part of it balanced against the edge of the counter. Her arms wind together, almost snakelike, and she flicks one finger in Chrome's direction.
"Composite, octagonal, pentagonal pyramidal-" She unwinds her arms and pulls them back, snapping one set of fingers. "All things that describe the essence of me perfectly. My name is Shitt P., but please call me Shittopi-chan."
Chrome blinks up at her. "Okay, Shittoppi-chan," she says simply, because it's not the weirdest thing she's had to say in her life. From the corner of her eye, she can see where the cameraman has turned the camera to make a face at it before he pauses to look at her. Shitt P. herself doesn't seem to emote beyond a simply raise of her chin. It might be in approval. "You said you were on a budget for something in particular...?"
"We need a relic from the time when Batsquatch was first born," Shitt P. says airily, and her cameraman sighs.
"A disco ball," he tells her. "We need a disco ball."
"To skin."
"Why do you have to phrase shit like that?"
"We have that," Chrome says, vaguely reminded of the way Chikusa and Ken bicker. The subject matter is different, but the feeling is still the same. Just dumb bickering to fill the silence. "They're a little hard to find, however." Most things are. "Hold on..." Stepping to the side, she hefts herself up onto the counter surface and scoots over to the other side. In a show of politeness, Shitt P. moves out of the way with a graceful spin that ends with one heel clacking against the floor. That means there's more than enough room for Chrome to plop down on the opposite side, and she dusts her skirt off. "Follow me."
Kokuyo Land might be a bizarre maze for most people. Actually, Chrome is pretty sure the only people who can reliably navigate the space are Mukuro and Ken, the latter which she suspects cheats. Chikusa is smart and probably knows their finances, but he also rarely ventures in this area. It could be 50/50. Still, Chrome likes to think she has a fairly decent grasp on the intricate ins and outs of the store. If nothing else, she has a few notable landmarks of things that have yet to sell for a while now, and a rough idea of what kinds of things are stored where. So she leads the pair through the winding store, only pausing occasionally.
"Are you sure you know where you're going?" the cameraman asks, looking awkwardly at one of many taxidermy creatures that are scattered around the shop no matter the location.
"Mhm," she says, pausing to reorient herself by a small basket of tiny crystal penises. They never seem to run out. She supposes she should be worried about where Mukuro gets these kinds of things. "Who are you?" "I didn't introduce myself? Yeesh." He shakes his head, but she doesn't really blame him. A lot of people are thrown off by Kokuyo Land, for a variety of reasons. "Just call me Julie."
A pause follows after his words where he's clearly expecting her to do the polite thing of introducing herself, but Chrome doesn't. Instead, she keeps moving on through the Kokuyo labyrinth. With a place like this, it generally needs at least 80% of her attention, and that doesn't lend itself well to casual small talk. The good news is that Julie doesn't really seem to bother broaching it, instead letting the awkward moment pass as he instead films the various strange things they pass. To Chrome's surprise, it's actually Shitt P. that speaks up to fill the silence. "The pastel is super cute."
Chrome doesn't answer that for a second, because it almost doesn't seem like it really needs to be answered... except then she realizes that they're wandering through junkyard hallways composed mostly of brilliantly glaring red neon, punctured occasionally by sharp blues or ill greens. In this kind of eerie haunted Vegas strip club lighting, it's hard to tell the colors of almost anything. The soft pastels of her bomber jacket, the pink of her skirt inlaid with various card suites and skulls on the bottom border- those should be impossible to discern. Surprise hits her, belated, and she looks suddenly up at the other woman. Unlike Julie, however, Shitt P. hasn't bothered to let any sort of silence stretch out, or to wait for anything. She seems to have already moved on through the moment, looking straight ahead and running her fingers along the surface of a guitar whose body is Pacman with his mouth wide open. Befuddled but sort of used to it, Chrome turns her attention back towards her path as well.
Finding the disco ball section ends up being pretty easy, considering how the reflective shards interact with the nonstop neon signs. The refracted colors can be seen shimmering strangely over some of the shelves, and their pace speeds up a little after that, with Chrome allowing the two to forge ahead after a little bit. It's not just disco balls, of course. There are other strange hanging things, placed along the shelves or dangling from certain places, but all the disco balls that Mukuro thought would have made the biggest impression are dangling low from the ceiling where they would just barely avoid brushing against Chikusa's head if he ever dared to stand up to his full height. Some are just regular, circular, and the kind anyone would imagine.
Then there are other kinds.
Faster than a commandment from God, Shitt P. shoots out her arm to point up at one that is shapes liked the dismembered upper torso of a person with perky breasts. "That one."
Julie groans. "That's not even for the project, you just want that because, don't you?"
"It's perfect," Shitt P. says, not denying the accusation. With disregard for safety in any way, she hefts herself up onto the shelves and reaches up to try and find what's hooking it to the ceiling. Chrome should probably stop her. She doesn't. "How much is it?"
"It's perfect," Shitt P. says, not denying the accusation. With disregard for safety in any way, she hefts herself up onto the shelves and reaches up to try and find what's hooking it to the ceiling. Chrome should probably stop her. She doesn't. "How much is it? Maybe we could get it with our budget."
"We almost definitely can't."
Chrome finally shuffles in closer. Usually she doesn't really get too involved with visitors, or even potential customers. However, for this, she can't help but be fascinated. "What's your budget?" she asks, and Julie blinks at her from behind his glasses.
"It's- hold on, I have it written down in my phone-" Finding a spot to put down his camera is a little difficult in glitter fuck hell, but somehow he manages to nudge it securely between a bedazzled football and an empty whiskey bottle full of lit Christmas lights. He seems to fiddle with it for a second, constantly glancing back at her, before he stops, satisfied. "Alright, here-"
The shopping list they have prepared is... definitely a shopping list. A lot of it has to do with constructing something, although Chrome can't entirely figure out what. Besides each entry of the things they need, a rough estimate of how much they could spend is placed, from probably the cheapest things they could find on the internet to how much they could spend if they really needed to. After a few seconds of wondering and reading, Chrome finally looks up from the screen. If nothing else, she has some good news. "You could buy two disco balls here if you really wanted."
When Shitt P. clicks her lips twice and whistles, it somehow sounds like a foreign language. Julie stares at her for a second, brows crumpled together. "That's, like... at least half off for each of them."
"Mhm."
"And you're serious."
"Mm."
"...How does this place stay running?"
"I don't know," she says. Chrome has never bothered to ask Mukuro or Chikusa about the finer business workings of Kokuyo Land, and she never plans to. In case this all ends up highly illegal somehow, she'd like the ability to plead ignorance to the whole thing. At least there might be a Patreon involved, she thinks. That would be nice if true.
Apparently, that works out just fine for Shitt P. too, because she gently hands over the torso disco ball to Chrome for holding. "I'm getting another," she informs Julie before turning around back towards the shelves. Julie grabs her and, with some doing, convinces her for them to find a ladder. It takes around fifteen minutes for them to find one, and then another ten minutes to not get lost on the way back to the register. There aren't really any bags in the store for her to put the disco balls in. Not only Chrome unsure of how one would even pack a disco ball, they just don't have them in general. People either have to bring their own, carry things in their hands, or buy one of the many regular and not regular bags that are in the store.
Fortunately, Shitt P. seems perfectly happy to carry her strange haul, and Julie only pauses long enough to run out the store to get things he apparently prepared ahead of time for some additional things that they happen to carry. Just the strange little things, like hammers, vegetable peelers, and even some basic groceries. "We're running out of food," he informs Shitt P. casually. Chrome isn't expecting him to speak to her any further, but, surprisingly, he does. "Hey, so I tried to avoid filming your face too much, or anything like that, but there are probably some shots in there anyway. Do you have a problem with us if it stays in there, or would you want us to blur it...? We do videos on Youtube."
Somehow, that really explains a lot. It feels like it could also explain things about Shitt P., maybe, possibly, only that doesn't feel entirely right. Chrome has seen people be overly dramatic or ostentatious before; she knows Mukuro after all. This feels a little more... genuine. Either way, Chrome shrugs and finishes putting some of the nails into the rough canvas tote that Julie brought in. "I don't care," she says, handing over the totebag, before she realizes she might have to be a little more clear. "I mean, I'm fine with it. If I'm in a shot... I'm in a shot." She's almost definitely been in people's pictures of Kokuyo Land before, most often by accident. (Sometimes not by accident, in ways that are very creepily not by accident, but it's amazing how quickly those types delete the pictures when M.M. is twisting their arm or Ken is breathing down their neck.)
"Perfect." This time, Shitt P. kisses her ring finger and flicks it towards Chrome. "Then we'll see you later."
And they actually do.
One day, Chikusa actually slinks out from his hole in the ground, a fact Chrome only realizes when she looks up from her lunch to find him standing on the opposite side of the counter. She can't even bring it in her to be shocked or surprised. Instead, she blinks and slurps up some more leftover noodles. "Hi," she says.
Chikusa blinks at her. "Hey," he deadpans.
"...Did Ken steal your phone again?"
Sometimes Chikusa doesn't verbally answer things. Instead, he makes minute facial expressions or gestures that take a whole other language degree to understand. With how rarely he comes to see most other people, there haven't been a lot of chances for her to pick up on most of his tells. Fortunately, she's still learned one or two, and one of those she's learned is for times like this when his mouth twitches downwards just a little bit and he reaches up to adjust glasses that don't really need adjusting. It's the same thing he does everytime Ken bugs him like this, or steals one of his things. Chrome is pretty sure that the blond only does it to get Chikusa's attention out from dubstep hell, because he never learned how to get that attention of people he likes beyond grade school. "Do you follow any Youtubers?" he asks instead of answering her question, which is sometimes normal with Chikusa.
She shrugs. "Not really. I just listen to music and watch cat videos." Something about the whole youtube famous thing bewilders her to some degree. "The people who follow those types...." For a brief second, she considers being delicate in her speech, and then immediately decides not to bother. It's only her and Chikusa besides. "They're weird and obsessive."
Chikusa doesn't disagree or dispute her claims, which isn't surprising to her in the slightest. They can't imagine feeling like someone's friend and being devoted to them just because it's a friendly personality put in front of a camera. "Either way," he says, "look up S.P.C Boost's recent video." That's all he says before turning around to slink back into the miasma of weird objects that is Kokuyo Land. Chrome quietly notes that he's heading in the direction of Ken's food hoarding corner before she goes to pull out her laptop.
The channel name is a dead giveaway, of course, and yet Chrome is somehow still surprised when she clicks on the latest video and finds, some five minutes in, a few flashes of her own face. To her surprise, considering Julie's overall glasses-wearing goatee hipster look, he really did seem to do his best not to drag her too much into frame. There's only occasional scenes with her, such as when Shitt P. handed over the disco torso. As for the rest?
Well. It would never have occurred to Chrome on how one "skins" a disco ball, or to use that reflective "skin" to put onto a ceiling fan, but now she supposes she'll never forget.
The entire time, she watches the video entranced, and even almost finds herself giggling at the various jokes, memes, or peculiar tangents that Shitt P. tosses out as if they're nothing. Some way through, Chrome still has to admit that she's wondering a little on just... Why go through all the trouble? It feels as though there are a lot of easier ways to do this, including buying something herself. Yet as she watches, a little after the halfway mark, Julie speaks up again, voicing the exact same thing. "This is such a huge waste of time."
"Why?" Despite the absurdity of everything- the workshop covered in all sorts of strange carvings or artwork, Shitt P.'s own graffiti covered 'work' coveralls, everything covered in dust and bit of glue and god knows what else- Shitt P. asks the question with a kind of simpleness.
"I'm just- I mean, there's easier ways to do this, and we don't even have to do this at all."
"Isn't that only life?" Finishing off one fan blade, Shitt P. casually reclines to the side where the empty husk of a disco ball now lays with her arms crossing over the top loosely. "As time passes and things change, human kind only makes life for itself more and more complex, for all that we may call it 'simple'. Yet acts that are called simple are still new acts, adding in ever more to the equation of our life. That's far from a bad thing. However, in turn, we cannot all use the exact same equations that every other person is using at the exact same time. Why get to 2 if you only ever do 1 plus 1, when you can do six minus four, at the absolute very least, and get into cube roots and square roots and depressed cubics? Why experience only the same things as other people?" Lazily, she stretches out one leg, crossing it over where the fan is. "No action in a person's life is meaningless, even if there is no true goal. Just like your decision on wearing outdated fashion-"
"Okay, first of all-"
At that point, the video cuts with Julie trying to lunge out at Shitt P., who only keeps him back with both her enormously long legs and the equally long pumps attached, and continues on as normal.
...But Chrome can't say that she's wrong with that kind of thinking.
Shitt P. soon becomes a regular of Kokuyo Land after her initial visit, in a way that's very different from most of the other regulars who bother to deal with their nightmare scenario of a Wonderland. After all, people like Kyoko only drop by to get some quick mundane things, such as bandaids or bags of rice. The only other outlier she can think of would be Tsuna, who braves a place that gives him heart attacks every five minutes almost solely to check on Chrome and pass her leftovers along from his house or snacks his mom passes through to him. All Shitt P. brings to the metaphorical table would be actual money, whether it's on a credit card or strictly in money she already has on her person, along with a new individual every other time. Chrome doesn't ask how she makes any money, with such an eclectic lifestyle, but she does end up learning how the various people who help Shitt P. film for her channel are in fact actually her family members. This even includes Julie, to her surprise. While no one is quite as unique as Shitt P. is, they all seem to be quite different from one another.
Chrome doesn't wonder how they could all get along together in the same house. Just, after every visit, she goes to share snacks with Ken as they lounge against Bon, or sits in silence with Chikusa down in the blacklight haunted house. Neither of them ever ask about the register, instead just making room for her, even if Ken sometimes complains at the same time he tosses candy onto her lap, or Chikusa stays utterly silent for the whole time.
Inbetween Shitt P.'s visits to gather materials for her videos, whether she's trying something out, making something, or just looking for new and interesting items, Chrome actually finds herself patiently going through the videos on S.P.C. Boost. Despite that first impression and Shitt P.'s general everything, there are actually a good deal of more calm videos, although they still carry that sort of humor and interesting view of the world. It's not really surprising that she's into things like cryptids, ghosts, and aliens, and so there are plenty of videos that just have her facecamming as she goes through all sorts of other videos, essays, and even forum boards on the darkest corners of the internet all dedicated to such subjects. What's more interesting are the meditation videos, the art videos were all she does are choose random colors instead of following along with a tutorial. They're all strange, in the way Shitt P. often is, but there's also a sense of peace and fun to them that Chrome isn't familiar with.
With most of her hobbies or things that catch her attention, Chrome tends to stay quiet about them. Not in this case. Instead, whenever Shitt P. drops by, she ends up speaking to her about the different videos she's gone through last, always referring to her as Shittoppi-chan. It sounds so comfortable and intimate, too much so at first, but, the more she says it, the more Chrome finds her relaxing with the name until it's second language. In turn, Shittoppi-chan seems glad to give her cutesy nicknames as well- something of a first in her whole life. The most popular one seems to be 'Crow-chan', but, as with so much of her life, Shittoppi-chan changes it up every now and then. Still, Crow-chan seems to be the name the internet takes to as Chrome starts to appear in more and more videos every time a new video is made. She's never a starring role, and the rest of the Shimon family seems to cut anything she says in casual conversation with Shittoppi-chan for their own privacy... But she still shows up occasionally in the background, a silent specter with an eyepatch that the comment section seems to love.
"Zirconium," Chrome says one day as Shittoppi-chan practices balancing on her hands in front of the cash register while she sits on the edge, watching. Seated besides her are three whole bags of lipstick and chapstick, along with the ever present video camera. Enma has been the one to accompany her today, and he's gone to get some other basic mundane needs.
Almost immediately, Shittoppi-chan heaves herself up and flips herself onto her feet. Her smile is brilliant, hotter than neon and warmer than summer. "Exactly," she says.
Chrome's smile is a little smaller, a little more subtle, but doesn't belay the heat glowing in the core of it. Instead of saying anything else, because there's nothing else to really say on that, she looks down at the bags. "So what are you going to use these for?" she asks, pulling out makeup that is a deep black that almost seems to absorb the usual bright lights of Kokuyo Land.
Clicking over in her heels, Shittoppi-chan rests one hand on the side of the counter that's actually free, which is on Chrome's other side. "Fun," she says simply, which is always true. "Also, I want to see if I can construct shoes entirely out of the tubes of these."
"Are you going to use any of them on your lips?"
"Absolutely. It's only a matter of how. I'm still debating on whether or not to see how many layers of different lipsticks I can apply to my lips, or if I should melt them all together and see how they turn out." Shittoppi-chan tilts her head to the side curiously. "Do you want to try that one?"
There's no point in dancing around the subject. Chrome knows that she wouldn't have given the offer if she wasn't sure, so she nods and immediately unpops the cap. Straight up black isn't something she's ever really tried on her face before. Without a mirror immediately on hand, with light that isn't some sort of neon, she's not even sure how it looks. Once she purses her lips together and pops them, Shittoppi-chan grins either way. "You look cute to the 96th degree."
"Thanks," she says, because she doesn't really know what else to say. Instead, she glances down between them: Shittoppi-chan's hand right next to her thigh, legs brushing, their heads only some inches apart. "Do you want to try it too?"
"Hit me with it."
So Chrome does. With the tube of lipstick held inbetween the gap of her thumb and pointer finger, she braces herself against the counter and leans forward. Her lips don't make exactly perfect one-on-one contact with Shittoppi-chan's, instead sort of overlaid to one side of her mouth. When Chrome pulls away, she can see a perfect lipstick mark on one half of Shittoppi-chan's, black over the brilliant pale lavender.
When the woman first steps past the doors of the shop, through the lobby, and over to the counter, Haru looks up and almost drops a bottle of ink. It's only excellent reflexes honed from her years of being a high school gymnast that keep it from splattering against the floor, honestly, but she hardly notices. Instead, she's focused completely on the woman now talking to Gokudera over at the register.
Tattoo shops tend to draw in a wide variety of people, all of them interesting in their own right. There are the hardcore types, of course, the really manly guys, but you also get the hipsters, or the artists, or the queers- that latter category spread out in basically all of the other ones too. After so long of working in Helter Shellter, Haru likes to think she's seen all sorts of people, in all sorts of places, considering where some tattoos can end up. However, she can quite confidently say that no one has ever had her heart beat so hard at first sight like the six foot dynamite woman with legs for days who's looking over the tattoo book Gokudera is going over with her.
Fortune favors the bold, so Haru hesitates approximately zero seconds before leaning over the short wall separating each artist's tattooing station. Hers is right next to Tsuna's, currently hard at work. Well, sort of hard at work. He's preparing to be hard at work, which essentially means, in Tsuna's case, that he's sitting hunched over on his stool while staring a hole into Dino's arm. Haru has honestly never met a tattoo artist like him. There's no denying Tsuna's talent, of course. He honestly has an excellent eye for the overall scheme of things, able to see the bigger picture and pull together what would be a cluttered mess of a tattoo into something that flows beautifully, along with a skill for all the little details. However, apparently no amount of talent can make up for the sheer amount of heart-stopping anxiety that he gets before every job. Most of the time, he gets it out of the way by panicking in a back room shortly before the client is schedule to arrive, so that he can go right into laser focused artist mode right off the bat. Only Dino, as his adopted older brother, doesn't mind if he does it right there besides him. Even as Tsuna is clearly having a silent screaming fit within the confines of his own skull, Dino is just casually flicking through his phone while his shorts-clad leg remains extended properly.
Normally, Haru wouldn't bother Tsuna while he's dealing with one of his moments. However, as the technical owner of the place, she wants to get his permission before anything else, so she makes a small whispered hiss at him. "Tsuna-kun! Tsuna-kun!" There is the very faintest sort of mumbled squeak to show he's listening. "Can I go take this customer we just got?"
Waiting those few seconds for him to remember how to use his voicebox is agonizing, but Haru does her very best. Eventually, Tsuna sort of... lets his head lose to gravity in a way that's technically a nod by the dictionary definition of things. "S'long as it's what they want."
Honestly a good reminder, if nothing else, and Haru heaves herself partially over the wall, feet dangling, so that she can pat him on the back. It's the only reassurance she can give him while he's like this. "Thanks, Tsuna-kun!" She doesn't go running off just yet, however. Instead, she does her best to take in a deep breath that goes all the way to the bottom of her lungs, fingers lightly pressed against her collarbone. She has to get control of herself. If she comes off as too desperate, then it's only going to seem really weird and just... creepy. She's already been told that she can be a little too upfront- not in a bad way! Just, sometimes things require delicacy. Since becoming a tattoo artist, she's learned how important that can be. So she's going to calm down, play it cool. She can do that.
Fingers laced behind her back, Haru makes her way out of the tattooing area and watches the woman from the corner of her eye. It only takes a few steps for her to get a good listen in on the conversation as their potential customer taps on one of the tattoo pages. "This particular water color style is something I'm particularly interested in. How many of your artists are talented in that?"
Water color! She can do that! She loves brilliant flowing colors! That much is obvious from the various tattoos all over her body. Trying to be casual, she passes behind the woman and pointedly stretches her arms out in front of her while making direct eye contact with Gokudera. Gnawing on the end of a toothpick, his gaze flicks up to look at her and he immediately scrunches up his nose. "Yeah, we have a few artists who can give you that sort of look," he says, aggressively ignoring the way Haru threateningly bops one fist into an open palm. So he's going to be like that, huh? He's really going to pull her around like this? "Everyone in this store is top notch quality, considering my boss only has the best taste in artists."
Neither Gokudera or Haru mention that the boss in question is literally only some few yards away and slowly sinking his face into his hands while someone who is technically a customer laughs.
"I see." The woman crosses her arms, and Haru can just barely see the way her fingers curl at her chin. "Then I suppose it would come down to the subject matter?"
"Sometimes it can depend on things like that, although with water color styles like that, some degree of flexibility can happen, since the focus is more on the color and design than nitty gritty details such as a more realistic style would focus on. What are you looking for exactly?"
"A floral design." It really was a good idea to calm herself down, because Haru can't help pumping her fist in elation at those three simple words. This couldn't be going more her way. Very pointedly, she stretches her arms up over her head. The stare she sends over to Gokudera this time is less a glare and more the blank eyed intensity of a ghost woman haunting a home after a horrendous murder by her loved one, passing such a curse onto the next person who will die a horrible death, which Gokudera definitely will if he doesn't make a good life choice in the next few seconds. Most tattoo artists seem to have the art on their body in one way or another, which only makes sense. Either they get a tattoo and get into the craft that way, or they start out as an apprentice and slowly begin to gather ink on themselves. Not every artist does, of course... but the only person Haru can think of in their whole shop who doesn't have a single tattoo on his body would be Tsuna himself. Even then, she has a suspicion it's not from a lack of want, but because he's being so overly cautious about it. Well, that's not a bad thing to be when it comes to such permanent artwork.
This means Haru herself is no exception. She's not completely covered head to toe, although she doesn't think she would half mind such a look, but she definitely has a few notable tattoos that can't be ignored in warmer temperatures. A small and contained circle filled with a detailed garden scene takes up space on the inside of her right upper arm, and it's matched by the ring of flowers she has on the left which goes all the way around. Taking up more length if not exactly more room, she has a flower-detailed arrow extending down the whole of her forearm and the head ending at the top of her hand. Branched filled to bursting with blossoms peeking out along her collarbone, extending from her breast, and there's a fun geometric and watercolor style down at her left thigh. All in all, a good array of tattoos, and all the exact kind of designs she loves and appreciates.
Not even Gokudera can deny that, so, after a second, he snaps his toothpick between his teeth and heaves out a sigh. In the most unconvincing deadpan tone, he asks, "Hey Haru, are you going on break, because we have a client here who might be interested in your expertise."
Haru manages to stop her posing just in time. As the woman turns around, Haru puts on her best smile and offers her a hand. "It's just a break, it can wait for a little while!" she says cheerfully, beaming back towards Gokudera to let him know she won't haul herself over the counter and throttle him to the ground. That's about all the attention she'll give his glowering, however. She turns her attention immediately back to the woman towering in front of her, and she's even prettier than the brief glimpse she got could have prepared her for. Not only is she taller than a church chapel, but those red eyes could put spider lilies to shame from where they're set in a coolly proud face. Haru has never felt her heart flutter faster. "Hi there, I'm Haru Miura! You're thinking of getting some floral tattoos?"
"That's right... My name is Adelheid Suzuki. I work at a flower shop, so I was thinking of using the language of flowers for something interesting." The woman reaches up to rest her hand along her chest, right over the pocket of her denim jacket. It's more than a little worn, but that only serves to make her look all the more rugged. Her other hand accepts Haru's for a firm shake. "Is it really acceptable to interrupt you when you're about to go on break?"
"Oh, it's fine~." Haru pulls her hand away, despite how much she wants to hold on for longer. "I was only go down the street to get something cool to drink! It's not a pressing issue. Besides, this is a job I'm really passionate about!" That latter part isn't even really a lie, in all honesty, and Haru points down to the arrow extending down along her forearm. "I mean, all of my tattoos are actually designs I made myself, you know! I couldn't ink them on personally, but I could at least come up with the artwork."
It may just be her imagination that sees some approval in the way Adelheid nods. Haru choose to keep on desperately hoping like the optimistic queer she is anyway. "I see. Very well then." Her fingers slip into her jacket pocket, tugging out a few pictures and immediately snapping them out like a fan. It's all one smooth and sharp movement that has Haru's legs feeling weak. "I had a few ideas of what I was thinking of, at least when it comes to the particular flowers. My problem is simply that I lack the idea of how I'd like it designed, so I was hoping to consult with an expert on it." Normally, that's not something they do without payment ahead of time. Haru finds herself not even caring. Just being in Adelheid's presence right now is more than enough. However, the woman seems to realize this herself and tilts her head towards Haru. "I know this is taking time out of your schedule... Let me buy your drink for you."
Haru will freely admit that she came over because she was helplessly attracted, however shallow a reason that might be. Learning that Adelheid is so, so... nice? Graceful? Gracious? Only gets her all the more excited. However, that doesn't stop her from frantically shaking her head and crossing her arms into an 'X' in front of her. "Oh no! I couldn't do that to you! We've just met!" Yet suddenly she realizes a dilemma. A dilemma she needs consultation on. Pausing, she peers up past her arms. "Oh, um... But if you could go over and pick it up for me if I gave you some money, that would be really great!"
"That's all?" Placing the pictures down on the counter, Adelheid brushes her fingers along her temple and tucks away some stray hairs. That is somehow also extremely pretty, no matter how minor a gesture it is. "I can do that, then."
"Perfect!" Rising up on the balls of her feet, Haru claps her hands together. "While you go get that, I'll get my area ready- I have my own little gallery of things I've designed or inked onto people, so we can go over a whole bunch of references to see if something leaps out at you!"
Adelheid's smile isn't exactly friendly, not with such a slight curve of her lips. Instead, it' s somehow something even better- appreciative. "That works perfectly for me." Haru doesn't need much more than that to rush over to her stuff, getting money she actually hadn't been planning to spend today. At least her order isn't that complicated, being just a drink that's 25% caffeine, 60% chocolate, and 15% whipped cream. Once Adelheid strides out the door, hips swaying perfectly, Haru gives a smitten sigh.
...Followed shortly by her twisting on her heel and full out sprinting towards Tsuna's niche.
"Dino!" she squeaks, slipping and forced to grab onto the corner of the little opening into Tsuna's workspace. Her legs scramble beneath her while her mouth keeps moving at the speed of light. By this point, her boss has finally begun to get to work, with his needle patiently working over the bare base of the tattoo that's plastered onto Dino's leg. "What do I do!? I don't know how to get to know her better without seeming like I'm actually really creepy! A tattoo session or two isn't enough to get comfortable with someone like that, and I'll be gross if I use her contact information for anything but business!" Gokudera's voice rises up behind her.
"You JUST NOW thought of that!?"
Using the wall for leverage, she pops up like a wrathful whack-a-mole. "Shut up, Gokudera!" It's too late, however. He's already moving from behind the counter over to the tattoo area, looking more exasperated than amused. That might be a small blessing. Haru thinks she'd die if Gokudera laughed at her.
Instead, he gestures almost violently at where Dino is reclined. "And why are you asking him?" he hisses, lowering his voice a little bit in the face of Tsuna's work. The patient hum of the needle carried on either way, Tsuna's eyes laser focused on the canvas of Dino's skin. "He's getting a tattoo of his turtle as Godzilla destroying the fucking Vatican."
Haru crosses her arms. "But he's going out with someone. He has experience."
The sheer force of Gokudera's withering glare could decimate a whole greenhouse. "He's not going to be dating Squalo long with that inked on his leg."
Dino snorts out a laugh, doing his best not to actually move too much. Tsuna, like any good tattoo artist, is only as good as much as his client can avoid jiggling around like jelly during an earthquake. "Joke's on you," he says. "Squalo wouldn't say he's dating me no matter what I have permanently drawn on my body. I have to trick him into every outting we go on with each other."
"Have you considered dating someone that isn't that level of asshole, and that can actually date?" Gokudera asks bluntly.
"I could," Dino says with a shrug. "But few people besides Squalo would take a bet on if he could break into the shark exhibit while we're on a date at the aquarium."
Faintly, Haru thinks she remember that. "Didn't you film that and put it on youtube?"
With a grin that's far too wide and far too proud, Dino flashes her a pair of thumbs up. "Yup! But we're not talking about my love life right now. We're talking about yours, and you're already giving up before the finish line."
She can't help but slump against the corner of the entryway, clinging to it for support. "I can't help it... This is the worst possible way for me to try and flirt with a girl. What was I thinking?"
"You weren't," Gokudera says. Haru glares at him and yet, unfortunately, she can't argue there.
"Break it up, you two." Dino shakes his head, blond hair flopping loosely around. "It might be a tricky situation, but it's not impossible. Just don't think of it as flirting so much as just getting to know her a little better. Baby steps. Why not ask her about her hobbies? A lot can happen in a conversation. For example..." He twirls his hand aimlessly through the air. "Her legs seemed pretty in shape, right? So, uh... Why not ask her if she goes to the gym or something? Maybe she could introduce you to the place, you spend some time together... Stuff like that?"
Haru lets out a slow breath from inbetween her teeth. "I guess... But a gym membership costs money. Won't it seem fake if I end up just dropping out right off the bat?"
Leaning against the wall on the other side of the entrance, Gokudera raises an eyebrow. "Why not just invite her to an online forum you go to, or some website or another? I invited people all the time to the places I go to, it's not that big a deal. That way, she can stay away from you if you really do reveal your true freak colors."
"Shuuuut uuuup!" Haru groans, pouting. "Besides, I don't think I go to any sits that she would be interested in too. It's all costume and stage costumes and mascot blogs!"
"What kind of taste is that?"
"I don't want to hear it from the Bigfoot freak!"
"Hey-!"
"Get her card," Tsuna says, so quiet and collected that Haru nearly misses it from all her yelling with Gokudera. She has to pause and blink a few times, as if reaffirming that she actually heard something in the real world.
"Her card?" she echoes.
Tsuna's needle paints smooth patient strokes of black along Dino's leg, and he doesn't stutter even a little bit. When he's hard at work like this, he's almost an entirely different person. "She said she owns a flower shop, right? That means she probably works there, too. You like to tattoo floral designs. You can talk while getting research material, and decide from there if you like each other enough to be friends, or anything else."
It's so simple, so obvious, Haru can't believe she didn't think of it herself. She presses her palms together, fingertips at her lips. "Tsuna-kun, you're a genius."
She can't wait for Adelheid to come back, now. With a plan in the back of her head and her work ready in front of her, the fluttering in her hear finally settles down.
"Oh, Lal," Luce gushes almost immediately, black and white wings fluttering against her back. "What have you been up to now?"
For all that the matriarch of the Giglio Nero brood says that, she certainly seems to have a bucket of water and clean cloth on hand when she fusses Lal Mirch into sitting down. The soldier sighs but obliges her, stretching out her talons and all the feathers of her legs in front of her. If there's one thing to say about Luce's territory, it's that there is plenty of space for her to sit down. Most flocks tend to prefer wider spaces, where the trees are stretched out among one another for better nest and town building, and so most need to find boulders or carve benches for sitting on the ground. Here in this forest, things are done quite differently. The trees grow thick and close, making it difficult for those with larger wingspans like herself to navigate so easily. Even the roots curl up out of the ground, curling and arching, so that traversing the ground has its own difficulties. It's a twisting and complicated place, with lots of secrets.
Perfect for the Giglio Nero.
There are probably plenty of secrets hidden away in the depths of this forest, things lost to the time outside of it. In that way, it mirrors its inhabitants, or maybe it's the other way around. Like the verdant leaves thriving over their heads and the sweet smell of flowers hanging thick in the air, one would never think it looking at Luce. Her smile is subtle but patient as she dips a cloth into the water, wringing it out firmly before sliding it down the hard scales of Lal Mirch's calf. The blood and bits of gore stain it red instantly. Luce clicks her tongue a little when she sees how red the water is just pouring off of her. "Now who did you fight so near to my home?"
"Calling it a fight is giving them too much credit," Lal Mirch says bluntly, resisting the urge to lean back and let her eyes slip shut. Luce's tone is better than some songbirds, and she preens better than anyone else Lal Mirch knows. "It was just someone who thought they could do a sneak attack on the kingdom's seer while she was being escorted. That they thought no one else would think of something that obvious is a disgrace."
"Now now, I'm sure they must have done fine by normal standards," Luce says obligingly enough. She does another sweep of Lal Mirch's leg and the corresponding talons, watering down everything so that she can focus on the parts that are sticking or staining. Some of the younger generation of Harpy Eagles think that it's trendy to have the blood of their prey or their enemies stain their talons. It's just another young generation thinking something is cool. For her part, Lal Mirch finds it unhygienic and not much of a trophy. Anyone can gut a rabbit with their feet. "Was it one of ours, or from one of the neighboring kingdoms?"
"Ours." Lal Mirch curls her lip in distaste. "They probably thought they could hold the kingdom ransom, or something idiotic like that. If someone had cracked through our information defense, Mammon would be either getting too old or one of the other kingdoms would be more disastrous than we've given them credit for."
A tinkling laugh leaves Luce's lips, and she pauses in her self appointed task for a moment so that she can lean forward with her arms crossed over Lal Mirch's knee. "Don't say that, Lal. We've all gotten quite old."
She looks really delicate this way, head resting on her arms, those brilliant blue eyes shining up at Lal Mirch to match that coy smile. It's tempting to reach down and run her fingers through Luce's hair, enjoy the moment. Things have really changed since all of them were young together: Luce, her, Mammon, Fon, Reborn, Skull, Verde. When they were all younger, they had all the time in the world to be with one another, except that's not what any of them were thinking about at the time. They were thinking about being better, about being the best. Nowadays, with so much responsibility on her shoulders, Lal wonders when she even has a time to breathe. Maybe that's the wisdom of getting older: being able to look back at all the things she didn't even think to do.
One day, their age will hit them all at once, and that will be that. They're a surprisingly long lived race, after all, although not as old as some of the mer can be, but nothing is immortal. Not even them.
Still, Lal Mirch won't let herself regret anything. She won't let her professionalism waver either, so she bites back her desire and instead lightly taps her knuckles against the top of Luce's head. "Do you want me to pick up the slack so you can get ready? We can't just stay here while you nap the day away."
"How cruel."
"You're right, it was out of line of me. You're not Skull."
Luce's laugh is startled in its suddenness. "Cruel!" Still, she straightens up again and gets right back to work cleaning away the gore which is already mostly cleared from one leg. The other goes shortly after, although that one isn't as bad. For Lal Mirch, she only needs one foot to crush another creature's skull. Hell, she even only needs one hand, which not many others in the various flocks of the kingdom can claim. Harpy Eagles are second to none in this aspect, as far as she can tell. Hastily dipping her own fingertips clean of the gore. "I suppose I should extend my gratitude to you, shouldn't I?"
Curling and stretching her talons, Lal Mirch blinks down at her. "For what?"
Rising up to her feet, Luce winks at her. "For being my knight in shining armor, protecting me against those who would do me harm to satisfy their own greed."
Oh. Wanting to blush and aggressively not going to, Lal Mirch scoffs. "I was doing my duty, Luce. You know that. Besides." Getting up as well, she uses her own height to glower down at her friend and charge with a good cross of her arms. "We both know that the Giglio Nero brood are some of the most difficult in the entire kingdom to kill, especially in their own territory."
"Now now. We're nothing compared to your skill," Luce says, not very convincingly on account of how she's not trying very hard with Lal Mirch. They both know that she's telling the truth. It's true that the Giglio Nero brood isn't the most combat prepared or talented. Most of those related to Luce by direct bloodline can't even fly, at least high or for extended periods of time. That's a problem amongst fighters of their own race. Even outside the kingdom, it's common knowledge that a favorite tactic of guerilla warfare birds or utter assholes is to swoop down, grab their prey, go as high as they can, and drop the poor fuck to their death. Lal Mirch will even admit that she's done it a few times, when the overall victory was more important than a personal and more honorable one for herself. Yet that same thing which would be a problem in the open air for her lineage is absolutely perfect for such tight quarters. In the small amount of areas where the average bird could fly, well...
The problem with trying to fight against genuine seers is that they always see you coming. Alongside powerful forces such as Lal Mirch and even those such as Fon or Reborn, there's never been a larger force which would overwhelm even careful planning... but Lal Mirch has no doubt that their clever friend could organize things carefully if she really tried. No one knows the long haul better than the women of the Giglio Nero.
Either way, she gestures to the side. "Let's just finish things up. I'd rather get us going before night fall. None of us have Verde's eyes, so it's better to get a move on sooner than later."
"You worry too much. He should be arriving soon anyway." Lal Mirch doesn't even get a chance ask who 'he' would be. Instead, there's the sound of clumsy talons on smooth wood, and Luce gestures to her while hauling up the bucket of bloody water in her other hand. She follows along, trusting Luce to get them through all the thick vegetation and to the very start of the plainly carved bridges which make up the majority of public paths. For all that they're secretive, the Giglio Nero do take into consideration some visitors, even if those visitors never really see the true depths and homes that they dwell in. Once the bridge is in view, Lal Mirch can see just who Luce was expecting. It's a young man, mussed up hair just a tinge red, and he has the same bloodshot eyes of just about every academic, scientist, and scholar that Lal Mirch has gotten to know. The spectacles barely clinging to his nose only strengthen the impression. He doesn't seem used to the straight paths of the bridges, or really walking for so long in general, which Lal Mirch can sympathize with. Luce and the rest of the chickens of the Giglio Nero brood aren't the only birds who prefer land to air, and those types always seem to have better endurance for this sort of thing. Of course, it probably doesn't help that he's carrying an armful of various things, packages stuffed on top of books stuffed inside of boxes. Two of Luce's Cervello attendants are accompanying him, carrying burdens of their own much more easily, and watching their companion with a lot more interest than Lal Mirch had thought they were capable of in anyone outside of Luce's family. What's most interesting to Lal Mirch, however, are the large gray wings which poke out over his shoulders even with how tightly wound they are agains this back. Even at this angle, she can assess the type without needing to poke or prod. In contrast to her own dark gray wings, his are a little more pale and a bit more solidly colored.
Raising an eyebrow, she leans in a little closer to Luce so that her voice isn't overheard. "You managed to find a grey parrot who would work for you?" She'd noticed that the Giglio Nero brood were managing to keep up surprisingly well with the times, despite their somewhat isolated living, but it's a surprise to see a grey parrot who would tolerate conditions like this. They're a lot... pickier, from what she understands.
Luce doesn't answer her right away, only flashing her a smile before she raises her hands. "Hello, Shoichi! You have some of my luggage, I assume?"
Jolting a little bit, Shoichi blinks over to her. "Oh, Matriarch Luce- yeah, this isn't all for you, I just- two fish with one hook, I was on my way. You know?" Lal Mirch certainly doesn't know, because she suspects he forgot part of a sentence. Luce simply nods and smiles, which could mean a lot of things. "Anyway, yeah, here are your clothes, I think, plus some of the other things you requested. For your, uh. Trip?" He doesn't sound entirely too certain about what's even going on, which is sort of surprising. Lal Mirch expects him to straighten up a little once he realizes who she is... But no dice. Instead, his gaze flicks over at her blank and uncomprehending. He most definitely doesn't know who she is. She has a sneaking suspicion he doesn't even know what type of bird she is, or possibly even that she's existing in the actual physical plane of reality.
"Thank you, dear," Luce says, reaching over with one hand to take her bag while the other tucks Shoichi's hair out of his face. "Now make sure to get some rest. You look horrible."
Apparently no one has said this so bluntly to him before, because he blinks a few times at her before silently nodding. To the side, one of the Cervello women takes the bags from her kin's arm and goes to Luce's opposite side. Her double stays with Shoichi, apparently to monitor his ability to stay coherent. As the pair return back to the many walkways of the forest, Lal Mirch lets Luce lead them back out along to the forest proper. She hasn't said anything, but Luce still says, "He's fine, really, I think he's just going through an anxious spell. He's having some romance troubles, from what I understand."
"And he hasn't slept," the Cervello says quietly besides her.
"And he hasn't slept." Luce beams over to Lal Mirch. "I hope to surprise Verde with an introduction one day. He seems like someone who could keep up with everything Verde is." Now that's certainly some high praise. Maybe Lal Mirch will return one day to see just what's so special about him, assuming she can ever find the time. For now, they lapse back into silence, with things hardly seeming to have changed much despite the addition of Luce's attendant following along closely.
It's a comfortable silence, leaving Lal Mirch to think about the long journey back. Taking Luce to the capital isn't really necessary. If those in charge really wanted the comfort of a general good fortune told to them, the least they could do would be to visit the forest themselves, or a halfway point, where she could look into the general flow of time for the kindom's benefit. Yet those who like to imagine themselves the ones in charge never do. Lal Mirch finds it revolting, personally. That's what a life of comfort and power does, even to the ones who aren't actually greedy and self-serving. She's certain that if they knew her ability could be more precise, of what the Giglio Nero could really do...
"Oh." Luce's voice cuts through Lal Mirch's thoughts, making her glance down out of the corner of her eye. "That's right. I almost forgot, but I do have something for you, Lal." Adjusting the bag that's hanging from the crook of her arm, she starts to go through it. She doesn't have to dig very deep before she's pulling out a small pouch. The Giglio Nero brood's territory isn't known for the most brilliant or complex crafts. However, that doesn't mean their craftspeople are talentless. The pouch is small but made out of fine leather, both in the pouch itself and in its drawstrings. Whatever is inside it isn't very heavy.
Curious despite herself, Lal Mirch accepts it. "Can I open it now...?"
There's a smile. "You can open it whenever you like." Well, that's one way to make Lal Mirch decide never to open it where Luce can see, but her wary glower only makes the woman laugh. "Now don't tell me you're getting the same paranoid bad habit that Reborn has!"
"It's not paranoid or a bad habit," Lal Mirch counters, "when I know for a fact that you're the type who would giggle your head off if I had a stronger reaction than a simple bland 'thank you'."
"Perhaps," Luce says cheerfully, which isn't a denial. Reaching up, she brushes her fingertips up Lal Mirch's jaw and along her cheek. Deep inside her chest, her heart tightens up and she swears she can feel a trail of warmth where her fingers once were. "Still. Things such as this really are some of your charm points, my dear."
One day, she'll grow immune to words like that coming out of Luce's mouth. Today, instead, she wraps her calloused palm around Luce's much softer one, and pulls it away from her face with no small amount of reluctance deep down in the pit of her stomach. "You're a sadist," she informs her.
Taking advantage of Lal's grip on her hand, Luce pulls it down to flutter a kiss to her knuckles. "I tease because I really do care," she says, as if she isn't aware of the furious flush going across Lal Mirch's face. She does laugh when Lal yanks her hand away, however, just in time for them to arrive at the carriage specifically made for land birds such as Luce. It's only when she's launched herself high up into the sky as a proper aerial guard does Lal take a moment to open her gift. It's a bracelet of some sort of resin or amber... and, nestled deep within the clear material, is the black and white feather that Lal Mirch knows is from one of Luce's own wings. For some, it's the sort of thing which acts as a gift of good luck. For others, a reminder of romance. Lal Mirch reminds herself to be professional.
She wears the bracelet beneath her jacket sleeve regardless.
Her gun is in her hands and pointed towards the porthole of her quarters before her brain is anywhere approaching consciousness. Fortunately, waking up even a little only takes a quick second, and that's enough for Aria to stop herself from pulling the trigger. "Oh, it's one of you girls. You know, one of these days, you really should learn to knock."
After all, it's not like there are a lot of other creatures out in the open seas which would be able to scale the side of a sailing ship to knock on the window of the captain's quarters. Most would be up to no good, and thus Aria's quick gun hand... but the woman leaning in from the port hole isn't one of them. After so long of going through the water's of the ocean, she's still never gotten an answer for how the Cervello actually open her window from the inside... Especially since she's pretty sure it's not actually physically capable of being opened normally. Aria doesn't worry too much about it. All she does is pull back her gun hand and remove her finger from the trigger before an unfortunate accident happens.
Does the particular Cervello woman at her window appreciate the effort? It can be hard to say, and for more reasons than the fact that they all tend to be rather stoic and cool headed types. All she does is adjust her weight, which is no doubt being rested fully on her elbows. It's not like she has an alternative, even if there was something beneath her body besides empty salt air. "We'll take it into consideration," the Cervello says simply.
"I'm simply saying," she yawns, letting her blanket drop from where she'd had it clutched at her chest. Distantly, she's aware of the soft sensation of it slinking down her chest and coiling at her bare hips, but it's not exactly the most pressing of her concerns. She's a lot more invested in the fact that, with all this adrenaline coursing through her body, how much of a pain it's going to be to get back to sleep. Well, she can deal with that in a little bit. For now, she allows her brain to catch up with how much energy had rushed to the rest of her body and keeps her gun still in her hand. Just in case. As she stretches her arms up over her head, Aria squints open one eye to rest on the waiting Cervello.
They're not a kind of siren, of that she's fairly certain. It's a common misconception amongst landlubbers, that sirens and mer are the same thing. The main difference is obviously that one has feathers and the other has scales. Whether mer have variants that sing in much the same way as the sirens, well, that's something Aria plans on never learning for herself or her crew if she can get away with it, because, by that distance, it's often too late for any good outcome. By that trail of logic, the Cervello women would thus have to be mer. There's only one problem with that, and it's a problem Aria can't help but wonder about when the seas are kind and none of her crew are being problematic bastards: the top halves all look the same.
Now, Aria can't say she's an expert on the mer. They're a cautious type of folk even on the good end of things, preferring to generally keep their distance from the nonsense of humans. Sure, there's always talk of an individual doing a favor- saving a life from a downed ship, trading with a fisherman, giving pearls to a human who did them a favor once. But a whole group of them? Unheard of.
Unheard of save for in the captain's quarters of the Black Lily, where Aria was told by her own mother once upon a time about the group of women who would aid her far out in the expanse of the sea. And they are all different women. Even if Aria hadn't seen more than one of them at the same time, she would know that for a fact. That is something no myth has ever touched on for the mer. Can Aria be blamed for wondering, then?
Mer or not, they're a surprisingly shy lot, and that's how she gets situations like this where she's woken up in the middle of the night. They won't talk to her crew, they won't show up on the deck where they can be easily seen, and she's never seen them show up near any ports despite the fact that she's seen them in just about every sort of water that she's sailed. Well, she won't begrudge the way they choose to live their life. So long as they never mess with hers, anyway.
Aria finally rises up to her feet, tossing the blanket carelessly to side even as she uses the barrel of her gun to flip her hair away from her front. "So for what do I owe the pleasure?" she asks, meeting the eyes which hide behind a masquerade mask. All of the Cervello wear one, and she thinks it's an interchangeable sort of thing. They have a preference for the black and whites, however, and don't seem to care for hiding their mouths.
There's the distant sound of scale flowing against wood, heavy and thick. The Cervello woman tilts her head to the side. "You're going to sail straight into a storm with the course you're set at."
"Really now?" Aria makes her way over to the porthole herself, and the Cervello adjusts herself as best as she's able so that Aria can poke her head outside. In the absence of light, sun or candle, it's a little easier to make out changes in the ocean air and sky. Sure enough, when she closes her eyes to block out everything completely, she can pick up the faintest difference in the air. For all the thick salt she's grown used to, there's something a little sweet entwined throughout it. When she looks out towards the bow, she thinks she can see the very most distant bit of light. It's so thin, it's practically a spiderweb on the horizon. If she hadn't been told about it, Aria knows she never would have even noticed it was there. "Looks like you're right. I imagine it must be nothing to sneeze at, if you're here telling me about it."
"I would imagine it could pose a problem to most humans," the Cervello says, her voice gaining just a bit of dryness that wouldn't last a second on the rest of her body. Aria grins.
"Well, I suppose we should keep that into consideration, even if I think we're not exactly most humans," she says, and turns her back to the lantern at her bedside. Time to light the midnight oil. "I might have to put a shirt on, too, if I'm going to be yelling at everyone over the sound of the waves and thunder."
There is not an immediate response, whether through voice or the sound of someone flinging herself away from the porthole down into the dark waters below. Aria notices it and doesn't comment on the fact. Most of her focus is swearing over the clicks and hisses of trying to make fire start like it's supposed to. "I suppose you will," the Cervello finally says, voice as quiet and cool as usual. Yet the words that come right after undermine her tone. "There is a island nearby as an alternative, I suppose. Safety versus time is a choice you can make."
What a very polite offer, and one Aria doesn't think her kind would offer to anyone else, assuming they talk to anyone else at all. Still, she's interested. Certainly they could fight through the storm if they really wanted to, and that would save them, what? A few hours, a night, which they would then have to whittle away by repairing any damages that might have torn along their sails or goods? Goods that could get lost in the turbulent ocean? It's a choice, sure, but really hardly one in the end. Better to drop anchor, guarantee a bit of safety for themselves and for the things they have on board. Besides, her crew are pirates. She's fairly certain some other more... law abiding sorts might be following in their direction. If it's an island one of the Cervello is recommending to her, then it's likely to be an island not many others would recognize, let alone know the existence of. If anyone is chasing right after them, then they'll get caught up in the storm too and go right past her and her own.
"How do we get to this island of yours, then?" she asks, satisfied now that she has a lantern going. Of course, she has to move back over to the porthole when the Cervello leans back with only one hand gripping on. Every race has a different name for the stars that stretch across the sky and which their sailors use to navigate. Those who dwell within the sea, siren or mer or Cervello, are no exception. Aria can't say she recognizes the names, even with all her scattered knowledge across different tongues, but she recognizes what the Cervello points out. "That way, then. Very well."
"Just go that way-" But when the Cervello turns back to the porthole, she turns right into the crook of Aria's neck. She can feel the way she freezes up like this, and Aria smiles into the side of the Cervello's hair. To tease her further, she keeps the woman right where she is with her hand curving around her back and holds her closer. Arias has never touched a mer, so she can't say if it's similar, the way the Cervello is so cool against her body. More importantly, however...
She looks down, following the warm brown of the Cervello's skin until it disappears into pale mauve scales. Still letting her hand rest on the Cervello's back, Aria pulls away a little so that she can smile into her face. The skin on the woman's face is a little darker, and not just from the mask resting on her face. "You're the one who told us about the kraken corpse a few months back, aren't you? I can recognize your scales from the rest of your kin." The mask hides any other expression, but it can't hide how the Cervello straightens up in surprise and interest. "Well, in exchange for help like that, I don't mind if you're a little more honest about wanting to see me without my shirt."
Now that gets to her. The Cervello lowers her head, frowning, and possibly to hide any further evidence of an even deeper blush. "...You have bad habits, Captian Aria Giglio Nero. Humans should stick to wearing clothing as they always do."
"And you Cervello should be more honest and upfront," she counters, smiling as she pulls her hand back upwards only for the Cervello to curl it near her cheek. She says nothing, only pushes herself away from the side of the ship and down into the water.
How her ancestor, Captain Sepira Giglio Nero, ever made a bond with such a people is a mystery to Aria. Still, she knows one thing for certain: she's interested in forging a unique bond of her own with them.
Gokudera's voice had a penchant for reaching through every inch of the ship, which was valuable for someone acting as the quartermaster on the Vongola. So he was 100% sure that Yamamoto heard him from where he was leaning against the railing of the ship. And the bastard had the nerve to not even look at him? Gokudera bit back some of his temper, however. It was something he was working on. Right now, he had to focus on the more important things, so he settled right besides Yamamoto with one elbow on the railing and a finger in Yamamoto's face. "We need to talk about your shitty flirting habit."
"Mmhm," was the only response. Yamamoto continued not to look at him, instead staring pensively out into the sea. Longingly? Maybe they'd been landstuck for even longer than Gokudera thought if this idiot was so interested in getting back to open water. That didn't change the fact of the matter, which was that they had to deal with Yamamoto being so damn charming that he practically caused a scandal whenever they hit land. And he didn't have to try.
Gokudera didn't see the appeal in an empty headed idiot who smiled all the time. Or maybe he just aggressively refused to. If he did, that would almost be something like losing.
He forged on, determined to slam this through Yamamoto's thick head. "We're on the edge of mer territory. You paid attention when we were all talking about that, weren't you? So I am going to need you to not accidentally fuck any of them, purposefully fuck any of them, accidentally seduce any of them, or purposefully seduce any of them. Literally any of them, but especially anything poisonous. Got that?"
Yamamoto was still not moving. The meaning of this was slowly creeping onto Gokudera, and hammered right in when Yamamoto sort of laughed. "Ha ha. So, it might be a little late for that." He was still smiling.
Frozen from the sheer fucking impact of that, Gokudera slowly looked Yamamoto over. And then he swore. Violently.
It was a common misconception that mer had territories. Or, rather than a misconception, it was something more like an overgeneralization. After all, wasn't that similar to saying that all mer were exactly the same? That wasn't even physically true, with how some had the shimmering scales of rainbow colored fish while others held the smooth skin of dolphins and then even more others held the terrifying maws of a shark to match their sandpaper fins. To say all those were alike was kind of silly, to say the least.
Yamamoto had learned this knowledge a long time ago from his father, when he'd done trade with the shimmering golden koi mer who lived in the rivers near to their little fishing village, but he was fairly certain it was common knowledge among most navigators. Especially navigators who didn't exactly follow the law, honestly. Navigating the open seas was difficult as it was, and pirates couldn't exactly just buy sailing charts with any ease. However, for those who lived within the waters of the world, whether the open seas or the deep rivers... Yamamoto didn't know exactly how, but he knew that just about most mer had a good understanding of how to read the stars to get them to where they needed to go.
He'd be a liar if he said that he had never in his entire life inquired with a mer on where he was, honestly. Mostly when he was younger, ocean air still too thick of salt for his tongue and his head swimming every time he was on the deck of a ship. In more recent days, he liked to think he knew the ocean and the stars well enough to guide things on his own. However, no one ever asked where he had learned his skills. That Yamamoto had them at all was good enough for most people.
How could he forget those who had helped him so much, however?
Maybe it was just the cultural differences, too, but he had an easier time of dealing with mer than people of his own race sometimes. That probably would have been strange to hear, for most people who knew his name or face. How could he of all people have difficulty talking to or dealing with others? He was handsome, athletic, friendly, and a whole other bunch of positive adjectives. Yet as he grew up and his relationships never seemed to change, Yamamoto began to wonder if anyone was ever looking past that laundry list of good traits, and if anyone even wanted to. Would they be fine with how handsome he was if they knew he was more stubborn than anything? Would people accept his friendliness if they knew it was sometimes a veneer for mocking, or teasing?
Mer never gave him that feeling. Maybe because they were so detached from the regular life that he lived, he could see them as something different, even if they weren't actually that way. Yamamoto had that particular realization not too long after he first truly got to know Tsuna, when they were taking their first journey out onto open waters. It took him a little while longer to realize that it was okay if his view of things had been slightly different than the reality of the situation.
That couldn't change the feelings he'd had because of them. That couldn't change how important they had been to him for so long. So Yamamoto kept an eye out as him and Tsuna traveled across the seas, crew growing bit by bit. He watched the stars to guide them, and then he watched the ocean for hints of shapes that were his own connection to home. Maybe some mer had territory, but other mer? Other mer you could find everywhere.
Sometimes even where you didn't expect them to be.
The first time that he had seen the mer, he had been mildly intoxicated and it had been night time, so, for the first five minutes, he hadn't the single idea what he was even looking at.
The first time that he had seen the mer, he had been mildly intoxicated and it had been night time. That meant, for the first five minutes, Yamamoto hadn't even the faintest idea of what he was looking at. Five minutes before that, and he hadn't even realized there was anything to look at, honestly.
Instead, he'd been focused more on keeping his legs straight underneath him, an endeavor he'd ultimately given up on. Only a few feet from the docks where the Vongola was anchored at, and he'd slumped against a lamp post with his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment. Being drunk sometimes felt not unlike being underwater. There was a peculiar sort of sluggishness in his brain, similar to trying to punch the ocean. Everything was similar while simultaneously new. Still. If there was one thing that the ocean had over being drunk, besides the benefit of not including intoxication along for the ride, it was that it at least had the decency to be cool.
Drunk to this extent, Yamamoto found that everything was just too damn warm. Even the pole seemed to carry leftover heat from the daytime, sticking to his skin in a way that left him feeling sickly. Wobbling slightly, he pushed himself up straight and forced his eyes open. Behind him, he could still hear the distant sounds of ruckus and laughter that spilled forth from the bar. The ocean before him seemed to absorb all of it silently and without complaint. That was a lie in its own way, too, he was pretty sure, much like it was a lie of his own when he did stupid shit like let someone buy him a drink despite his actual zero interest in alcohol. His problem, Yamamoto figured, was that he went with the energy too much sometimes. He got caught up. That wasn't always a bad thing, mind. Getting caught up in Tsuna's own issues is how he's ended up where he is: the happiest he'd ever been, with people he felt he could actually connect to properly, in a life where he tasted a challenge as much as salt when they were sailing.
But alcohol. Ugh.
A bottle was still in his hand, simply because it hadn't occurred to him to set it down on the way out. That left one hand free to drag down his face, pulling lightly at his lower eyelid. He was still looking out to the sea. Even as it took in all the light and sound of the port town, it was so very dark. Nothing penetrated past those deep waves beyond a surface level, the light stuck on the ever shimmering surface, a pale film of blues and greens and purples that hardly seemed tangible...
Wait. Yamamoto paused, blinking a few times before he narrowed his eyes into a squint. Lights weren't blue, green, or purple. Not normally, anyway. There weren't a lot of lights were lit in town, being dark as it was. The closest thing it had were a handful of streetlights, with not even most of them alight, including the one he was leaning against in that moment. Certainly, there were the pubs and inns and more night time friendly leisure businesses that were thriving, but those weren't near the docks where lots of people would first get a glimpse of the town. Those were deeper in, their brightness hidden away from the ocean. That left only the lonely moon drifting slowly past the stars.
Seamen had lots of superstitions about the moon, something Yamamoto had learned fairly quickly the more he began to hang out with them. The moon held influence over the sea, after all, and it was often part of how they could find their way when all else seemed endless on the water. When it changed to a pale silver or arrogant gold or wary red, well, everyone had something to say about that. Yamamoto had eaten it all up, fascinated with perfecting the job he'd chosen alongside Tsuna. That meant he knew that the colors he was seeing weren't anything like those he knew the moon was capable of giving off.
Most people would take that as a reason to back off, not wanting to mess with any of the many dangerous mysteries which the deep waters of the ocean held.
If Yamamoto had that kind of sense, he wouldn't have become a pirate.
Fascinated and at ease from the familiar smell he'd had with him all his life, he stepped closer and squinted. The world tilted, crossed over itself and made his brain spin in his skull, a fact he just had to deal with for the time being. None of it helped. If anything, it almost made him think for a split second that the shape on the water was someone's sheet that had fluttered off a line or something and had gotten ensnared by the water. That was stupid, however, and he tossed the idea to the side almost immediately. Even drunk as he was, Yamamoto knew how things moved on the water, and bed sheets didn't... pulse. Clearly he couldn't rely on seeing from this distance. A little bit excited and grateful, somehow, he made his way to the slight stone wall separating the beach portion of the dock from the rest of town. That he didn't slip and eat a face full of sand was half a miracle and half that, even completely hammered, he was still athletic as all hell. Even with a bottle in one hand.
Once he was close enough that the water was licking at his boots, it was considerably easier to discern the exact shape of the creature. Mostly, that it was translucent, a sort of thin film... And something a lot more solid right in the center of it. There were a lot of round things that could go floating in the ocean, like coconuts, but they didn't usually have a pair of eyes that focused directly on him with a film over that which reflected light right back as they stared.
Yamamoto didn't smile, because he'd come to learn that meant a very different thing with mer until they got to know you. He just grinned and waved with one hand. At some point when he wasn't paying attention, his legs had moved him a little further into the water. "Hey there," he said cheerfully. "Nice night, isn't it?"
There was no immediate response, only more silent staring. At the edges of the bell, something seemed to shift and tug at it. Belatedly, his brain finally pieced together what was so familiar about this scene. Still, Yamamoto didn't step back, or stop. Instead, he waited another beat. "I could try another language," he said, and then tried a few anyway. He only really knew a couple pretty well, counting his home tongue, but he'd managed to come across all sorts of different scraps of languages, enough to sort of introduce himself or show that he didn't mean any harm. Just because Haru was a lot better at it than the rest of them didn't mean he couldn't try.
Still nothing. His arms were still above the water, so he would be fine at initial contact, he just preferred they not get to that point. Fingers wringing around the bottle, he remembered its existence. Hey, what the hell, right? Still grinning, he stretched out his arm towards the shape. When they got so close, he had no idea. Being drunk was kind of a pain in the ass that way. "I don't think I'm going to finish this. I'm Yamamoto. Have you had a drink before?"
At first he thought that he'd continue to get silence, which was probably a pretty awkward thing at best, except then the head in the middle of the jellyfish bell finally moved. It wasn't a lot, objectively speaking, except that anything was really a lot when there'd been absolutely zero response before. In the moonlight, this close, it was easy to see the humanoid face that tilted back to look at him properly. Mer could be quite varied, almost more than humans could be... and Yamamoto had never seen any of them that were quite like this. As a general rule, although it only counted around half the time, mer had something like human skin on the 'top' half, or, at the very least, they looked a good bit more human than they didn't waist up. For this one? They weren't all the way translucent as their bell was, just... thin. Thin like holding paper up to the sun and seeing the sunlight turn map tan into something golden, moonlight turning ship sails aglow. Yamamoto had no idea where the light was coming from, how much of it was reflective and how much of it might have been something from within them, only that it was stunning. It somehow seemed to show even more in the mer's noticeably plump limps, and the eyelashes that curled up along their eyelids. Well. Where they would have eyelids. Mer could be weird in what they did and didn't have. Matching this radiant beauty, the mer asked, "You're intoxicated, aren't you?"
"Probably more than a little," Yamamoto answered honestly, because he might hide a lot of things about himself but he wasn't an actual liar. Besides, the bar smell was probably clinging to him. "Would it make you feel better if I told you that I probably would have done the same thing if I were completely sober? I'm just not sure if I would have gotten here sober, at this particular time of night."
"Not really." The edges of their bell twitched again; Yamamoto didn't feel anything pressing in against his clothing or slipping underneath it. He'd take that as a victory. "I could drown you right now."
"Ha ha, lots of people say that about me!"
"...I mean it."
"They also say that." They weren't usually creatures of the ocean, but they did also say that. Pulling his hand back, Yamamoto tilted his bottle to the side in... some sort of gesture. He wasn't really sure of the meaning himself. "Do you want to?" Exactly like before, there was no quick response, and Yamamoto was starting to wonder if perhaps that's just how this particular mer was instead of it being a legitimate threat. Of course, it might also have been a legitimate threat. Used to that sort of thing, Yamamoto determinedly carried on. "How should I refer to you, anyway? By, uh, sex, or gender. That sort of thing. A name would also be good but I don't mind if you don't want to tell me that!"
It was a good question to ask. A lot of people dismissed the mer as being 'weird', if occasionally helpful, but Yamamoto was pretty sure that was just the generalization problem coming up again. Gender was one of those 'weird' things about mer, although Yamamoto found it pretty simple. Some mer changed due to conditions. Others just changed because they could. Others never changeed, while also still changing. All anyone ever has to do was ask. Until that point, Yamamoto liked to claim no idea, being that it was true. Besides, with every mer he'd ever talked to, it seemed like it was appreciated.
Considering the careful way this mer looked him over, Yamamoto had to wonder if it was appreciated or if this one had never really dealt with humans much at all. Just because they lived near a human town didn't really mean anything. "Male," the mer finally said, and Yamamoto grinned widely. "Chikusa."
"Chikusa," Yamamoto repeated, rolling the name around in his cheeks. It was short and blunt against his teeth, an anchor impact into sand. He liked it. "Nice to meet you. I'm Yamamoto Takeshi. Or, ha ha, Takeshi Yamamoto depending on where you're from? I guess it doesn't really matter for you. So, Chikusa, what are you doing?"
Chikusa's lips thinned, which didn't really actually do anything for how full they were except that Yamamoto wasn't sure he could call it an outright frown. "...Tell me what you're doing first."
"Yeah, that's fair, isn't it? Ha." If he was the one asking all the questions, then it was sort of a one sided conversation, and it gave him an advantage besides. Taking a deep breath, he let his boots slide against the sand beneath his feet that he couldn't see until he was lulling backwards with water lapping at his jaw. "I guess I was getting away. People can be really tiring, you know? Ha. I mean, not my crew," he said, quickly correcting himself. "It would be pretty bad if I couldn't tolerate my crew! I mean, we're all kind of stuck together for days on end. I'm really glad I managed to find Tsuna when I did, because the rest of the crew is- I mean, they're not exactly like I hoped, because I wasn't hoping anything in particular? But nothing is boring. And we're all pretty honest! So that's always exciting."
Getting a whole chest of issues in only a few sentences was apparently not what Chikusa signed up for tonight, since, when Yamamoto turned his head to look at him, he was staring at him with those wide eyes. Turned away from the moon, and they looked much darker with the irises more defined. "So do you hate people or not...?"
"I don't hate people!" Yamamoto protested. "They're interesting. But most people just require... a lot of work, you know? Or I guess you might now."
"...I don't do anything... that I'm not interested in."
"Ha ha. I'm jelly." Almost immediately he laughed at his own joke, convulsing and curling in on himself until ocean water washed up into his mouth as a firm reminder of where the hell he was. Once he was done sputter, Yamamoto glanced over at where Chikusa was floating. Promptly, he revised his theory that Chikusa didn't talk to humans very much. The mer was giving him such a flat look that there was absolutely no doubt that he had heard the same joke perhaps dozens of times before. "But anyway, yeah. I guess I had enough! So I was coming back to the ship, except then I saw you, so I thought I would come say hi."
"...Even though I could kill you."
"You haven't yet!" Apparently there was nothing Chikusa could say to that, so Yamamoto turned the question right back around. "So what are you doing?"
For a moment, Chikusa only observed him where he was partially floating in the water with his feet only partially anchoring him and his bottle somehow still in his hand. Apparently, that was enough of a mental image for him to come to a conclusion that honesty would be an alright policy instead of leaving, or killing him. They'd only known each other for a few minutes, but that was enough for Yamamoto to have a decent gauge on the mer's personality. He didn't seem like the type to lie. That impression was only strengthened when Chikusa said, "I was going to poison a couple of ships."
This time, there wasn't any hesitation before the answer came. "The one with the man in armor figurehead... the military vessel... and the one with the clam decorated on its side..."
While it was probably more than a little cruel to say as much, Yamamoto didn't pay much mind to the first two ships that Chikusa listed. The military vessel had been there before they'd docked just the other day, and his crew had already been pretty hasty in getting everything done they needed to so that they could set sail again. As far as any of them had been able to tell, there were only rumors floating around about them, and they weren't yet as infamous as some of the other pirate crews sailing across the seas. Still, why tempt fate, right? Since they were natural enemies, Yamamoto wasn't exactly sure if he had it in him to exactly feel heartbroken over the idea of them being poisoned by some mer with an agenda. The same could be said for the other ship Chikusa had just described as well. Yamamoto hadn't gone on it or anything like that. He wasn't even particularly familiar with its crew, only that he had seen them at a distance. However, in some ways, he didn't really need to do so. On his own, he had picked up the secretive way the crew packed their luggage, their furtive glances, various little things that made them more untrustworthy for anyone who was actually paying attention. More than his own senses, however, he trusted how his crew had reacted: Tsuna's uneasy fidgeting whenever he saw the ship or its crew, the way Gokudera spat in its direction as if he saw something he didn't like, even Lambo's simple blunt complains of "Wow, what a bunch of creepy guys!" Whatever they were hiding in their shipment was something unsavory. Yamamoto had little doubt about that. Perhaps this mer had seen something even humans hadn't seen just yet.
So that was all, well... Yamamoto couldn't exactly say it was "fine and dandy". It was just, at the very worst, it would help him and his out more than it would harm them, he was pretty sure. One thing wasn't great, however, and he blinked over at Chikusa. "Hey, the clam ship is my ship. I mean. Tsuna's ship. I'm a part of his crew."
Chikusa didn't particularly react, besides blinking back. "So?" he asked plainly, which... Well. That was fair, wasn't it? Yamamoto couldn't exactly complain about the fairness here. After all, no one could trust the military or navy or anything else to do with the government, and the ship with the armored figurehead was clearly suspicious.... And then there was the Vongola, with its crew of actual pirates.
It was really a probably more fair assessment than Yamamoto was giving other people. "I mean, can I at least ask why you're trying to poison our ship?" he asked, fumbling to regain his footing. It was a little hard when he was still drunk and fighting against the tide.
Apparently this was enough to get the mer to pause, eyes narrowed as he watched Yamamoto. Only when the pirate wasn't making any moves towards him, just awkwardly float-standing in the water, did Chikusa ease up again for an answer. "You're pirates," Chikusa said bluntly, which. Like Yamamoto had said. That was fair. He couldn't argue against that. "You kill and steal from people, so you're better off dead."
Okay, that he could argue with. Yamamoto raised up one finger with the only hand he had available. "Alright, so, what if I. What if we didn't steal from anyone who didn't have it coming? And we do minimal killing. I'm really proud to say we do minimal killing because Haru is really a great shot with the cannons, and Tsuna is pretty stern about stuff like that! Besides, I mean, if killing is bad, you're still killing people with your poison, right?" Chikusa thinned his lips again, and Yamamoto's own grin widened. "So there have to be... exceptions!"
"I'm not arguing with a drunk human..." Chikusa turned his head to the side, a movement which sent his bell trembling. "Not without Mukuro..."
It didn't occur to Yamamoto to ask just who Mukuro was. Instead, he just cheerfully held out his bottle again. "We don't have to argue. We can do a trade. I'll give you this to drink- I didn't even get halfway on this one, look- and you hold off on poisoning everything, just for tonight!"
"...Why are you assuming I would even like that kind of human drink..."
"Have you ever tried it before?" No answer. Helpfully, Yamamoto plugged his thumb over the open bottle. "Here, this way it won't get watered down." Apparently, that was the way to do things. Chikusa finally shifted forward, the bell still acting as a barrier between the two of them, and he managed to slip his hand underneath the rim in order to retrieve the bottle from Yamamoto's hand. The entire time, he kept carefully still. He'd spent all this time doing his best to convince the mer not to kill him on purpose. It would be fairly embarrassing if he managed to get himself stung accidentally. Chikusa even plugged his thumb over the top as Yamamoto had done, keeping it that way until he had it to his mouth and took a very small sip.
A pause.
Chikusa's following narrow eyed glare was almost accusatory, and in a way that Yamamoto knew quite well. It was the same kind of look Gokudera gave him whenever he managed to navigate them quickly and efficiently, not wasting even a bit of their effort. From that alone, he felt pretty triumphant, and that feeling remained even as the mer rippled backwards before disappearing down into deeper waters. Yamamoto let him, standing there in the water for a little while longer to enjoy the feeling of waves washing against his body. Only a little while longer. Eventually, he had to drag himself out again. Having disappeared from the ruckus at the bar was one thing, but if Gokudera found him passed out in the water, halfway out to see?
Boy, would that be embarrassing.
"So thanks for not poisoning us!"
Somehow, for whatever reason, that seemed to annoy Chikusa a little bit as he stared up at Yamamoto from deep within the water. The Vongola had set sail the very next morning, as soon as it was confirmed that everyone was sober. He hadn't checked for himself what had happened with the other ships, or even their own stocks. For the former, he didn't really care, and for the latter, well, that was what they had Lambo for. Lambo was the youngest out of all of them, a teenager who couldn't really even be called a man. On any other ship, he'd be a cabin boy or a powder monkey. On the Vongola? Here, he was the one in charge of making everything that kept their most valuable items, whether they were for sale or, more often than not, for health and eating. It seemed like a pretty big task for a kid Yamamoto could remember whining about sea sickness and wanting sweets, but he'd adapted to his new role well. They all had. So if Lambo had looked over their provisions and given the all clear, then Yamamoto was willing to trust in him just like he trusted everyone else on the ship.
Considering he was still alive and breathing, he considered that trust well placed.
He had no idea how Chikusa was able to float so easily alongside the ship as she sailed, so he didn't really think too hard about it. Instead, he tilted his head to the side as Chikusa raised a question up to him. The mer spoke so quietly that it really took a lot to hear him from such a distance. "Do you really think we're anything alike?"
Yamamoto considered the question for a brief moment. "Probably not," he answered, unable to tell Chikusa's expression with how far away they were from each other. "I mean, even if we're doing the same thing, it could be for entirely different reasons, right?"
Once again, he seemed to surprise Chikusa. The mer stared up at him for a while longer, those eyes still shimmering and reflective at night, before his pale colorful body dipped back into the waves. That was fine. Yamamoto had a feeling that if he had bothered to follow him this far out to sea, Chikusa would show up again.
Credit also had to be given to Kyoko, from where she kept watch high up in the crow's nest. In the daytime, Haru kept lookout, but nighttime was Kyoko's preferred hours for when she wasn't working as a carpenter alongside her brother's boatswain duties. At night, the sort of thing she kept an eye out for were a lot different from what Haru had to deal with... and that difference in duties, Yamamoto had come to realize, meant she was a lot more in tune with things that happened down on the deck. Despite this, she never said anything about who he talked to that night when they were still only a day away from port. She continued to not say anything even when it happened again and again.
Chikusa was slow to speak, and slower to understand in any deep or meaningful way, but Yamamoto appreciated the mer's stubbornness in sticking near to him. The more they spoke with one another, the more Yamamoto realized that his initial impression of Chikusa was correct. He really hadn't ever interacted with humans before, at least not in any long term and sincere manner. Yamamoto ended up being his gateway to a world Chikusa apparently interacted little with. That meant the questions never stopped coming.
Not that they came all at once or anything. Apparently, only the vulnerability of Yamamoto being piss drunk had been why Chikusa held a prolonged conversation with him the first time. With him sober, a lot more caution was employed for quite a few of those first nights. More often than not, Chikusa would ask one question, listen to an answer, and then disappear back into the waves for the next nightfall. By that point, sometimes he'd ask a follow up from their "talk" from before. Other nights, he went with something entirely different. For the most part, he actually seemed almost content with merely listening to Yamamoto talk no matter how off-tangent he went... which meant, of course, that Yamamoto went off-tangent often, extending the one-sided conversation for as long as he could.
The first night Chikusa actually stayed, responding to some dumb story Yamamoto had told about an old fisherman's tale about a crew gaining a mysterious new passenger after sailing through haunted waters, he'd smiled. And Yamamoto smiled all the time.
Chikusa didn't really speak much about himself, and Yamamoto didn't really ask, save for when he double checked on if the mer was familiar with a certain human concept or item. He didn't know where Chikusa came from, or pry into why he was perfectly fine with following after a pirate ship whose destination he didn't know. He certainly never asked him who he was referring to when he had talked about Mukuro during their first meeting, or if he was actually alone as he followed their ship across the waters.
Then again, Chikusa never asked anything about him or the Vongola, either.
Instead, they talked about everything beyond themselves. Predictably, they bonded the most over the stars, an exchange of information as Yamamoto explained the tools he used to navigate them and Chikusa pointed out different aspects of the night sky that Yamamoto needed a spyglass to pick out. Sometimes, Yamamoto took the time to explain the craftmanship which had gone into the sword hanging from his waste- the careful inspection of the metal which it would form, the ages of hammering into the metal, the careful attention which sharpened it more than anything. He never said that it was a gift from his father, before he left home. Chikusa held no such sentimental items on his own person, in contrast. While the mer never said as much, Yamamoto could tell that, anything important to him, he had to hold inside himself. So instead of the story or creation behind any item, Chikusa simply talked about what he knew, and what he knew was one part basically the entire ocean and one part a lot of incredibly embarrassing stories of what he saw humans get up to when they thought no one was looking.
Considering how he laughed hard enough to almost fall over the railing, Yamamoto nearly became one of those stories.
With that in mind, it was probably a questionable idea where Yamamoto occasionally talked to him out of the port holes inside the ship or, even worse, pulled out a small rope ladder so that he could clamber down and speak with Chikusa in a tone of voice that wasn't yelling. Every time he did it, Chikusa watched him in the careful manner one watched a cat try to walk along the rim of a full bath tub: quietly, patiently, and sort of anticipating something to laugh at. Yamamoto was proud to say he never fell.
That didn't stop Chikusa from one day saying, "I wonder how your crew would react if they realized you had fallen overboard... for just a conversation..."
"Ha ha. I bet they'd be kind of funny, although I'd feel bad." Yamamoto carefully looped his foot through the rope ladder, having to rely more on habit and touch than his ability to see. The moon gave off light, yeah, but not always enough for what humans needed. There'd be no use for torches otherwise. "But I'd be fine, right?"
"...How exactly would you be fine..."
Yamamoto grinned down at him. Even now, Chikusa still looked pale and ethereal, something that normally couldn't be touched. "Well, you would look after me if I fell into the water, wouldn't you?"
For all that they had been talking for nights, now, going into weeks, possibly edging into a month now, that idea still seemed to catch Chikusa off-guard. He stared up at him, the motion of the waves changing the eerie reflective nature of his eyes with every slight angle difference, before he slowly glanced down with his chin dipping into the water. Rather than abandoning him to the night air or outright refusing, however, he merely glanced up at Yamamoto from beneath what was sort of his hair. "You realize I'm venomous... right... I couldn't help you even if I wanted to..."
Even if he wanted to.... huh? Yamamoto was silent for a second, head sort of but not really leaning against rope, while a softer smile weighed down on his lips.
"Even still. I'd trust you to figure something out."
After the first port they stopped at, Chikusa's visits became a little less frequent. Yamamoto couldn't tell if it was because he'd gotten bored of the novelty of talking with a human, if he had friends he wanted to see, or if he had something to do like poison other ships. Maybe it was only average mer stuff. Yamamoto didn't stress over it too much. Instead, he focused on his own life with the crew: the trade, the leads, the avoiding being captured by the navy or military or anyone else that cared more about the law than the crew of the Vongola necessarily did. Occasionally at night, Yamamoto thought he saw that familiar shimmering film along the surface of the ocean when he looked out from the docks, the ship, or even town... but Chikusa didn't ever come particularly near, and so Yamamoto let him have his time on his own. Apparently, he'd been lucky with their first meeting, because it seemed to be a rare occurrence.
Sailing in open waters was a little bit better, although Chikusa still didn't appear every night as he did before. That was fine. It wasn't like Yamamoto went searching every night either, himself. Instead, their paths crossed casually, naturally, during the nighttime. In exchange, Chikusa seemed more interested to tolerate longer stretches of conversation to the point that sometimes Yamamoto himself had to leave before the mer felt bothered to. That too was somewhat comforting.
"You'll find a small island in the next day or two, if you follow your course," the mer said one night, when Yamamoto had brought out his rope ladder again for a closer talk.
Pausing where he was, Yamamoto made sure his hand was wrapped firmly in rope before he rolled his head back to look at where Chikusa was floating in the dark waters. It was good that the mer was so pale, or else he'd have a much harder time spotting him through the waves. "An island?" he echoed, thoughtful. "Is there something special about it?"
"I don't know," Chikusa said in the bored tone of someone who didn't actually care enough to look into something. "It has something that humans seem to like..."
"Ha ha, oh yeah? What is it?" No answer. Chikusa only leveled a flat and blank stare at him, and Yamamoto laughed again. "Oh yeah, I guess there's no real guarantee that you would know, even if you saw them." For all he knew, Chikusa was just passing along something he had heard. He might not have seemed like a very social person, but what did Yamamoto know? He only saw Chikusa sometimes, at night, in conversations that had nothing to do with other people. At least, not specific people, and definitely not themselves. "Well, I guess I'll just hope it's something interesting, then!"
"Who knows..." Chikusa floated in place for a brief moment, gaze sliding from side to side. Yamamoto recognized the attempt at fake casualness almost immediately. Certainly, it helped that Chikusa didn't appear to be particularly good at it. "The water is clear there..."
Yamamoto's grin creeped a little wider across his face. "Oh yeah? I thought all water was clear just because it was water?"
Whatever anyone might say about Chikusa's conversation skills- if anyone said anything at all, Yamamoto guessed- there couldn't be any denying that he was at least attentive. Yamamoto's teasing was clear as day, and he glowered a little from underneath his eyelashes. "More clear than water," he said with some reluctance, as if it was a nuisance to go along with the joke. "Similar to glass."
"Wow!" He used the exact tone of oblivious cheer that made Gokudera threaten to shove him overboard. "That sounds really impressive! I wonder if I can convince Tsuna and everyone else to drop by it for a while! It sure would be a shame not to see somewhere that sounds that nice, huh?"
Chikusa didn't deign to give him an answer. Instead, in a manner that definitely couldn't notwas an island that they could almost have passed by and, true to a mer's word, the water there was unbelievably clear. That much wasn't as clear when they were a good distance away from it but, the closer they got at Yamamoto's quiet but insistent nudging, the more that it couldn't be denied. It wasn't the biggest island in the world, with no signs of people that could be seen at a distance... but it didn't need to be big for its brilliant green forests to shine like a jewel in the seemingly never-ending expanse of the ocean as the vegetation creeped up a decently sized mountain in the thick of it all. That wasn't the only thing which shone, either. Once they dropped anchor a decent distance away from the island and began to take careful scouting boats nearby, even more beautiful things became apparent. Most of all was a sprawling reef that took up a good chunk of the island's shore on one side, myriads of glittering and colorful fish dipping in and out of their home. A quick glance over the island with him and Ryohei revealed that, not only was it beautiful, but the trees past the shoreline were thick with rare fruits that Gokudera was able to quickly identify. Rare, delicious, and expensive.
Pirates doing legitimate business was something of a laugh, honestly... but why look a gift fish in the mouth?
Unlike ships, or warehouses, or anywhere else they'd plunder before, there wasn't any need to rush off with the goods immediately. Thanks to both cautious planning from Tsuna after quite a few bad experiences and Lambo's own indulgences, they had a decent stock. Enough to take at least one day, or two, to soak in the view. Besides, Yamamoto had to adjust their maps to take into consideration this island, and it would be a waste to just forget about it, right? That and a lot more were the excuses they all tried to force onto a reluctant and huffing Gokudera. It wasn't exactly a surprise that he was outnumbered, with even the girls excited for a stop like this. Eventually, grudgingly, he gave in.
Maybe it was just to stop Ryohei from following him around yelling out arguments he was just repeating from the rest of the crew.
For all that Yamamoto kept an eye out, he didn't just abandon his friends, either. The island was too beautiful to share with only one person. So he shared it with everyone who wanted to: carefully exploring from atop the reef with Tsuna, watching to make sure Lambo didn't get bit by an eel, swimming lessons against Kyoko, exploring the forest alongside Haru's excited chattering. Even Gokudera was having fun, he could tell. Not that he had to look hard, when he blushed so furiously as to give an apple a run for its money whenever Tsuna and Haru took him along on their fun.
...But he had to admit that something warm twisted in his chest when he looked out towards the ocean on their second and last day to see something shimmering along the surface of the ocean.
The reef didn't take up every bit of the shores along the island... just, you know, the vast majority of it. This wasn't a bad thing, as far as Yamamoto could tell. They acted as a sort of barrier between the island and the rest of the ocean, keeping the water from forming immense or particularly annoying waves. It kept the water directly around the island calm and clear, he was fairly sure. The main problem for his particular goal of the day was that, near to the shore, they were either too close together for a humanoid figure to go to or they were too shallow for something as long as a mer to get through comfortably. If it was only him, on his own, Yamamoto had no doubt that it would take him a good long while to find the perfect spot for the two of them to meet up. Fortunately, Chikusa seemed to have taken this into consideration a long time ago. Maybe even when he had first advised him of the island's existence. All Yamamoto had to do was follow that shimmering path of reflective light... up until it disappeared down into the water.
Nothing else needed to be done or said, besides Yamamoto flicking off his sandals abandoned into the sand. There was still a bit of reef that extended out to where he had seen Chikusa's bell disappear, although it didn't reach all the way. That was enough for Yamamoto to make his way along, until he could lean over an edge and see a humanoid figure with a long rippling lower half. A top down view didn't really give him the best look, however.... So, smiling wide, he jumped right in, feet first.
At first, he couldn't see a single thing. Not past all the bubbles which burst up all around him at his actions, nor the half dozen or more fish which scattered from the sudden impact into the water. Hell, not even past his ability to see clearly in unfamiliar territory, not for a quick moment. But once he blinked his eyes a few times, the bubbles disappearing from around him... Maybe it was a good thing that, as a human, he was forced to hold his breath under water. All this time, he had only seen Chikusa at night, mostly submerged, taking in moonlight and lit up from something deep inside of himself.
In the sunlight, in clear water...? Not much else could really compare. It wasn't only the moonlight which had made him seem so silvery and shimmering. From the waist up, he could almost have been forgiven for being a pale human, if someone were drunk (not naming any names) and squinted a whole lot. Yet the eyes were still that familiar dark color, focused right on him from beneath hair that had always looked black at night. In the sunlight, it seemed to shift colors, mostly pale greens and blues with the occasional flicker of purple. The mimicry wasn't as perfectly complete in comparison to other mermaids. Eyes whose pupils weren't quite as defined, hair that seemed to move of its own accord more than in accordance with the tides, and skin that didn't seem to have quite the same depth to it as human skin... especially as it went down past where a human's pelvis would be, fading in and out with deeper shades of color lifted from his 'hair'. Where most mer had 'tails' instead of legs, Chikusa... Well. His lower half was a set of rippling frills, so long that it drifted far behind him and even past the reach of his bell. Directly underneath the sunlight and the waves, he was...
Well. Yamamoto wasn't educated enough to have the exact right word for how Chikusa looked. Just that it was sure something.
A suckerpunch to his lungs and heart wasn't enough to keep Yamamoto still forever. After only a second of recovering from this first proper look at Chikusa, he pushed himself forward through the water. Not too unlike that first night, perhaps it was a bit unwise to swim towards something like Chikusa. His bell was still as enormous as ever, perhaps even bigger underwater where gravity worked a little differently. The tentacles which were connected to it were about as long as Yamamoto had thought, trailing through the sea at almost the exact length of Chikusa's lower half. Even still, he didn't worry about it too much. Wasn't it only expected, when they twitched out of his way, allowing open passage past Chikusa's bell? Hold one's breath and smiling at the same time underwater was a little harder than some people thought, but Yamamoto did it anyway, drifting closer to Chikusa and anchoring himself gently with his hands around Chikusa's waist. He didn't do it too hard, too firmly. Most mer he had known throughout his life were made of sturdier stuff, their lower halves related to fish or sharks or whales that he could recognize. There was never any doubt about the... physical nature of their bodies. Whenever he'd run into jellyfish washed along the shore, however, before being ushered away by concerned adults? While their venomous nature couldn't be in doubt, they'd always seemed... particularly frail, sunk against the sands, helpless. Chikusa was certainly beautiful with the ghostly nature of his body, light shifting in easier than through any other mer or human. While he was called an idiot a lot, Yamamoto just didn't want to actually break him apart from his own lack of knowledge.
Apparently the worrying wasn't necessary. It didn't take long at all for Chikusa to pick up on how gentle Yamamoto's touch was, his brows drawing a fraction together before his hands settled over Yamamoto's. Insistently, he pressed down on the pirate's grasp. His hands were almost unbelievably soft, but they were insistent, and Yamamoto almost laughed at the silent pushiness at play here. Sure enough, Chikusa didn't break apart like wet paper. His body merely shifted strangely, rippled, before it settled underneath his fingertips as if nothing had happened. Well, if he was good enough to be held...
Pirates had to be quick and decisive when sailing the seas... A quality Yamamoto had always held, and which he put into his personal life. So, without even a little bit of hesitation, he leaned in and slotted his lips neatly against Chikusa's mouth.
Chikusa's skin was soft as it was, deceptively fragile in both its texture and how easily Yamamoto's fingers sunk against it, and his lips were even softer. He started a little at the sudden contact, eyes wide, but he didn't move away. He only stayed where he was, stiff as much as he could be, while Yamamoto patiently pressed against him. He didn't push, didn't rush, only stayed where he was with a couple of stray bubbles rising up from the corner of his mouth. Soon enough, he felt Chikusa relax, even if only a little, before he was the one who was making his way into Yamamoto's mouth more aggressively than he'd ever displayed before. Yet the two of them weren't the same. For all that he enjoyed the feel of Chikusa's slick tongue, well, he did kind of need to breathe, and in a more literal way than how some romantic types described passionate kisses. Pulling away, Yamamoto sealed his mouth shut again and jerked his chin up towards the surface. Instead of letting him go, Chikusa shrugged and gripped Yamamoto's own waist. From within the bell, he could see the way it pulsed, curling upwards before going directly the opposite way and propelling the two of them towards the surface. He'd never pegged Chikusa as fast, but he was at least quick enough for the two of them to breach the surface. At least he was correct in how thin the bell was, because it was certainly thin enough for him to almost immediately feel air on his face.
Promptly, he turned his head to the side and spat out some saltwater. "Ha, don't look at me like that," he said to the blurry figure that was only a few inches away from him. He didn't need to see perfectly to know that Chikusa's upper lip was curling slightly in that way it always did when he found something disgusting. "I got some of it in my mouth when I was kissing you!"
"...You didn't have to kiss me at all..."
"Did you not want me to?" Chikusa didn't immediately answer him. If anything, he actually began to slowly sink into the water, and Yamamoto pulled him back up with a laugh. "Hey, if you go too far down, your bell will hit me! Come on, come on~." Now that he'd had a few minutes to blink the water clear from his eyes, he could see Chikusa's sulking expression perfectly for all that it was as subtle as it was. "You have to be clear if you want to get something~."
And yet that still wasn't any kind of answer, a fact both of them knew. Yamamoto hadn't made a lot of demands of Chikusa in the time they'd known one another. Even their first meeting, that had been more of a trade off than anything, and Yamamoto had continued the trend for ages by plying Chikusa with various types of booze if he wanted to know something or merely wanted a guarantee that his ship wouldn't come under the threat of a pissed mer. For this, however? For this, he'd push a little, because it was too important for them to not know upfront where the other stood. Or... not stand. In the case of Chikusa. Well, it was a turn of phrase. Regardless. Even Chikusa seemed to understand the importance of it since, when he finally gave his answer, it was prefaced with those deep eyes slowly looking back into Yamamoto's own. "I want to touch you," he said, quiet as a dagger sliding right into Yamamoto's chest.
Yamamoto's immediate response was almost another tease, because they were certainly touching right then, weren't they? Except... He glanced down into the water, where he could see his body kicking to stay afloat. "Ha ha, whups."
"...What did you do."
"I mean, it's not really something I've done, rather, that my body did, on its own? Heh." Shameless to the very end, Yamamoto grinned. "I didn't think hearing you say that would affect me so much- whoa!" Mer could sometimes be a little bit blunt, depending on the particular race. He wasn't sure if that was true for all jellyfish mer, but it was certainly true in Chikusa's case. His hand shifted from Yamamoto's waist, drifting over the many bandanas and other similar cloths which Yamamoto liked to wrap there, and went a little more... towards the center. And down. There was no firm pressure, only a ghost of a touch to make out the bulge pressing against Yamamoto's pants, except that was somehow worse. He let out a slow shaky breath. "Uh, ha, Chikusa?"
Those dark eyes looked back up at his face again, the sunlight briefly catching them to make them see pale. "Can you even swim like this?"
"Yup!" It would be a little awkward and uncomfortable, and yet, that was something probably just about anyone experienced, growing up near the sea or any other body of water. Sometimes, you were a teenager, and sometimes, your body did really weird things. Pleasurable! But weird. "Want me to prove it?" He tilted his head backwards, looking up towards the translucent shape stretched up over them. Even this close, he wasn't entirely sure how it was attached to Chikusa. "Although I would have to dive under this, I guess."
"Don't bother." Without another word, Chikusa dipped underneath the water again... but just enough so that Yamamoto didn't smack his head into the bell. He could feel those long arms curl around his waist. That would have been fine, any other time. However, like this... Well. Certain aspects of his anatomy were definitely brushing against Chikusa, like at his shoulder. Yamamoto tried to control his breathing since, apparently that was the only thing he could control. As Chikusa patiently carried him along back to shore in a surprising show of effort, he took the time to see just how it looked from the mer's point of view. He'd always wondered what it was like, looking at the world from within what was essentially a bubble. It was... pretty strange, he had to admit. The world seemed sharper, somehow, enough that it almost made his head swim a little bit. Impressive, considering that it was still tinted those same shimmering colors that had stood out to him all the nights they'd met. Did this explain how Chikusa had never seemed particularly bothered with talking to Yamamoto besides raising his voice, never explicitly needing him to climb down every night?
"Ha! You could have told me that I was putting in all that effort mostly for myself instead of helping you out, you know." If Chikusa could hear him beneath the water, there wasn't any indication that he did.
When Chikusa resurfaced, it was only after they were in shallow enough waters that Yamamoto could stand up on his own two feet. "So this is where I pick up the slack, huh?" he asked the mer, winding his arms around that fragile waist with another laugh. That expectant look on Chikusa's face said all it needed to. Well, fair was fair, and he suspected that it wouldn't be a particularly huge task anyway. Chikusa might have been more sturdy than he looked, but he was also, well. He was a jellyfish. Bracing himself against the shallows, Yamamoto grunted a little as he gathered up the mer into his arms. As far as he could tell, the main reason that Chikusa even weighed anything at all was because there was just so much of him, with that frilly trail going on still into deeper waters. Trying to gather it all up into his arms would have been- well he would have had far better luck winning against Gokudera in a game of cards. Foregoing a princess style sort of carry, Yamamoto hauled him up vertically in his arms, relying on Chikusa to stay clinging to his shoulders and neck. "I'm lucky you're not similar to other mer, huh?"
Out of the water completely, and Chikusa's bell didn't have nearly as much buoyancy to it. As if to compensate in order to avoid any accidental poisonings, or maybe just make himself more comfortable, Chikusa slowly began to crawl up along Yamamot's shoulders until he was curled up near his head. Well, it was secure, that much was for sure. "What's that supposed to mean..."
"Can you imagine me hauling around a shark mer? I'm pretty strong, but not strong enough to haul that sort of person around so much!"
"Ha..." Now that was interesting. Chikusa didn't really laugh, or make laugh-like sounds, or even vaguely create noises that could distantly be related to laughter. Faintly, Yamamoto wondered if this had anything to do with someone else before the thought was promptly out of his mind as he hit the beach proper. He didn't go too far before he hoisted Chikusa up properly again so that he could flop down onto the sand without snagging his bell... or, worse, any of the many tentacles that flowed off of it. Fortunately, Chikusa seemed to have just enough control over them out of the water to keep anything from getting in the way once he realized what was happening, grunting as they fell. As usual, he didn't say anything, preferring instead to do that very slight narrowing of his eyes.
Repentance wasn't in Yamamoto's nature. He grinned some more, splayed out against the sand and hauling Chikusa a little better into position on top of him. "What? You said you wanted to touch me, right?"
There really were few things more fun than poking at the mer's stubborn and reluctant nature by calling out the obvious emotions he'd never cop to himself. Sure enough, he sunk his face down a little lower until his chin was against Yamamoto's chest where his shirt was partially open. There was that subtly sulky look again. Yet actions spoke louder than words... Without saying a single thing, Chikusa slunk a hand back down towards the bulge in Yamamoto's pants. His eyes watched the pirate intently, moving down towards Yamamoto's mouth when his breath hitched at the faintest increase of pressure. As that hand began to roam further inbetween Yamamoto's legs and up towards his belt.... And then Chikusa paused, frowning down at his pants.
Yamamoto needed a second before he realized what was wrong, and he couldn't stop his bark of laughter if he tried. "Having trouble with the belt?" he asked cheerfully, enjoying the way Chikusa glared down at his buckle as if that would make it disappear through sheer willpower and hatred.
"...Why are you wearing so much? I thought humans hated wearing so much clothing in the sun... And your chest isn't nearly as covered..."
"Just like how it looks," he said, which wasn't wrong. When he had his swords on him, they were handy for cleaning, impromptu bandages, temporary holders... "Need help?"
Chikusa kept up a facade of stubbornness for all of ten seconds before he let his hand flop down to the side with a huff. "I can't do it with one hand..."
A fair point, a fair point. It took a lot of dexterity to manage that kind of thing with a regular pair of pants. Add in the difficulty of a belt, and then his many bandannas... "Heh, then you might want to push yourself up. Got it?" No answer. All Chikusa did was obey quietly, hefting himself up by his palms until his body was blocking out most of the sunlight that filtered through his bell. He really looked beautiful this way, entirely different from the quiet glimpses in the night time or the full sprawling nature of his body in clear daytime water. Sunlight seemed to filter through him, colors drifting just past the pale stretch of his skin, and his eyes seemed to be an even deeper sort of purple. Yamamoto couldn't help himself; he reached upwards past the limp strands of Chikusa's hair and dragged him down for a kiss. Even outside of the water, Chikusa was soft and wet, with lips so pliable that he could stay there, sucking on them and kissing his way into his mouth, for what felt like hours. For all his quiet, for all his reserve, Chikusa clearly felt the same way. Without the use of his hands or words, he returned every single inch of affection with a focused and steady passion.
"I knew we couldn't have a nice time without someone doing something stupid," Hana said, exhausted and deadpan right from the get-go. Most of the crew was gathered around where Yamamoto had been propped up against the side of the railing, in varying degrees of Fuss (tm). "Alright, so, what happened?"
Numb throughout most of his body but apparently not enough to really kill him (yet), Yamamoto laughed out of one side of his mouth. "Ha ha, so, how do you know if something is poisonous?"
"He fucked a jellyfish, Kurokawa!" Gokudera snarled out with zero prompting, before anyone could beat him to the punch.
Silence rolled over the deck. Finally, Hana raked her fingers through her hair before pointing accusingly at where Tsuna was knelt down on Yamamoto's other side. "I swear to God I am leaving this fucking crew."
"Please don't," Tsuna said weakly, for all that he looked as extremely exasperated and tired as Hana did. Being the captain and doctor respectively was an unenviable task on a regular ship. The Vongola somehow made that all the more difficult. "You're the only doctor we have, or I think can even find?"
"I'm not even supposed to be a doctor!" Groaning, Hana came over and promptly shoved Gokudera out of the way with clear disregard for his squawks of protest. For all her complaining, she didn't hesitate in kneeling down besides Yamamoto and quickly doing some quick basic tests for his vitals. "I was reading up on law, damn it! How did I even end up with you bunch of idiot men!?" No one said anything about how Kyoko was sitting there right there with them all, even when she reached over to cheerfully pat Hana's shoulder. "Yamamoto, you absolute dumbass, a jellyfish?"
"I mean, it wasn't a literal jellyfish!" Yamamoto protested, patiently enduring the poking and prodding. It wasn't as though he had any other choice in the matter. "It was a mer. Who happened to be part jellyfish."
"That's only nominally better," she grumbled, checking his breathing. As far as Yamamoto could tell, it wasn't too severe a poisoning, or else his body would be going through a lot worse right now. He'd seen the effects of a jellyfish sting a couple of times in his life, and more often heard the horror stories. He wasn't throwing up, his lungs were still working, and he was quite proud to say that his bowels weren't going out of control. "As in, we can at least say it was consensual or I would be guessing you wouldn't even have made it back to the ship."
"No need to worry there!"
Yet it didn't escape him that he was getting a good dose of heavy inspection from some of the other crew members- notably Haru, Ryohei, and Lambo. All of them stayed respectfully quiet while Hana did her inspection, at least for how long it would take for her to confirm on if Yamamoto would kick the bucket in the next twenty four hours. Once the amount of time passed where it was clear that Hana wouldn't break out into swearing and panic, Yamamoto could see the way all of them were glancing over at him in ways that ranged from subtle to... not so much.
Haru was the one who won on being more subtle, batting her eyelashes innocently. "I've never heard of jellyfish mer before, you know. They must not interact with humans a lot, right?"
"Ha ha, I guess not, although the one I know just seems naturally shy!" Which was sure a word to describe Chikusa, but hey.
"Maybe you can introduce us sometime!"
"No one is meeting the jellyfish Yamamoto fucked!" Gokudera snarled.
"Ha ha, I don't think that's really up to you, Gokudera?"
"So was it a good fling?" Lambo asked suddenly, foregoing any tact as usual to ask the question that was really on more than a few people's minds.
Tsuna dragged his hands down along his face at around the same time Hana pinched the bridge of her nose, looking as though she was five seconds away from tossing them all overboard and raising the anchor herself. Gokudera swung an accusatory finger around towards Lambo. "What did I just say!?" he snapped, ignoring the relieved way Ryohei clenched a fist that someone had asked before him.
"You said we couldn't meet him, not that I couldn't ask!"
"No one wants to hear about Yamamoto's sex life!"
"I just asked, I want to hear!"
Yamamoto thought about the light filtering through Chikusa's body, the multitude of little changes that spokes volume in his often stoic expression, how he'd rested so comfortably along Yamamoto's chest. "Ha. It was pretty great."
"Nice-"
"What the fuck did I just say, you god damn idiot-"
"When it comes to him, I would like to think that 'pretty great' is the very least he could do."
That... wasn't a voice from any of them, and they all paused to look towards the opposite side of the ship. None of them said anything, none of them immediately attacked, but Yamamoto could see the more subtle adjustments, especially from his own technically vulnerable position. Tsuna adjusted himself nearer to Yamamoto, one hand braced against his shoulder and rising up just enough so that he had a better view of the deck itself and anything that might come from their side of the ship. Hana and Lambo both stayed low, the doctor herself readying himself on Yamamoto's other side much like Tsuna was braced. Leaning just a little bit more in front of him was Ryohei, eternally bandaged fists already partially formed and his attention sharp. Kyoko looked a lot more deceiving, peering innocently over her brother's shoulder, which always seemed to catch people off every time. Better than Haru, whose hands were none too subtly positioned over her flintlock pistols, and loads better than Gokudera who already had a small bomb rolling around in one of his fingers.
The person hanging off the side of their ship didn't seemed particularly concerned despite all this. They only grinned, lazy and self confident in a way that seemed to have a little more weight to it than none at all. Yamamoto could discern that sort of thing. It was a useful skill to have, both out on the seas and in the more rough taverns that catered to pirates or at least didn't chase them off. Then again, perhaps part of that feeling was also because there was only one sort of person who would show up in the middle of the ocean. And for that kind of person... Of course they could wear a smile like that, mismatched eyes detached and cool for all the potential danger. "This is quite a welcome," they drawled lazily, reaching up to tuck some hair back into the spiky ponytail they had drawn back. Even with only a small portion of their upper body visible, it was clear that this one had a taste for decoration. The direct opposite of the often bare Chikusa, honestly. Every movement had the various bracelets on his wrist click together. "Shouldn't you be a little more polite, considering how much I could help you?"
Gokudera leaned over just enough so that he could hiss at Yamamoto from the corner of his mouth. "This better not be the jellyfish you fucked."
"Nope."
Among all of them, Gokudera was pretty good at being quiet when bossing them around... and yet that mismatched stare still managed to flick in his direction. "Maybe not the exact person you're looking for," he said, reaching down to something on the side of the ship, "but certainly someone who can help you out with your.... very unique predicament." With that, he raised up a small vial from inbetween his fingers. "While I doubt it's anything lethal, it would still be better to have the antidote on hand, wouldn't it?"
Hana perked up immediately. "You have an actual antitode for jellyfish venom?" From behind Ryohei, Kyoko delicately pressed her hands against her brother's back and rose up a little onto her feet in curiosity.
Their fun new visitor rolled the vial about between deft fingers. "Jellyfish mer venom. And only for this particular sting. It's all very unique, isn't it? Especially with..." They broke into soft chuckles. "Well, we can speak about that another time."
Gokudera, never one for the finer aspects of negotiation or bartering, twitched one eyebrow. "Are you going to give us the god damn thing or keep talking?" By this point, Kyoko was more properly on her feet and had taken a few steps around Ryohei, leaning to the side and blinking innocently.
"Are you really in such a rush? I think by this point you can tell well enough that the dosage of venom he has isn't lethal... but that doesn't mean it's a pleasant experience, is it?" They rolled their shoulders in an elegant shrug, and tossed their head to the side. "You can think of this as a minor token of good will-"
"Oh, then thank you so much!" Before anyone could even blink, Kyoko was across the ship with her hands around the vial and then halfway back. Even their visitor needed a second to blink at that. While everyone else just... absorbed Kyoko's decisiveness, she dropped down by Hana's side and presented the vial with a smile that befitted a seaside maiden instead of a pirate. Yamamoto sort of wanted to laugh again. "Here, Hana!"
"Aww, thanks, Kyoko." Hana flashed her a smile that immediately contrasted with the disgusted look she gave everyone else besides the literally poisoned person. "At least someone here isn't useless, which is more than I can say for the rest of you, including the mer!"
"What about me?"
"...Haru, you're still a little bit of a weirdo, but you get a pass."
Quickly covering up their surprise, the mer leaned back and shrugged with his hands flicking to the side. "My, what an interesting group. Chikusa really did pick something interesting this time. Well, as I said- consider it a gift. But I'll be certain to pay you a visit soon for... compensation."
While Gokudera let out a string of swears, Yamamoto did his best to smile. It was somewhat difficult, considering the circumstances, but he did his best with what he had. "Well, thanks for being such a nice guy to pay us a visit! Hopefully I'll be more chatty then, ha ha. See you later, Mukuro."
Their eyebrows slowly raised, intrigued, before he let out another low laugh. "I can see why he took to you. Well. I'll be taking my leave." And with that, he pushed himself off, only the slightest glimpse of his octopus bottom half visible before he disappeared out of sight.
Under the sound of the waves, Gokudera dragged one hand down his face. "I absolutely hate," he said, "the shit you get up to when no one is keeping an eye on you."
"It went well," Mukuro said airily as he ducked down towards the reef bottom, ignoring the many fish around him in much the same way that most of them ignored him. "I can tell they'll be quiet useful in the future."
Almost immediately, Ken stopped circling Chikusa impatiently and went straight towards Mukuro, shark fin cutting through the water smoothly. "I knew it would be easy for you, Master Mukuro!" he crowed, bright eyed and encouraging as always. For the attention, Mukuro indulged him, and ran one hand along from Ken's hair to his fin.
Ignoring the happy wiggling underneath his palm, he focused his gaze onto Chikusa. It was hard to the point of impossibility to not burst out laughing, instead keeping his voice level as he murmured, "He didn't seem to be poisoned particularly badly. Still, I suppose there is some due credit in the... daring of his particular choice in partners."
Ken was a lot less subtle, bearing his teeth and sniggering at his partner as he circled around Mukuro once again to face him. "You poisoned the guy who tried to fuck you!" he cackled. "I would have loved to see the look on his face when he realized what had happened!"
No answer was forthcoming from Chikusa. All he did was float there, arms crossed and his tentacles spun around him in a defensive spiral. It was the most defensive a mer of the jellyfish could possibly get, with how it made getting through the gaps a lot harder than if they were spread out normally. Mukuro didn't let that deter him, instead pushing himself forward and floating just out of reach with a smirk on his face. "Was he that good?" he said, hardly keeping the mocking out of his voice. "To lose control of your venom like that?"
Still no answer, just a nudge of his chin downwards towards his shoulder. Mukuro laughed softly again, but let it rest. If Chikusa liked that human so much, maybe Mukuro would keep him alive. At least, until his subordinate got over the feel of human hands.
It still wasn't exactly as breathless as literally running out of air under the water was, but it was enough to have Yamamoto pleasantly flushed when he finally pulled away. "Hah. Wow. Ha ha, I hope your hair isn't like the tentacles."
"...Take off your pants already."
Well, he couldn't blame him for the rush- not with Yamamoto's crew members around somewhere, and not with how a mer was undeniably an aquatic creature and could only spend so much time on land. So he did his best to not get distracted again, as difficult as that was with Chikusa literally being right on top of him, and craned his neck so that he could look properly down at his pants. Taking everything off just seemed kind of silly, not to mention impossible when he'd have to move Chikusa off of him first. Undoing the front would have to be enough... and it definitely felt like enough when he let his arousal out into open air. Cool water combined with the sudden intense lack of restriction sent a shudder trembling throughout his whole body, and Yamamoto's head fell back into the sand with an exhilarated rush of air. That... That was much better. Yet not nearly as better as when Chikusa, not content to let him enjoy just a brief moment of freedom, slid his fingers against the length of him, prompting another shiver. Lube, water, saliva- none of it compared to the slick and temptingly smooth surface of the mer's palm as he wasted no time in circling his fingers around Yamamoto's cock.
And yet that wasn't where his attention was. Chikusa spared only a moment to enjoy the novelty of seeing a human dick, palm slow and exploratory, before he was looking directly back into Yamamoto's eyes. Chikusa's fingers were, above all else, experimental as he stroked and rubbed, pumped and slid, his finger all across his arousal. His dick, he realized, was really only a tool at the end of the day. A means to an end. What Chikusa was much more interested in, he quickly realized, were his reactions. Every twitch, what drew out gasps in contrast to moans, how his eyelashes would flutter at a particular slow twist of his fingers. How long had he been planning this encounter out? With how slowly Chikusa moved sometimes, Yamamoto couldn't but fantasize that it had been ages.
He wanted to dig his fingers into something, anything, but the sand was unsatisfying with how it slipped through his grasp so easily. At some point, he realized he had raised one hand up to brace against Chikusa's hip, and he realized this because that's when the mer looked away from his face to where his fingers were placed. They were right where a human's pelvis bone would have pressed out at and, for Chikusa, the start of where pale 'skin' began to become a little more thin in favor of color that would become all the more brilliant in the frills that stretched out past Yamamoto's feet.
"Not as easy to make you feel good, huh?" he breathed out, voice husky as he watched Chikusa let go of his arousal to lay his hand over Yamamoto's again. It hadn't really occurred to him, at least in depth, until just now. "Although I guess we can keep kissing-"
He tore through Chikusa's skin.
It was hard to say if he moved his thumb wrong, if Chikusa pressed down too hard with his own hand, or what. It probably didn't matter. All that mattered was that it had happened, that faint feel of resistance against his nail before he realized that his thumb had dipped in far more than it should have against something physical.
Yamamoto stared down for a second, a little bit stunned and somehow still with an erect dick despite himself. "Oh," he said numbly before he laughed again- his incurable habit that popped up during the worst moments most of the time.
In contrast, Chikusa didn't seem even remotely. As a matter of fact, he didn't even seem to be in pain at all. He only blinked down at the scene, Yamamoto's thumb partially through a paper thin slice into his would-be pelvis before giving what could arguably be called a nod. "This should work."
Chikusa moved his hand out of the way, and Yamamoto let him. He had seen a lot of weird shit in his life. In fact, occasionally, he was the one responsible for the weird shit in question. However, this was an entirely new experience, even for him, and so all he could say was, "Ha ha, work for what, exactly?"
A blank blink. "Humans... have sex like this, don't they? They stick a part of themselves into the hole of the other person..."
Yamamoto had always kind of assumed that everything had sex that way, but the ocean was pretty strange, so he let that pass by him. Instead, he took a moment to really think on that. "I mean, there's definitely a lot of sexual acts, I guess? And people are always making new ones, ha ha, so I was willing to be creative when it came to you." And he had assumed that he was going to have to be pretty creative in this particular sort of situation. Finally, he raised his hand again, a lot more soft as he ghosted his fingertips along the skin near to where the slit now was. "Are you okay? You didn't have to do that."
"It's fine." Chikusa was a little more insistent in pulling Yamamoto's hand this time, although there was still no sign of pain, true enough. Rather, he seemed almost more embarrassed than anything, dipping his chin down towards his chest slightly. It wasn't obvious, but it was a tell that Yamamoto had come to learn. "Now hold still."
Well, if he was certain. Yamamoto did as he was told, eyes trained on Chikusa while the mer carefully adjusted himself over his prone body. Chikusa said he wasn't in pain, so he would trust him on that fact... and he couldn't help but be curious as well. From the angle he was looking at and the small size of the slit, he couldn't really see just what was beneath the 'skin' of such a mer. All he could do was rely on his sense of touch, letting his eyes fall shut as Chikusa delicately began to lower his body down onto him. Even only a bit of his dick inside was enough to make him hiss, surprised at the utterly foreign sensation. The inside of Chikusa's body was too soft, too flexible, too much to be anything even remotely human. Yamamoto couldn't think of any other similar sensation. Soft ridges curved along his cock, so slick that the strange formation of them sucked him right in but firm enough that he couldn't slip out so easily. There was no question of if Chikusa could take him in fully, their bodies pressed fully against one another. Labored breathing directly before him forced Yamamoto to open his eyes, where he found himself face to face with the mer. There was no other be, not when they were joining in a way like this, where Chiksua was forced to lower himself. And this close... No, maybe even from a distance, Yamamoto would be able to see the blush that had blossomed across his face. Mer blushed like humans blushed, most of the time, but being something so foreign as a jellyfish seemed to change things. Instead of red, or pink, or even orange, Chikusa flushed a pale blue that crawled along his throat and jawline from the exertion of just lowering himself down onto Yamamoto's body.
That answered that. Still shivering from this new form of pleasure, he reached up to brace his hands against Chikusa's hips to help steady him. "I guess I don't have to worry about if you're enjoying the moment or not."
Chikusa's eyes flickered up to him from beneath half-lidded lashes. "...Shut up..." Breathing unsteadily himself, he raised his body up even as it still tried to cling to Yamamoto's cock. With his hands at his hip, he did his best to help the mer rise until just the very tip was still inside.
"Want help? I know you hate moving more than you ever need to."
"I just said..." There was no need to repeat himself. Chikusa let his actions do the talking for him, falling back onto Yamamoto's arousal so swiftly that he couldn't stop the way his hips bucked into that soft wet hole. His head rolled back, following the moan that came out of his mouth. When he opened his eyes again, Chikusa was near to his face again, but this time his eyelashes were dipped in a quiet but undeniably smug satisfaction. "Shut up."
"Bossy," Yamamoto breathed, smiling. Still, he could be good. It was worth it to roll his hips up against Chikusa's again and watch the mer duck his head down, shuddering in a way that couldn't be missed with the way they were right up against one another. Under the heat of the beach sun, it was a blessing to have the mer so close to him like this, and even the inside of his body seemed to warm up just enough to be comfortable. To be perfect. It was slow, almost a little awkward, as they adjusted to the strange position... but Yamamoto knew how to figure things out. Chikusa let him, even. While they couldn't go at breakneck speed, rutting like animals on the land would... Somehow this was almost more preferable. This was a mirror of their entire relationship, both with each other and the ocean that connected them so much: slow, steady, rolling into each other again and again until the cool quiet of everything began to steadily rise into an unbearable heat. Even with the way Yamamoto's body throbbed, aching for release, he kept careful. Chikusa was sturdy and delicate in equal measure, something that required an even more delicate hand than if he was only one or the other...
And, besides. This way, he got the perfect view of Chikusa slowly falling more and more into pleasure, jaw trembling with each attempt at holding back any sounds of arousal, his flush turning his skin a blue to match his lower half, and the way his insides constricted and twitched all around his cock. It was a torment onto him, too, but he considered it a price well paid for getting to see Chikusa in a way that he'd never seen him before. Wringing out a soft keen of pleasure, seeing the way he finally dug his fingers not into the sand but Yamamoto's shoulders, all while his body shook in the telltale way of release... That was enough for him, too.
Laying there in the afterglow, Chikusa sunk contentedly against his body while colors shifted through the bell that was still held over them, was enough for him.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
storm : chloroform at 3 a.m.
1/2
Coincidentally, the man sprawled out on the floor unconscious is one of those types, and M.M. catches the flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye where Mukuro idly nudges the pig with his trident. He might be disgusted with the man or he might not be. With the types like Mukuro, everything is hidden behind an insufferably smug smirk a solid 75% of the time. "Oh, but not a boyfriend?" he says with a lazy drawl.
M.M. pops her lips, both in disdain and to make sure everything is clear of her skin. "We both know the only reason you have two is because they never had a chance to learn better," she says bluntly, turning her head to the side to cast a critical gaze upon her skin. There's no reason to wipe away any of the foundation. A little blush here, some eyeliner there, and she thinks this can be a salvageable look. "Isn't it lucky that you have a more worldly woman like me to know what you're really worth?" Digging through her purse, she pulls out a tube of brilliant red lipstick that's a lot more eyecatching.
From behind her, she can hear the click of Mukuro's obnoxious heels as he approaches her long before his arms slide against hers. For any other person, maybe this would be considered a pinning maneuver with the way his chest can just barely be felt at her back and his gloved hands press down against the counter. M.M. doesn't bother to be worried. Even with his eye able to enhance his own combat ability, she's more than confident she could twist his arm right off her if she was worried. Instead, as he leans his head over his shoulder, she uncaps her lipstick and offers it up him. "So what am I worth?" he asks, amusement coating his voice, before he obligingly purses his lips together.
She could rush it, because they're in the private suite of one of the richest corrupt businessmen in the world (which are most of them honestly), and any fucking around could have both of them jumping out of an extremely tall building... But she doesn't. Instead, M.M. patiently traces red all along Mukuro's mouth until it's a nice brilliant crimson. Only then does she say, "For tonight, $6,500 dollars, although I can convert that for you if you only have euros or yen on hand."
Laughing at her, Mukuro pulls away and leaves his trident where he'd rested it against a wardrobe. "So demanding," he says.
"Say the man who needs most of his pawns brainwashed into self harm," M.M. murmurs around her lipstick, somehow managing to speak without smudging even a little bit of red out of line. Frankly, she's quite proud of the fact that she's managed to get this far in their relationship without having that trident ever even touch her skin... or be tossed aside back into the slammer for being too useless. One would be annoying, but the other would be downright infuriating.
She's not about a life back in prison, which Birds and his two pathetic dogs have to deal with for as long as their no-doubtedly short lives will go on. M.M. wants the finer things in life: the good food, the extravagant hotels, the beautiful clothes, and everything else the world has to offer her. Life is short, and M.M. has never found herself to be a particularly religious type. If there's no guarantee on her life, whether from a random sudden heart attack or surge of cancer or a plane's engines failing... Why not?
Maybe if she'd ever forged one of Mukuro's little contracts with him, not much of her life would change... Maybe. But M.M. knows better than to hand that amount of power over to another person like that. After all, if she wouldn't date a man who'd insist on if she worked or not, or on what kind of clothes she could wear, or who she could speak with... Why would she let a man take utter control of her body? Better to keep things simple and upfront with cash.
Besides, while she's pretty sure they were like that long before any blood contracts were made, she can't imagine living in such slavish (and dirt poor) devotion as Chikusa and Ken. Ew.
By the time she's done applying her lashes and eyeshadow, Mukuro has freely rifled through most of what few business papers are in the bedroom proper. M.M. can see just the slightest pinprick down on their target's legs, right on the back of his calf where it's unlikely to go noticed. No one seems to know how Mukuro can worm his way into powerful organizations and businesses, learning things that should be the most closely guarded secrets- not yet at least. M.M. is fairly certain that it's only herself and a small amount of the Vongola for fairly obvious reasons. Well, and Mukuro's own group, of course. That should go without saying. Stepping over the body, M.M. leans against Mukuro's back with her elbow digging into his kidney. On purpose. Of course. "Find anything fun and interesting?" she asks, blowing into his ear so that his earring sways.
2/2
Asshole. The innocent floral dress and cardigan look really isn't her style, she knows that. M.M. puts her foot down as she turns around, hoping to nail him on his toes only to miss. If only it was that easy to be appropriately petty against him. When she really wants to strike, she has to be creative about it. "Of course not," she sniffs, pausing by his coat rack to dig around until she finds the guy's wallet. This will do as a decent enough tip. "I packed an extra set of clothes. Who the hell do you think I am?"
"A golddigger?" he offers, smug and sly all at once while he stretches his arms up over his head.
M.M. flips him off before leaning down over the unconscious body at her feet. He'll be suspicious if he wakes up like this, more than he will be already at having what looked to be some random girl steal his wallet. The least she can do is dump him on his bed. It will help the impression that she was only that, instead of the way in for someone much worse. He's a bigger guy than her, as most guys tend to be, but M.M. doesn't let that stop her. She's spent years building up her body, all the better to crack her clarinet into a person's skull with maximum force. A mere businesman isn't enough to even make her bust out a sweat as she hauls him up and tosses him carelessly onto the bed where he'd hope to get laid instead of laid out.
His eyelids don't even flutter. Those were some really impressive drugs she managed to slip him. Well, for the amount she paid for them, they better be.
("The amount" being literally any amount. M.M. has found that she can put her money to much more self indulgent uses, and it's more pleasurable to do so.)
"So you're taking me out to dinner, aren't you?" she asks plainly shrugging off her cardigan as she goes over to the slightly ratty backpack she'd walked in with that contains clothing worth more than some people's lives. She doesn't even blink as she reaches down to slide her dress up over her hips and then her head. There's nothing of her body that Mukuro hasn't seen before. If anything, they're both quite familiar with one another on that sense.
As a matter of fact, Mukuro seems more concerned with what she's said than that she's readjusting the hidden straps of her bra so that there's a slight criss-cross of them across her collarbone. "I don't believe that was part of our deal," he drawls before something seems to hit him. "Also it's three in the morning."
"Then it's breakfast," M.M. says offhandedly, sliding on a skirt that's just short enough to get her banned from most schools and a leather jacket which says she wouldn't care either way. Combined with a good pair of boots, and she's all set. There's nothing holding her back from walking over to Mukuro, a sway in her hips, and she smirks up at him with her arms wrapping around his hips. "As if you really have anything else to do in this city, Mukuro-chan." He smirks right back at her, the two of them leaning close enough for their faces to brush.
He blinks. "...Is that your hand in my pocket trying to steal my wallet, or are you happy to see me?"
With their lips maybe a centimeter apart, M.M. makes a couple kissing noises. "Your wallet is the only good thing about you, Mukuro-chan." But then again, her ability to lie, murder, and steal are probably the only good things about her.
No one else really can deserve either of them.
sun : first date
no subject
"That horse is really employing some cowards these days," Squalo snorts, lowering his sword arm.
Peering around him, Bel's lips peel back in one of his usual mocking grins. "Didn't know you were so familiar that you could recognize Cavallone men at first sight, Vice Captain." Apparently, that's far too many mentions of Dino for their boss, and Xanxus forges ahead to lead his group on the way out of this needlessly annoying mafia get together with his lips curled in distaste. If Squalo weren't bristling to start with, he definitely is now.
"It's called having preemptive knowledge of the enemy, you shitty little brat!" Despite Squalo's yelling, all of them trot obediently after Xanxus, following the natural flow of things. It's Levi who notices Lussuria's acquisition first, unable to break past the united shitshow that is Xanxus and Squalo yelling at each other while Bel gleefully eggs things on.
His nose wrinkles slightly. "You're keeping that?" he asks, taking in a look at the bouquet Lussuria now has in her arms as she trails behind most of the pack, picking through the flowers with an idle but gentle touch.
"Well, of course," Lussuria titters, taking a whiff and sighing in delight. "Aren't they beautiful?"
With his idea of 'beautiful' being the six foot brick shithouse that was converted into a distillery with a temper management problem- that is to say, their boss- Levi apparently can't because he raises his nose in the air a little bit. "They're nothing special," he says, which is perhaps the nicest thing he could say about anything that isn't Xanxus.
Lussuria's sigh says she expected nothing else and, while it's a mystery to just about anyone, the chances of her eyes rolling is fairly eye. "You would say that." She ducks her head into the bouquet again, taking in a deep breath and curling one hand to her cheek dreamily. "One day, maybe you'll awaken to the classic beauty of a damsel receiving a bouquet from her lover."
Everyone screeches to a halt.
Well. Lussuria doesn't, sidestepping the sudden traffic jam in the hallway with a kickboxer's ease. Mammon also doesn't, now around the physical age of seven and able to keep up a little bit better these days. Around them, familiar faces are contorted in various expressions of shock. Levi in particular looks as though he's trying to solve a high level arithmetic problem to the dismay of his quickly combusting brain. Bel's is a little more subdued, if only because that's what happens when half of your face is hidden from view, and all he can do is glance up at Squalo and Xanxus with his mouth slightly agape. They, in turn... Either of them run on rage at any given time, so that there's even a hint of bewildered confusion trying to break through is impressive in its own right.
Mammon picks up the conversation with ease. "I thought that's what it was, but I didn't want to say anything right off the bat. That was a fairly clever maneuver, using a cowardly messenger in that manner so that he could discretely send you something. Did he tell you ahead of time he was going to do it?"
"Oh, no. But, you know, the last time we were able to get a bit of time for ourselves, he told me how fitting it was that I had a peacock for a box animal, because I look stunning in every color."
"What a lady killer."
Finally snapping out of it, the rest of the group surges forward to follow after, and Squalo points an accusing finger down in Mammon's direction. "How the hell did you know that Lussuria was dating anyone!?"
Much in similarity with Lussuria and Bel, Mammon's eyes also can't be seen yet they have ways of getting around that minor setback. For them in particular, they're an expert in the use of their particularly plush mouth, and they use it to great effect in twisting in the perfect way to radiate how unimpressed they are. "Because we talk," they state bluntly. "Regularly. Besides, I know everything about everyone in the Varia."
Squalo pulls his finger back. "Fair enough," he says disgruntledly, as they all take a moment to consider that Mammon could auction off their most embarrassing or deepest secrets if they ever though the payoff would be enough to warrant all of their rage. As it is, they're probably lucky that the illusionist is happy with hoards of cash and a quiet place separate from most of society so that they can conduct their research in peace.
That's all he gets to say before Lussuria glances back at him, one finger at her lips as she grins. "Now, Squ! Are you curious about how me and my dashing Romario met?"
Perhaps foreseeing more talk incoming on Dino's lot, Xanxus forges through all of them again with a grunt. "No."
Lussuria knows better than to stop him. She steps to the side instead, waving at their boss' retreating back. "I'll see you back at the base, Boss!" No one else gets to be so lucky. Still having gotten to the front of the pack, she casually weaves her way so that anyone trying to make their way past doesn't get a chance in hell. "Now then, so on how we first met properly, after that time in Japan..."
The only person who is perhaps even genuinely interested in the whole tale she regales them with would be Mammon, and Lussuria knows better than to assume it's from any sort of kinship. They're only there until, in the middle of raising her voice over Bel's complaining, Lussuria slides the illusionist her credit card to charge as they see fit. That's when Mammon subtly slides out of sight back to the main gathering, disappearing with no trouble. Everyone else gets to deal with Lussuria's purple prose ridden tale of the time Romario first took her out to a date. Sure, sometimes she has to speak over Squalo's yelling... and Levi's threats... But it wouldn't be very Varia Quality of her if she let little things like that stop her from doing things.
By the time they all step outside, Squalo is look exhausted for some mysterious reason, and Levi is more stiff and awkward than Lussuria has ever seen him. Even Bel manages to be slouching a little bit in a way that he never did when they tried to use various punishments and trials on him when he was eight. Lussuria radiates a quiet smugness as she hangs back, watching them react to the fact that Xanxus has taken their main form of transport. At least that seems to perk all of them right up... but she's not really paying attention to that. Rather, she's waiting for the tell-tale cool feeling of Mist Flames rolling over her to hide the truth from sight. And this particular truth is...
Romario's hands are warm and calloused as they rest along her arms, and Lussuria's lips curl into a smile as she feels the bristles of his mustache accompanying the kiss he presses to her jaw. "I take it you liked the bouquet?" he asks, eyes sparking from behind his glasses. Just like every time they meet, including their very first date, he manages to look so distinguished.
"Oh, you know I did," she says, kissing him back. "I liked it so much that I ended up telling everyone about our early days of romance. I thought Squalo would appreciate it more, since he's the romantic type who promised never to cut his hair for Xanxus. Well, at least I enjoyed it." Leaning back against him, she looks over to see Squalo still swearing loudly while Levi seems to have a look on his face as if he's debating hotwiring a car. Bel is the only one with his phone out, because at least they raised their youngest to have the common sense to call another car over.
"Well, there's no accounting for taste," Romario says. "I hope you put me in just the right light."
Lussuria's grin gains a mischievous tint. "Well, I didn't say anything too inappropriate, but I may have swooned a little bit when I was describing how you took care of that ruffian who accosted us on our way from dinner. How you gave me the choice to take care of him if I really wanted, but you thought I looked so wonderful in my outfit that it'd be a shame to mess it up..." She laughs again when he kisses down to her neck.
"I wasn't wrong. But we should go out for another date sometime. I've heard Grenada is wonderful, if you can arrange things..."
She taps his cheek. "I'll see what jobs are available and get back with you, handsome. In the meantime, it looks like we might actually be going soon. Take care of your boss, now~." They share one last kiss before Romario pulls away, allowing Mammon to guide him back while illusioned so that no one else is any the wiser. Adjusting her coat, Lussuria lets herself daydream. Grenada, huh? A beautiful place in the tropics that are almost guaranteed to have gaudy trinkets like Hawaiian type shirts. Maybe even matching couple designs. So garish and sappy... She loves the idea already.
sun : first kiss
no subject
Dino doesn't answer him for a quick second, having bent over slightly as he pours a bottle of water over his head. The past hour, give or take a few minutes, has been full of nonstop fighting right out of a den where a secret meeting was supposed to be held. But what does he get for his trouble? An attempt to double cross him so that the Cavallone could be weakened and taken over. It was kind of an embarrassing try, honestly. Some people just don't seem to understand that he was trained by the world's greatest hitman, and that training probably threatened to kill him a couple of times. They really need to do better. Putting the bottle to the side, he rights himself up quickly, flipping his hair back and helping it with a quick run through of his fingers. "I mean, it could have been worse," he say, a grin matching his tone. "If they really wanted to kill us, they should have used explosives to bring everything down on our head, but then I guess they would have had to deal with the police interest on that one. That should have been their first clue not to bother trying at all."
A light snort that is a tinge amused leaves his bodyguard, and Dino glances at him from the corner of his eye. Lancia has been working with his Family for a few months now. It had been a hell of a chase, trying to find the man. Dino can understand why, after all. Thanks to Tsuna and Reborn, he'd been able to hear a lot on what exactly Lancia has gone through. Not only a pilgrimage to visit the places he was forced to execute so many without his own consent, but also... Well.
Dino has had the good fortune to not have been targeted by Mukuro Rokudo. He could spitball a few theories on why. Maybe it's because his Family has been too close to the Vongola for many decades now, and it would have drawn further attention to the illusionist's vendetta before he was in the best position to counter it. Maybe it's just because the Cavallone Family, for all its illegality could never be denied, has never in its existence crossed the very worst of lines such as experimenting on children. Maybe they were just lower on the list of Families for him to take down.
Whatever the reasoning, Dino can say with relief that he's never had to deal with possession of either himself or any of his men. He can still imagine the damaging effect well enough. To kill everyone you cared for, the people you promised to protect... He can see why a man might not want to stay in any one place for too long, or get to know more people than he needs to. That kind of trauma can't make it easy to sleep with any confidence he won't wake up covered in blood again.
Tonight, he's not covered in blood. Rather, it's the same slick black suit that any self respecting businessman would wear. Sure, a little ruffled here and there, sort of torn in places where someone had made the ill-advised choice of trying to grab onto a man whose best skills are in close combat... But that's better than the alternative. He looks good, frankly, as the two of them take a breather in the small side street far away from where the action took place. Dino isn't too worried about any of their enemies catching up to them. Last he had checked, most of them were either unconscious or couldn't use their legs. By the time any of them recover, the two of them will be long gone.
But for now, they're here, and Dino can't help but admire the figure that Lancia cuts standing right besides him like the perfect bodyguard. Streetlights some distance away illuminate the strong shape of his jaw, dark eyes shining and alert despite the shadows underneath them. For all the fighting they've had to do- well, Dino isn't tired, of course, because Reborn has made sure that he could run a marathon and not be. However, he's one of the three people in the world who's trained under Reborn, and Lancia is definitely not. So it's really pretty impressive that he can stand there, hardly out of breath, a thin sheen of sweat stretched along the bit of throat peering out from his white collar-
Whoo, okay. Dino averts his eyes before he can get lost on the broad stretch of Lancia's shoulders (and too late for that too, damn). Nothing like a little bit of adrenaline to get the heart and other, uh, similarly throbbing parts of the body all worked up. "So how do you feel?" he asks, hoping to distract both of their minds.
Lancia glances back down at him, blinking his way out of whatever thoughts were taking up his attention. "Sweaty, unless you were thinking something more specific."
"I was actually thinking more-" Still slumped down on a bench, Dino reaches up to lightly knock against one of his temples. "-up here. I know this is the first job I've taken you along for outside of Cavallone territory." Well, away from the Cavallone headquarters, to be more specific. Dino likes to think he's not a complete asshole. Sure, he's a criminal, and sure, sometimes he messes with people for fun... But he's not such a bastard that he'd overwhelmed a man suffering from PTSD who hadn't had a home in years. It's been slow and careful going, which Dino had felt no need to rush. After all, there's always plenty to do even within the safer areas of his territory. The Cavallone are large and prosperous, which means busy as all hell in a lot of different areas. Even now, Dino isn't entirely sure if now was the right time to bring Lancia along with him on a little 'business transaction', for all that he thought it would be a good time to put the rumors to rest of him hiring a famous Family killer.
Heaving out a sigh, Lancia leans back against the wall and raises up a hand as if to rake it through his hair except his fingers stay buried right in there instead of moving on. "I'm going to sound like an asshole if I say it."
"I mean, I regularly interact with Squalo whether he likes it or not, so if you can out-asshole him, I'll frankly be very impressed instead of anything else."
That actually manages to earn a brief and almost surprised laugh out of the other man, enough for a smile to stay on his face just long enough to not be a hallucination. It's not the first time Lancia has smiled while under Dino's employ, but it's an incredibly uncommon sight still. Like every time before, there's something strangely fragile about the expression, not too unlike seeing a shattered sword or shield. Inside his chest, he can feel something a little more tender shimmer in his attraction. "I guess the Varia do make it a high bar, huh?"
"It's Varia Quality, or so I've heard."
"Varia Quality bullshit?"
This time, Dino is the one who almost bursts out laughing, and he has to hastily press his hand against his mouth so that he's not so loud that he gives away their position. "I mean, I never asked for clarification, so maybe!"
Lancia shakes his head, smile a little sturdier for a brief moment before it gets lost to something quieter. A little more contemplative, maybe. "Anyway... I guess... I think I'm relieved." Hand swinging back down to his side, Lancia leans his head back against the wall until it hits brick. "I wasn't entirely sure I would be, fighting that close again. With a weapon, there's always that degree of separation. That make any sense?"
Attached to his belt, his whip digs lightly into the side of his leg. "Yeah, it makes sense."
"Up close and personal this way.... It felt real." Lancia tilts his head down, the light not able to catch his eyes exactly right this way as he stares down at one fist. "Probably one of the few times where it felt that way, not counting when I was working alongside the Vongola." When he turns his head to look at Dino, it's a little easier this time to make eye contact. "I think you helped with that."
Count that as one of the things he wasn't expecting to happen tonight. Dino raises his eyebrows. "Yeah?"
"If I wanted to just pick a fight, I could probably do that with any idiot in Italy," Lancia says, which is a solid point. There are frankly no shortage of hotshot idiots, in the mafia and out of it, who would be down for a fight that they would almost immediately lose. "But it's... different. To fight for someone."
"Now I'm feeling like I didn't pull my weight!"
"Please." Lancia shakes his head. "You know you held your own as much as I did in there, which I'm amazed to say considering that your weapon isn't built for those sort of close quarters." He tilts his head towards Dino. "Probably another reason why they thought they could possibly get the drop on you. Everyone knows about the Bucking Horse's whip."
"Trust me, I know all about what they say about me and my whip," Dino says dryly. There is an alarming amount of speculation on his sex life.
Lancia carries on. "But even if you can handle yourself even in difficult situations like that... You still hired me as your bodyguard. Protecting you, thinking about where you were and what you were doing so that I could still keep you safe while not getting in your way... I can't explain it. I suppose I'm just glad I can remember doing something, and being able to protect someone instead of..."
Yeah. Dino understands that. Pushing himself up onto his feet, Dino turns around to face Lancia with his hands rising to rest along his shoulders. There's no need for him to say anything else. It's fine. "As long as you're with the Cavallone," he says, quiet and earnest as he looks into those dark eyes, "then you'll always have a place to feel like that. I know you can't get rid of your past so easily, and that's fine. As long as you're alive, as long as you can still feel alive, then it's fine. Right? So stay with us. Protect us. I'll do the same for you."
Another fragile smile. "Do I look as though I need protecting too?"
"Everyone needs protecting some times."
"Even Varia Quality?"
"Varia Quality jumped straight into a giant great white shark's mouth, so I think he can shut his own on this sort of thing." Lancia lets out another huff of a laugh, and Dino smiles slightly. Good. Anything to help lift that weight off the other man's shoulders. The only things that should be weighing him down are things like this, where his own hands rest firmly down to keep him tethered to the important things, to living. He's not really thinking too hard on how close they are, at least not until he sees movement from the corner of his eye. It's Lancia's hand, moving past Dino's own shoulder and pressing tenderly into the wet length of his hair.
Anxiety is something Dino sort of left behind a long time ago, back when he was a teenager going through, well, a lot. Not wanting to inherit his father's criminal legacy, dealing with an emergency in their territory only he could manage, the death of his only immediate family... It had been a lot. Perhaps because it had been so much, combined with Reborn's ever demanding training, that anxiety had burned out its ability to stay in his body. Now he's glad to say that, for the past few years, Dino has been able to keep his cool in all sorts of situations. Right now?
Right now he can feel his stomach doing some very interesting maneuvers he didn't realize it could physically do, and he's suddenly extremely aware that it would only take a very slight movement to have his hands go from Lancia's shoulders to his very well developed chest. As he does his absolute best to keep his visible cool (internal is a lost cause), Lancia speaks up. "You've done a lot for me. More than I feel I can owe back, sometimes. If I had been left to wander throughout Italy, I have no idea what I would have ended up doing to myself. That you ended up hunting me down and giving me this chance means a lot. I want you to know that."
It's platonic. It's platonic. Dino tries to remember that, even as he smiles back at Lancia. "I'm not going to be the idiot who doesn't hire the strongest man in Northern Italy, even barehanded against Box Animals."
"I'm grateful for both the praise and that you aren't an idiot." Then there's a pause, where Lancia is just a little too close, a little too in reach, and Dino wonders for a second if the whole moment is reading like he hopes it's reading-
Off to the side on the main street proper, there's the low light of a car flashing on and off a couple of times, and their hands drop down from one another. "There's our ride," Dino says, wondering if he should be thankful for the interruption or not. "I guess we should get out of here before they manage to organize in any effective way." As he begins to walk over to the car, Lancia striding ahead to open the door for him, Dino figures he'll just be grateful. More time to plan and figure out if he's just being overly optimistic or not.
Lost in his own head about romantic problems as much as business ones, he misses the way Lancia watches his fingers rake back through his wet hair with water dripping back down along his neck.
lightning : age regression
no subject
A Tsunayoshi Sawada who is not nearly tall enough for the maturity in his face doesn't even bat an eye at the words, or Xanxus' sudden existence on a bed in front of him, or the amount of smoke that is slowly dissipating throughout the room. Instead, he just continues to undo the tie he has around his throat and looks mildly exasperated. "Well, this is definitely one way to start a vacation."
There are a lot of things Xanxus could say in response to that, most of them more swearing or a variety of insults. With how many languages he knows, that's quite a selection. Instead, he adjusts himself, arms resting against his knees while he takes in the situation he's now in. When that stupid time traveling missile had broken right at his feet, he'd been lounging in one of the fanciest hotels Japan could produce while that worthless brat of a fake heir's group had tried to have a conversation with his Varia on working together further in the future. The settings had been all smoothly polished furniture, glittering lights, and rich food. the room he's in now is essentially... the very opposite of that. The light is warm and natural, a kaleidoscope of different colors coming in from two different stained glass windows at opposite sides of the room. All the furniture seems to match, being fairly plain , and a set of stairs to the side lead downwards. There is a woman at a large standing mirror, adjusting her hair. Xanxus doesn't recognize her until she turns her head to glance at him. It's Varia common sense to look up the family members of those attached to any targets they might have, just so that they can figure out if there's anyone who would be a problem somewhere along the bloodline. While her hair is much longer and the structure of her face has changed into that of a woman, it's definitely the sister of the "official" Sun Guardian, Kyoko Sasagawa.
Much like Sawada, she doesn't seem particularly surprised at his appearance. Instead, she just grins at him. "It's a church," she explains, almost as if she could read his mind. Xanxus glowers a little harder, to no effect. Off to the side, Sawada seems to be doing his best not to grin, which only makes Xanxus want to smash his head into the floor even harder at the same time that a part of him almost likes it. While he'd hated the idea of a coward taking over his rightful place, there's something to be said in the moments when he found a spine. "You thought it would be funny if people like us stayed in a remodeled home that used to be a church."
She's actually not wrong. A snort leaves him before he can stop it. There's something a lot more interesting to note in her words, however. "Us?" he asks, lip curling while disdain drips from his voice to practically stain into the floor.
"God, I can't wait until we're old enough that we don't have to deal with time travel," Sawada says softly, tossing his tie on top of a dresser.
In contrast, Sasagawa just laughs and moves over to him with a grace most normal women admittedly don't have. She's actually fairly attractive, he has to admit. (They both are, and he's kind of pissed off about it.) She's even more attractive for the sheer audacity she displays when she nudges him back with one deceivingly delicate hand, wiggling down onto his legs as if he's the throne and she's the queen in charge here. This way, he can feel the definition of her legs a little better than he can see them past her flowing pastel dress- muscular and defined. "That's right," she says airily, leaning right into him with her hands at his chest. "Us."
The next bit of clothing that Sawada carelessly flings off of himself is his jacket. "Us," he agrees casually, his casual apathy apparently extending to what Xanxus can only presume is his woman draping all over another man. Now a layer or two freer, it's even more obvious to Xanxus that the little runt has actually gained some muscle peering out past his open collar. "This may be a surprise to you but, ten years in your future, I am in fact a bonafide criminal, although I'm pretty sure that doesn't impress you."
"It doesn't," Xanxus sneers, before Sasagawa's hand presses down against his chest insistently. For him, it's all the weight of a kitten, but he lets it happen... in no small part because she's starting to slide down inbetween his legs.
"You can bicker with everyone you like in your time," she tells him. "But we have around three minutes left, so I think we should make those count."
"She has a good point." Sawada, as it turns out, isn't just standing to the side while his girl gets on another man. He's also falling onto the bed, mostly on his hip with one hand holding him up. They both seem to used and natural towards the idea that, briefly, Xanxus wonders if he's having a drunken dream. "Well, I think three minutes is enough time for us."
He has a lot of fucking questions, especially on what exactly these two plan on doing in three minutes... but he doesn't need to ask them out loud, as it turns out. Not when one of the two pops open his pants, and the other dives in for a kiss that catches him completely and utterly off-guard.
When he comes back, Levi has been tossed into the chandelier, Bel is peeking in from outside the window where they're on the tenth floor, Squalo is snarling out curses in Portuguese as he tugs his hair out from underneath a whole couch, and Lussuria is standing way off from the blast radius as possible sipping a martini. Mammon is nowhere to be found; they've probably used illusions to stop existing for a while until things settled. Over near Lussuria, an entirely different couch has been overturned to become a makeshift barrier, and he can see the heads of the brats peeking out warily. What's most egregious, however?
Almost all the booze he had initially set up around himself for this shitty fucking meeting has been downed.
He was gone for five fucking minutes.
A vein threatens to pop in his skull, heat already stirring in his fingertips, and the brat group dives for cover again, Lussuria turns on her heel to outright leave, and Bel ducks out of sight again. After a second, however, he realizes that he was wrong. There is still some alcohol left. To be exact, there is one big thick bottle of whiskey on the one untouched piece of furniture in the whole suite... right next to the paperwork for further talks of alliance between this 'Tenth Generation' and the Varia.
Xanxus narrows his eyes and ponders how to fight his own future self.
After a hot second, he growls, and cools off his hand to grab the bottle for a long deep swig. "Fuck it," he snarls, getting a pen with his free hand and making the barest excuse for a signature where it's needed. That's all he bothers to do with this whole mess before he steps over the coffee table where both whiskey and paperwork had been set. He wants to get drunk while he's still faintly enjoying himself. As he passes by the overturned couch, listening to harried Japanese being exchanged. He doesn't bother to look too much at the lot, besides for one quick glance out of the corner of his eye. Tsuna Sawada at this age still looks like something of a coward, but there are hints of how he'll be in ten years like the muscles developed in his arms from being forced to fight for his life ever three months and the hints of exasperation not too unlike that which he'd expressed when grumbling about time travel.
Which, fucking cheers to that, frankly.
Ignoring the sounds of Squalo yelling at him to hold the hell on and Levi trying to get out of the chandelier, Xanxus leaves the room with his only acknowledgement of his group being how he raises his whiskey bottle to tap it in cheers to Lussuria's own martini. It's when he's a decent length down the hallway that the air shifts, mist thick, and Mammon is there again. "Your fly is loose, Boss," they say bluntly, not mentioning that his belt is also loose, and that they've discretely been keeping this fact hidden from everyone else. Xanxus doesn't really care about such shit most of the time, but he can at least acknowledge that it's a good thing to know about. It's shit like that which gets Mammon some large tips on their paycheck, since they look out for such bullshit during moments that are, arguably, vaguely important.
Right now, Xanxus doesn't care. He just grunts and takes another swig of his whiskey. "I'm heading to my room," he says simply, and the illusionist shrugs and hangs back. Good.
He needs a second to come to terms with what kind of future is possibly in store for him and ponder when exactly Sawada gets so good at going down on him or when Sasagawa learns how to use her tongue like that.
rain : social media au
1
Well. They call it a store. Certainly its wares are very general, in the broadest possible definition of the term. Chrome almost isn't entirely sure if it counts as any kind of store, instead being a more board sort of dumping ground for the varied and occasionally strange. She thinks it actually might be a pawnshop instead, only she can't really prove it. She just has no idea where Mukuro picks up half the things that he does for "Kokuyo Land", a deceptive store that looks small from the outside but which she thinks might actually take over a few of the neighboring buildings and possibly even go underground. A part of her kind of wants to call them a thrift store, honestly. Some of the things they carry in the neon-lit gloom seem second-hand, if not third-hand, or twelfth-hand. At the same time, there's no denying the fact that they carry what seems to be... literally anything.
In one corner of Kokuyo Land, Ken has set up what is basically a gas station pitstop but without the gas, or the cars, but with plenty of pre-packed or prepared foods that are mostly unhealthy save for the sparse amounts of fruits and water bottles Chikusa insisted he carry on hand for selling. If she can be certain about nothing else, Chrome is pretty sure that Ken eats most of the snacks he's actually supposed to sell. Maybe that's why there's an insistence on some actual healthy foods, which he never even bothers to sniff at.
Chikusa has claimed just about most of the basement- or the first level of the basement? Even after a year of working at the place, Chrome is sometimes a little unsure of how big it is or how many floors it actually has, a fact which isn't helped by the constantly changing inventory. At least Chikusa's section of the shop is perhaps the most stable section of the whole building, if perhaps the darkest and most bizarrely lit. Neon signs are a regular sight within Kokuyo Land. In fact, they're the primary source of light for most of its interior, with even the front windows having been blacked out with thick paint that Mukuro has decorated with grim skull and owl imagery. However, the light is still fairly manageable on her floor all things considered, and Chrome rarely has a problem there. Downstairs? Is different. Downstairs is even darker, with the glare of neon being almost blinding in some ways, but placed in a few select spots. The rest of the light actually tends to be blacklight, which doesn't help with how many mirrored surfaces are down that, compromising even shelves or CD racks, while a low throbbing dubstep pounds up from the ground. It's horrendously easy to get lost down there, which she thinks might be on purpose so that Chikusa doesn't have to sell some of his DJ equipment. Or, really, interact with people at all. The only reason he even goes upstairs or sees the sunlight is because Ken occasionally dives down into the depths to drag him out again. Unlike literally any other human being, Ken never gets lost. Mukuro tells her he relies on following Chikusa's scent trail like a dog. It's hard to tell if he's joking when he says that.
That just leaves the entire rest of the store, stocked at Mukuro's discretion and interest. A lot of it is almost bizarrely mundane, the kind of things which could be found at any quick grocery store like baking soda, canned pasta sauce, noodles, or even things found at dollar stores, such as bags of glitter, cheap plastic cups, and painkillers she's not entirely sure they can legally sell. Somehow, that only makes all the weird objects stand out even more. The first thing she ever was introduced to when she began working at the place was a glass coffee table, curved in an unusual shape, with two skeletons holding it up while one skeleton tried to choke the other with one hand. These days, she's not sure if it's still in the store. If it is, she's not been able to stumble onto it again. Another notable example was a giant T-Rex made out of dozens of specifically colored balloons that Ken had adored before it had inevitably been bought for what Chrome thinks might have been a children's birthday party. In a surprising twist, when he bothers to be dragged out of his EDM music hellhole, Chikusa seems to have a fondness for the homeware they've collected such as a vast collection of mugs that can be both simple or strangely complicated, or a soft green pillow with plush mushrooms "growing" out of it. As for Chrome? The longer she's worked there, the more things she's found interesting, but one of her favorite things would be the collection of strange transparent Christmas ornaments that tend to be filled with things such as snake skins or the skulls of small animals.
It's hard to say if there's any item in particular that Mukuro likes. Presumably it's literally everything in the store.
A normal person would wonder if such a... peculiar business model could really succeed in any way, let alone thrive, yet Mukuro has somehow made it work through a combination of factors. First of all is the impeccable and bizarre social media presence him and Chikusa maintain together, with the latter patiently maintaining all the essential housekeeping while the former oozes out his unique brand of charm and humor that somehow seems to attract people. (Chrome can't really judge. After all, she's here.) That's enough to get regular tourists wandering through the store on any given day, and even occasional people who live in the city sometimes visit for a unique gift. Secondly would be that there seems to actually be some sort of method to all the strangeness, because there are actually fairly regular customers who drop in for their more mundane items or a quick grab of food. Mukuro has somehow managed to find just the right location where they're nearer to some people than any of the grocery stores, filling in all the little niche areas that local delis don't usually stock. And finally, well... Chrome has to admit that Mukuro certainly sniffs out any and every chance to twist his way, such as the multiple times when he's lied to various ghost hunting shows.
...Well. She supposes she can't really says it's a lie. If there's any one modern place in the entire country that could be haunted, it would be Kokuyo Land. Chrome can't say she's ever personally experienced a haunting but she'd also be the first person to admit that she's desensitized to all sorts of bizarre sights, sounds, and smells that can be found in the entire building from top to bottom. Is it a ghost? Ken scuttling among the shelves and furniture on all fours with an umaibo stick held in his teeth? Is it Chikusa lurking like a long dead Victorian era ghost looking for their murderer, when really all he wants to know is what time it is because his watch broke? Is it Mukuro hanging up what may or may not be a real skeleton right behind regular and unaware visitors so that they scream when they turn around and see it, because he finds it funny?
It's a mystery.
Regardless of the exact methods, everything seems to have somehow worked, and, not only is there a fairly regular stream of customers, but Chrome has found that it's been the most diverse group of patrons- or people in general- that she's ever had to deal with. There are the average tourist types, looking for a neat story or a fun memento of the time they went into whatever one could reasonably call Kokuyo Land, and then there are the people who are just there to gawk and giggle in ways Chrome is all too familiar with from her time in middle school. A lot of the time there are the gothic types, or the punk types, various niche groups who find what they're looking for in the wild darkness the shop seems to embody and who all often seem to offer Chrome their phone numbers. There are even some collectors of varying types who drop by, hoping to stumble across a rare or interesting find. Some people even become collectors after spending some time there. And then there are the regulars who are just there to pick up some salt, grumbling all the while about Mukuro's bad taste in.... everything.
So it's nothing new when she hears the small computer ding go off, letting her and everyone else know that someone has come through the front door. Chrome doesn't even bother to look at the security cameras. All she does is stay curled up in the extremely comfortable chair which functions as the cashier's station, fiddling with Love Nikki on her phone. Sometimes people end up wandering into her view, or actually purposefully seek her out, and other times they end up wandering, lost, throughout Kokuyo Land. On rare occasions, they end up at Ken's register to get slobbered on by Bon. Chrome is content to stay within her Schrodinger's Expectations. If someone shows up, then they show up. If they don't, they don't. Yet even with that work philosophy in mind... She still doesn't expect what ends up swanning past the shelf full of knit toys that all looks like vivisected small animals.
It's a woman, much taller than Chrome, and she realizes most of the reason for that would be the mile high platform boots that are on her feet with every centimeter covered in a deep amount of glitter. They match the visor on her face, worn even indoors, and the fingerless gloves coating most of her arm. There are leggings underneath what look like a pair of transparent shorts, also covered in glitter, and a scale-patterned bikini top. All of this would... definitely be some sort of look all on its own. What it's literally topped off with, however, is the woman's hair style: everything completely shaved clean save for a extremely short and straight set of bangs, and what looks like an 'S'... tattooed on?
For the first time in a long while, Chrome has some questions.
As she does with most of the customers that come in through the store and in direct conflict with normal retail sense, Chrome doesn't interact right away. Instead, she watches with a wide eye partially from behind the cash register as the woman stops in front of a small rack of hanging necklaces. One in particular is a round pendant filled with glitter, small plastic pink pearls, and a rodent's skull. With a sort of reverent delight, the woman delicately hooks her finger through the chain and pulls it up to admire in the neon light. It's only whens he looks over her shoulder that Chrome realizes there's a man following right behind the woman, holding up a camera and dressed in fairly normal hipster fandom. Yes, including the fedora. Or trilby. Chrome has never learned the difference and doesn't care enough to.
2
"We should put it in our house."
"Hell no."
"You wouldn't let me buy the barbie doll face rings, and now not even this?"
"So, can we not say anything on what I will and won't let you do, because we both know that you do whatever you want anyway, because I don't have the power of mind control? I'm just reminding you of the budget we have, which is a thing that exists. If you want to spend it on weird bone glitter jewelry, by all means, be my guest, but you're going to have to make some sacrifices here."
There's a certain tilt to the woman's head that hints she's enjoying the entire spiel, and Chrome can't help but wonder if she's a little like Mukuro in that aspect: purposefully asking about things she knows she's not supposed to do if only to get a rise out of the people around her. There doesn't seem to be any particular broken heart evident in the way she lets the pendant swing back into place, although she does at least... blow a kiss from her pinkie towards it. "So later, then."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Slowly, he casts his lens over the rest of the shops, taking it all in, before it pauses a little above Chrome's head. "Oh, yeah, wait, someone works here?"
Now that she's been spotted, Chrome straightens up from her position as, indeed, someone who works here. "Someone has to," she answers bluntly. She guesses that's a little bit of a fudge. No one has to work here. Mukuro doesn't have to do a lot of the things that he does, for example. This could just be an empty building full of ordinary empty building things, like dust and rats. There might still be rats. However, in order for it to exist as Kokuyo Land, there do indeed have to be workers here. At the very bare minimum, there has to be electricity and workers. She thinks. Sometimes she worries about the legality of just how Mukuro keeps everything running, but she thinks it's better no to ask. It's definitely better to not start on all of it with some random hipster.
"I mean, I guess...?" Before he has a chance to really say anything else on that, the woman is already coming forward. Chrome isn't entirely certain what she does, or why she does it, but the pose she ends up in is with one leg crossed with part of it balanced against the edge of the counter. Her arms wind together, almost snakelike, and she flicks one finger in Chrome's direction.
"Composite, octagonal, pentagonal pyramidal-" She unwinds her arms and pulls them back, snapping one set of fingers. "All things that describe the essence of me perfectly. My name is Shitt P., but please call me Shittopi-chan."
Chrome blinks up at her. "Okay, Shittoppi-chan," she says simply, because it's not the weirdest thing she's had to say in her life. From the corner of her eye, she can see where the cameraman has turned the camera to make a face at it before he pauses to look at her. Shitt P. herself doesn't seem to emote beyond a simply raise of her chin. It might be in approval. "You said you were on a budget for something in particular...?"
"We need a relic from the time when Batsquatch was first born," Shitt P. says airily, and her cameraman sighs.
"A disco ball," he tells her. "We need a disco ball."
"To skin."
"Why do you have to phrase shit like that?"
"We have that," Chrome says, vaguely reminded of the way Chikusa and Ken bicker. The subject matter is different, but the feeling is still the same. Just dumb bickering to fill the silence. "They're a little hard to find, however." Most things are. "Hold on..." Stepping to the side, she hefts herself up onto the counter surface and scoots over to the other side. In a show of politeness, Shitt P. moves out of the way with a graceful spin that ends with one heel clacking against the floor. That means there's more than enough room for Chrome to plop down on the opposite side, and she dusts her skirt off. "Follow me."
Kokuyo Land might be a bizarre maze for most people. Actually, Chrome is pretty sure the only people who can reliably navigate the space are Mukuro and Ken, the latter which she suspects cheats. Chikusa is smart and probably knows their finances, but he also rarely ventures in this area. It could be 50/50. Still, Chrome likes to think she has a fairly decent grasp on the intricate ins and outs of the store. If nothing else, she has a few notable landmarks of things that have yet to sell for a while now, and a rough idea of what kinds of things are stored where. So she leads the pair through the winding store, only pausing occasionally.
"Are you sure you know where you're going?" the cameraman asks, looking awkwardly at one of many taxidermy creatures that are scattered around the shop no matter the location.
"Mhm," she says, pausing to reorient herself by a small basket of tiny crystal penises. They never seem to run out. She supposes she should be worried about where Mukuro gets these kinds of things. "Who are you?"
"I didn't introduce myself? Yeesh." He shakes his head, but she doesn't really blame him. A lot of people are thrown off by Kokuyo Land, for a variety of reasons. "Just call me Julie."
A pause follows after his words where he's clearly expecting her to do the polite thing of introducing herself, but Chrome doesn't. Instead, she keeps moving on through the Kokuyo labyrinth. With a place like this, it generally needs at least 80% of her attention, and that doesn't lend itself well to casual small talk. The good news is that Julie doesn't really seem to bother broaching it, instead letting the awkward moment pass as he instead films the various strange things they pass. To Chrome's surprise, it's actually Shitt P. that speaks up to fill the silence. "The pastel is super cute."
Chrome doesn't answer that for a second, because it almost doesn't seem like it really needs to be answered... except then she realizes that they're wandering through junkyard hallways composed mostly of brilliantly glaring red neon, punctured occasionally by sharp blues or ill greens. In this kind of eerie haunted Vegas strip club lighting, it's hard to tell the colors of almost anything. The soft pastels of her bomber jacket, the pink of her skirt inlaid with various card suites and skulls on the bottom border- those should be impossible to discern. Surprise hits her, belated, and she looks suddenly up at the other woman. Unlike Julie, however, Shitt P. hasn't bothered to let any sort of silence stretch out, or to wait for anything. She seems to have already moved on through the moment, looking straight ahead and running her fingers along the surface of a guitar whose body is Pacman with his mouth wide open. Befuddled but sort of used to it, Chrome turns her attention back towards her path as well.
Finding the disco ball section ends up being pretty easy, considering how the reflective shards interact with the nonstop neon signs. The refracted colors can be seen shimmering strangely over some of the shelves, and their pace speeds up a little after that, with Chrome allowing the two to forge ahead after a little bit. It's not just disco balls, of course. There are other strange hanging things, placed along the shelves or dangling from certain places, but all the disco balls that Mukuro thought would have made the biggest impression are dangling low from the ceiling where they would just barely avoid brushing against Chikusa's head if he ever dared to stand up to his full height. Some are just regular, circular, and the kind anyone would imagine.
Then there are other kinds.
Faster than a commandment from God, Shitt P. shoots out her arm to point up at one that is shapes liked the dismembered upper torso of a person with perky breasts. "That one."
Julie groans. "That's not even for the project, you just want that because, don't you?"
"It's perfect," Shitt P. says, not denying the accusation. With disregard for safety in any way, she hefts herself up onto the shelves and reaches up to try and find what's hooking it to the ceiling. Chrome should probably stop her. She doesn't. "How much is it?"
"It's perfect," Shitt P. says, not denying the accusation. With disregard for safety in any way, she hefts herself up onto the shelves and reaches up to try and find what's hooking it to the ceiling. Chrome should probably stop her. She doesn't. "How much is it? Maybe we could get it with our budget."
"We almost definitely can't."
Chrome finally shuffles in closer. Usually she doesn't really get too involved with visitors, or even potential customers. However, for this, she can't help but be fascinated. "What's your budget?" she asks, and Julie blinks at her from behind his glasses.
"It's- hold on, I have it written down in my phone-" Finding a spot to put down his camera is a little difficult in glitter fuck hell, but somehow he manages to nudge it securely between a bedazzled football and an empty whiskey bottle full of lit Christmas lights. He seems to fiddle with it for a second, constantly glancing back at her, before he stops, satisfied. "Alright, here-"
The shopping list they have prepared is... definitely a shopping list. A lot of it has to do with constructing something, although Chrome can't entirely figure out what. Besides each entry of the things they need, a rough estimate of how much they could spend is placed, from probably the cheapest things they could find on the internet to how much they could spend if they really needed to. After a few seconds of wondering and reading, Chrome finally looks up from the screen. If nothing else, she has some good news. "You could buy two disco balls here if you really wanted."
When Shitt P. clicks her lips twice and whistles, it somehow sounds like a foreign language. Julie stares at her for a second, brows crumpled together. "That's, like... at least half off for each of them."
"Mhm."
"And you're serious."
"Mm."
"...How does this place stay running?"
"I don't know," she says. Chrome has never bothered to ask Mukuro or Chikusa about the finer business workings of Kokuyo Land, and she never plans to. In case this all ends up highly illegal somehow, she'd like the ability to plead ignorance to the whole thing. At least there might be a Patreon involved, she thinks. That would be nice if true.
Apparently, that works out just fine for Shitt P. too, because she gently hands over the torso disco ball to Chrome for holding. "I'm getting another," she informs Julie before turning around back towards the shelves. Julie grabs her and, with some doing, convinces her for them to find a ladder. It takes around fifteen minutes for them to find one, and then another ten minutes to not get lost on the way back to the register. There aren't really any bags in the store for her to put the disco balls in. Not only Chrome unsure of how one would even pack a disco ball, they just don't have them in general. People either have to bring their own, carry things in their hands, or buy one of the many regular and not regular bags that are in the store.
Fortunately, Shitt P. seems perfectly happy to carry her strange haul, and Julie only pauses long enough to run out the store to get things he apparently prepared ahead of time for some additional things that they happen to carry. Just the strange little things, like hammers, vegetable peelers, and even some basic groceries. "We're running out of food," he informs Shitt P. casually. Chrome isn't expecting him to speak to her any further, but, surprisingly, he does. "Hey, so I tried to avoid filming your face too much, or anything like that, but there are probably some shots in there anyway. Do you have a problem with us if it stays in there, or would you want us to blur it...? We do videos on Youtube."
Somehow, that really explains a lot. It feels like it could also explain things about Shitt P., maybe, possibly, only that doesn't feel entirely right. Chrome has seen people be overly dramatic or ostentatious before; she knows Mukuro after all. This feels a little more... genuine. Either way, Chrome shrugs and finishes putting some of the nails into the rough canvas tote that Julie brought in. "I don't care," she says, handing over the totebag, before she realizes she might have to be a little more clear. "I mean, I'm fine with it. If I'm in a shot... I'm in a shot." She's almost definitely been in people's pictures of Kokuyo Land before, most often by accident. (Sometimes not by accident, in ways that are very creepily not by accident, but it's amazing how quickly those types delete the pictures when M.M. is twisting their arm or Ken is breathing down their neck.)
"Perfect." This time, Shitt P. kisses her ring finger and flicks it towards Chrome. "Then we'll see you later."
And they actually do.
One day, Chikusa actually slinks out from his hole in the ground, a fact Chrome only realizes when she looks up from her lunch to find him standing on the opposite side of the counter. She can't even bring it in her to be shocked or surprised. Instead, she blinks and slurps up some more leftover noodles. "Hi," she says.
Chikusa blinks at her. "Hey," he deadpans.
"...Did Ken steal your phone again?"
Sometimes Chikusa doesn't verbally answer things. Instead, he makes minute facial expressions or gestures that take a whole other language degree to understand. With how rarely he comes to see most other people, there haven't been a lot of chances for her to pick up on most of his tells. Fortunately, she's still learned one or two, and one of those she's learned is for times like this when his mouth twitches downwards just a little bit and he reaches up to adjust glasses that don't really need adjusting. It's the same thing he does everytime Ken bugs him like this, or steals one of his things. Chrome is pretty sure that the blond only does it to get Chikusa's attention out from dubstep hell, because he never learned how to get that attention of people he likes beyond grade school. "Do you follow any Youtubers?" he asks instead of answering her question, which is sometimes normal with Chikusa.
She shrugs. "Not really. I just listen to music and watch cat videos." Something about the whole youtube famous thing bewilders her to some degree. "The people who follow those types...." For a brief second, she considers being delicate in her speech, and then immediately decides not to bother. It's only her and Chikusa besides. "They're weird and obsessive."
Chikusa doesn't disagree or dispute her claims, which isn't surprising to her in the slightest. They can't imagine feeling like someone's friend and being devoted to them just because it's a friendly personality put in front of a camera. "Either way," he says, "look up S.P.C Boost's recent video." That's all he says before turning around to slink back into the miasma of weird objects that is Kokuyo Land. Chrome quietly notes that he's heading in the direction of Ken's food hoarding corner before she goes to pull out her laptop.
3
Well. It would never have occurred to Chrome on how one "skins" a disco ball, or to use that reflective "skin" to put onto a ceiling fan, but now she supposes she'll never forget.
The entire time, she watches the video entranced, and even almost finds herself giggling at the various jokes, memes, or peculiar tangents that Shitt P. tosses out as if they're nothing. Some way through, Chrome still has to admit that she's wondering a little on just... Why go through all the trouble? It feels as though there are a lot of easier ways to do this, including buying something herself. Yet as she watches, a little after the halfway mark, Julie speaks up again, voicing the exact same thing. "This is such a huge waste of time."
"Why?" Despite the absurdity of everything- the workshop covered in all sorts of strange carvings or artwork, Shitt P.'s own graffiti covered 'work' coveralls, everything covered in dust and bit of glue and god knows what else- Shitt P. asks the question with a kind of simpleness.
"I'm just- I mean, there's easier ways to do this, and we don't even have to do this at all."
"Isn't that only life?" Finishing off one fan blade, Shitt P. casually reclines to the side where the empty husk of a disco ball now lays with her arms crossing over the top loosely. "As time passes and things change, human kind only makes life for itself more and more complex, for all that we may call it 'simple'. Yet acts that are called simple are still new acts, adding in ever more to the equation of our life. That's far from a bad thing. However, in turn, we cannot all use the exact same equations that every other person is using at the exact same time. Why get to 2 if you only ever do 1 plus 1, when you can do six minus four, at the absolute very least, and get into cube roots and square roots and depressed cubics? Why experience only the same things as other people?" Lazily, she stretches out one leg, crossing it over where the fan is. "No action in a person's life is meaningless, even if there is no true goal. Just like your decision on wearing outdated fashion-"
"Okay, first of all-"
At that point, the video cuts with Julie trying to lunge out at Shitt P., who only keeps him back with both her enormously long legs and the equally long pumps attached, and continues on as normal.
...But Chrome can't say that she's wrong with that kind of thinking.
Shitt P. soon becomes a regular of Kokuyo Land after her initial visit, in a way that's very different from most of the other regulars who bother to deal with their nightmare scenario of a Wonderland. After all, people like Kyoko only drop by to get some quick mundane things, such as bandaids or bags of rice. The only other outlier she can think of would be Tsuna, who braves a place that gives him heart attacks every five minutes almost solely to check on Chrome and pass her leftovers along from his house or snacks his mom passes through to him. All Shitt P. brings to the metaphorical table would be actual money, whether it's on a credit card or strictly in money she already has on her person, along with a new individual every other time. Chrome doesn't ask how she makes any money, with such an eclectic lifestyle, but she does end up learning how the various people who help Shitt P. film for her channel are in fact actually her family members. This even includes Julie, to her surprise. While no one is quite as unique as Shitt P. is, they all seem to be quite different from one another.
Chrome doesn't wonder how they could all get along together in the same house. Just, after every visit, she goes to share snacks with Ken as they lounge against Bon, or sits in silence with Chikusa down in the blacklight haunted house. Neither of them ever ask about the register, instead just making room for her, even if Ken sometimes complains at the same time he tosses candy onto her lap, or Chikusa stays utterly silent for the whole time.
Inbetween Shitt P.'s visits to gather materials for her videos, whether she's trying something out, making something, or just looking for new and interesting items, Chrome actually finds herself patiently going through the videos on S.P.C. Boost. Despite that first impression and Shitt P.'s general everything, there are actually a good deal of more calm videos, although they still carry that sort of humor and interesting view of the world. It's not really surprising that she's into things like cryptids, ghosts, and aliens, and so there are plenty of videos that just have her facecamming as she goes through all sorts of other videos, essays, and even forum boards on the darkest corners of the internet all dedicated to such subjects. What's more interesting are the meditation videos, the art videos were all she does are choose random colors instead of following along with a tutorial. They're all strange, in the way Shitt P. often is, but there's also a sense of peace and fun to them that Chrome isn't familiar with.
With most of her hobbies or things that catch her attention, Chrome tends to stay quiet about them. Not in this case. Instead, whenever Shitt P. drops by, she ends up speaking to her about the different videos she's gone through last, always referring to her as Shittoppi-chan. It sounds so comfortable and intimate, too much so at first, but, the more she says it, the more Chrome finds her relaxing with the name until it's second language. In turn, Shittoppi-chan seems glad to give her cutesy nicknames as well- something of a first in her whole life. The most popular one seems to be 'Crow-chan', but, as with so much of her life, Shittoppi-chan changes it up every now and then. Still, Crow-chan seems to be the name the internet takes to as Chrome starts to appear in more and more videos every time a new video is made. She's never a starring role, and the rest of the Shimon family seems to cut anything she says in casual conversation with Shittoppi-chan for their own privacy... But she still shows up occasionally in the background, a silent specter with an eyepatch that the comment section seems to love.
"Zirconium," Chrome says one day as Shittoppi-chan practices balancing on her hands in front of the cash register while she sits on the edge, watching. Seated besides her are three whole bags of lipstick and chapstick, along with the ever present video camera. Enma has been the one to accompany her today, and he's gone to get some other basic mundane needs.
Almost immediately, Shittoppi-chan heaves herself up and flips herself onto her feet. Her smile is brilliant, hotter than neon and warmer than summer. "Exactly," she says.
Chrome's smile is a little smaller, a little more subtle, but doesn't belay the heat glowing in the core of it. Instead of saying anything else, because there's nothing else to really say on that, she looks down at the bags. "So what are you going to use these for?" she asks, pulling out makeup that is a deep black that almost seems to absorb the usual bright lights of Kokuyo Land.
Clicking over in her heels, Shittoppi-chan rests one hand on the side of the counter that's actually free, which is on Chrome's other side. "Fun," she says simply, which is always true. "Also, I want to see if I can construct shoes entirely out of the tubes of these."
"Are you going to use any of them on your lips?"
"Absolutely. It's only a matter of how. I'm still debating on whether or not to see how many layers of different lipsticks I can apply to my lips, or if I should melt them all together and see how they turn out." Shittoppi-chan tilts her head to the side curiously. "Do you want to try that one?"
There's no point in dancing around the subject. Chrome knows that she wouldn't have given the offer if she wasn't sure, so she nods and immediately unpops the cap. Straight up black isn't something she's ever really tried on her face before. Without a mirror immediately on hand, with light that isn't some sort of neon, she's not even sure how it looks. Once she purses her lips together and pops them, Shittoppi-chan grins either way. "You look cute to the 96th degree."
"Thanks," she says, because she doesn't really know what else to say. Instead, she glances down between them: Shittoppi-chan's hand right next to her thigh, legs brushing, their heads only some inches apart. "Do you want to try it too?"
"Hit me with it."
So Chrome does. With the tube of lipstick held inbetween the gap of her thumb and pointer finger, she braces herself against the counter and leans forward. Her lips don't make exactly perfect one-on-one contact with Shittoppi-chan's, instead sort of overlaid to one side of her mouth. When Chrome pulls away, she can see a perfect lipstick mark on one half of Shittoppi-chan's, black over the brilliant pale lavender.
When her lips curl, it forms a double smile.
cloud : flower shop / tattoo artist
1/2
Tattoo shops tend to draw in a wide variety of people, all of them interesting in their own right. There are the hardcore types, of course, the really manly guys, but you also get the hipsters, or the artists, or the queers- that latter category spread out in basically all of the other ones too. After so long of working in Helter Shellter, Haru likes to think she's seen all sorts of people, in all sorts of places, considering where some tattoos can end up. However, she can quite confidently say that no one has ever had her heart beat so hard at first sight like the six foot dynamite woman with legs for days who's looking over the tattoo book Gokudera is going over with her.
Fortune favors the bold, so Haru hesitates approximately zero seconds before leaning over the short wall separating each artist's tattooing station. Hers is right next to Tsuna's, currently hard at work. Well, sort of hard at work. He's preparing to be hard at work, which essentially means, in Tsuna's case, that he's sitting hunched over on his stool while staring a hole into Dino's arm. Haru has honestly never met a tattoo artist like him. There's no denying Tsuna's talent, of course. He honestly has an excellent eye for the overall scheme of things, able to see the bigger picture and pull together what would be a cluttered mess of a tattoo into something that flows beautifully, along with a skill for all the little details. However, apparently no amount of talent can make up for the sheer amount of heart-stopping anxiety that he gets before every job. Most of the time, he gets it out of the way by panicking in a back room shortly before the client is schedule to arrive, so that he can go right into laser focused artist mode right off the bat. Only Dino, as his adopted older brother, doesn't mind if he does it right there besides him. Even as Tsuna is clearly having a silent screaming fit within the confines of his own skull, Dino is just casually flicking through his phone while his shorts-clad leg remains extended properly.
Normally, Haru wouldn't bother Tsuna while he's dealing with one of his moments. However, as the technical owner of the place, she wants to get his permission before anything else, so she makes a small whispered hiss at him. "Tsuna-kun! Tsuna-kun!" There is the very faintest sort of mumbled squeak to show he's listening. "Can I go take this customer we just got?"
Waiting those few seconds for him to remember how to use his voicebox is agonizing, but Haru does her very best. Eventually, Tsuna sort of... lets his head lose to gravity in a way that's technically a nod by the dictionary definition of things. "S'long as it's what they want."
Honestly a good reminder, if nothing else, and Haru heaves herself partially over the wall, feet dangling, so that she can pat him on the back. It's the only reassurance she can give him while he's like this. "Thanks, Tsuna-kun!" She doesn't go running off just yet, however. Instead, she does her best to take in a deep breath that goes all the way to the bottom of her lungs, fingers lightly pressed against her collarbone. She has to get control of herself. If she comes off as too desperate, then it's only going to seem really weird and just... creepy. She's already been told that she can be a little too upfront- not in a bad way! Just, sometimes things require delicacy. Since becoming a tattoo artist, she's learned how important that can be. So she's going to calm down, play it cool. She can do that.
Fingers laced behind her back, Haru makes her way out of the tattooing area and watches the woman from the corner of her eye. It only takes a few steps for her to get a good listen in on the conversation as their potential customer taps on one of the tattoo pages. "This particular water color style is something I'm particularly interested in. How many of your artists are talented in that?"
Water color! She can do that! She loves brilliant flowing colors! That much is obvious from the various tattoos all over her body. Trying to be casual, she passes behind the woman and pointedly stretches her arms out in front of her while making direct eye contact with Gokudera. Gnawing on the end of a toothpick, his gaze flicks up to look at her and he immediately scrunches up his nose. "Yeah, we have a few artists who can give you that sort of look," he says, aggressively ignoring the way Haru threateningly bops one fist into an open palm. So he's going to be like that, huh? He's really going to pull her around like this? "Everyone in this store is top notch quality, considering my boss only has the best taste in artists."
Neither Gokudera or Haru mention that the boss in question is literally only some few yards away and slowly sinking his face into his hands while someone who is technically a customer laughs.
"I see." The woman crosses her arms, and Haru can just barely see the way her fingers curl at her chin. "Then I suppose it would come down to the subject matter?"
"Sometimes it can depend on things like that, although with water color styles like that, some degree of flexibility can happen, since the focus is more on the color and design than nitty gritty details such as a more realistic style would focus on. What are you looking for exactly?"
"A floral design." It really was a good idea to calm herself down, because Haru can't help pumping her fist in elation at those three simple words. This couldn't be going more her way. Very pointedly, she stretches her arms up over her head. The stare she sends over to Gokudera this time is less a glare and more the blank eyed intensity of a ghost woman haunting a home after a horrendous murder by her loved one, passing such a curse onto the next person who will die a horrible death, which Gokudera definitely will if he doesn't make a good life choice in the next few seconds. Most tattoo artists seem to have the art on their body in one way or another, which only makes sense. Either they get a tattoo and get into the craft that way, or they start out as an apprentice and slowly begin to gather ink on themselves. Not every artist does, of course... but the only person Haru can think of in their whole shop who doesn't have a single tattoo on his body would be Tsuna himself. Even then, she has a suspicion it's not from a lack of want, but because he's being so overly cautious about it. Well, that's not a bad thing to be when it comes to such permanent artwork.
This means Haru herself is no exception. She's not completely covered head to toe, although she doesn't think she would half mind such a look, but she definitely has a few notable tattoos that can't be ignored in warmer temperatures. A small and contained circle filled with a detailed garden scene takes up space on the inside of her right upper arm, and it's matched by the ring of flowers she has on the left which goes all the way around. Taking up more length if not exactly more room, she has a flower-detailed arrow extending down the whole of her forearm and the head ending at the top of her hand. Branched filled to bursting with blossoms peeking out along her collarbone, extending from her breast, and there's a fun geometric and watercolor style down at her left thigh. All in all, a good array of tattoos, and all the exact kind of designs she loves and appreciates.
Not even Gokudera can deny that, so, after a second, he snaps his toothpick between his teeth and heaves out a sigh. In the most unconvincing deadpan tone, he asks, "Hey Haru, are you going on break, because we have a client here who might be interested in your expertise."
Haru manages to stop her posing just in time. As the woman turns around, Haru puts on her best smile and offers her a hand. "It's just a break, it can wait for a little while!" she says cheerfully, beaming back towards Gokudera to let him know she won't haul herself over the counter and throttle him to the ground. That's about all the attention she'll give his glowering, however. She turns her attention immediately back to the woman towering in front of her, and she's even prettier than the brief glimpse she got could have prepared her for. Not only is she taller than a church chapel, but those red eyes could put spider lilies to shame from where they're set in a coolly proud face. Haru has never felt her heart flutter faster. "Hi there, I'm Haru Miura! You're thinking of getting some floral tattoos?"
"That's right... My name is Adelheid Suzuki. I work at a flower shop, so I was thinking of using the language of flowers for something interesting." The woman reaches up to rest her hand along her chest, right over the pocket of her denim jacket. It's more than a little worn, but that only serves to make her look all the more rugged. Her other hand accepts Haru's for a firm shake. "Is it really acceptable to interrupt you when you're about to go on break?"
"Oh, it's fine~." Haru pulls her hand away, despite how much she wants to hold on for longer. "I was only go down the street to get something cool to drink! It's not a pressing issue. Besides, this is a job I'm really passionate about!" That latter part isn't even really a lie, in all honesty, and Haru points down to the arrow extending down along her forearm. "I mean, all of my tattoos are actually designs I made myself, you know! I couldn't ink them on personally, but I could at least come up with the artwork."
2/2
Haru will freely admit that she came over because she was helplessly attracted, however shallow a reason that might be. Learning that Adelheid is so, so... nice? Graceful? Gracious? Only gets her all the more excited. However, that doesn't stop her from frantically shaking her head and crossing her arms into an 'X' in front of her. "Oh no! I couldn't do that to you! We've just met!" Yet suddenly she realizes a dilemma. A dilemma she needs consultation on. Pausing, she peers up past her arms. "Oh, um... But if you could go over and pick it up for me if I gave you some money, that would be really great!"
"That's all?" Placing the pictures down on the counter, Adelheid brushes her fingers along her temple and tucks away some stray hairs. That is somehow also extremely pretty, no matter how minor a gesture it is. "I can do that, then."
"Perfect!" Rising up on the balls of her feet, Haru claps her hands together. "While you go get that, I'll get my area ready- I have my own little gallery of things I've designed or inked onto people, so we can go over a whole bunch of references to see if something leaps out at you!"
Adelheid's smile isn't exactly friendly, not with such a slight curve of her lips. Instead, it' s somehow something even better- appreciative. "That works perfectly for me." Haru doesn't need much more than that to rush over to her stuff, getting money she actually hadn't been planning to spend today. At least her order isn't that complicated, being just a drink that's 25% caffeine, 60% chocolate, and 15% whipped cream. Once Adelheid strides out the door, hips swaying perfectly, Haru gives a smitten sigh.
...Followed shortly by her twisting on her heel and full out sprinting towards Tsuna's niche.
"Dino!" she squeaks, slipping and forced to grab onto the corner of the little opening into Tsuna's workspace. Her legs scramble beneath her while her mouth keeps moving at the speed of light. By this point, her boss has finally begun to get to work, with his needle patiently working over the bare base of the tattoo that's plastered onto Dino's leg. "What do I do!? I don't know how to get to know her better without seeming like I'm actually really creepy! A tattoo session or two isn't enough to get comfortable with someone like that, and I'll be gross if I use her contact information for anything but business!" Gokudera's voice rises up behind her.
"You JUST NOW thought of that!?"
Using the wall for leverage, she pops up like a wrathful whack-a-mole. "Shut up, Gokudera!" It's too late, however. He's already moving from behind the counter over to the tattoo area, looking more exasperated than amused. That might be a small blessing. Haru thinks she'd die if Gokudera laughed at her.
Instead, he gestures almost violently at where Dino is reclined. "And why are you asking him?" he hisses, lowering his voice a little bit in the face of Tsuna's work. The patient hum of the needle carried on either way, Tsuna's eyes laser focused on the canvas of Dino's skin. "He's getting a tattoo of his turtle as Godzilla destroying the fucking Vatican."
Haru crosses her arms. "But he's going out with someone. He has experience."
The sheer force of Gokudera's withering glare could decimate a whole greenhouse. "He's not going to be dating Squalo long with that inked on his leg."
Dino snorts out a laugh, doing his best not to actually move too much. Tsuna, like any good tattoo artist, is only as good as much as his client can avoid jiggling around like jelly during an earthquake. "Joke's on you," he says. "Squalo wouldn't say he's dating me no matter what I have permanently drawn on my body. I have to trick him into every outting we go on with each other."
"Have you considered dating someone that isn't that level of asshole, and that can actually date?" Gokudera asks bluntly.
"I could," Dino says with a shrug. "But few people besides Squalo would take a bet on if he could break into the shark exhibit while we're on a date at the aquarium."
Faintly, Haru thinks she remember that. "Didn't you film that and put it on youtube?"
With a grin that's far too wide and far too proud, Dino flashes her a pair of thumbs up. "Yup! But we're not talking about my love life right now. We're talking about yours, and you're already giving up before the finish line."
She can't help but slump against the corner of the entryway, clinging to it for support. "I can't help it... This is the worst possible way for me to try and flirt with a girl. What was I thinking?"
"You weren't," Gokudera says. Haru glares at him and yet, unfortunately, she can't argue there.
"Break it up, you two." Dino shakes his head, blond hair flopping loosely around. "It might be a tricky situation, but it's not impossible. Just don't think of it as flirting so much as just getting to know her a little better. Baby steps. Why not ask her about her hobbies? A lot can happen in a conversation. For example..." He twirls his hand aimlessly through the air. "Her legs seemed pretty in shape, right? So, uh... Why not ask her if she goes to the gym or something? Maybe she could introduce you to the place, you spend some time together... Stuff like that?"
Haru lets out a slow breath from inbetween her teeth. "I guess... But a gym membership costs money. Won't it seem fake if I end up just dropping out right off the bat?"
Leaning against the wall on the other side of the entrance, Gokudera raises an eyebrow. "Why not just invite her to an online forum you go to, or some website or another? I invited people all the time to the places I go to, it's not that big a deal. That way, she can stay away from you if you really do reveal your true freak colors."
"Shuuuut uuuup!" Haru groans, pouting. "Besides, I don't think I go to any sits that she would be interested in too. It's all costume and stage costumes and mascot blogs!"
"What kind of taste is that?"
"I don't want to hear it from the Bigfoot freak!"
"Hey-!"
"Get her card," Tsuna says, so quiet and collected that Haru nearly misses it from all her yelling with Gokudera. She has to pause and blink a few times, as if reaffirming that she actually heard something in the real world.
"Her card?" she echoes.
Tsuna's needle paints smooth patient strokes of black along Dino's leg, and he doesn't stutter even a little bit. When he's hard at work like this, he's almost an entirely different person. "She said she owns a flower shop, right? That means she probably works there, too. You like to tattoo floral designs. You can talk while getting research material, and decide from there if you like each other enough to be friends, or anything else."
It's so simple, so obvious, Haru can't believe she didn't think of it herself. She presses her palms together, fingertips at her lips. "Tsuna-kun, you're a genius."
She can't wait for Adelheid to come back, now. With a plan in the back of her head and her work ready in front of her, the fluttering in her hear finally settles down.
mist : wingfic au
no subject
For all that the matriarch of the Giglio Nero brood says that, she certainly seems to have a bucket of water and clean cloth on hand when she fusses Lal Mirch into sitting down. The soldier sighs but obliges her, stretching out her talons and all the feathers of her legs in front of her. If there's one thing to say about Luce's territory, it's that there is plenty of space for her to sit down. Most flocks tend to prefer wider spaces, where the trees are stretched out among one another for better nest and town building, and so most need to find boulders or carve benches for sitting on the ground. Here in this forest, things are done quite differently. The trees grow thick and close, making it difficult for those with larger wingspans like herself to navigate so easily. Even the roots curl up out of the ground, curling and arching, so that traversing the ground has its own difficulties. It's a twisting and complicated place, with lots of secrets.
Perfect for the Giglio Nero.
There are probably plenty of secrets hidden away in the depths of this forest, things lost to the time outside of it. In that way, it mirrors its inhabitants, or maybe it's the other way around. Like the verdant leaves thriving over their heads and the sweet smell of flowers hanging thick in the air, one would never think it looking at Luce. Her smile is subtle but patient as she dips a cloth into the water, wringing it out firmly before sliding it down the hard scales of Lal Mirch's calf. The blood and bits of gore stain it red instantly. Luce clicks her tongue a little when she sees how red the water is just pouring off of her. "Now who did you fight so near to my home?"
"Calling it a fight is giving them too much credit," Lal Mirch says bluntly, resisting the urge to lean back and let her eyes slip shut. Luce's tone is better than some songbirds, and she preens better than anyone else Lal Mirch knows. "It was just someone who thought they could do a sneak attack on the kingdom's seer while she was being escorted. That they thought no one else would think of something that obvious is a disgrace."
"Now now, I'm sure they must have done fine by normal standards," Luce says obligingly enough. She does another sweep of Lal Mirch's leg and the corresponding talons, watering down everything so that she can focus on the parts that are sticking or staining. Some of the younger generation of Harpy Eagles think that it's trendy to have the blood of their prey or their enemies stain their talons. It's just another young generation thinking something is cool. For her part, Lal Mirch finds it unhygienic and not much of a trophy. Anyone can gut a rabbit with their feet. "Was it one of ours, or from one of the neighboring kingdoms?"
"Ours." Lal Mirch curls her lip in distaste. "They probably thought they could hold the kingdom ransom, or something idiotic like that. If someone had cracked through our information defense, Mammon would be either getting too old or one of the other kingdoms would be more disastrous than we've given them credit for."
A tinkling laugh leaves Luce's lips, and she pauses in her self appointed task for a moment so that she can lean forward with her arms crossed over Lal Mirch's knee. "Don't say that, Lal. We've all gotten quite old."
She looks really delicate this way, head resting on her arms, those brilliant blue eyes shining up at Lal Mirch to match that coy smile. It's tempting to reach down and run her fingers through Luce's hair, enjoy the moment. Things have really changed since all of them were young together: Luce, her, Mammon, Fon, Reborn, Skull, Verde. When they were all younger, they had all the time in the world to be with one another, except that's not what any of them were thinking about at the time. They were thinking about being better, about being the best. Nowadays, with so much responsibility on her shoulders, Lal wonders when she even has a time to breathe. Maybe that's the wisdom of getting older: being able to look back at all the things she didn't even think to do.
One day, their age will hit them all at once, and that will be that. They're a surprisingly long lived race, after all, although not as old as some of the mer can be, but nothing is immortal. Not even them.
Still, Lal Mirch won't let herself regret anything. She won't let her professionalism waver either, so she bites back her desire and instead lightly taps her knuckles against the top of Luce's head. "Do you want me to pick up the slack so you can get ready? We can't just stay here while you nap the day away."
"How cruel."
"You're right, it was out of line of me. You're not Skull."
Luce's laugh is startled in its suddenness. "Cruel!" Still, she straightens up again and gets right back to work cleaning away the gore which is already mostly cleared from one leg. The other goes shortly after, although that one isn't as bad. For Lal Mirch, she only needs one foot to crush another creature's skull. Hell, she even only needs one hand, which not many others in the various flocks of the kingdom can claim. Harpy Eagles are second to none in this aspect, as far as she can tell. Hastily dipping her own fingertips clean of the gore. "I suppose I should extend my gratitude to you, shouldn't I?"
Curling and stretching her talons, Lal Mirch blinks down at her. "For what?"
Rising up to her feet, Luce winks at her. "For being my knight in shining armor, protecting me against those who would do me harm to satisfy their own greed."
Oh. Wanting to blush and aggressively not going to, Lal Mirch scoffs. "I was doing my duty, Luce. You know that. Besides." Getting up as well, she uses her own height to glower down at her friend and charge with a good cross of her arms. "We both know that the Giglio Nero brood are some of the most difficult in the entire kingdom to kill, especially in their own territory."
"Now now. We're nothing compared to your skill," Luce says, not very convincingly on account of how she's not trying very hard with Lal Mirch. They both know that she's telling the truth. It's true that the Giglio Nero brood isn't the most combat prepared or talented. Most of those related to Luce by direct bloodline can't even fly, at least high or for extended periods of time. That's a problem amongst fighters of their own race. Even outside the kingdom, it's common knowledge that a favorite tactic of guerilla warfare birds or utter assholes is to swoop down, grab their prey, go as high as they can, and drop the poor fuck to their death. Lal Mirch will even admit that she's done it a few times, when the overall victory was more important than a personal and more honorable one for herself. Yet that same thing which would be a problem in the open air for her lineage is absolutely perfect for such tight quarters. In the small amount of areas where the average bird could fly, well...
The problem with trying to fight against genuine seers is that they always see you coming. Alongside powerful forces such as Lal Mirch and even those such as Fon or Reborn, there's never been a larger force which would overwhelm even careful planning... but Lal Mirch has no doubt that their clever friend could organize things carefully if she really tried. No one knows the long haul better than the women of the Giglio Nero.
Either way, she gestures to the side. "Let's just finish things up. I'd rather get us going before night fall. None of us have Verde's eyes, so it's better to get a move on sooner than later."
"You worry too much. He should be arriving soon anyway." Lal Mirch doesn't even get a chance ask who 'he' would be. Instead, there's the sound of clumsy talons on smooth wood, and Luce gestures to her while hauling up the bucket of bloody water in her other hand. She follows along, trusting Luce to get them through all the thick vegetation and to the very start of the plainly carved bridges which make up the majority of public paths. For all that they're secretive, the Giglio Nero do take into consideration some visitors, even if those visitors never really see the true depths and homes that they dwell in. Once the bridge is in view, Lal Mirch can see just who Luce was expecting. It's a young man, mussed up hair just a tinge red, and he has the same bloodshot eyes of just about every academic, scientist, and scholar that Lal Mirch has gotten to know. The spectacles barely clinging to his nose only strengthen the impression. He doesn't seem used to the straight paths of the bridges, or really walking for so long in general, which Lal Mirch can sympathize with. Luce and the rest of the chickens of the Giglio Nero brood aren't the only birds who prefer land to air, and those types always seem to have better endurance for this sort of thing. Of course, it probably doesn't help that he's carrying an armful of various things, packages stuffed on top of books stuffed inside of boxes. Two of Luce's Cervello attendants are accompanying him, carrying burdens of their own much more easily, and watching their companion with a lot more interest than Lal Mirch had thought they were capable of in anyone outside of Luce's family. What's most interesting to Lal Mirch, however, are the large gray wings which poke out over his shoulders even with how tightly wound they are agains this back. Even at this angle, she can assess the type without needing to poke or prod. In contrast to her own dark gray wings, his are a little more pale and a bit more solidly colored.
Raising an eyebrow, she leans in a little closer to Luce so that her voice isn't overheard. "You managed to find a grey parrot who would work for you?" She'd noticed that the Giglio Nero brood were managing to keep up surprisingly well with the times, despite their somewhat isolated living, but it's a surprise to see a grey parrot who would tolerate conditions like this. They're a lot... pickier, from what she understands.
Luce doesn't answer her right away, only flashing her a smile before she raises her hands. "Hello, Shoichi! You have some of my luggage, I assume?"
Jolting a little bit, Shoichi blinks over to her. "Oh, Matriarch Luce- yeah, this isn't all for you, I just- two fish with one hook, I was on my way. You know?" Lal Mirch certainly doesn't know, because she suspects he forgot part of a sentence. Luce simply nods and smiles, which could mean a lot of things. "Anyway, yeah, here are your clothes, I think, plus some of the other things you requested. For your, uh. Trip?" He doesn't sound entirely too certain about what's even going on, which is sort of surprising. Lal Mirch expects him to straighten up a little once he realizes who she is... But no dice. Instead, his gaze flicks over at her blank and uncomprehending. He most definitely doesn't know who she is. She has a sneaking suspicion he doesn't even know what type of bird she is, or possibly even that she's existing in the actual physical plane of reality.
"Thank you, dear," Luce says, reaching over with one hand to take her bag while the other tucks Shoichi's hair out of his face. "Now make sure to get some rest. You look horrible."
Apparently no one has said this so bluntly to him before, because he blinks a few times at her before silently nodding. To the side, one of the Cervello women takes the bags from her kin's arm and goes to Luce's opposite side. Her double stays with Shoichi, apparently to monitor his ability to stay coherent. As the pair return back to the many walkways of the forest, Lal Mirch lets Luce lead them back out along to the forest proper. She hasn't said anything, but Luce still says, "He's fine, really, I think he's just going through an anxious spell. He's having some romance troubles, from what I understand."
"And he hasn't slept," the Cervello says quietly besides her.
"And he hasn't slept." Luce beams over to Lal Mirch. "I hope to surprise Verde with an introduction one day. He seems like someone who could keep up with everything Verde is." Now that's certainly some high praise. Maybe Lal Mirch will return one day to see just what's so special about him, assuming she can ever find the time. For now, they lapse back into silence, with things hardly seeming to have changed much despite the addition of Luce's attendant following along closely.
It's a comfortable silence, leaving Lal Mirch to think about the long journey back. Taking Luce to the capital isn't really necessary. If those in charge really wanted the comfort of a general good fortune told to them, the least they could do would be to visit the forest themselves, or a halfway point, where she could look into the general flow of time for the kindom's benefit. Yet those who like to imagine themselves the ones in charge never do. Lal Mirch finds it revolting, personally. That's what a life of comfort and power does, even to the ones who aren't actually greedy and self-serving. She's certain that if they knew her ability could be more precise, of what the Giglio Nero could really do...
"Oh." Luce's voice cuts through Lal Mirch's thoughts, making her glance down out of the corner of her eye. "That's right. I almost forgot, but I do have something for you, Lal." Adjusting the bag that's hanging from the crook of her arm, she starts to go through it. She doesn't have to dig very deep before she's pulling out a small pouch. The Giglio Nero brood's territory isn't known for the most brilliant or complex crafts. However, that doesn't mean their craftspeople are talentless. The pouch is small but made out of fine leather, both in the pouch itself and in its drawstrings. Whatever is inside it isn't very heavy.
Curious despite herself, Lal Mirch accepts it. "Can I open it now...?"
There's a smile. "You can open it whenever you like." Well, that's one way to make Lal Mirch decide never to open it where Luce can see, but her wary glower only makes the woman laugh. "Now don't tell me you're getting the same paranoid bad habit that Reborn has!"
"It's not paranoid or a bad habit," Lal Mirch counters, "when I know for a fact that you're the type who would giggle your head off if I had a stronger reaction than a simple bland 'thank you'."
"Perhaps," Luce says cheerfully, which isn't a denial. Reaching up, she brushes her fingertips up Lal Mirch's jaw and along her cheek. Deep inside her chest, her heart tightens up and she swears she can feel a trail of warmth where her fingers once were. "Still. Things such as this really are some of your charm points, my dear."
One day, she'll grow immune to words like that coming out of Luce's mouth. Today, instead, she wraps her calloused palm around Luce's much softer one, and pulls it away from her face with no small amount of reluctance deep down in the pit of her stomach. "You're a sadist," she informs her.
Taking advantage of Lal's grip on her hand, Luce pulls it down to flutter a kiss to her knuckles. "I tease because I really do care," she says, as if she isn't aware of the furious flush going across Lal Mirch's face. She does laugh when Lal yanks her hand away, however, just in time for them to arrive at the carriage specifically made for land birds such as Luce. It's only when she's launched herself high up into the sky as a proper aerial guard does Lal take a moment to open her gift. It's a bracelet of some sort of resin or amber... and, nestled deep within the clear material, is the black and white feather that Lal Mirch knows is from one of Luce's own wings. For some, it's the sort of thing which acts as a gift of good luck. For others, a reminder of romance. Lal Mirch reminds herself to be professional.
She wears the bracelet beneath her jacket sleeve regardless.
earth : mermaid/pirate au
no subject
After all, it's not like there are a lot of other creatures out in the open seas which would be able to scale the side of a sailing ship to knock on the window of the captain's quarters. Most would be up to no good, and thus Aria's quick gun hand... but the woman leaning in from the port hole isn't one of them. After so long of going through the water's of the ocean, she's still never gotten an answer for how the Cervello actually open her window from the inside... Especially since she's pretty sure it's not actually physically capable of being opened normally. Aria doesn't worry too much about it. All she does is pull back her gun hand and remove her finger from the trigger before an unfortunate accident happens.
Does the particular Cervello woman at her window appreciate the effort? It can be hard to say, and for more reasons than the fact that they all tend to be rather stoic and cool headed types. All she does is adjust her weight, which is no doubt being rested fully on her elbows. It's not like she has an alternative, even if there was something beneath her body besides empty salt air. "We'll take it into consideration," the Cervello says simply.
"I'm simply saying," she yawns, letting her blanket drop from where she'd had it clutched at her chest. Distantly, she's aware of the soft sensation of it slinking down her chest and coiling at her bare hips, but it's not exactly the most pressing of her concerns. She's a lot more invested in the fact that, with all this adrenaline coursing through her body, how much of a pain it's going to be to get back to sleep. Well, she can deal with that in a little bit. For now, she allows her brain to catch up with how much energy had rushed to the rest of her body and keeps her gun still in her hand. Just in case. As she stretches her arms up over her head, Aria squints open one eye to rest on the waiting Cervello.
They're not a kind of siren, of that she's fairly certain. It's a common misconception amongst landlubbers, that sirens and mer are the same thing. The main difference is obviously that one has feathers and the other has scales. Whether mer have variants that sing in much the same way as the sirens, well, that's something Aria plans on never learning for herself or her crew if she can get away with it, because, by that distance, it's often too late for any good outcome. By that trail of logic, the Cervello women would thus have to be mer. There's only one problem with that, and it's a problem Aria can't help but wonder about when the seas are kind and none of her crew are being problematic bastards: the top halves all look the same.
Now, Aria can't say she's an expert on the mer. They're a cautious type of folk even on the good end of things, preferring to generally keep their distance from the nonsense of humans. Sure, there's always talk of an individual doing a favor- saving a life from a downed ship, trading with a fisherman, giving pearls to a human who did them a favor once. But a whole group of them? Unheard of.
Unheard of save for in the captain's quarters of the Black Lily, where Aria was told by her own mother once upon a time about the group of women who would aid her far out in the expanse of the sea. And they are all different women. Even if Aria hadn't seen more than one of them at the same time, she would know that for a fact. That is something no myth has ever touched on for the mer. Can Aria be blamed for wondering, then?
Mer or not, they're a surprisingly shy lot, and that's how she gets situations like this where she's woken up in the middle of the night. They won't talk to her crew, they won't show up on the deck where they can be easily seen, and she's never seen them show up near any ports despite the fact that she's seen them in just about every sort of water that she's sailed. Well, she won't begrudge the way they choose to live their life. So long as they never mess with hers, anyway.
Aria finally rises up to her feet, tossing the blanket carelessly to side even as she uses the barrel of her gun to flip her hair away from her front. "So for what do I owe the pleasure?" she asks, meeting the eyes which hide behind a masquerade mask. All of the Cervello wear one, and she thinks it's an interchangeable sort of thing. They have a preference for the black and whites, however, and don't seem to care for hiding their mouths.
There's the distant sound of scale flowing against wood, heavy and thick. The Cervello woman tilts her head to the side. "You're going to sail straight into a storm with the course you're set at."
"Really now?" Aria makes her way over to the porthole herself, and the Cervello adjusts herself as best as she's able so that Aria can poke her head outside. In the absence of light, sun or candle, it's a little easier to make out changes in the ocean air and sky. Sure enough, when she closes her eyes to block out everything completely, she can pick up the faintest difference in the air. For all the thick salt she's grown used to, there's something a little sweet entwined throughout it. When she looks out towards the bow, she thinks she can see the very most distant bit of light. It's so thin, it's practically a spiderweb on the horizon. If she hadn't been told about it, Aria knows she never would have even noticed it was there. "Looks like you're right. I imagine it must be nothing to sneeze at, if you're here telling me about it."
"I would imagine it could pose a problem to most humans," the Cervello says, her voice gaining just a bit of dryness that wouldn't last a second on the rest of her body. Aria grins.
"Well, I suppose we should keep that into consideration, even if I think we're not exactly most humans," she says, and turns her back to the lantern at her bedside. Time to light the midnight oil. "I might have to put a shirt on, too, if I'm going to be yelling at everyone over the sound of the waves and thunder."
There is not an immediate response, whether through voice or the sound of someone flinging herself away from the porthole down into the dark waters below. Aria notices it and doesn't comment on the fact. Most of her focus is swearing over the clicks and hisses of trying to make fire start like it's supposed to. "I suppose you will," the Cervello finally says, voice as quiet and cool as usual. Yet the words that come right after undermine her tone. "There is a island nearby as an alternative, I suppose. Safety versus time is a choice you can make."
What a very polite offer, and one Aria doesn't think her kind would offer to anyone else, assuming they talk to anyone else at all. Still, she's interested. Certainly they could fight through the storm if they really wanted to, and that would save them, what? A few hours, a night, which they would then have to whittle away by repairing any damages that might have torn along their sails or goods? Goods that could get lost in the turbulent ocean? It's a choice, sure, but really hardly one in the end. Better to drop anchor, guarantee a bit of safety for themselves and for the things they have on board. Besides, her crew are pirates. She's fairly certain some other more... law abiding sorts might be following in their direction. If it's an island one of the Cervello is recommending to her, then it's likely to be an island not many others would recognize, let alone know the existence of. If anyone is chasing right after them, then they'll get caught up in the storm too and go right past her and her own.
"How do we get to this island of yours, then?" she asks, satisfied now that she has a lantern going. Of course, she has to move back over to the porthole when the Cervello leans back with only one hand gripping on. Every race has a different name for the stars that stretch across the sky and which their sailors use to navigate. Those who dwell within the sea, siren or mer or Cervello, are no exception. Aria can't say she recognizes the names, even with all her scattered knowledge across different tongues, but she recognizes what the Cervello points out. "That way, then. Very well."
"Just go that way-" But when the Cervello turns back to the porthole, she turns right into the crook of Aria's neck. She can feel the way she freezes up like this, and Aria smiles into the side of the Cervello's hair. To tease her further, she keeps the woman right where she is with her hand curving around her back and holds her closer. Arias has never touched a mer, so she can't say if it's similar, the way the Cervello is so cool against her body. More importantly, however...
She looks down, following the warm brown of the Cervello's skin until it disappears into pale mauve scales. Still letting her hand rest on the Cervello's back, Aria pulls away a little so that she can smile into her face. The skin on the woman's face is a little darker, and not just from the mask resting on her face. "You're the one who told us about the kraken corpse a few months back, aren't you? I can recognize your scales from the rest of your kin." The mask hides any other expression, but it can't hide how the Cervello straightens up in surprise and interest. "Well, in exchange for help like that, I don't mind if you're a little more honest about wanting to see me without my shirt."
Now that gets to her. The Cervello lowers her head, frowning, and possibly to hide any further evidence of an even deeper blush. "...You have bad habits, Captian Aria Giglio Nero. Humans should stick to wearing clothing as they always do."
"And you Cervello should be more honest and upfront," she counters, smiling as she pulls her hand back upwards only for the Cervello to curl it near her cheek. She says nothing, only pushes herself away from the side of the ship and down into the water.
How her ancestor, Captain Sepira Giglio Nero, ever made a bond with such a people is a mystery to Aria. Still, she knows one thing for certain: she's interested in forging a unique bond of her own with them.
bad life choices with bonus mer
1
Gokudera's voice had a penchant for reaching through every inch of the ship, which was valuable for someone acting as the quartermaster on the Vongola. So he was 100% sure that Yamamoto heard him from where he was leaning against the railing of the ship. And the bastard had the nerve to not even look at him? Gokudera bit back some of his temper, however. It was something he was working on. Right now, he had to focus on the more important things, so he settled right besides Yamamoto with one elbow on the railing and a finger in Yamamoto's face. "We need to talk about your shitty flirting habit."
"Mmhm," was the only response. Yamamoto continued not to look at him, instead staring pensively out into the sea. Longingly? Maybe they'd been landstuck for even longer than Gokudera thought if this idiot was so interested in getting back to open water. That didn't change the fact of the matter, which was that they had to deal with Yamamoto being so damn charming that he practically caused a scandal whenever they hit land. And he didn't have to try.
Gokudera didn't see the appeal in an empty headed idiot who smiled all the time. Or maybe he just aggressively refused to. If he did, that would almost be something like losing.
He forged on, determined to slam this through Yamamoto's thick head. "We're on the edge of mer territory. You paid attention when we were all talking about that, weren't you? So I am going to need you to not accidentally fuck any of them, purposefully fuck any of them, accidentally seduce any of them, or purposefully seduce any of them. Literally any of them, but especially anything poisonous. Got that?"
Yamamoto was still not moving. The meaning of this was slowly creeping onto Gokudera, and hammered right in when Yamamoto sort of laughed. "Ha ha. So, it might be a little late for that." He was still smiling.
Frozen from the sheer fucking impact of that, Gokudera slowly looked Yamamoto over. And then he swore. Violently.
It was a common misconception that mer had territories. Or, rather than a misconception, it was something more like an overgeneralization. After all, wasn't that similar to saying that all mer were exactly the same? That wasn't even physically true, with how some had the shimmering scales of rainbow colored fish while others held the smooth skin of dolphins and then even more others held the terrifying maws of a shark to match their sandpaper fins. To say all those were alike was kind of silly, to say the least.
Yamamoto had learned this knowledge a long time ago from his father, when he'd done trade with the shimmering golden koi mer who lived in the rivers near to their little fishing village, but he was fairly certain it was common knowledge among most navigators. Especially navigators who didn't exactly follow the law, honestly. Navigating the open seas was difficult as it was, and pirates couldn't exactly just buy sailing charts with any ease. However, for those who lived within the waters of the world, whether the open seas or the deep rivers... Yamamoto didn't know exactly how, but he knew that just about most mer had a good understanding of how to read the stars to get them to where they needed to go.
He'd be a liar if he said that he had never in his entire life inquired with a mer on where he was, honestly. Mostly when he was younger, ocean air still too thick of salt for his tongue and his head swimming every time he was on the deck of a ship. In more recent days, he liked to think he knew the ocean and the stars well enough to guide things on his own. However, no one ever asked where he had learned his skills. That Yamamoto had them at all was good enough for most people.
How could he forget those who had helped him so much, however?
Maybe it was just the cultural differences, too, but he had an easier time of dealing with mer than people of his own race sometimes. That probably would have been strange to hear, for most people who knew his name or face. How could he of all people have difficulty talking to or dealing with others? He was handsome, athletic, friendly, and a whole other bunch of positive adjectives. Yet as he grew up and his relationships never seemed to change, Yamamoto began to wonder if anyone was ever looking past that laundry list of good traits, and if anyone even wanted to. Would they be fine with how handsome he was if they knew he was more stubborn than anything? Would people accept his friendliness if they knew it was sometimes a veneer for mocking, or teasing?
Mer never gave him that feeling. Maybe because they were so detached from the regular life that he lived, he could see them as something different, even if they weren't actually that way. Yamamoto had that particular realization not too long after he first truly got to know Tsuna, when they were taking their first journey out onto open waters. It took him a little while longer to realize that it was okay if his view of things had been slightly different than the reality of the situation.
That couldn't change the feelings he'd had because of them. That couldn't change how important they had been to him for so long. So Yamamoto kept an eye out as him and Tsuna traveled across the seas, crew growing bit by bit. He watched the stars to guide them, and then he watched the ocean for hints of shapes that were his own connection to home. Maybe some mer had territory, but other mer? Other mer you could find everywhere.
Sometimes even where you didn't expect them to be.
The first time that he had seen the mer, he had been mildly intoxicated and it had been night time, so, for the first five minutes, he hadn't the single idea what he was even looking at.
The first time that he had seen the mer, he had been mildly intoxicated and it had been night time. That meant, for the first five minutes, Yamamoto hadn't even the faintest idea of what he was looking at. Five minutes before that, and he hadn't even realized there was anything to look at, honestly.
Instead, he'd been focused more on keeping his legs straight underneath him, an endeavor he'd ultimately given up on. Only a few feet from the docks where the Vongola was anchored at, and he'd slumped against a lamp post with his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment. Being drunk sometimes felt not unlike being underwater. There was a peculiar sort of sluggishness in his brain, similar to trying to punch the ocean. Everything was similar while simultaneously new. Still. If there was one thing that the ocean had over being drunk, besides the benefit of not including intoxication along for the ride, it was that it at least had the decency to be cool.
Drunk to this extent, Yamamoto found that everything was just too damn warm. Even the pole seemed to carry leftover heat from the daytime, sticking to his skin in a way that left him feeling sickly. Wobbling slightly, he pushed himself up straight and forced his eyes open. Behind him, he could still hear the distant sounds of ruckus and laughter that spilled forth from the bar. The ocean before him seemed to absorb all of it silently and without complaint. That was a lie in its own way, too, he was pretty sure, much like it was a lie of his own when he did stupid shit like let someone buy him a drink despite his actual zero interest in alcohol. His problem, Yamamoto figured, was that he went with the energy too much sometimes. He got caught up. That wasn't always a bad thing, mind. Getting caught up in Tsuna's own issues is how he's ended up where he is: the happiest he'd ever been, with people he felt he could actually connect to properly, in a life where he tasted a challenge as much as salt when they were sailing.
But alcohol. Ugh.
A bottle was still in his hand, simply because it hadn't occurred to him to set it down on the way out. That left one hand free to drag down his face, pulling lightly at his lower eyelid. He was still looking out to the sea. Even as it took in all the light and sound of the port town, it was so very dark. Nothing penetrated past those deep waves beyond a surface level, the light stuck on the ever shimmering surface, a pale film of blues and greens and purples that hardly seemed tangible...
Wait. Yamamoto paused, blinking a few times before he narrowed his eyes into a squint. Lights weren't blue, green, or purple. Not normally, anyway. There weren't a lot of lights were lit in town, being dark as it was. The closest thing it had were a handful of streetlights, with not even most of them alight, including the one he was leaning against in that moment. Certainly, there were the pubs and inns and more night time friendly leisure businesses that were thriving, but those weren't near the docks where lots of people would first get a glimpse of the town. Those were deeper in, their brightness hidden away from the ocean. That left only the lonely moon drifting slowly past the stars.
Seamen had lots of superstitions about the moon, something Yamamoto had learned fairly quickly the more he began to hang out with them. The moon held influence over the sea, after all, and it was often part of how they could find their way when all else seemed endless on the water. When it changed to a pale silver or arrogant gold or wary red, well, everyone had something to say about that. Yamamoto had eaten it all up, fascinated with perfecting the job he'd chosen alongside Tsuna. That meant he knew that the colors he was seeing weren't anything like those he knew the moon was capable of giving off.
Most people would take that as a reason to back off, not wanting to mess with any of the many dangerous mysteries which the deep waters of the ocean held.
If Yamamoto had that kind of sense, he wouldn't have become a pirate.
2
Once he was close enough that the water was licking at his boots, it was considerably easier to discern the exact shape of the creature. Mostly, that it was translucent, a sort of thin film... And something a lot more solid right in the center of it. There were a lot of round things that could go floating in the ocean, like coconuts, but they didn't usually have a pair of eyes that focused directly on him with a film over that which reflected light right back as they stared.
Yamamoto didn't smile, because he'd come to learn that meant a very different thing with mer until they got to know you. He just grinned and waved with one hand. At some point when he wasn't paying attention, his legs had moved him a little further into the water. "Hey there," he said cheerfully. "Nice night, isn't it?"
There was no immediate response, only more silent staring. At the edges of the bell, something seemed to shift and tug at it. Belatedly, his brain finally pieced together what was so familiar about this scene. Still, Yamamoto didn't step back, or stop. Instead, he waited another beat. "I could try another language," he said, and then tried a few anyway. He only really knew a couple pretty well, counting his home tongue, but he'd managed to come across all sorts of different scraps of languages, enough to sort of introduce himself or show that he didn't mean any harm. Just because Haru was a lot better at it than the rest of them didn't mean he couldn't try.
Still nothing. His arms were still above the water, so he would be fine at initial contact, he just preferred they not get to that point. Fingers wringing around the bottle, he remembered its existence. Hey, what the hell, right? Still grinning, he stretched out his arm towards the shape. When they got so close, he had no idea. Being drunk was kind of a pain in the ass that way. "I don't think I'm going to finish this. I'm Yamamoto. Have you had a drink before?"
At first he thought that he'd continue to get silence, which was probably a pretty awkward thing at best, except then the head in the middle of the jellyfish bell finally moved. It wasn't a lot, objectively speaking, except that anything was really a lot when there'd been absolutely zero response before. In the moonlight, this close, it was easy to see the humanoid face that tilted back to look at him properly. Mer could be quite varied, almost more than humans could be... and Yamamoto had never seen any of them that were quite like this. As a general rule, although it only counted around half the time, mer had something like human skin on the 'top' half, or, at the very least, they looked a good bit more human than they didn't waist up. For this one? They weren't all the way translucent as their bell was, just... thin. Thin like holding paper up to the sun and seeing the sunlight turn map tan into something golden, moonlight turning ship sails aglow. Yamamoto had no idea where the light was coming from, how much of it was reflective and how much of it might have been something from within them, only that it was stunning. It somehow seemed to show even more in the mer's noticeably plump limps, and the eyelashes that curled up along their eyelids. Well. Where they would have eyelids. Mer could be weird in what they did and didn't have. Matching this radiant beauty, the mer asked, "You're intoxicated, aren't you?"
"Probably more than a little," Yamamoto answered honestly, because he might hide a lot of things about himself but he wasn't an actual liar. Besides, the bar smell was probably clinging to him. "Would it make you feel better if I told you that I probably would have done the same thing if I were completely sober? I'm just not sure if I would have gotten here sober, at this particular time of night."
"Not really." The edges of their bell twitched again; Yamamoto didn't feel anything pressing in against his clothing or slipping underneath it. He'd take that as a victory. "I could drown you right now."
"Ha ha, lots of people say that about me!"
"...I mean it."
"They also say that." They weren't usually creatures of the ocean, but they did also say that. Pulling his hand back, Yamamoto tilted his bottle to the side in... some sort of gesture. He wasn't really sure of the meaning himself. "Do you want to?" Exactly like before, there was no quick response, and Yamamoto was starting to wonder if perhaps that's just how this particular mer was instead of it being a legitimate threat. Of course, it might also have been a legitimate threat. Used to that sort of thing, Yamamoto determinedly carried on. "How should I refer to you, anyway? By, uh, sex, or gender. That sort of thing. A name would also be good but I don't mind if you don't want to tell me that!"
It was a good question to ask. A lot of people dismissed the mer as being 'weird', if occasionally helpful, but Yamamoto was pretty sure that was just the generalization problem coming up again. Gender was one of those 'weird' things about mer, although Yamamoto found it pretty simple. Some mer changed due to conditions. Others just changed because they could. Others never changeed, while also still changing. All anyone ever has to do was ask. Until that point, Yamamoto liked to claim no idea, being that it was true. Besides, with every mer he'd ever talked to, it seemed like it was appreciated.
Considering the careful way this mer looked him over, Yamamoto had to wonder if it was appreciated or if this one had never really dealt with humans much at all. Just because they lived near a human town didn't really mean anything. "Male," the mer finally said, and Yamamoto grinned widely. "Chikusa."
"Chikusa," Yamamoto repeated, rolling the name around in his cheeks. It was short and blunt against his teeth, an anchor impact into sand. He liked it. "Nice to meet you. I'm Yamamoto Takeshi. Or, ha ha, Takeshi Yamamoto depending on where you're from? I guess it doesn't really matter for you. So, Chikusa, what are you doing?"
Chikusa's lips thinned, which didn't really actually do anything for how full they were except that Yamamoto wasn't sure he could call it an outright frown. "...Tell me what you're doing first."
"Yeah, that's fair, isn't it? Ha." If he was the one asking all the questions, then it was sort of a one sided conversation, and it gave him an advantage besides. Taking a deep breath, he let his boots slide against the sand beneath his feet that he couldn't see until he was lulling backwards with water lapping at his jaw. "I guess I was getting away. People can be really tiring, you know? Ha. I mean, not my crew," he said, quickly correcting himself. "It would be pretty bad if I couldn't tolerate my crew! I mean, we're all kind of stuck together for days on end. I'm really glad I managed to find Tsuna when I did, because the rest of the crew is- I mean, they're not exactly like I hoped, because I wasn't hoping anything in particular? But nothing is boring. And we're all pretty honest! So that's always exciting."
Getting a whole chest of issues in only a few sentences was apparently not what Chikusa signed up for tonight, since, when Yamamoto turned his head to look at him, he was staring at him with those wide eyes. Turned away from the moon, and they looked much darker with the irises more defined. "So do you hate people or not...?"
"I don't hate people!" Yamamoto protested. "They're interesting. But most people just require... a lot of work, you know? Or I guess you might now."
"...I don't do anything... that I'm not interested in."
"Ha ha. I'm jelly." Almost immediately he laughed at his own joke, convulsing and curling in on himself until ocean water washed up into his mouth as a firm reminder of where the hell he was. Once he was done sputter, Yamamoto glanced over at where Chikusa was floating. Promptly, he revised his theory that Chikusa didn't talk to humans very much. The mer was giving him such a flat look that there was absolutely no doubt that he had heard the same joke perhaps dozens of times before. "But anyway, yeah. I guess I had enough! So I was coming back to the ship, except then I saw you, so I thought I would come say hi."
"...Even though I could kill you."
"You haven't yet!" Apparently there was nothing Chikusa could say to that, so Yamamoto turned the question right back around. "So what are you doing?"
For a moment, Chikusa only observed him where he was partially floating in the water with his feet only partially anchoring him and his bottle somehow still in his hand. Apparently, that was enough of a mental image for him to come to a conclusion that honesty would be an alright policy instead of leaving, or killing him. They'd only known each other for a few minutes, but that was enough for Yamamoto to have a decent gauge on the mer's personality. He didn't seem like the type to lie. That impression was only strengthened when Chikusa said, "I was going to poison a couple of ships."
This time, there wasn't any hesitation before the answer came. "The one with the man in armor figurehead... the military vessel... and the one with the clam decorated on its side..."
While it was probably more than a little cruel to say as much, Yamamoto didn't pay much mind to the first two ships that Chikusa listed. The military vessel had been there before they'd docked just the other day, and his crew had already been pretty hasty in getting everything done they needed to so that they could set sail again. As far as any of them had been able to tell, there were only rumors floating around about them, and they weren't yet as infamous as some of the other pirate crews sailing across the seas. Still, why tempt fate, right? Since they were natural enemies, Yamamoto wasn't exactly sure if he had it in him to exactly feel heartbroken over the idea of them being poisoned by some mer with an agenda. The same could be said for the other ship Chikusa had just described as well. Yamamoto hadn't gone on it or anything like that. He wasn't even particularly familiar with its crew, only that he had seen them at a distance. However, in some ways, he didn't really need to do so. On his own, he had picked up the secretive way the crew packed their luggage, their furtive glances, various little things that made them more untrustworthy for anyone who was actually paying attention. More than his own senses, however, he trusted how his crew had reacted: Tsuna's uneasy fidgeting whenever he saw the ship or its crew, the way Gokudera spat in its direction as if he saw something he didn't like, even Lambo's simple blunt complains of "Wow, what a bunch of creepy guys!" Whatever they were hiding in their shipment was something unsavory. Yamamoto had little doubt about that. Perhaps this mer had seen something even humans hadn't seen just yet.
So that was all, well... Yamamoto couldn't exactly say it was "fine and dandy". It was just, at the very worst, it would help him and his out more than it would harm them, he was pretty sure. One thing wasn't great, however, and he blinked over at Chikusa. "Hey, the clam ship is my ship. I mean. Tsuna's ship. I'm a part of his crew."
Chikusa didn't particularly react, besides blinking back. "So?" he asked plainly, which... Well. That was fair, wasn't it? Yamamoto couldn't exactly complain about the fairness here. After all, no one could trust the military or navy or anything else to do with the government, and the ship with the armored figurehead was clearly suspicious.... And then there was the Vongola, with its crew of actual pirates.
It was really a probably more fair assessment than Yamamoto was giving other people. "I mean, can I at least ask why you're trying to poison our ship?" he asked, fumbling to regain his footing. It was a little hard when he was still drunk and fighting against the tide.
3
Okay, that he could argue with. Yamamoto raised up one finger with the only hand he had available. "Alright, so, what if I. What if we didn't steal from anyone who didn't have it coming? And we do minimal killing. I'm really proud to say we do minimal killing because Haru is really a great shot with the cannons, and Tsuna is pretty stern about stuff like that! Besides, I mean, if killing is bad, you're still killing people with your poison, right?" Chikusa thinned his lips again, and Yamamoto's own grin widened. "So there have to be... exceptions!"
"I'm not arguing with a drunk human..." Chikusa turned his head to the side, a movement which sent his bell trembling. "Not without Mukuro..."
It didn't occur to Yamamoto to ask just who Mukuro was. Instead, he just cheerfully held out his bottle again. "We don't have to argue. We can do a trade. I'll give you this to drink- I didn't even get halfway on this one, look- and you hold off on poisoning everything, just for tonight!"
"...Why are you assuming I would even like that kind of human drink..."
"Have you ever tried it before?" No answer. Helpfully, Yamamoto plugged his thumb over the open bottle. "Here, this way it won't get watered down." Apparently, that was the way to do things. Chikusa finally shifted forward, the bell still acting as a barrier between the two of them, and he managed to slip his hand underneath the rim in order to retrieve the bottle from Yamamoto's hand. The entire time, he kept carefully still. He'd spent all this time doing his best to convince the mer not to kill him on purpose. It would be fairly embarrassing if he managed to get himself stung accidentally. Chikusa even plugged his thumb over the top as Yamamoto had done, keeping it that way until he had it to his mouth and took a very small sip.
A pause.
Chikusa's following narrow eyed glare was almost accusatory, and in a way that Yamamoto knew quite well. It was the same kind of look Gokudera gave him whenever he managed to navigate them quickly and efficiently, not wasting even a bit of their effort. From that alone, he felt pretty triumphant, and that feeling remained even as the mer rippled backwards before disappearing down into deeper waters. Yamamoto let him, standing there in the water for a little while longer to enjoy the feeling of waves washing against his body. Only a little while longer. Eventually, he had to drag himself out again. Having disappeared from the ruckus at the bar was one thing, but if Gokudera found him passed out in the water, halfway out to see?
Boy, would that be embarrassing.
"So thanks for not poisoning us!"
Somehow, for whatever reason, that seemed to annoy Chikusa a little bit as he stared up at Yamamoto from deep within the water. The Vongola had set sail the very next morning, as soon as it was confirmed that everyone was sober. He hadn't checked for himself what had happened with the other ships, or even their own stocks. For the former, he didn't really care, and for the latter, well, that was what they had Lambo for. Lambo was the youngest out of all of them, a teenager who couldn't really even be called a man. On any other ship, he'd be a cabin boy or a powder monkey. On the Vongola? Here, he was the one in charge of making everything that kept their most valuable items, whether they were for sale or, more often than not, for health and eating. It seemed like a pretty big task for a kid Yamamoto could remember whining about sea sickness and wanting sweets, but he'd adapted to his new role well. They all had. So if Lambo had looked over their provisions and given the all clear, then Yamamoto was willing to trust in him just like he trusted everyone else on the ship.
Considering he was still alive and breathing, he considered that trust well placed.
He had no idea how Chikusa was able to float so easily alongside the ship as she sailed, so he didn't really think too hard about it. Instead, he tilted his head to the side as Chikusa raised a question up to him. The mer spoke so quietly that it really took a lot to hear him from such a distance. "Do you really think we're anything alike?"
Yamamoto considered the question for a brief moment. "Probably not," he answered, unable to tell Chikusa's expression with how far away they were from each other. "I mean, even if we're doing the same thing, it could be for entirely different reasons, right?"
Once again, he seemed to surprise Chikusa. The mer stared up at him for a while longer, those eyes still shimmering and reflective at night, before his pale colorful body dipped back into the waves. That was fine. Yamamoto had a feeling that if he had bothered to follow him this far out to sea, Chikusa would show up again.
Credit also had to be given to Kyoko, from where she kept watch high up in the crow's nest. In the daytime, Haru kept lookout, but nighttime was Kyoko's preferred hours for when she wasn't working as a carpenter alongside her brother's boatswain duties. At night, the sort of thing she kept an eye out for were a lot different from what Haru had to deal with... and that difference in duties, Yamamoto had come to realize, meant she was a lot more in tune with things that happened down on the deck. Despite this, she never said anything about who he talked to that night when they were still only a day away from port. She continued to not say anything even when it happened again and again.
Chikusa was slow to speak, and slower to understand in any deep or meaningful way, but Yamamoto appreciated the mer's stubbornness in sticking near to him. The more they spoke with one another, the more Yamamoto realized that his initial impression of Chikusa was correct. He really hadn't ever interacted with humans before, at least not in any long term and sincere manner. Yamamoto ended up being his gateway to a world Chikusa apparently interacted little with. That meant the questions never stopped coming.
Not that they came all at once or anything. Apparently, only the vulnerability of Yamamoto being piss drunk had been why Chikusa held a prolonged conversation with him the first time. With him sober, a lot more caution was employed for quite a few of those first nights. More often than not, Chikusa would ask one question, listen to an answer, and then disappear back into the waves for the next nightfall. By that point, sometimes he'd ask a follow up from their "talk" from before. Other nights, he went with something entirely different. For the most part, he actually seemed almost content with merely listening to Yamamoto talk no matter how off-tangent he went... which meant, of course, that Yamamoto went off-tangent often, extending the one-sided conversation for as long as he could.
The first night Chikusa actually stayed, responding to some dumb story Yamamoto had told about an old fisherman's tale about a crew gaining a mysterious new passenger after sailing through haunted waters, he'd smiled. And Yamamoto smiled all the time.
Chikusa didn't really speak much about himself, and Yamamoto didn't really ask, save for when he double checked on if the mer was familiar with a certain human concept or item. He didn't know where Chikusa came from, or pry into why he was perfectly fine with following after a pirate ship whose destination he didn't know. He certainly never asked him who he was referring to when he had talked about Mukuro during their first meeting, or if he was actually alone as he followed their ship across the waters.
Then again, Chikusa never asked anything about him or the Vongola, either.
Instead, they talked about everything beyond themselves. Predictably, they bonded the most over the stars, an exchange of information as Yamamoto explained the tools he used to navigate them and Chikusa pointed out different aspects of the night sky that Yamamoto needed a spyglass to pick out. Sometimes, Yamamoto took the time to explain the craftmanship which had gone into the sword hanging from his waste- the careful inspection of the metal which it would form, the ages of hammering into the metal, the careful attention which sharpened it more than anything. He never said that it was a gift from his father, before he left home. Chikusa held no such sentimental items on his own person, in contrast. While the mer never said as much, Yamamoto could tell that, anything important to him, he had to hold inside himself. So instead of the story or creation behind any item, Chikusa simply talked about what he knew, and what he knew was one part basically the entire ocean and one part a lot of incredibly embarrassing stories of what he saw humans get up to when they thought no one was looking.
Considering how he laughed hard enough to almost fall over the railing, Yamamoto nearly became one of those stories.
With that in mind, it was probably a questionable idea where Yamamoto occasionally talked to him out of the port holes inside the ship or, even worse, pulled out a small rope ladder so that he could clamber down and speak with Chikusa in a tone of voice that wasn't yelling. Every time he did it, Chikusa watched him in the careful manner one watched a cat try to walk along the rim of a full bath tub: quietly, patiently, and sort of anticipating something to laugh at. Yamamoto was proud to say he never fell.
That didn't stop Chikusa from one day saying, "I wonder how your crew would react if they realized you had fallen overboard... for just a conversation..."
"Ha ha. I bet they'd be kind of funny, although I'd feel bad." Yamamoto carefully looped his foot through the rope ladder, having to rely more on habit and touch than his ability to see. The moon gave off light, yeah, but not always enough for what humans needed. There'd be no use for torches otherwise. "But I'd be fine, right?"
"...How exactly would you be fine..."
Yamamoto grinned down at him. Even now, Chikusa still looked pale and ethereal, something that normally couldn't be touched. "Well, you would look after me if I fell into the water, wouldn't you?"
For all that they had been talking for nights, now, going into weeks, possibly edging into a month now, that idea still seemed to catch Chikusa off-guard. He stared up at him, the motion of the waves changing the eerie reflective nature of his eyes with every slight angle difference, before he slowly glanced down with his chin dipping into the water. Rather than abandoning him to the night air or outright refusing, however, he merely glanced up at Yamamoto from beneath what was sort of his hair. "You realize I'm venomous... right... I couldn't help you even if I wanted to..."
Even if he wanted to.... huh? Yamamoto was silent for a second, head sort of but not really leaning against rope, while a softer smile weighed down on his lips.
"Even still. I'd trust you to figure something out."
After the first port they stopped at, Chikusa's visits became a little less frequent. Yamamoto couldn't tell if it was because he'd gotten bored of the novelty of talking with a human, if he had friends he wanted to see, or if he had something to do like poison other ships. Maybe it was only average mer stuff. Yamamoto didn't stress over it too much. Instead, he focused on his own life with the crew: the trade, the leads, the avoiding being captured by the navy or military or anyone else that cared more about the law than the crew of the Vongola necessarily did. Occasionally at night, Yamamoto thought he saw that familiar shimmering film along the surface of the ocean when he looked out from the docks, the ship, or even town... but Chikusa didn't ever come particularly near, and so Yamamoto let him have his time on his own. Apparently, he'd been lucky with their first meeting, because it seemed to be a rare occurrence.
4
"You'll find a small island in the next day or two, if you follow your course," the mer said one night, when Yamamoto had brought out his rope ladder again for a closer talk.
Pausing where he was, Yamamoto made sure his hand was wrapped firmly in rope before he rolled his head back to look at where Chikusa was floating in the dark waters. It was good that the mer was so pale, or else he'd have a much harder time spotting him through the waves. "An island?" he echoed, thoughtful. "Is there something special about it?"
"I don't know," Chikusa said in the bored tone of someone who didn't actually care enough to look into something. "It has something that humans seem to like..."
"Ha ha, oh yeah? What is it?" No answer. Chikusa only leveled a flat and blank stare at him, and Yamamoto laughed again. "Oh yeah, I guess there's no real guarantee that you would know, even if you saw them." For all he knew, Chikusa was just passing along something he had heard. He might not have seemed like a very social person, but what did Yamamoto know? He only saw Chikusa sometimes, at night, in conversations that had nothing to do with other people. At least, not specific people, and definitely not themselves. "Well, I guess I'll just hope it's something interesting, then!"
"Who knows..." Chikusa floated in place for a brief moment, gaze sliding from side to side. Yamamoto recognized the attempt at fake casualness almost immediately. Certainly, it helped that Chikusa didn't appear to be particularly good at it. "The water is clear there..."
Yamamoto's grin creeped a little wider across his face. "Oh yeah? I thought all water was clear just because it was water?"
Whatever anyone might say about Chikusa's conversation skills- if anyone said anything at all, Yamamoto guessed- there couldn't be any denying that he was at least attentive. Yamamoto's teasing was clear as day, and he glowered a little from underneath his eyelashes. "More clear than water," he said with some reluctance, as if it was a nuisance to go along with the joke. "Similar to glass."
"Wow!" He used the exact tone of oblivious cheer that made Gokudera threaten to shove him overboard. "That sounds really impressive! I wonder if I can convince Tsuna and everyone else to drop by it for a while! It sure would be a shame not to see somewhere that sounds that nice, huh?"
Chikusa didn't deign to give him an answer. Instead, in a manner that definitely couldn't notwas an island that they could almost have passed by and, true to a mer's word, the water there was unbelievably clear. That much wasn't as clear when they were a good distance away from it but, the closer they got at Yamamoto's quiet but insistent nudging, the more that it couldn't be denied. It wasn't the biggest island in the world, with no signs of people that could be seen at a distance... but it didn't need to be big for its brilliant green forests to shine like a jewel in the seemingly never-ending expanse of the ocean as the vegetation creeped up a decently sized mountain in the thick of it all. That wasn't the only thing which shone, either. Once they dropped anchor a decent distance away from the island and began to take careful scouting boats nearby, even more beautiful things became apparent. Most of all was a sprawling reef that took up a good chunk of the island's shore on one side, myriads of glittering and colorful fish dipping in and out of their home. A quick glance over the island with him and Ryohei revealed that, not only was it beautiful, but the trees past the shoreline were thick with rare fruits that Gokudera was able to quickly identify. Rare, delicious, and expensive.
Pirates doing legitimate business was something of a laugh, honestly... but why look a gift fish in the mouth?
Unlike ships, or warehouses, or anywhere else they'd plunder before, there wasn't any need to rush off with the goods immediately. Thanks to both cautious planning from Tsuna after quite a few bad experiences and Lambo's own indulgences, they had a decent stock. Enough to take at least one day, or two, to soak in the view. Besides, Yamamoto had to adjust their maps to take into consideration this island, and it would be a waste to just forget about it, right? That and a lot more were the excuses they all tried to force onto a reluctant and huffing Gokudera. It wasn't exactly a surprise that he was outnumbered, with even the girls excited for a stop like this. Eventually, grudgingly, he gave in.
Maybe it was just to stop Ryohei from following him around yelling out arguments he was just repeating from the rest of the crew.
For all that Yamamoto kept an eye out, he didn't just abandon his friends, either. The island was too beautiful to share with only one person. So he shared it with everyone who wanted to: carefully exploring from atop the reef with Tsuna, watching to make sure Lambo didn't get bit by an eel, swimming lessons against Kyoko, exploring the forest alongside Haru's excited chattering. Even Gokudera was having fun, he could tell. Not that he had to look hard, when he blushed so furiously as to give an apple a run for its money whenever Tsuna and Haru took him along on their fun.
...But he had to admit that something warm twisted in his chest when he looked out towards the ocean on their second and last day to see something shimmering along the surface of the ocean.
The reef didn't take up every bit of the shores along the island... just, you know, the vast majority of it. This wasn't a bad thing, as far as Yamamoto could tell. They acted as a sort of barrier between the island and the rest of the ocean, keeping the water from forming immense or particularly annoying waves. It kept the water directly around the island calm and clear, he was fairly sure. The main problem for his particular goal of the day was that, near to the shore, they were either too close together for a humanoid figure to go to or they were too shallow for something as long as a mer to get through comfortably. If it was only him, on his own, Yamamoto had no doubt that it would take him a good long while to find the perfect spot for the two of them to meet up. Fortunately, Chikusa seemed to have taken this into consideration a long time ago. Maybe even when he had first advised him of the island's existence. All Yamamoto had to do was follow that shimmering path of reflective light... up until it disappeared down into the water.
Nothing else needed to be done or said, besides Yamamoto flicking off his sandals abandoned into the sand. There was still a bit of reef that extended out to where he had seen Chikusa's bell disappear, although it didn't reach all the way. That was enough for Yamamoto to make his way along, until he could lean over an edge and see a humanoid figure with a long rippling lower half. A top down view didn't really give him the best look, however.... So, smiling wide, he jumped right in, feet first.
At first, he couldn't see a single thing. Not past all the bubbles which burst up all around him at his actions, nor the half dozen or more fish which scattered from the sudden impact into the water. Hell, not even past his ability to see clearly in unfamiliar territory, not for a quick moment. But once he blinked his eyes a few times, the bubbles disappearing from around him... Maybe it was a good thing that, as a human, he was forced to hold his breath under water. All this time, he had only seen Chikusa at night, mostly submerged, taking in moonlight and lit up from something deep inside of himself.
In the sunlight, in clear water...? Not much else could really compare. It wasn't only the moonlight which had made him seem so silvery and shimmering. From the waist up, he could almost have been forgiven for being a pale human, if someone were drunk (not naming any names) and squinted a whole lot. Yet the eyes were still that familiar dark color, focused right on him from beneath hair that had always looked black at night. In the sunlight, it seemed to shift colors, mostly pale greens and blues with the occasional flicker of purple. The mimicry wasn't as perfectly complete in comparison to other mermaids. Eyes whose pupils weren't quite as defined, hair that seemed to move of its own accord more than in accordance with the tides, and skin that didn't seem to have quite the same depth to it as human skin... especially as it went down past where a human's pelvis would be, fading in and out with deeper shades of color lifted from his 'hair'. Where most mer had 'tails' instead of legs, Chikusa... Well. His lower half was a set of rippling frills, so long that it drifted far behind him and even past the reach of his bell. Directly underneath the sunlight and the waves, he was...
Well. Yamamoto wasn't educated enough to have the exact right word for how Chikusa looked. Just that it was sure something.
A suckerpunch to his lungs and heart wasn't enough to keep Yamamoto still forever. After only a second of recovering from this first proper look at Chikusa, he pushed himself forward through the water. Not too unlike that first night, perhaps it was a bit unwise to swim towards something like Chikusa. His bell was still as enormous as ever, perhaps even bigger underwater where gravity worked a little differently. The tentacles which were connected to it were about as long as Yamamoto had thought, trailing through the sea at almost the exact length of Chikusa's lower half. Even still, he didn't worry about it too much. Wasn't it only expected, when they twitched out of his way, allowing open passage past Chikusa's bell? Hold one's breath and smiling at the same time underwater was a little harder than some people thought, but Yamamoto did it anyway, drifting closer to Chikusa and anchoring himself gently with his hands around Chikusa's waist. He didn't do it too hard, too firmly. Most mer he had known throughout his life were made of sturdier stuff, their lower halves related to fish or sharks or whales that he could recognize. There was never any doubt about the... physical nature of their bodies. Whenever he'd run into jellyfish washed along the shore, however, before being ushered away by concerned adults? While their venomous nature couldn't be in doubt, they'd always seemed... particularly frail, sunk against the sands, helpless. Chikusa was certainly beautiful with the ghostly nature of his body, light shifting in easier than through any other mer or human. While he was called an idiot a lot, Yamamoto just didn't want to actually break him apart from his own lack of knowledge.
Apparently the worrying wasn't necessary. It didn't take long at all for Chikusa to pick up on how gentle Yamamoto's touch was, his brows drawing a fraction together before his hands settled over Yamamoto's. Insistently, he pressed down on the pirate's grasp. His hands were almost unbelievably soft, but they were insistent, and Yamamoto almost laughed at the silent pushiness at play here. Sure enough, Chikusa didn't break apart like wet paper. His body merely shifted strangely, rippled, before it settled underneath his fingertips as if nothing had happened. Well, if he was good enough to be held...
Pirates had to be quick and decisive when sailing the seas... A quality Yamamoto had always held, and which he put into his personal life. So, without even a little bit of hesitation, he leaned in and slotted his lips neatly against Chikusa's mouth.
Chikusa's skin was soft as it was, deceptively fragile in both its texture and how easily Yamamoto's fingers sunk against it, and his lips were even softer. He started a little at the sudden contact, eyes wide, but he didn't move away. He only stayed where he was, stiff as much as he could be, while Yamamoto patiently pressed against him. He didn't push, didn't rush, only stayed where he was with a couple of stray bubbles rising up from the corner of his mouth. Soon enough, he felt Chikusa relax, even if only a little, before he was the one who was making his way into Yamamoto's mouth more aggressively than he'd ever displayed before. Yet the two of them weren't the same. For all that he enjoyed the feel of Chikusa's slick tongue, well, he did kind of need to breathe, and in a more literal way than how some romantic types described passionate kisses. Pulling away, Yamamoto sealed his mouth shut again and jerked his chin up towards the surface. Instead of letting him go, Chikusa shrugged and gripped Yamamoto's own waist. From within the bell, he could see the way it pulsed, curling upwards before going directly the opposite way and propelling the two of them towards the surface. He'd never pegged Chikusa as fast, but he was at least quick enough for the two of them to breach the surface. At least he was correct in how thin the bell was, because it was certainly thin enough for him to almost immediately feel air on his face.
Promptly, he turned his head to the side and spat out some saltwater. "Ha, don't look at me like that," he said to the blurry figure that was only a few inches away from him. He didn't need to see perfectly to know that Chikusa's upper lip was curling slightly in that way it always did when he found something disgusting. "I got some of it in my mouth when I was kissing you!"
"...You didn't have to kiss me at all..."
"Did you not want me to?" Chikusa didn't immediately answer him. If anything, he actually began to slowly sink into the water, and Yamamoto pulled him back up with a laugh. "Hey, if you go too far down, your bell will hit me! Come on, come on~." Now that he'd had a few minutes to blink the water clear from his eyes, he could see Chikusa's sulking expression perfectly for all that it was as subtle as it was. "You have to be clear if you want to get something~."
"...You're a nuisance."
"Ha ha, so I've been told!"
5
Yamamoto's immediate response was almost another tease, because they were certainly touching right then, weren't they? Except... He glanced down into the water, where he could see his body kicking to stay afloat. "Ha ha, whups."
"...What did you do."
"I mean, it's not really something I've done, rather, that my body did, on its own? Heh." Shameless to the very end, Yamamoto grinned. "I didn't think hearing you say that would affect me so much- whoa!" Mer could sometimes be a little bit blunt, depending on the particular race. He wasn't sure if that was true for all jellyfish mer, but it was certainly true in Chikusa's case. His hand shifted from Yamamoto's waist, drifting over the many bandanas and other similar cloths which Yamamoto liked to wrap there, and went a little more... towards the center. And down. There was no firm pressure, only a ghost of a touch to make out the bulge pressing against Yamamoto's pants, except that was somehow worse. He let out a slow shaky breath. "Uh, ha, Chikusa?"
Those dark eyes looked back up at his face again, the sunlight briefly catching them to make them see pale. "Can you even swim like this?"
"Yup!" It would be a little awkward and uncomfortable, and yet, that was something probably just about anyone experienced, growing up near the sea or any other body of water. Sometimes, you were a teenager, and sometimes, your body did really weird things. Pleasurable! But weird. "Want me to prove it?" He tilted his head backwards, looking up towards the translucent shape stretched up over them. Even this close, he wasn't entirely sure how it was attached to Chikusa. "Although I would have to dive under this, I guess."
"Don't bother." Without another word, Chikusa dipped underneath the water again... but just enough so that Yamamoto didn't smack his head into the bell. He could feel those long arms curl around his waist. That would have been fine, any other time. However, like this... Well. Certain aspects of his anatomy were definitely brushing against Chikusa, like at his shoulder. Yamamoto tried to control his breathing since, apparently that was the only thing he could control. As Chikusa patiently carried him along back to shore in a surprising show of effort, he took the time to see just how it looked from the mer's point of view. He'd always wondered what it was like, looking at the world from within what was essentially a bubble. It was... pretty strange, he had to admit. The world seemed sharper, somehow, enough that it almost made his head swim a little bit. Impressive, considering that it was still tinted those same shimmering colors that had stood out to him all the nights they'd met. Did this explain how Chikusa had never seemed particularly bothered with talking to Yamamoto besides raising his voice, never explicitly needing him to climb down every night?
"Ha! You could have told me that I was putting in all that effort mostly for myself instead of helping you out, you know." If Chikusa could hear him beneath the water, there wasn't any indication that he did.
When Chikusa resurfaced, it was only after they were in shallow enough waters that Yamamoto could stand up on his own two feet. "So this is where I pick up the slack, huh?" he asked the mer, winding his arms around that fragile waist with another laugh. That expectant look on Chikusa's face said all it needed to. Well, fair was fair, and he suspected that it wouldn't be a particularly huge task anyway. Chikusa might have been more sturdy than he looked, but he was also, well. He was a jellyfish. Bracing himself against the shallows, Yamamoto grunted a little as he gathered up the mer into his arms. As far as he could tell, the main reason that Chikusa even weighed anything at all was because there was just so much of him, with that frilly trail going on still into deeper waters. Trying to gather it all up into his arms would have been- well he would have had far better luck winning against Gokudera in a game of cards. Foregoing a princess style sort of carry, Yamamoto hauled him up vertically in his arms, relying on Chikusa to stay clinging to his shoulders and neck. "I'm lucky you're not similar to other mer, huh?"
Out of the water completely, and Chikusa's bell didn't have nearly as much buoyancy to it. As if to compensate in order to avoid any accidental poisonings, or maybe just make himself more comfortable, Chikusa slowly began to crawl up along Yamamot's shoulders until he was curled up near his head. Well, it was secure, that much was for sure. "What's that supposed to mean..."
"Can you imagine me hauling around a shark mer? I'm pretty strong, but not strong enough to haul that sort of person around so much!"
"Ha..." Now that was interesting. Chikusa didn't really laugh, or make laugh-like sounds, or even vaguely create noises that could distantly be related to laughter. Faintly, Yamamoto wondered if this had anything to do with someone else before the thought was promptly out of his mind as he hit the beach proper. He didn't go too far before he hoisted Chikusa up properly again so that he could flop down onto the sand without snagging his bell... or, worse, any of the many tentacles that flowed off of it. Fortunately, Chikusa seemed to have just enough control over them out of the water to keep anything from getting in the way once he realized what was happening, grunting as they fell. As usual, he didn't say anything, preferring instead to do that very slight narrowing of his eyes.
Repentance wasn't in Yamamoto's nature. He grinned some more, splayed out against the sand and hauling Chikusa a little better into position on top of him. "What? You said you wanted to touch me, right?"
There really were few things more fun than poking at the mer's stubborn and reluctant nature by calling out the obvious emotions he'd never cop to himself. Sure enough, he sunk his face down a little lower until his chin was against Yamamoto's chest where his shirt was partially open. There was that subtly sulky look again. Yet actions spoke louder than words... Without saying a single thing, Chikusa slunk a hand back down towards the bulge in Yamamoto's pants. His eyes watched the pirate intently, moving down towards Yamamoto's mouth when his breath hitched at the faintest increase of pressure. As that hand began to roam further inbetween Yamamoto's legs and up towards his belt.... And then Chikusa paused, frowning down at his pants.
Yamamoto needed a second before he realized what was wrong, and he couldn't stop his bark of laughter if he tried. "Having trouble with the belt?" he asked cheerfully, enjoying the way Chikusa glared down at his buckle as if that would make it disappear through sheer willpower and hatred.
"...Why are you wearing so much? I thought humans hated wearing so much clothing in the sun... And your chest isn't nearly as covered..."
"Just like how it looks," he said, which wasn't wrong. When he had his swords on him, they were handy for cleaning, impromptu bandages, temporary holders... "Need help?"
Chikusa kept up a facade of stubbornness for all of ten seconds before he let his hand flop down to the side with a huff. "I can't do it with one hand..."
A fair point, a fair point. It took a lot of dexterity to manage that kind of thing with a regular pair of pants. Add in the difficulty of a belt, and then his many bandannas... "Heh, then you might want to push yourself up. Got it?" No answer. All Chikusa did was obey quietly, hefting himself up by his palms until his body was blocking out most of the sunlight that filtered through his bell. He really looked beautiful this way, entirely different from the quiet glimpses in the night time or the full sprawling nature of his body in clear daytime water. Sunlight seemed to filter through him, colors drifting just past the pale stretch of his skin, and his eyes seemed to be an even deeper sort of purple. Yamamoto couldn't help himself; he reached upwards past the limp strands of Chikusa's hair and dragged him down for a kiss. Even outside of the water, Chikusa was soft and wet, with lips so pliable that he could stay there, sucking on them and kissing his way into his mouth, for what felt like hours. For all his quiet, for all his reserve, Chikusa clearly felt the same way. Without the use of his hands or words, he returned every single inch of affection with a focused and steady passion.
6
Numb throughout most of his body but apparently not enough to really kill him (yet), Yamamoto laughed out of one side of his mouth. "Ha ha, so, how do you know if something is poisonous?"
"He fucked a jellyfish, Kurokawa!" Gokudera snarled out with zero prompting, before anyone could beat him to the punch.
Silence rolled over the deck. Finally, Hana raked her fingers through her hair before pointing accusingly at where Tsuna was knelt down on Yamamoto's other side. "I swear to God I am leaving this fucking crew."
"Please don't," Tsuna said weakly, for all that he looked as extremely exasperated and tired as Hana did. Being the captain and doctor respectively was an unenviable task on a regular ship. The Vongola somehow made that all the more difficult. "You're the only doctor we have, or I think can even find?"
"I'm not even supposed to be a doctor!" Groaning, Hana came over and promptly shoved Gokudera out of the way with clear disregard for his squawks of protest. For all her complaining, she didn't hesitate in kneeling down besides Yamamoto and quickly doing some quick basic tests for his vitals. "I was reading up on law, damn it! How did I even end up with you bunch of idiot men!?" No one said anything about how Kyoko was sitting there right there with them all, even when she reached over to cheerfully pat Hana's shoulder. "Yamamoto, you absolute dumbass, a jellyfish?"
"I mean, it wasn't a literal jellyfish!" Yamamoto protested, patiently enduring the poking and prodding. It wasn't as though he had any other choice in the matter. "It was a mer. Who happened to be part jellyfish."
"That's only nominally better," she grumbled, checking his breathing. As far as Yamamoto could tell, it wasn't too severe a poisoning, or else his body would be going through a lot worse right now. He'd seen the effects of a jellyfish sting a couple of times in his life, and more often heard the horror stories. He wasn't throwing up, his lungs were still working, and he was quite proud to say that his bowels weren't going out of control. "As in, we can at least say it was consensual or I would be guessing you wouldn't even have made it back to the ship."
"No need to worry there!"
Yet it didn't escape him that he was getting a good dose of heavy inspection from some of the other crew members- notably Haru, Ryohei, and Lambo. All of them stayed respectfully quiet while Hana did her inspection, at least for how long it would take for her to confirm on if Yamamoto would kick the bucket in the next twenty four hours. Once the amount of time passed where it was clear that Hana wouldn't break out into swearing and panic, Yamamoto could see the way all of them were glancing over at him in ways that ranged from subtle to... not so much.
Haru was the one who won on being more subtle, batting her eyelashes innocently. "I've never heard of jellyfish mer before, you know. They must not interact with humans a lot, right?"
"Ha ha, I guess not, although the one I know just seems naturally shy!" Which was sure a word to describe Chikusa, but hey.
"Maybe you can introduce us sometime!"
"No one is meeting the jellyfish Yamamoto fucked!" Gokudera snarled.
"Ha ha, I don't think that's really up to you, Gokudera?"
"So was it a good fling?" Lambo asked suddenly, foregoing any tact as usual to ask the question that was really on more than a few people's minds.
Tsuna dragged his hands down along his face at around the same time Hana pinched the bridge of her nose, looking as though she was five seconds away from tossing them all overboard and raising the anchor herself. Gokudera swung an accusatory finger around towards Lambo. "What did I just say!?" he snapped, ignoring the relieved way Ryohei clenched a fist that someone had asked before him.
"You said we couldn't meet him, not that I couldn't ask!"
"No one wants to hear about Yamamoto's sex life!"
"I just asked, I want to hear!"
Yamamoto thought about the light filtering through Chikusa's body, the multitude of little changes that spokes volume in his often stoic expression, how he'd rested so comfortably along Yamamoto's chest. "Ha. It was pretty great."
"Nice-"
"What the fuck did I just say, you god damn idiot-"
"When it comes to him, I would like to think that 'pretty great' is the very least he could do."
That... wasn't a voice from any of them, and they all paused to look towards the opposite side of the ship. None of them said anything, none of them immediately attacked, but Yamamoto could see the more subtle adjustments, especially from his own technically vulnerable position. Tsuna adjusted himself nearer to Yamamoto, one hand braced against his shoulder and rising up just enough so that he had a better view of the deck itself and anything that might come from their side of the ship. Hana and Lambo both stayed low, the doctor herself readying himself on Yamamoto's other side much like Tsuna was braced. Leaning just a little bit more in front of him was Ryohei, eternally bandaged fists already partially formed and his attention sharp. Kyoko looked a lot more deceiving, peering innocently over her brother's shoulder, which always seemed to catch people off every time. Better than Haru, whose hands were none too subtly positioned over her flintlock pistols, and loads better than Gokudera who already had a small bomb rolling around in one of his fingers.
The person hanging off the side of their ship didn't seemed particularly concerned despite all this. They only grinned, lazy and self confident in a way that seemed to have a little more weight to it than none at all. Yamamoto could discern that sort of thing. It was a useful skill to have, both out on the seas and in the more rough taverns that catered to pirates or at least didn't chase them off. Then again, perhaps part of that feeling was also because there was only one sort of person who would show up in the middle of the ocean. And for that kind of person... Of course they could wear a smile like that, mismatched eyes detached and cool for all the potential danger. "This is quite a welcome," they drawled lazily, reaching up to tuck some hair back into the spiky ponytail they had drawn back. Even with only a small portion of their upper body visible, it was clear that this one had a taste for decoration. The direct opposite of the often bare Chikusa, honestly. Every movement had the various bracelets on his wrist click together. "Shouldn't you be a little more polite, considering how much I could help you?"
Gokudera leaned over just enough so that he could hiss at Yamamoto from the corner of his mouth. "This better not be the jellyfish you fucked."
"Nope."
Among all of them, Gokudera was pretty good at being quiet when bossing them around... and yet that mismatched stare still managed to flick in his direction. "Maybe not the exact person you're looking for," he said, reaching down to something on the side of the ship, "but certainly someone who can help you out with your.... very unique predicament." With that, he raised up a small vial from inbetween his fingers. "While I doubt it's anything lethal, it would still be better to have the antidote on hand, wouldn't it?"
Hana perked up immediately. "You have an actual antitode for jellyfish venom?" From behind Ryohei, Kyoko delicately pressed her hands against her brother's back and rose up a little onto her feet in curiosity.
Their fun new visitor rolled the vial about between deft fingers. "Jellyfish mer venom. And only for this particular sting. It's all very unique, isn't it? Especially with..." They broke into soft chuckles. "Well, we can speak about that another time."
Gokudera, never one for the finer aspects of negotiation or bartering, twitched one eyebrow. "Are you going to give us the god damn thing or keep talking?" By this point, Kyoko was more properly on her feet and had taken a few steps around Ryohei, leaning to the side and blinking innocently.
"Are you really in such a rush? I think by this point you can tell well enough that the dosage of venom he has isn't lethal... but that doesn't mean it's a pleasant experience, is it?" They rolled their shoulders in an elegant shrug, and tossed their head to the side. "You can think of this as a minor token of good will-"
"Oh, then thank you so much!" Before anyone could even blink, Kyoko was across the ship with her hands around the vial and then halfway back. Even their visitor needed a second to blink at that. While everyone else just... absorbed Kyoko's decisiveness, she dropped down by Hana's side and presented the vial with a smile that befitted a seaside maiden instead of a pirate. Yamamoto sort of wanted to laugh again. "Here, Hana!"
"Aww, thanks, Kyoko." Hana flashed her a smile that immediately contrasted with the disgusted look she gave everyone else besides the literally poisoned person. "At least someone here isn't useless, which is more than I can say for the rest of you, including the mer!"
"What about me?"
"...Haru, you're still a little bit of a weirdo, but you get a pass."
Quickly covering up their surprise, the mer leaned back and shrugged with his hands flicking to the side. "My, what an interesting group. Chikusa really did pick something interesting this time. Well, as I said- consider it a gift. But I'll be certain to pay you a visit soon for... compensation."
While Gokudera let out a string of swears, Yamamoto did his best to smile. It was somewhat difficult, considering the circumstances, but he did his best with what he had. "Well, thanks for being such a nice guy to pay us a visit! Hopefully I'll be more chatty then, ha ha. See you later, Mukuro."
Their eyebrows slowly raised, intrigued, before he let out another low laugh. "I can see why he took to you. Well. I'll be taking my leave." And with that, he pushed himself off, only the slightest glimpse of his octopus bottom half visible before he disappeared out of sight.
Under the sound of the waves, Gokudera dragged one hand down his face. "I absolutely hate," he said, "the shit you get up to when no one is keeping an eye on you."
"It went well," Mukuro said airily as he ducked down towards the reef bottom, ignoring the many fish around him in much the same way that most of them ignored him. "I can tell they'll be quiet useful in the future."
Almost immediately, Ken stopped circling Chikusa impatiently and went straight towards Mukuro, shark fin cutting through the water smoothly. "I knew it would be easy for you, Master Mukuro!" he crowed, bright eyed and encouraging as always. For the attention, Mukuro indulged him, and ran one hand along from Ken's hair to his fin.
Ignoring the happy wiggling underneath his palm, he focused his gaze onto Chikusa. It was hard to the point of impossibility to not burst out laughing, instead keeping his voice level as he murmured, "He didn't seem to be poisoned particularly badly. Still, I suppose there is some due credit in the... daring of his particular choice in partners."
Ken was a lot less subtle, bearing his teeth and sniggering at his partner as he circled around Mukuro once again to face him. "You poisoned the guy who tried to fuck you!" he cackled. "I would have loved to see the look on his face when he realized what had happened!"
No answer was forthcoming from Chikusa. All he did was float there, arms crossed and his tentacles spun around him in a defensive spiral. It was the most defensive a mer of the jellyfish could possibly get, with how it made getting through the gaps a lot harder than if they were spread out normally. Mukuro didn't let that deter him, instead pushing himself forward and floating just out of reach with a smirk on his face. "Was he that good?" he said, hardly keeping the mocking out of his voice. "To lose control of your venom like that?"
Still no answer, just a nudge of his chin downwards towards his shoulder. Mukuro laughed softly again, but let it rest. If Chikusa liked that human so much, maybe Mukuro would keep him alive. At least, until his subordinate got over the feel of human hands.
It would happen eventually, he was sure.
Re: 5
"...Take off your pants already."
Well, he couldn't blame him for the rush- not with Yamamoto's crew members around somewhere, and not with how a mer was undeniably an aquatic creature and could only spend so much time on land. So he did his best to not get distracted again, as difficult as that was with Chikusa literally being right on top of him, and craned his neck so that he could look properly down at his pants. Taking everything off just seemed kind of silly, not to mention impossible when he'd have to move Chikusa off of him first. Undoing the front would have to be enough... and it definitely felt like enough when he let his arousal out into open air. Cool water combined with the sudden intense lack of restriction sent a shudder trembling throughout his whole body, and Yamamoto's head fell back into the sand with an exhilarated rush of air. That... That was much better. Yet not nearly as better as when Chikusa, not content to let him enjoy just a brief moment of freedom, slid his fingers against the length of him, prompting another shiver. Lube, water, saliva- none of it compared to the slick and temptingly smooth surface of the mer's palm as he wasted no time in circling his fingers around Yamamoto's cock.
And yet that wasn't where his attention was. Chikusa spared only a moment to enjoy the novelty of seeing a human dick, palm slow and exploratory, before he was looking directly back into Yamamoto's eyes. Chikusa's fingers were, above all else, experimental as he stroked and rubbed, pumped and slid, his finger all across his arousal. His dick, he realized, was really only a tool at the end of the day. A means to an end. What Chikusa was much more interested in, he quickly realized, were his reactions. Every twitch, what drew out gasps in contrast to moans, how his eyelashes would flutter at a particular slow twist of his fingers. How long had he been planning this encounter out? With how slowly Chikusa moved sometimes, Yamamoto couldn't but fantasize that it had been ages.
He wanted to dig his fingers into something, anything, but the sand was unsatisfying with how it slipped through his grasp so easily. At some point, he realized he had raised one hand up to brace against Chikusa's hip, and he realized this because that's when the mer looked away from his face to where his fingers were placed. They were right where a human's pelvis bone would have pressed out at and, for Chikusa, the start of where pale 'skin' began to become a little more thin in favor of color that would become all the more brilliant in the frills that stretched out past Yamamoto's feet.
"Not as easy to make you feel good, huh?" he breathed out, voice husky as he watched Chikusa let go of his arousal to lay his hand over Yamamoto's again. It hadn't really occurred to him, at least in depth, until just now. "Although I guess we can keep kissing-"
He tore through Chikusa's skin.
It was hard to say if he moved his thumb wrong, if Chikusa pressed down too hard with his own hand, or what. It probably didn't matter. All that mattered was that it had happened, that faint feel of resistance against his nail before he realized that his thumb had dipped in far more than it should have against something physical.
Yamamoto stared down for a second, a little bit stunned and somehow still with an erect dick despite himself. "Oh," he said numbly before he laughed again- his incurable habit that popped up during the worst moments most of the time.
In contrast, Chikusa didn't seem even remotely. As a matter of fact, he didn't even seem to be in pain at all. He only blinked down at the scene, Yamamoto's thumb partially through a paper thin slice into his would-be pelvis before giving what could arguably be called a nod. "This should work."
Chikusa moved his hand out of the way, and Yamamoto let him. He had seen a lot of weird shit in his life. In fact, occasionally, he was the one responsible for the weird shit in question. However, this was an entirely new experience, even for him, and so all he could say was, "Ha ha, work for what, exactly?"
A blank blink. "Humans... have sex like this, don't they? They stick a part of themselves into the hole of the other person..."
Yamamoto had always kind of assumed that everything had sex that way, but the ocean was pretty strange, so he let that pass by him. Instead, he took a moment to really think on that. "I mean, there's definitely a lot of sexual acts, I guess? And people are always making new ones, ha ha, so I was willing to be creative when it came to you." And he had assumed that he was going to have to be pretty creative in this particular sort of situation. Finally, he raised his hand again, a lot more soft as he ghosted his fingertips along the skin near to where the slit now was. "Are you okay? You didn't have to do that."
"It's fine." Chikusa was a little more insistent in pulling Yamamoto's hand this time, although there was still no sign of pain, true enough. Rather, he seemed almost more embarrassed than anything, dipping his chin down towards his chest slightly. It wasn't obvious, but it was a tell that Yamamoto had come to learn. "Now hold still."
Well, if he was certain. Yamamoto did as he was told, eyes trained on Chikusa while the mer carefully adjusted himself over his prone body. Chikusa said he wasn't in pain, so he would trust him on that fact... and he couldn't help but be curious as well. From the angle he was looking at and the small size of the slit, he couldn't really see just what was beneath the 'skin' of such a mer. All he could do was rely on his sense of touch, letting his eyes fall shut as Chikusa delicately began to lower his body down onto him. Even only a bit of his dick inside was enough to make him hiss, surprised at the utterly foreign sensation. The inside of Chikusa's body was too soft, too flexible, too much to be anything even remotely human. Yamamoto couldn't think of any other similar sensation. Soft ridges curved along his cock, so slick that the strange formation of them sucked him right in but firm enough that he couldn't slip out so easily. There was no question of if Chikusa could take him in fully, their bodies pressed fully against one another. Labored breathing directly before him forced Yamamoto to open his eyes, where he found himself face to face with the mer. There was no other be, not when they were joining in a way like this, where Chiksua was forced to lower himself. And this close... No, maybe even from a distance, Yamamoto would be able to see the blush that had blossomed across his face. Mer blushed like humans blushed, most of the time, but being something so foreign as a jellyfish seemed to change things. Instead of red, or pink, or even orange, Chikusa flushed a pale blue that crawled along his throat and jawline from the exertion of just lowering himself down onto Yamamoto's body.
That answered that. Still shivering from this new form of pleasure, he reached up to brace his hands against Chikusa's hips to help steady him. "I guess I don't have to worry about if you're enjoying the moment or not."
Chikusa's eyes flickered up to him from beneath half-lidded lashes. "...Shut up..." Breathing unsteadily himself, he raised his body up even as it still tried to cling to Yamamoto's cock. With his hands at his hip, he did his best to help the mer rise until just the very tip was still inside.
"Want help? I know you hate moving more than you ever need to."
"I just said..." There was no need to repeat himself. Chikusa let his actions do the talking for him, falling back onto Yamamoto's arousal so swiftly that he couldn't stop the way his hips bucked into that soft wet hole. His head rolled back, following the moan that came out of his mouth. When he opened his eyes again, Chikusa was near to his face again, but this time his eyelashes were dipped in a quiet but undeniably smug satisfaction. "Shut up."
"Bossy," Yamamoto breathed, smiling. Still, he could be good. It was worth it to roll his hips up against Chikusa's again and watch the mer duck his head down, shuddering in a way that couldn't be missed with the way they were right up against one another. Under the heat of the beach sun, it was a blessing to have the mer so close to him like this, and even the inside of his body seemed to warm up just enough to be comfortable. To be perfect. It was slow, almost a little awkward, as they adjusted to the strange position... but Yamamoto knew how to figure things out. Chikusa let him, even. While they couldn't go at breakneck speed, rutting like animals on the land would... Somehow this was almost more preferable. This was a mirror of their entire relationship, both with each other and the ocean that connected them so much: slow, steady, rolling into each other again and again until the cool quiet of everything began to steadily rise into an unbearable heat. Even with the way Yamamoto's body throbbed, aching for release, he kept careful. Chikusa was sturdy and delicate in equal measure, something that required an even more delicate hand than if he was only one or the other...
And, besides. This way, he got the perfect view of Chikusa slowly falling more and more into pleasure, jaw trembling with each attempt at holding back any sounds of arousal, his flush turning his skin a blue to match his lower half, and the way his insides constricted and twitched all around his cock. It was a torment onto him, too, but he considered it a price well paid for getting to see Chikusa in a way that he'd never seen him before. Wringing out a soft keen of pleasure, seeing the way he finally dug his fingers not into the sand but Yamamoto's shoulders, all while his body shook in the telltale way of release... That was enough for him, too.
Laying there in the afterglow, Chikusa sunk contentedly against his body while colors shifted through the bell that was still held over them, was enough for him.