overflow 5

[warmskies]

The Outsider is...

A fairy tale, his father told him once. Everyone needs someone to blame, and sometimes that means making someone up. Chikusa had wondered why, then, did his father always seem so eager to welcome the Overseers into their house and speak such nice words to them. As a child, shrinking from those twisted masks, he had thought that perhaps his father had been afraid, too.

The Outsider is...

Lying tongues, restless hands, gazes and feet and minds that go where nothing should and return carrying only ruin. That's what the Overseers themselves would tell him, again and again, until Chikusa could repeat them back verbatim. Can still repeat them. All the dark and cruel things come from the Void, they told him, and it is the Outsider who spreads this corruption into mortal men and women. To stray from hard work and righteous living is to leave an opening into which he can slither in. If he was a good child who followed his strictures and listened to his parents obediently, then he would never have to worry about misfortune falling onto him. Wordless, helpless, Chikusa had always agreed, and that had satisfied the Overseers well enough on their visits. Now that he curls up in a ruined home with hagfish under his feet, he wonders what excuse or blame they would give in response to his circumstances.

The Outsider is...

"All knowing," Mukuro say, breathless and bright eyed. He helps heft Ken up into the window of the building they're breaking into, along the dryer areas of the district. Scavengers and thieves have long since picked these buildings clean but that's alright. For once, none of them are here to take anything. Not exactly. "It's from him that witches get their powers, you know. That's why the Abbey of the Everyman is always so eager to squash out any sort of religion.They think anything that can promise salvation besides them has to be from magic, and all magic comes from the Outsider. Well..." Grunting, he helps Chikusa up too so that the other boy can reach down with one long arm to bring him up in return, and his smile is sharper than any knife he might wield as he sets foot into the empty building. "I guess with that latter part, they're not wrong."

Ken had run off the second he had finished helping Chikusa- off to make sure there really isn't anyone inside the old building. There shouldn't be, but it never hurts to be absolutely sure. That means he has time as he waits in the dark room with Mukuro, the only light being that of the moon filtering dimly in. That doesn't stop the other boy's eyes from shining bright. "What will the Outsider do for us?" he murmurs quietly. Ken's excitement had been too much for him to stop, Mukuro shamelessly encouraging it, and they'd ended up out on the streets before he could really voice any complaint or put a stop to it all.

Amusement flicks through Mukuro's eyes, and he considers Chikusa carefully. It's the kind of look Chikusa can never really read and yet, in contrast, it feels as though it's going straight through him. No one, in his entire life, has ever looked at him the way Mukuro Rokudo has from day one. Even Ken's attention, as warm and intoxicating as sunlight, is more on him than into him. Shyly, he shrinks back, and rubs at one arm. "Aren't you tired of being weak?" Mukuro asks him, after he's done observing whatever it was in Chikusa that had gotten his attention so. "You and Ken had to run away and hide from people when I first met you. You have to hide from the guards and the watch every time we want to venture out of the Flooded District, or else they might take you away from each other." Mukuro leans close, impassioned, eyes blazing with some inner fire, and Chikusa is so enraptured that he can't bring himself to draw away. "We don't need to do that. All we need is to be stronger, and then none of us will have to be scared about anything ever again."

His hand finds Chikusa's, squeezes, and the boy still can't look away from those bright mismatched eyes.

"The Outsider can make us stronger, and all we have to do is find him."

For a moment, Chikusa can't quite breathe, only stare. This goes against everything he's ever been told in his life, ground down into his brain when he'd been trapped in a chair by the blank dark eyes of the Overseers. It goes against even his parents, completely separate from the Abbey, as they'd look disgusted at the latest news of a murder or theft, Inevitably, the blame from their lips would be on desperate fools swindled by bonecharms and things like that.

And yet...

He's already bloodied his hands, put a knife deep into the flesh of a man. He's gone through long abandoned houses, looted their lonely carcasses, and not felt guilt for it. Falsehoods have fallen from his lips, no longer the honest quiet child his parents and strangers and the Overseers had praised him to be. Time has long since passed since the Seven Strictures first crumbled within him, he knows, and yet what was the other choice?

Through his and Ken's Roving Feet, they were able to gather enough food to survive both when they thought they'd have to wait only a while and then when they resigned to being forsaken. Rampant Hunger was a reality they couldn't escape, a choice that had been made for them, and which had nothing to do with morals. When Ken's life was in danger, Restless Hands were what saved him, and a Lying Tongue is what kept them together because there is no one else who would understand either of them or care for them better than they do for each other.

It is the Outsider who the Abbey has dedicated itself to fighting, and all their Strictures were made with the purpose of fighting his influence. Yet why? It's never a question Chikusa has thought to ask until this moment, with Mukuro's eyes locking him in place. There's a realization lurking on the very edges of his mind, something he's scared to directly look at but already knows. Yet even without looking to that, he knows ones other thing:

The Abbey of the Everyman and its Strictures aren't what's kept him and Ken alive.

Mukuro's eyes don't leave him for a second, waiting, perhaps, for some sort of answer to his words. Before Chikusa can provide one, Ken's voice goes ringing throughout the hall outside the room. "S'all clear! Nobody's in this one!" The sound of his feet pattering down against the wooden floors reaches the two of them before Ken himself does. By that point, Chikusa is already turning towards him and sighing.

"Ken, quieter...."

"Eh, why?" he asks, even as he obediently drops his voice into a whisper.

"Even if the building is empty, people from other ones or outside might hear us..."

"....Oh. Right."

The exchange makes Mukuro laugh quietly as he steps forward, brushing past Ken and out into the hall. "Well, it's a little too late now, so let's just see what we can find, alright?"

As it turns out, what they can find isn't really a lot. Anything of value, whether that which could be sold or that which could be eaten, has been stole away- likely by either the original owners or the other scavengers of the city who have taken advantage of the ruined district. Wood, old clothing, and other various bits of miscellany are all that's to be found, both in the first house and then in the next two they go through. Outsider worship? Nowhere to be found. Still, they take what they can get to keep their home in relatively decent shape, rest for the night, and keep going on with their lives... Just with the newly added night ventures to places outside their flooded territory.

"What do shrines to the Outsider even look like?" Chikusa asks one night a week into their new schedule. They've just come back from another night run, the three of them lounging on ratty and torn blankets gathered into a pile before the fireplace. The three of them are always a mess when they're like this, each having their own way of being in the blankets. None of them do it like any of the others. Whereas Chikusa keeps his simple, wrapped up with the blankets folded around his shoulders and legs, Ken is a contrast as he practically makes tunnels through the enormous piles they've amassed over the months. Occasionally, from underneath a layer, or between the folds, or poking out from a hole, his bright brown eyes peek out along with a tuft of messy blond hair.

Unlike them, Mukuro barely seems to be affected by the night's chill at all as he instead lounges on his pile as if he's made a throne. His feet are stretched outwards, fire nearly singing the soles. Folding his hands over his stomach, he hums at Chikusa's question. "Purple," he says at last, relaxed as if he didn't take his sweet time. "It's a color associated with the Void, and so it's what's associated with the Outsider, too. So shrines to him will include a lot of purple, whether clothes draped everywhere or paints... I'm certain there's purple lanterns and lights as well."

So he's certain... Chikusa thinks, for a moment, of trembling hands being tucked away out of sight, but says nothing of it. Instead, as Ken pokes his head out somewhere near his thigh, he tries to imagine what it looks like in his head. "Since Outsider worship is condemned by the Abbey, the shrines are probably small... Do they have anything else to identify them? Like... a mark, or something..." Looking into the fire, he starts to space out, just a little bit, and Ken's fingers slip out to pinch his arm. Chikusa glances down at him with a frown, but he doesn't bother to tell him off. "I don't know if the Outsider actually has a mark. I know the Overseers do."

"He does," Mukuro says confidently- well. He already says things confidently, as if he's older than he ever is, but it's different from his tone before in a way that Chikusa can't quite explain. "It's curved and jagged at the same time- let me show you." Leaning over, he sweeps away some of the blankets cascading onto the floor until bare wood can be seen. Chikusa leans closer as well, Ken's chin digging into his leg, and watches as his finger starts to trace shapes into the wood. Their floors are rarely clean, dust and soot and all manner of things gathering with none of them caring to clean it, and yet it is still difficult for Chikusa to make out the shape Mukuro draws. Something like a line going through the middle, but not quite, and half a circle cut through on the outside, sort of, and a dot within an almost-circle straight in the middle. It's a strange symbol, one Chikusa can't say he's ever seen before, and it feels ancient in some way.

"I like it," says Ken after a moment, loudly and decisively. "It's neat looking." Chikusa ponders telling him off, that he shouldn't like something that's so sacrilegious or dangerous, but... He thinks of his conversation with Mukuro a week ago, in that dim room with the moonlight illuminating them, and thins his lips.

Across from them, Mukuro smiles slightly.

"Of course, it won't be on the shrine itself," he says after they've both gotten a good look at it. "They carve it on runes, instead, and bonecharms of course. They're made from whales."

"Whale bones!?" Ken jerks up in excitement, disrupting some of the tunnels he's made. Wrinkling his nose, Chikusa gently tries to push his messy hair away from his face. "Those are huge. Do they just take a hammer to a big bone and use the shards or something?"

"Whales have smaller bones too, Ken," Chikusa says quietly, faintly remembering a diagram in a book. It's one they don't have anymore, he thinks, lost to the flood long ago, ink bled through and spread dreamily against waterlogged papers. After a second, head tilted barely to the side, he gives a slight nod. "But you could probably break some, and those would work... Would they?" He looks back to Mukuro, curious.

"I've only seen the finished product," he says lazily, which sounds fake to Chikusa, but alright.

Perhaps there's only one way to find out, if that's the case, and his fingers curl lightly alongside Ken's. While the book is a distant thing in his memories, he can remember his and Ken's first foray out into the rest of the city with much more clarity- specifically, the other boy's body curled up against him, both of them with their breaths held as they listened to a pair of guards chatter away while going through the dry streets of the old district. "Then... Maybe we should go to the whaling districts?"

Mukuro cocks his head curiously at him. "Oh?"

There it is again, that intense burning look that goes through him. Chikusa ducks his head away, meeting Ken's eyes instead. "The slaughterhouses can't use all the whale, right?" he asks. "There's the meat for eating, and the oil for everything else... But I haven't really heard about them using bones for anything. Have you?"

Ken's tongue worries at the corner of his mouth as he thinks on the question for maybe a second. "Don't think so. Like. I think some nobles might get the teeth and stuff to display, 'cuz I guess it's fancy, but I've never really heard of anybody else usin' bones for much." Another second as he thinks, and then his shoulders jerk up in a shrug. "Maybe people with no homes use the really big ones instead of wood." Ken's eyes are shining even before he finishes his sentence. "We should do that! It'd look awesome!"

Off to the side, Mukuro laughs until his voice bounces off the walls. "Let's wait on that," Chikusa says, quietly exasperated. "Nothing needs to be fixed anyway, Ken..." Shaking his head, he continues. "What I meant was... If bones are so important to these shrines... Maybe there are places closer to the whalehouses, where it's easier to get them?" He picks at the blankets.

"Or maybe we could get our own bones!" Ken says exuberantly. Under Chikusa's sulky frown, he hastily adds, "To make these runes and charms and stuff! I mean, if we can't find a shrine, we could always make our own, right? Or maybe we gotta do that anyway when we meet him..."

Making bonecharms themselves sounds like a bad idea. Making bonecharms when they don't even know the right way sounds like an even worse one. Fortunately, Chikusa doesn't have to say anything. Mukuro speaks up first. "Let's not run before we can walk... First, let's see if we can find bones or a shrine."

It's a simple thing, getting to the slaughterhouses. For all that the refinery is in rough shape, battered frame twisted from the things it's been through and metal covered in layers of rust, it still has its connections to Slaughterhouse Row. Together, knives tucked away hidden in their pants and bags shouldered, they head to the refinery. Unlike all their previous searches for shrines, the sun peeks over the buildings as they set out. Wading through the water, Ken makes a sharp scoff.

"Ugh, the stupid acid spitters are already regrowing."

Following the direction of Ken's scowl, Chikusa nods a little. "They do grow fast.... And it's not like it's around where nobles live, so no one cares to keep 'em away."

"Well," Mukuro says breezily as he peers around the corner, watching the tiny smattering of shells swell as if breathing, "it should all work out. If they keep growing around here, then we can keep harvesting them for the pearls."

That sounds like courting misfortune to Chikusa, but he says nothing about it. Instead, he peers into a hole that looks just large enough for the three of them. "I think we can get in through here, c'mon."

Following the pipes over to Slaughterhouse Row isn't exactly easy. What is easy, however, is telling when they've gotten close. Chikusa had thought that it'd be the same kind of air as the Flooded District: full of salt and fish. Whale slaughterhouses need to be right on the oceanfront out of necessity, after all. Such enormous creatures are too cumbersome to easily take whole across land; best to get it fresh right off of the boat. And yet...

Ken is the first to notice it, chin jerking up as his nostrils flare. "Something smells funny," he announces, right as Chikusa is helping Mukuro down into a window off of the pipe.

"Really," Chikusa grunts, barely paying any mind as he digs his shoes into the rusty metal to not go tumbling over. "S'the rust and copper, probably."

Nostrils twitching, Ken squints his eyes thoughtfully. "Naaah."

Mukuro finally swings down into the open window, and Chikusa is finally able to lean back. Down below, Mukuro looks up at the two of them curiously. "I don't think I smell anything either," he says thoughtfully. "Are you sure there's something weird, Ken?"

"I'm sure," the blond protests. "My ma used to say that I could smell a roasting bird from down a busy street!" He looks to Chikusa who is sitting down and still rubbing at his shoulders. "Chikusa, you tell him!"

Getting into an argument about the near mythical status of Ken's nose, or at least how he likes to boast about it, isn't Chikusa's idea of a good time when they have a whole big tiring day ahead of them. So he agrees tiredly, "His nose is pretty good. He usually knew what was cooking for dinner from the highest floor." Of course, Chikusa had always half assumed it was because it was someone in Ken's family who was doing the cooking... "Anyway, c'mon, Ken, help me down in and we'll make sure you can jump through."

Out on the streets proper, however, it's a lot more difficult to miss the heavy scent pervading the air. Nose wrinkling, Chikusa's hand raises up partway to his face. "...It smells weird..."

"That's what I said!" Ken exclaims, and Mukuro laughs a little bit at his indignation. Standing on the tips of his toes, Ken's nostrils flare out as wide as they can again as he takes in a deep whiff. He even sticks out his tongue as he does so. Rocking back, tongue worrying at the corner of his mouth, Ken thinks carefully on what he's just breathed in and ignores the look on Chikusa's face. "Blood, I think," he finally says. "Blood and oil and junk."

He's not wrong, either. That fact gets more and more obvious the further they go together down the street. It's a cloying scent, almost nauseating, and Chikusa finds himself searching Ken's hand before he really knows what he's doing. He can't help it; his mind isn't in his body or in the street. Somehow, his mind is in a darker place, where his legs are still slowed by waist-high water and he can barely feel his clammy fingers wrapped tight around a knife. Actually, perhaps his mind is even further than that. Perhaps he is trapped deep beneath the flood waters as they rise higher and higher over his head.

Just like then, however, Ken's fingers wrap tight around his, and that warmth pulls him back. He still feels a little adrift, not quite there, but Ken keeps him within view of the shore.

From the side, as always nowadays, Mukuro watches curiously.

Perhaps as a trade-off for being away from his body, everything else is in sharp focus. Chikusa observes the rest of the world from his strange place while Ken guides him along. It's nothing like the busy streets in Dunwall, where they've gone to sell what little they've had to sell. Those practically pulsed with crowds, the city's bloodstream. Yet the streets here aren't empty and hollow, either, in the way that the few dry streets of the Flooded District are. Slaughterhouse Row is grimy with life, not pale and moist. The men that they occasionally pass, who pay them no real mind, match it perfectly with their flushed faces and dirty clothes. For all that there aren't many other children in the streets, that doesn't seem to be much of a problem. They make their way through unaccosted until...

"I think we've made it," Mukuro says, squinting up ahead. Sure enough, the sound of waves crashing against rock and brick and wood reaches their ears easily. Before them, the street opens up with no more towering buildings blocking the sky. All there is are some wooden fences, blocking the sight of the ocean but not the sounds. As they reach it, peering around the corner earns them the sight of a mammoth of a slaughterhouse rising up across from the many buildings as if separate from the city itself. More men bustle around the area there, some of them with enormous shoulders and lugging around giant chainsaws. Distantly, Chikusa understands he should be afraid, but the feeling can't reach him.

Right next to him, Ken's bristling says he's not having the same luck. Helpfully, Chikusa's arm rises up to point out the fences. "We won't be going right into the slaughterhouse..."

Mukuro gently pushes Chikusa's arm down even as he smiles at Ken. "He's right. If they get rid of bones like Chikusa thinks, then they've probably dumped them somewhere nearby, right?" He takes Ken's other hand, tugging him along. "Come on, let's see if there's anything past that fence. It has to be fenced off for a reason, right?"

As it turns out, for all their work, there's just empty beach and a cliff on the other side of the fence. Peering over the edge on his knees and fingers anchoring him, Ken squints. "There's a pipe down there!" Pushing himself up, he looks at them. "And guts," he adds, delighted. "I'm positive of it, and hagfish were tearin' into them. Maybe we can find stuff in the pipe?"

Mukuro's gaze is locked onto Chikusa, as if waiting for something, but Chikusa's gaze is focused straight to the water. When it's clear he won't say anything, Mukuro speaks up himself. "Are you sure you won't just end up falling into the water and ending up lunch yourself?"

"I'd eat them first!"

"That's gross, Ken," Chikusa says quietly. Then as Ken is protesting about being called that, "I could do it."

Mukuro stirs. "Really?"

"...I'm a good climber..."

Despite his lack of trepidation, Ken is fidgeting anxiously at Chikusa's words. "Kakipii..." It's a long whine. Wasn't he the one who was volunteering so fearlessly a second before? Still, it reminds him of something, and he steps away from the edge to Ken's relief. Putting down his pack, he undoes it and starts to pull out a rope- just one more salvaged thing from their many scavenging attempts.

"We have this kind of thing..."

Leaning over his shoulder, Mukuro nods approvingly. "You're always thinking ahead." A beat, no response, and he keeps going, "Then it'll probably be better if you stay up here, Ken. If we're going to hold onto the rope and Chikusa, we'll need someone strong. You're the best here."

The appearance of the rope only barely seems to reassure Ken. Still, fiddling with the end of it, he sticks his tongue out and nods. "We won't let you go, Kakipii."

There's nothing comfortable about winding the rope around his hand, the roughness one thing and the way it cuts off his circulation another. However, he barely cares to notice it as he slowly starts to skid down the side of the cliff. In the back of his head, in that strange floating space, he can't help but marvel at what he's doing. Before the flood, before he lost everything, "everything" enclosed him in a tight little box he could never venture out of. It had been safer, then, that much he has to admit. The Chikusa of then never had to worry about starving, or being chased by a gang. Was the exchange he made for this kind of freedom worth it? He has no idea.

All that matters is that when he looks up, he can still see Ken, holding onto the rope with everything he can.

Even with the rope, he can just barely reach the enormous pipe. It's a fortunate thing that the dirt is sturdy enough for him to climb down and reach the walkways peeking out inside it.

Slaughterhouse Row has a pervasive stink about it that penetrates its very stone. Yet the sewer systems beneath it, even as only the entrance, are ten times worse than that. The force of it stuns him, body swaying back, and he presses his hands over his mouth. Ken was right- there are guts and things down here in the water. Slaughterfish fins surface through the water, teeth flashing as they dig through intestines and livers bigger than people floating lazily through the water. Belatedly, Chikusa realizes that it's not only bones which most people have no use for. Anything else that isn't pure meat... That too ends up discarded.

With such a mess polluting the water, Chikusa should just get back to Ken and Mukuro. He knows this. Instead, he steps forward tentatively, peering ahead into the rest of the dim tunnel. His way is blocked by metal gates over the cement paths on the sides of the water, making it impossible for people to go any further. Well, not unless they want to jump into the gore-infested water and swim around the barriers. Actually, the metal gates aren't in much better condition. Filth and debris has gathered at their bases, and rats scurry out of it at the sound of his footsteps. It's disgusting, the pile of things that have coalesced together. As he peers into it, something pale catches his attention. Leaning down, he reaches with the very tips of his fingers and starts to tug it out.

Despite the filthy mass he tugs it out from, the item between his fingertips doesn't seem dirtier for it. Sure, it's a little filthy, but not as much as it should be- Chikusa would know all about how dirty things should be after this long. It's a set of bones tied together with thin wire, something scratched delicately into the centerpiece.

"Kakipii!" Ken's voice echoes down from outside. "Kakipii!"

Right... In a daze, Chikusa turns back toward the opening of the pipe and step back towards it. "I'm here." It's not as loud as he'd like it to be, but Ken seems to hear him regardless.

"What'd you find!?"

Leaning outside of the pipe, he carefully digs his free hand into the earth, then his feet, and, with a bit of struggle, gets a hold of the rope without falling into the water. "I'm ready," he calls up to the top, and watches Ken's tuft of blond hair peek over the edge. Shortly after, the rope starts to get pulled up, Chikusa following along with it with his feet digging into the dirt. It's a long arduous process- at least, Chikusa thinks it probably is. All he knows is that one moment time seems as if it's gone completely still, and then the next he's tumbling up over the edge onto solid land. In front of him, Ken and Mukuro fall back as well, the latter giving a small yelp as he hits the ground. For a moment, all three of them just lay there on the ground.

Very politely, Chikusa doesn't mention the sound Mukuro made.

"Find anything?" Ken grunts after a few seconds, still sprawled out on the dirt. A little bit behind him, Mukuro pushes himself up on his hands and tugs his legs out from beneath the other boy.

On his knees now, hands limp in his lap, Chikusa tries to blink back into awareness. "...The slaughterhouse dumps all the guts... and it's in the pipes..." He realizes that he's started to slump, so he rights himself up again. "It was gross."

"That sounds cool!"

"What do you have in your hand?" Mukuro asks, leaning in close. Looking down at his lap, Chikusa slowly unfurls his fingers to reveal the strange trinket, and Mukuro whistles. "There was more than guts in that pipe... That's a bonecharm."

"Really!?" That makes Ken bolt up, and he quickly crawls on all fours to come closer. So close his nose could practically brush against it, in fact. "Oh yeah.... That's definitely bone. I thought they'd look a lot weirder, but I bet even I could make somethin' like this. S'just wire keepin' stuff stuck together. All we gotta do is find some bone. And scratch those weird symbols in them, I guess..."

"There wasn't any bone down there," Chikusa murmurs quietly. "This was the only thing I found... in a bunch of trash..."

"Still, clearly we're on the right track." Mukuro seems pleased by this, a grin stretched wide across his flushed and sweaty face. "You were right, Chikusa. Even if there aren't any shrines, then people definitely come here to look for whale bones. Let's keep going."

However, there's only so much they can do without getting attention from grown ups. Through the rest of the day, they linger throughout the street, picking out the occasional dropped coin or drifting in and out of the different districts. Eventually, however, evening falls, and the three of them sit on the curb as they watch the slaughterhouse workers trickle out from their shifts.

"I wouldn't mind workin' at a slaughterhouse," Ken muses as they watch men smelling of blood and with heavy bags under their eyes trudge past. "I mean, if we don't find any- y'know." Mukuro and Chikusa's twitching hands relax, not having to slap over his mouth. "It'd be great to just cut stuff up all day."

Chikusa looks at the way the grown ups' faces sag, their shoulders slumping as if burdened by things they can't drop to the ground, and wonders if it would really be that great. It doesn't at all match Ken's brilliant energy, his bright eyes and wide smile. Still, eventually, Chikusa stirs a little and looks down both ends of the street. "...There's not a lot of people now..."

Pushing himself up, Mukuro grins. "Time to see what we can get into."

As night falls, the sun's light a thin ray along the horizon, there are still guards lurking around outside of the slaughterhouse. Yet the shadows are plenty and they're all small and slight. In a way, it's almost like a game, scurrying from one hiding place to another and staying perfectly silent so nothing gives them away. Of course, that's just outside of the slaughterhouse- they don't dare venture inside. Their interests, as from the start, remain on the things outside of it. There are plenty of buildings directly outside the slaughterhouse, miscellaneous offices and sorting warehouses. It takes some doing and a lot of prodding, but throughout the night, they manage to find no shrines... but plenty of bones for their own purposes, most shattered to make for easier transportation.

Chikusa isn't sure how many visits they make to Slaughterhouse Row, exactly, in search of shrines and gathering bones. Dozens of times throughout the months, he supposes, inbetween the usual scavenging and pawning they need to do in order to survive. He wishes he could be more exact, but he can't. Something about Slaughterhouse Row tugs at his mind, memories indistinct and hazy at the worst of times. Fortunately, Ken is ever present, and he makes sure Chikusa gets home at the end of every day or night. Ken also seems to help make sure his mind stays even a little tethered most of the time. It's thanks to that which makes sure he has a front row seat to their search of shrines and bones. While the latter is something that's always in easy supply, the former not so much.... And the same can be said for any bonecharms. That first time was a bit of luck, it seems, because they never find such a thing so easily again.

He's starting to wonder if they'll ever find anything related to the Outsider when, one night on one of their expeditions, they get lucky again.

Mukuro, leading the way out of a window into an alley along the back of the buildings, is the one who spots it, and he jerks a hand up to stop them in their tracks. Hidden away in the darkness of the building, they do, watching him carefully. After a second, his eyes razor focused on whatever he's watching, Mukuro finally lets out a breath and ushers them closer. It only takes a second for them to reach the window, but he's out of it already in that time. He only stays close long enough to whisper, "I saw someone strange creeping down the alleyway." Then, just like that, he's taking off. Ken scrambles out right after him, tugging Chikusa along, and it's a miracle they manage to keep up with Mukuro's swift feet.

The grown up they have in their sights is a shadowy figure, one Chikusa can't quite make out the details of even when it passes by the street lamps lighting up the more open streets. Keeping track of him without being caught is a pain, and eventually it starts to feel as though they're being lead through a labyrinth. Streets, alleys, all dark places that make him dizzy trying to keep track of it.

When they finally reach some kind of destination, it's a rundown looking apartment of some sort, and the figure disappears into a door on the side. Even 'away' like he is, Chikusa is still the one with the best eyes and ears, so he's ushered to the doorway first. With Ken's constant impatient prods into his spine, his words don't even drift off, and the three of them scurry into the building right on the trail of the stranger.

In a way, although a lot more dry, the building is familiar to so many places in the Flooded District. While it's not a complete mess on the verge of falling apart, it's clearly not a place that's been well taken care of. However, it's because of that familiarity with the dilapidated that they're able to be so silent, and any quiet creaks they make blend in well with the aching wood that naturally comes with such a place. Their hunt takes them down into the basement, where they stick close to the wall as they get down the stairs. If the alleys of Dunwall had been black, then the basement is pitch. The only light which illuminates anything... is a pale purple slit from somewhere in the room.

Gently, Chikusa guides his two friends through the dark space. It's not easy making his way through, eyes adjusting slowly, but he manages.... Somehow. Once they're close enough, Chikusa can see what the stranger has managed to do. Piles of junk have been shoved to the side, revealing a hole in the wall covered with a heavy blanket from the other side. While the blanket manages to hide most of the heavy glow, it doesn't seem to be quite long enough to finish the job.... At least while the junk is moved out of the way.

Being where they are doesn't leave any opportunity for talking, unfortunately... But, guided by the glow beneath the blanket, that doesn't stop the three of them from exchanging a glance and promptly peeking beneath it.

What's surprising to Chikusa isn't that there is what appears to be a roughshod shrine constructed in the tiny little space beyond the hole, around the size of the abandoned bathrooms in their home. What's surprising, instead, is that Mukuro's description of what one would look like was apparently dead on this entire time. He can see it, fairly clearly, over the bowed head of the stranger who is on his knees as if in prayer before the shrine. A couple of tiny purple lanterns set the glow for the room, and their light reveals the much deeper purple of the fabrics strung out across the walls and from the shrine. Sturdy but roughly treated wood has been nailed and wired together, the framework of something else that has been commandeered for this strange purpose. From behind the flatboard which allows the altar a flat surface, twisted wooden beams stick out- most small shattered pieces, but a couple of them so long that they nearly brush against the ceiling. Despite their state, there's something orderly about how they have been positioned in a sort of v-shape. Somehow, it reminds Chikusa a little of an empty doorway waiting for something to come through.

A silly thought. There's nothing but stone beyond it.

The stranger is muttering words, feverishly but with a strange kind of softness, that Chikusa can't quite make out. Judging by the way Mukuro squints, he probably can't either. After a few seconds, not wanting to tempt fate, they both let the blanket carefully down again and tug Ken back.

So what now? Chikusa asks the question silently with the way he raises his eyebrows over at Mukuro, not wanting to give away their presence. They've found a shrine to the Outsider, but it's occupied. Obviously there's no point in doing anything now. Besides him, Mukuro scrunches up his mouth, eyes glimmering strangely from the purple light as he thinks. After a second, he gestures to where they came from or at least the stairs, and then slips one hand behind the other which is held up flat in Chikusa's direction. Chikusa considers it, brow furrowed, before he slightly curls his fingers with one hand and taps his palm with the other. With an easy smile, Mukuro simply shrugs. Pointing at the hole in the wall with his thumb, he jerks it away to the direction of the stairs. Biting back a sigh that would surely give them away, Chikusa's shoulders slump and he nods.

Before either of them can do anything, however, there's a tug at Chikusa's sleeve. Blinking, he looks to the side and right into the wide confused eyes of Ken. No gestures needed: the blond is completely lost as to what just transpired.

While Mukuro carefully traverses the basement, eyes adjusted and aided by the soft purple glow, Chikusa just as carefully takes Ken back up the stairs to the first floor. There, he explains what he and Mukuro had mimed out to each other: that they'll stay the night in that basement, hidden and out of sight, until the stranger leaves and they're safe to investigate the shrine in more depth.

It's a long, dragging night that goes on. As they curl together behind some crates and boxes that have been left under the stairs, out of sight, Chikusa finds that sleep doesn't come easy. For as long as he can remember, even after the flood, he's always slept in the place he's called home. On the hard stone floor of the basement, scrunched up into a tight space with Mukuro and Ken.... Not only is it uncomfortable on a physical level, but his nerves don't let him find any rest. Every distant squeak, every faint bang or soft scuffle from above, has his heart pound and his breath quietly quicken. They're supposed to sleep in shifts, or at least that was the idea.... But Chikusa can't do it even if he tries. He's awake right along with Ken when there's the sound of debris being moved back in front of the hole, and heavy footsteps hitting the stairs over their heads. Ken doesn't even need to touch him for Chikusa to push himself up, exchanging a glance with the other boy. In sync, their gaze moves down to where Mukuro is slumbering on the floor as content as can be. Wordlessly, they agree not to wake him and instead curl up together to wait out the rest of the night.

It's a relief when, bit by bit, the basement lightens up with sunlight from above.

It takes a little work to move everything away from the hole, and then more work to get something to hide in front of the hole while being inside of it, but they manage eventually. The only downside to that is that the little hole in the wall is a lot darker than the rest of the basement; Chikusa nearly trips over Ken in the small space. It's a blessing when Mukuro finds the lanterns. As that strange purple light fills the room again, things become clearer that weren't so much last night from beneath the awkward viewpoint of beneath the curtain. Curious and careful, the three boys start to poke around the place.

What's of interest to Chikusa is a small crate that's been shoved underneath one side of the makeshift altar, half hidden behind drooping purple cloth. It's filled with all sorts of things that most people would call "junk": wires and clothespins and, of course, shattered pieces of bone. On the other side of the alter, Ken pulls out a similar crate, but much less filled. In exchange for quantity, there's a lot more quality in that particular crate however- a fact Chikusa can tell when Ken pulls out a bonecharm from within it.

And what has Mukuro's attention? Not bonecharms or the things used to make them, but the single solitary item on the altar which isn't a lantern. After nudging the crate back into its place, Chikusa stands up himself to take a look. It's a circular piece of- something, bone, Chikusa feels it must be bone based on the pale washed out coloration that it shares with the charms. Unlike those, however...

It's different. Chikusa can't say much more than that. It simply is, in a way that looking at the filthy water of the Flooded District is different than looking out into the open seas where ships disappear over the horizon. Mukuro picks it up off of its place, turning it delicately in his hands with that intense gaze of his.

Sooner than Chikusa would have thought, however, he puts it back. "What's in the crates?" he asks the two of them instead, gaze flicking inbetween Ken and Chikusa.

"More bonecharms!" Ken chirps, holding one up with a careless pride. "I think there's like four of 'em inside of here."

Mukuro gives a low quiet whistle, barely noticeable even in the hollow echo of the room. As his attention shifts to Chikusa, the bespectacled boy thins his lips a little even as he looks towards the rune on the altar. "Bones and stuff," he says slowly. "But... I think they were just for making the bone charms. I didn't see any parts that looked like they would help make that kind of thing." Just looking at it makes the hairs on the back of his neck rise up, stiff, and so he glances back up towards Mukuro. "....But it doesn't seem any harder to make besides all the symbols. Maybe he found that from somewhere else?"

"Maybe," Mukuro says slowly, although he seems to accept the idea well enough. "In that case, we'll have to find out where he got it, won't we?"

A low gurgle echoes throughout the room.

Together, the two of them blink and look around before, in time, their gaze land on a guilty looking Ken. Before either of them can say anything, however, another gurgle sounds off, and this time, the blonde can't be blamed. Through the eerie purple glow of the room, a faint mismatched shade starts to spread along Mukuro's cheeks. Sighing, Chikusa rubs at his face. He's come to shore now, but his skull feels full of cotton. A full night without sleep isn't an easy thing to remember.

"I think," he says quietly, "we need to go home first."

So they do. It's not an easy journey back, full of impromptu breakfast theft and a lot of running and more than a little getting lost... But soon enough they're making their way over wobbly wooden bridges between windows and collapsing down onto the blanketed floor of their room.

As much as Mukuro would no doubt like to, there's simply no way that the three of them can devote every single day or night to trailing their new lead to the Outsider. Supplies are things they still need to make sure they never run out of, and the jewelry they have left to pawn isn't infinite. So, in some measure, they continue to live their lives as they always have... just with the occasional shift in schedule when Chikusa is positive that they can waste a day without worry.

On the days they can afford to spend snooping about and following after their new target, they learn many things bit by bit. While the man they trail doesn't work at any of the slaughterhouses, he works near enough at a pub that all the workers frequent. He delivers food and, when he thinks no one is looking, filches still bloody bones out from barrels and boxes and carts. His altar is not his secret alone, for the three of them watch as a few others of the apartment slip down into it to pray desperately. As far as Chikusa can tell, nothing ever answers their pleas.

More intriguingly, after scattered instances of stalking that sometimes take up a whole day or night, they find that their mark often ventures far away from home and work. It's not near any of the slaughterhouses, but rather a different district entirely. For all that he's poured over maps, both secondhand and that he's been able to find in their collection, Chikusa himself doesn't realize it one day until Ken speaks up. "I wonder what he's goin' into the Distillery District for?"

"Distillery District?" Mukuro asks curiously, and Ken rapidly nods his head.

"Yeah! There's a whiskey distillery around here. Heard it from an uncle of mine." Right after he says it, however, Ken gives a jolt and tightens his hand around Chikusa's. "We gotta be careful- the Bottlestreet Gang is around here," he says, voice hushed as they move through the streets. "They're really tough- I was always bein' told not to go in the alleys around here. They won't care if we're kids or not."

Instead of being scared, Mukuro's eyes just shine bright. "Interesting," he says, the exact opposite of what Chikusa himself is thinking. "I wonder why he'd be going to a place where there's a dangerous gang?"

"There's other things in this district too," Chikusa reminds him quietly, even as he squeezes Ken's back hand to reassure him. "Don't the Overseers live near here...? And I think rich people live around here too. Gangs are everywhere, so..."

"Yeah, but they're not as bad as the Bottlestreet Gang." Ken grits his teeth together, with all the stubbornness his small frame is capable of. "Not a one of 'em."

"Well, knowing the Overseers live near here is also intriguing," Mukuro hums. "What else do you two know?"

Wracking his brain, Chikusa desperately tries to recall all the important sounding names his parents had mentioned another lifetime ago. He's having no luck and is about to admit as such when Ken suddenly speaks up. "Oh yeah, I think there's a whorehouse here."

Chikusa chokes at the exact same time that Mukuro bursts into loud cackling laughter that draws the stares of everyone else on the whole street. Hastily, the three of them duck to the side, huddling together on the steps of some house or another while Ken protests their reactions with "It's true!"

"Ken!" Chikusa hisses, face aflame and Mukuro's choked giggles not helping. "You can't just say that!"

"But it's true!" Ken whines again, as if that's all that needs to be said. "That's what it is! I've heard everybody else talk about it!"

"You've heard adults talk about it."

For a moment, the two of them are at an impasse as they stare at each other with Ken's cheeks puffed out and Chikusa's own a burning crimson. To the side, Mukuro's giggles start to slow and he wipes the tears from his eyes. A pity that is right when Ken says, sullenly, "This is why you can't ever read to the end of the Prince of Tyvia."

Mukuro's renewed burst of cackling just about hides Chikusa's outraged response or how he lunges right for Ken.

"There there," Mukuro wheezes out eventually. Tears of mirth have made his face wet, his flush shiny as a cherry, but he seems almost genuinely happy as he reaches over to separate them. Chikusa has Ken's cheeks pinched between his fingers, the blond sticking his tongue out daringly from between his teeth, and Mukuro really has to work to get him to let go. "Let's calm down. I can't see where our lead has gone anymore."

It's true. Hands swinging back down to his sides, Chikusa peeks out from where the three of them have huddled up at. The sunny street has plenty of people on it, although it's not the kind of bustling throng that's near places like the Hounds Pit Pub, but their mark isn't any of them. His shoulders slump a little bit. "I guess today is a waste then..."

"Who says!" Bumping up against him, bony shoulders knocking, Ken grins excitedly for all his worry not that long ago. "We've never gone this far from home before! I bet we can find all sorts of stuff and new pawners and stuff."

"Weren't you just getting worked up about gangs...?"

Mukuro's hand settles on Chikusa's shoulder, and he wipes at his face with the other one while still smiling in amusement. "Then we'll just have to be careful," he says simply. "Ken's right. Why not make the best out of this situation? Now we know he comes here at all."

While he's not really sure, there's no arguing with Mukuro and Ken once they've decided to join forces. Sighing, Chikusa trails along behind them, keeping an eye out for anyone strange or a little too roughed up. Admittedly, that's more than a couple of people including themselves, but he does his best. Fortunately, perhaps because they're so close to the Abbey which is discouraging enough for things in broad daylight, nothing really happens. They make their way through the alleys and side streets carefully, scrounging through trash and large dumpsters. Not glamorous work, or pleasant by any stretch of the imagination, but necessary. Quiet, innocuous, Chikusa is often left to be a lookout just in case.

That's what he's doing when the woman shows up.

Other people might ignore the old woman who starts coming up the road, her back hunched and her graying demeanor making her almost blend into the stone streets. Chikusa watches her carefully, because there's something not quite right. It takes a couple of minutes for him to piece it together: her slow careful steps, how she ignores the people around her, and, once she's not so far away, the two utterly pale spots in her face that should be colorful eyes. Without thinking, Chikusa starts to regulate his breath. It's an old trick he'd learned before he can remember, and one he does on instinct now. It's harder than people think to breathe quietly, to inhale through the nose with no sniffles and to exhale through the mouth without it grinding against teeth or tongue. But when done right, he's less than air, less than a ghost.

It was how he'd hid in corners while servants gossiped and in plain sight while his parents passed him by despite the books in his hands.

No one has ever found him before when he's gone so quiet like this before. Yet, to his surprise, the old woman doesn't pass him by like her eyes and his quiet says she should. Instead, she comes to a slow stop right in front of him, and smiles right in his direction. Even as he stiffens in surprise, something in the back of his brain rattles about danger. Quieter, but just as bad as when a man had held a knife up with the point held in Ken's direction.

"My, what a good quiet boy you are," she says, voice creaking from the weight of her age. "What's a good boy like you doing in such scary parts of town?"

Out of nowhere, sharp as a hagfish's fang, he's struck with the memories of parties his parents used to hold. As per their wishes, he had been quiet then, too, the perfect obedient child who did his best to never embarrass them and was trotted out like a prized wolfhound for his troubles. Something in their tones had been like hers is now: all spread honey yet with a strange aftertaste beneath it. Even younger, he had realized that the honey was only ever put there to hide the more truthful thing beneath it. The more dangerous thing.

The old woman before him is very dangerous.

His fingers curl uneasily at his side, wanting to fetch the knife from his bag, but he doesn't dare and for different reasons than that he's in public and attacking old women is frowned upon. "I'm waiting for my friends," he answers, which isn't a lie. "May I ask what you're doing, ma'm?"

Either his manners or his indulgence of the conversation seems to please her, because her withered thin lips twist into a satisfied smile. "Why, I live here, my dear." She raises a hand and points down the street, her eyes still blank and unseeing. "Although it's such a trial, I must say, living all on my lonesome with no one to help a helpless old lady."

Something isn't right here, a conversation he doesn't want to see through to the end, but Chikusa goes along with it politely. "That's too bad, ma'm. There's really no one?"

"Well.... There was a nice darling bit of help," she sighs, "but I'm afraid he's gone and been a bad clumsy. Unfortunately, he has a bit of grocery something that your dear Granny needs so very badly. Won't you be good and get it for me?"

Chikusa wants to refuse. It's on the tip of his tongue, spurred on by the uneasy feeling in the back of his mind. Yet before he can muster the nerve to do so, Mukuro's voice speaks up from behind him. "Is it just groceries, then?" Looking back, Chikusa watches as the other boy and Ken come out from the alleyway with their bags a little fuller. Mukuro's gaze has a sharp interest about it as he looks at the old lady, and Ken's matches it for wariness. As Mukuro steps closer, in front of him and the old woman, Chikusa feels a sense of relief. It's better to hide behind Mukuro and let him handle all of this.

The old woman's head cocks, quick, sharp, bird-like, but she's only quiet for a moment as she takes in this new voice. Chikusa wonders if she actually hadn't heard him or if it's all an act. After all, she'd heard him. "Oh, of course, nothing more than that," she says, far too sugar sweet. "I'll even give such good boys like yourselves some treats, to make up for the trouble."

Mukuro's head tilts slightly, and Chikusa follows his gaze to her hands: covered by ratty gloves save for the very tips of her filthy fingers. "Well, I think we can do that much," he says after a beat. "Could you tell us where he is, then? So that we can get the groceries from him."

"Oh, you should find him somewhere near John Clavering Boulevard," she says, pleased as anything. "Once you're done, won't you come find me on Endoria Street?"

"Of course," Mukuro responds. "We'll get your groceries to you as quick as we can. C'mon, you guys." That gets Chikusa's attention, and he can see Ken perk up as well to the side. Not once has the other boy ever said something so casual, instead referring to them by their names. Always their proper names, too, no nicknames. As they all take their leave, Chikusa turns his head to watch the old woman toddle off on her way. Frowning a little, he leans in close to Mukuro.

"I thought we were getting things, or looking for that guy?"

"Change of plans," Mukuro murmurs, sounding thoughtful. "Something about her is off, right?" Turning a little, he looks back towards Ken. "I don't suppose you've heard anything about strange old ladies, have you?"

Ken is still frowning, fidgeting as if there's an itch somewhere but he doesn't know how to scratch it. "I mean.... Coulda been Granny Rags, maybe?"

What a name. "Who?" Chikusa asks, brow furrowing. Still, he can't deny it's a name that fits the old lady, if it's really her.

"All my cousins used to say that she was a witch who could curse you." In contrast to his words, Ken shrugs carelessly, irreverent. "My aunt would tell them off all the time. Said they were just messin' with an old bat who lost her marbles ages ago." A common enough story, simple, and Chikusa believes it easily enough. If Ken knows something about the streets, it's usually true. Why would he ever doubt it?

Mukuro only hums. "A lot of people who are called witches often aren't," he says. "But sometimes there's more to them than what we think. If nothing else, we didn't-"

"Move! The Overseers have gotten an apostate!"

Their heads snap in the direction of the voice and, before he knows it, Chikusa is running alongside Mukuro and Ken. There aren't too many people here, but there's enough that they all have to peer around longer legs and shove their heads inbetween clustered together bodies. Once the Overseers come into view, walking down the middle of the street, Mukuro hisses.

The man being dragged along by the Overseers is the same man they've been trailing for months.

Around them, people are muttering and whispering- gossip flows through the city like water whether spoken by the rich or poor. Times like this, it's just as important, and Chikusa strains his ears to pick out bits and pieces.

"...Come here a few times, always thought he was strange..."

"...My cousin said she found him in her boss's trash one night..."

"...John Clavering Boulevard, wonder what an Outsider worshiper was doing there..."

Eyes wide, Chikusa looks over to Mukuro and Ken. He only needs the one glance to tell they heard what he has, too. Immediately, all of the same mind, they pull away from the crowd and hurry down the street as fast as they can without being too suspicious. "She knew," Chikusa whispers, leaning in close to the other boys. "She had to have known!"

Mukuro doesn't disagree. Instead, he gnaws on the inside of his cheek as the gears in his brain churn. After only a few seconds, he speaks up. "Ken, go to John Clavering Boulevard, see if there's anything the Overseers didn't pick up!" Nodding, Ken bolts off without question, and Mukuro draws Chikusa's attention back to him. "C'mon, we're going to that apartment!"

Their pace picks up, and Chikusa finds the breath to speak up. "What about the apartment?"

"The Overseers are going to find out where he lives! We need to see if he's left anything there, and pick the basement clean before they go and destroy it all!"

Neither of them know the city as well as Ken does, but they know it well enough. Chikusa isn't sure how long they run or how many shortcuts they take before they're stumbling into the apartment doors. The street outside clatters with activity, and the apartments above their heads buzzes with the same, but no one is there to see the two boys slip into the basement.

Save for minor differences, the pile of assorted boxes and garbage is right where it's always been, and neither of them bother to waste any time moving it neatly like they have in the past. Together, they shove it aside hastily, just enough for their malnourished frames to slip into the cracks. "Leave the bones," Mukuro hisses as he lunges straight for the rune on the altar. "Just the charms- we can get plenty of bones later!"

There was never any need to tell Chikusa twice. He grabs the charms, shoving them haphazardly into his bag and hoping he doesn't break them- there's no time to be delicate when they're on a time limit. As they rush to shove everything back in front of the hole, Chikusa wonders if the Overseers will notice. Will they realize that this shallow attempt of a hiding place has been disrupted? Will they be suspicious of how empty the shrine is? The thoughts gnaw at him even as their feet pound up one set of stairs, then another, and another. It's only when they're stumbling to a stop in front of the door, his lungs empty and his mind distant, that a problem occurs to him. "We don't have the key," he hisses to Mukuro.

His hands are digging through is pockets, his bag, anywhere- "It's fine," Mukuro whispers back, tugging hairpins out from the fruity mess that is his hair. "I can get through this! Just watch the stairs!"

It's an order, plain and simple, and Chikusa doesn't argue with it. He just stays still for half a second, unsure of what his own body is feeling, before he suddenly finds himself playing lookout. Every time he glances back, he can't entirely tell what Mukuro is doing with his hands. All he knows is that no one comes up the stairs, and Mukuro is soon gesturing for him to come over. Every time he's ever smirked, it's always been some level of smug, but it's worse than usual as he lays his hand onto the door knob. "I told you I could," he says quietly, opening it.

Chikusa doesn't have time to be awed or impressed. He merely rushes in, and Mukuro locks the door behind them.

Frankly, he's not sure of what they were expecting. While they've been trailing their mark for ages, enough to know where he lives, they've never managed to peek into his apartment proper. Circumstances hadn't allowed for it. Yet the place is.... mundane. Normal. Chikusa has never been inside a place that wasn't either the richest of homes or utterly in ruins- no inbetween. So the dirty-but-only-a-little-bit floors, and the plain table in the corner with no damage... It's all strange to him. At the same time, that makes it harder to figure out what they're actually looking for.

Chikusa is fairly certain that Granny Rags, if that was her, wasn't actually thinking of normal groceries.

"What if it's not here?" Chikusa asks, breathless voice distant to his own ears as he digs through the cupboards. "What if he had it with him when the Overseers got him?" Even normal groceries, in the hands of an Overseer worshiper, would probably get burned to ashes. Everything in this apartment might, if the Overseers get their way.

Mukuro's expression is blocked as he ducks his head into an ice box, but Chikusa can hear enough stubbornness that it doesn't matter. "It'll be here, somewhere." He sounds so sure... The exact opposite of Chikusa.

The front room and meager kitchen offer nothing that might pass as "groceries", normal or otherwise, so they retreat into the single bedroom that the apartment possesses. Just as dirty as the rest of the place, maybe a little dirtier, the sheets less clean and a couple of bottles balanced precariously on a bedside table. Together, the pair of them tear through his closet, the desk, everything, until luck finally smiles on them when Chikusa glances underneath the rickety bed. A small pile of things wrapped up in brown paper and twine have been shoved all the way to the back, not easily seen unless someone is looking, and their immediate future doesn't seem as dark.

It only takes a few seconds to shove everything into their bags. They've looked over everything, and everything hasn't gotten them much. Could they be wrong? Chikusa knows it's a possibility. However, they don't have time to make sure they're right. They can only scurry out of the apartment, himself taking watch again as Mukuro fiddles with the locks as if they were never there. Even as distant from himself as he is, Chikusa can still hear one thing above all else as they clomp down the stairs: the pounding of his heart, beating a demanding rhythm against the inside of his skull.

They made it. Somehow.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mukuro's gleeful and satisfied expression blurs, his sharp smile a white sickle to Chikusa's vision. He's saying something, words muffled beneath the beat of his heart. If he wanted, he knows, he could make it out if only he tried. Chikusa doesn't try. He just lets himself be guided out of the apartment and down the street, resisting the urge to close his eyes.

A good thing he doesn't. Ahead of them, down the street, figures all in black with leering white faces turn the corner.

Immediately, Mukuro takes his hand and tugs him to the side with their backs to wall. Chikusa lets him, and lets himself close his eyes tight. It's hard to focus, hard to get himself back, but he does his best. Sound of his heart, down to the feel of it in his chest, the way it travels down his hand and rebounds off of Mukuro's grip... Bit by bit, piece by piece. Breathe in, breathe out. The sound of the city starts to overtake the thunderous pumping of his heart.

Even with his efforts, however, he still misses at least half of a conversation, and finally tunes in to Mukuro's voice, distant and strange to Chikusa's ears. "-errands, sir."

The Overseer's voice is twice as bad, warped, echoing, as if he's speaking to them through a hollow pipe instead of right there before them. Chikusa doesn't dare look up into the mask, instead staring a hole into one of the pockets on his jacket. "I see. Your assistance has been appreciated. I trust you both know your strictures well?"

Chikusa can't see Mukuro's face, isn't sure he could even if he looked directly at him, but he feels the other boy's hand tighten all the harder around his hand. Before Mukuro can say anything, Chikusa speaks up. At least, he's fairly certain it's his voice. It can't be anyone else's. "Restrict the Wandering Gaze that looks for some flashing thing that easily catch's a man's fancy in one moment, but calamity in the next. Restrict the Lying Tongue that is like a spark in a man's mouth. Restrict the Restless Hands, which quickly become the workmates of the Outsider. Restrict Roving Feet which love to trespass. Restrict the Rampant Hunger or the excess will rise up among you like a swarm, devouring everything wherever they go, even filth. Restrict the Wanton Flesh. Restrict an Errant Mind before it becomes fractious and divided."

He doesn't even have to think. The words come out a perfect recital, and the only way they could be more perfect is if he had a book before him from which to read the words. He could still do it even then, when he thinks about it.... But he doesn't believe he has to, not when the Overseer says, "Good, child. With boys such as you, the Outsider's influence in this city shall never last for long before the righteous smother it." And with that, he and his group turn on well polished heels to continue down the street. As for them? Mukuro tugs Chikusa along, hurrying through the streets and away into the alleys.

He at least waits for that long until he bursts out laughing.

Blinking away the blurriness that's still threatening his vision, Chikusa looks over to Mukuro. He's a little clearer, now, or at least he looks more as things should look and not strange. A brilliant rosiness has colored his cheeks, and he's laughing so hard that tears coat his face. "Can you believe he said that!?" he chokes out, covering his mouth as if that can hide his giggles. "Yes, we'll smother the Outsider's influence, us!" He doesn't explain further, paranoid even now, but his hand does carelessly gesture in the direction of their bags.

Well. It is pretty funny. Chikusa just wishes he could get his own voice to laugh. Instead, as he focuses on the feel of his lungs and the way his bag strap digs into his shoulder, he hoards it away to tell Ken, later. Maybe then he'll be able to laugh along with him.

They make it partially back to the Distillery District before Ken comes whirling around a corner, nearly crashing into them in a side street. "Kakipii!" Wide eyed and head bumping against Chikusa's chest, he looks up at him and immediately frowns. "Kakipii?" Chikusa says nothing, only reaches out to find Ken's hand which meets his halfway.

"Did you find anything?" Mukuro asks, drawing the blond's attention back to him, and Ken shakes his head.

"The place was flooded worse than home, but with Overseers!" he says as he steps into line with the two of them, still holding on tightly to Chikusa's hand. Mukuro's strides are long and confident compared to Ken's shorter ones and Chikusa's slow gait. "They kept yelling at me to go away, or else they'd drag me to my ma. But a couple of times when I was quiet, I could get away with sneakin' around and they wouldn't notice me and I could hear 'em talking to each other. Apparently that guy has been sneakin' around a lot and was tryin' to get someone's blood."

"Gross," Chikusa says quietly, even as his skin itches with the memory of blood drying on it. At least he's feeling anything at all.

"He should have just stayed at that bar and waited for a brawl to break out," Mukuro drawls, unimpressed. "Although I guess it would be pretty suspicious if he started holding someone's bleeding face over a jar. Still, to go so close to the Overseers..." He looks over to Chikusa, nodding at his bag. "What did we get from the apartment, anyway?"

It's a little difficult, opening the bag when its on the same side as his only free hand, but Chikusa doesn't dare let go of Ken. They come to a stop near a dumpster, away from prying eyes, and he pulls out the first package to hand over to Mukuro. It feels strange and bulky in Chikusa's grip, paper muffling the true shape of the item, and he has just about as much of an idea of what's inside as Ken does. Silently, he watches Mukuro work through the twine and folds upon folds of brown paper until...

"Eugh." He recoils a little, and so does Chikusa at the sight of a dead rat there- so stiff that its head doesn't twitch a single bit. In contrast, Ken leans closer and whistles.

"Wow! He can't have been keepin' it that long, or else it'd look a lot grosser."

"No doubt." Mukuro promptly gets to wrapping the rat back up again; the smell must be getting right into his nose. "I think we'll keep from unwrapping anything else. No more nasty surprises. Granny Rags can deal with the rest of this."

"If it's hers," Chikusa murmurs. Finishing his task of wrapping the rat up again, Mukuro's eyes spark as he reaches over to tuck it into Chikusa's bag.

"I don't think there can be any doubt. C'mon, let's keep going, or else we won't be able to get back home before sunset."

Endoria Street isn't a hard place to find, if you know the streets of the city, and Ken leads them to it easily although he is careful in case of gangs or Overseers. The former, they don't run into in the end. Chikusa would blame it on good luck, but he knows better. Most likely they don't want to deal with the roaming Overseers who are all on high alert and the annoyance interacting with them would bring. Anyone who pays even a little attention and has a halfway decent memory could recite the Seven Strictures to the Overseers' satisfaction, sure, only that might take forever. Best to just stay quiet and avoid them completely. Chikusa understands the sentiment. Soon enough, they're right on Endoria Street, peering up at buildings and passing by the waterfront.

"I suppose we should have asked for more specific instructions," Mukuro mutters, squinting at an apartment that's not half bad. That seems to be the general theme along the street: places that are rather nice, especially the closer the buildings get to the Overseers' territory. Yet in contrast, there are a couple of buildings that have seen the wear of time and, hanging close to Chikusa's shoulder, Ken cheerfully points out the places he knows.

"Maybe she lives at the Bitterleaf Almshouse?" Ken tries, saying the whole name right and proper, eyes half on Chikusa. "They take all sortsa people, like orphans, and crazy people."

"Ken," Chikusa says quietly, not quite disapproving, even as Mukuro's gaze flicks over it. "Were you reading the Shadow On Bitterleaf?"

"Nah, 'cuz that's all you do."

"Maybe not at the almshouse," Mukuro says, nudging them and directing their attention to a certain apartment not that far off, "but perhaps close enough." It's one of the less nice buildings, and a gaggle of kids that can't be too much younger than them hurry away from it, pointing and giggling. Mukuro glances back to Ken, raising an eyebrow. "You said people think Granny Rags is a witch, don't you?"

"Yeah, all over." Ken's nod is enthusiastic, to say the least.

"Then let's try over there."

No one answers the door when Ken first knocks, knuckles cracking along the wood. Chikusa glances around as they wait, expecting the three of them to be stared at for it but not finding many eyes on them at all. Besides the small group they saw only a few minutes earlier, there aren't too many kids about, and any adult on the streets has more important things to do then watch whatever they're doing. While he looks, he hears the click of a door, and turns back expecting to see the old woman. What he sees instead is Ken testing the door, unlocked, and poking his head in.

"Ken...."

"It's fine," Mukuro assures him, nudging Ken and then Chikusa inside. "She told us to drop them off, didn't she?"

She did, but that doesn't mean Chikusa likes the idea much more. Warily, he lets himself be herded in, and takes a long look at the place.

It's.... not that much different from other houses, at least Chikusa thinks so. There's a long simple hallway, leading to what looks like another room with a set of stairs that go upwards. To the left is a simple sitting room, filled with equally simple furniture. While it's all worn down, not as elegant as it could be in some other nice apartment, it's.... far less run down than the places in the Flooded District, including their own home.

Not that such a thing is much of a feat.

All three of them tread with caution, poking their noses through the sitting room and eventually going into the one in the back- a kitchen as it turns out. "Miss?" Mukuro calls up the stairs, one hand on the railing and voice tentatively polite. "Are you here?"

Ken's approach is much simpler. "HEY GRANNY WE GOT YOUR GROCERIES!" he bellows, right in the middle of the tiny kitchen and his head tossed back. Chikusa jumps nearly a foot in the air, his heart smashing against his ribcage, and even Mukuro hops five steps up the stairs with his knuckles gone white on the railing. They both stare, wide eyed, until Ken lowers his head again. "Maybe she's still rootin' around in garbage," he says.

"Maybe," Mukuro says dryly, easing up and coming down the stairs. "Ken?"

"Yeah?"

"Next time warn us before you break anyone's ears."

Calming down as well and firmly himself now, Chikusa lets out a breath. "Let's just... put the stuff down somewhere. We can come back later to make sure that this is even the right place. Okay?" It's a solid plan no one can really argue with, at least not with sunset approaching, so they all go together into the sitting room. It's the easiest place where no one will miss it, and besides... Who knows what it means to poke their noses too deeply into a witch's house. All three of them are clustered together as Chikusa and Mukuro pull things out from their bags, putting them on one of the armchairs while Ken watches in fascination. One package had a dead rat in it. Who knows what the others hold? When everything not theirs (well, more "not theirs" than usual) is set down, they all straighten up and turn around.

Right there in the middle of the room, hanging from a long string, is a bonecharm.

All three of them freeze.

"That wasn't there before," Ken says, head swiveling from side to side sharply, bristling worse than a spooked wolfhound. When Mukuro starts to reach for it, he immediately grabs the other boy's hand and whines. "Hey...!"

"It'll be fine," Mukuro says, confident, as if he knows everything, and pats Ken's hand off of him. When the blond finally retreats and it's clear that Chikusa won't do anything himself, he finishes reaching for the bonecharm. Nothing happens. There's no boom of thunder, no screams of the damned. He merely pulls it off its string, and takes it close. As Mukuro turns it over, a small folded piece of paper is seen tucked against the wire holding the charm together. Ken keeps watch as he unfolds it, displaying the words written there.

Good children get sweets and treats for helping dear Granny with her groceries. Come visit her sometime soon so she doesn't get lonely!

There's not a word from any of them. All they do is gather their things, Ken bristling as he guards their backs, and hurry out the front door. Silence keeps a hold on all of them as they go down the street, shoulders brushing, backs tense. It's only when they're finally out of the Distillery District, that Chikusa speaks up. "Are we going to come back?" he asks, eyes searching Mukuro's face carefully.

For a while, there's only the sound of their footsteps, barely audible as the city carries on noisily around them. "She knows more than she lets on," he says at last. "With that man captured by the Overseers, it would take ages for us to find someone else... and that shrine isn't safe to go to anymore. They'll definitely find it. So.... It's for the best."

Well. Maybe it is. Ken nods, accepting it easily, so it's up to Chikusa to ask, "How long will we do it?"

There's that spark again. "As long as necessary."