Chapter Text
When Kobeni was young, she watched her grandfather kill himself.
Her father was a drunkard and a gambler. She hardly remembered a time when he was sober, or came home with more money then he’d left with. Mother never fought him, never even tried, or maybe she never could. Ultimately the why’s didn’t really matter. With both parents incapable it had fallen upon their grandparents to raise her and her siblings. It wasn’t great, but it was good. Warm food, a decent education, a bed in which to lay her head. They were harsh, sure, but she never doubted their love for her.
Then one day, her grandfather had received a notice. It had been a lengthy scroll, neatly tied with an unfamiliar symbol sealed in the wax. She’d later learned it was a symbol of the local Yakuza.
They all watched him read it. Saw the way his face paled, lips trembling, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. A debt notice, her grandmother had muttered under her breath. Even to this day, Kobeni could never quite remember everything that was said, she was barely seven at the time and it wasn't like the details really mattered. Her father had fallen into a substantial debt, and was no longer capable of paying it off. As the next head of house, they expected her grandfather to pick up the slack. Her grandfather, upon reading the full totality of the debts her father had racked up and what they expected him to pay, had simply started to laugh.
Not a kind laugh mind you, but a broken one, full of none of the warmth he carried the whole time Kobeni had known him.
Then he pulled out his sword and gutted himself.
That memory had stuck with her for years, and only now did she truly understand it.
With red rimmed eyes blown wide, leaking tears like a waterfall. With pitiful, pointless platitudes pouring forth from her wobbling lips in an unending litany. With her back pressed into her chair, knees curled into her chest, arms tight around her ankles. Powerless in the face of such overwhelming fear and terror. She found all she could do was laugh. In spite of her hysteria, surrounded by more death than any person ought to know, she laughed.
This? This is what her life has come to?
She'd dared to dream once. Of an education. A charming prince or princess. A full belly and a warm fire. Even with Makima, early in their courting, she’d thought she might just achieve them.
What a joke. She was laughing. Hahaha! They could stop now! She was laughing! Ha ha, what a funny prank!!!
...
The rat still hadn’t moved.
Full of an unnatural stillness, it remained at the center of the table, ignorant of or ignoring the others. It didn’t twitch, it didn’t tremble, it hardly seemed like it was breathing. If it hadn’t been looking directly at her she might have even thought it dead. That thought made a shudder run down her spine. The way those concentric red and yellow rings remained locked onto her own, unwilling or unable to look away, she was reminded that this would hardly be the first time Makima had controlled the dead.
She’d had nightmares about those eyes, always watching, always knowing. Every night, every day, every hour since the moment of their meeting. Makima haunted her worse than any ghoul or ghost. She would close her eyes but there was no guarantee they wouldn’t follow, as they always did in her dreams and nightmares.
Then came the whispers.
‘Makima. Makima. Makima,” it echoed in her head. The voice was pressing, pounding, desperate. It spoke louder and louder and louder till it was all but screaming in her mind. The snake beneath her skin, ever the voice's companion, began to writhe at its words. She felt a lurch in her gut, a tug upwards, and she thought for a moment she might vomit. The urge was there, the roiling tides of her stomach churning foul once more.
“How curious.” Her voice said, not in her head but pressing down upon it, an unfathomable pressure, like the moment before a lightning strike. She watched as the rat took its cue, lowering itself onto all fours and padding towards her side of the table. “Did you gather them for me, pet?”
The room began to shake once more.
A veritable flood of grey and black rats poured out of every crack and crevice in the room. They washed over the floor in an unending tide, swelling out from the floorboards and even dropping from the roof. They left a gap around the table itself, only broken by five lines which converged in the center. The others shouted in alarm (not master Kishibe, never him) as the rats began to pool beneath their feet. Kobeni didn’t, she knew what was coming. Trapped, she was powerless but to watch as the rats began to rise from the floor.
The horrible mass rose slowly, hundreds of rats squeaking and screeching, clawing over each other in a brutal scramble to an ever shifting summit. She could feel her lungs heaving. Feel the panic in her blood, the way her body quakes as the angel of her nightmares finally begins to take shape. She shuts her eyes, moves to turn her head away but-
Fingers.
Soft, gentle, they grasp the edge of her chin. She knows she should be pleading, begging, consoling; anything to stem the consequences. But the moment her lips move the words die on her tongue. It didn’t matter. She’s too late. Makima tilts her head before those fingers spread out over her cheeks and begin to press, her face squished as her lips are forced together. She won’t look. Won’t look. Can’t look. Eyes pressed closed as tightly as she can manage and-
“Kobeni…” She hiccups at the sound of her voice. “Kobeni, dear, could you open your eyes please?” She desperately wants to deny her, but her body knows better.
They flutter open.
Even through the tears, Makima is just as beautiful as the last time Kobeni saw her. The hypnotic swirl of her eyes capturing her own once more. They look down at her warm, soft, assessing. She shudders at the way they move quickly over her form, pausing only briefly on her stomach, before settling on her face. Her expression is calm, lips pulled in that small smirk that always seems to be there. Her vibrant red hair is done up in its usual braid, the tail of which dangles over her left shoulder as she leans forward. The hand on Kobeni’s cheeks tilts her head left, then right, before letting it come back to center. A small hum escapes her lady.
“Kobeni.” Makima breaths. “I’m so glad you're okay.”
Kobeni chokes on her own tears. It's an ugly sound. Makima doesn’t seem to care. Instead she simply raises her hand from her cheek to the top of her head and gives it a few pats. Kobeni winces at the contact, she can’t help it. Every touch feels like a promise of violence not yet fulfilled. She feels the other hand glide down, pressing low against the swell of her midriff, and the voice sings.
She waits for something more to follow, but it never does, instead the hand retreats as Makima chooses to face the others in the room.
Free from the pressure of her gaze, Kobeni takes the opportunity to do the same. Tendo is the first she turns to. She seems concerned, eyes constantly flickering between Makima and Kobeni herself, but the grit of her teeth betrays her frustration. Just behind her the hunter, Quanxi, is calm. Her face betrays nothing, gives nothing, just a cold dispassionate look as she takes in the Lady of Kyoto. Across from them the man, Yutaro- Tendo had called him- has gone white as a sheet. His gaze remains firmly locked on Makima, breath frozen in his chest.
“Well.” Makima begins. “How nice to see you all here.”
She says it kindly. Too kind, really, suspiciously so. Kobeni can’t help but flinch at that tone, because she knows it. Has been on the receiving end of it on more than enough occasions. It’s a tone of polite disappointment, like a mother scolding their child, but with Makima it was never so simple. Kobeni can no longer see her face, but she knows her wife’s eyes are somewhat narrowed. It’s the look she gives before people are made to disappear. She’s never dared to ask the why’s or how’s.
“Makima.” “Lady Makima.” Master Kishibe and Quanxi respond at the same time. Kishibe sounds bored as ever, but Quanxi lightens her voice into something more respectful than the dispassionate tone she’d been using earlier.
Michiko Tendo remains stubbornly silent. Yutaro looks too scared to say anything at all.
Makima doesn’t deign to respond to either of them. Instead she moves. Two steps to Kobeni’s left, directly beside Tendo. She bends over, not too low, but just enough for her head to be eye level with Kobeni’s guard.
“Tendo-kun.” She says, tone of voice betraying nothing. “You’ve been quite the thorn in my side.” Tendo grunts, but otherwise doesn’t respond. “But I suppose I should commend your sense of duty.” Makima tilts her head, just a bit, before her gaze slides up to the woman behind the chair.
Kobeni doesn’t know what metal Quanxi is made from, but it must be sturdy for the woman to meet Makima’s gaze and not even flinch. The older woman tightens her hand on Tendo’s shoulder, but otherwise remains stoic as Makima rights herself.
“I suppose thanks are in order. You’ve both done wonderfully.” Makima says, an implied smile is clear in her voice. Kobeni doesn't think she actually smiled though.
Makima doesn't really...smile.
The younger Tendo’s face flashes with confusion but pauses when Makima pulls a small bag from her side. She holds it aloft, thumbs the side for a moment, before tossing it towards Quanxi. The older woman catches it, the jingle of coins ringing clearly in the otherwise silent room. She waited patiently, watching as Quanxi pulled on the draw string before tipping the bag into her palm. Three oval shaped gold pieces fall out. Quanxi eyes them for a moment, weighing them up and down, before carefully tipping them back into the bag and tying it closed.
“Thank you, ma’am.” She says as she attaches the bag to her belt.
A pleased hum escaping her, Makima at last turns to Yutaro. The male samurai is sweating, eyes locked on Makima, a small gulp going down as she approaches him. He lowers his head in a bow as she does.
“Lady Makima.” He begins, voice the perfect picture of respect. “Allow me to-to apologise for my acti-”
“This is how you repay my kindness, then?” Makima interrupts, sounding almost bored.
The man blinks, processing her words. “I don’t-”
“For the better part of five years I have given your caravan the privilege of royal preference.” Makima continues, voice cutting off Yutaro’s own. “Silks, tea, gold, all from my lands flows through your hands before any other, and still you would betray me?”
Yutaro gulps. Whatever words he might have had, apologies he could have given, swallowed back under the weight of Makima’s gaze. Still, he must answer. Kobeni knows well enough that if he doesn’t Makima will simply make him answer.
“It was not my intention to betray you.” He finally manages.
Makima hums. “So it was not your caravan that carried my wife and her guard from the palace? These are not your men who litter the floor?” She waves to the wider room as she does so.
“They-they are.” He responds, head lowering at the admission. “But-!”
“But nothing.” Makima interrupts for a third time. “You betrayed my trust, and now you lie to my face.” Turning to master Kishibe she raises a brow. “Is this all you have to offer me? Your first students in decades, and they comprise a liar and a cheat?”
Master Kishibe pauses his drinking to meet her gaze. Kobeni notes that there is nothing behind those eyes. No mercy, no forgiveness, no empathy. Just the boredom of a drunkard and the mildest itch of irritation at being pulled from his drink. Yutaro begins to shake as master Kishibe gives him a quick once over, the air thick and heavy with his fear, enough nearly to coat the tongue.
“If you caught him, then he is no student of mine.” He drawls as he pours some sake into a nearby cup. “He wronged you. You know our laws. His fate is yours alone to decide.”
“Master-!” Yutaro tries to shout, but his voice cuts into a choke before he really gets a chance.
Makima’s sword rests under his chin. The second to do so in less than ten minutes. Unlike Quanxi she doesn’t bother drawing blood, but keeps the blade close enough for the threat to be understood nonetheless. Kobeni knows what is to follow. Knows in the smile that suddenly crosses Makima’s lips, in the sudden tug in her gut. She wants to close her eyes, wants to run, but she can’t. With slow, practised movements, Makima brings her hands together.
The air fills with a pressure she can’t name. She watches as the man's eyes roll back in his head. His hands go lax around the handle of his blade. Then, her ears pop. There’s a sickening crunch and splat. Kobeni shrieks, Tendo shouts in alarm.
Where Yutaro had been a moment prior, now little remains but an unrecognisable puddle of blood and gore. His eye patch loosely floating in the viscera.
“Yutaro!” Tendo calls, shoving against her mother's hand on her shoulder. Quanxi grunts before forcing her daughter back into her chair.
Makima brings her hand up to brush a bit of the blood spray off her face. Kishibe, having apparently found another bottle, takes a sip of his sake. Kobeni just…watches.
The guilt sits ugly in her stomach. The man had helped her, offered her assistance without even a question, and now he pools beneath her feet. She hadn’t even tried to speak on his behalf (not that Makima had given anyone the chance).
“You’re a monster!” Tendo continues, oblivious or uncaring of the danger she’s in. “How could you-he didn’t even-”
“He was a traitor.” Makima interrupts. “A dishonourable man who orchestrated and abetted in the kidnapping of my wife.” Her voice is cold. Totally devoid of care or concern. “You should be thanking me for solving this particular problem for you.”
Tendo snarls out a, “Fuck you,” and before anyone can stop her, lobs a ball of spit directly into Makima’s face.
Kobeni squeaks. The bottle in Kishibe’s hand pauses half way back to his lips. Quanxi’s hand tightens harder on Tendo’s shoulder as she edges herself forward. For her part, Makima carefully wipes away the spit, not even a twitch in her eye as she turns to face the two Tendo women. Kobeni’s breath hitches and before her mind can catch up she reaches out, snagging one of Makima’s hands in her own. Her wife’s eyes cut to her, the force of it makes her swallow, but she doesn’t relent.
“Please…” She whispers. She's not quite sure what she's begging for, but it doesn't seem to matter.
Something unsaid passes between them before the pressure recedes. One of Makima’s hands tangles with her own as she once more turns to face the two other women.
“I suppose you’ll be wanting to return home then?” Makima asks, as though she hadn't just brutally murdered someone right in front of them.
“I plan to charter the first ship out of Okayama that I can find, ma’am.” Quanxi answers, voice calm, careful, respectful in the way someone in trouble knows they need to be.
Makima hums. Then she squeezes Kobeni's hand again.
“Perhaps I could change your mind? As you can see I find myself down a noble fighter at the moment, I would certainly be more than willing to compensate you for your service.”
“No thank you, ma’am.” Quanxi responds swiftly. “My wives and I are eager to see this one returned home.” She shoves at Tendo’s shoulder for emphasis.
Makima feels Kobeni’s hand in her own, softly squeezing back in a gentle rhythm. She lets the warmth of her wife's hand spread, savours the feeling for a moment, and lets the quick flash of frustration pass. Still, her demonic instincts growl at the clear rejection of her authority. She's being polite, for Kobeni's sake.
She doesn’t need to ask. They all know it.
“I see.” She says, letting her tone fall flat, almost feigning disinterest. “How…unfortunate.”
She watches the way Quanxi’s throat bobs, not much, barely even noticeable to the human eye. Makima does not have human eyes. She sniffs, lets the air flow up and then down into her lungs, and relishes the fear she detects. Oh, the old hunters do an excellent job of hiding it, but it's there. For all her bluster, all her outward strength, Quanxi is terrified. Perhaps not of Makima herself, she very much doubts anything could legitimately scare the old hunter, but certainly of what Makima could do. Especially to the young woman at her side, and to those not present in the room.
Kobeni squeezes her hand again and Makima tries not to let it show just how much it affects her.
“Perhaps you would like some time to think it over?” Makima offers, diplomatically. “You could join us on our return to Kyoto…?” She hangs the offer, letting her words sit heavy between them, allowing time for the low lying threat to build. She watches Quanxi subtly swallow.
She’s not asking, they all know this.
“No thank you, ma’am.” Quanxi again refuses.
Makima doesn’t even attempt to hide her contempt at this answer. “Well then. I suppose if you’re settled there’s nothing I can do to change your mind. A shame.” She can feel Kishibe’s eyes boring into the back of her head. She pointedly ignores the sensation. “You’re free to go then.”
Quanxi blinks at her. Her one eye widening slightly before narrowing in suspicion.
“I can…go? As agreed?” She questions, disbelief evident in her tone.
“Of course. The terms of our contract have run their course. You are free to leave Japan and return home with your wives. I won’t stop you.” Makima pauses at that, bringing a finger up to her chin as though in thought. “Not that I could, mind you, you were very clear.”
Quanxi narrows her eye for a moment longer before relaxing. “Thank you for your business, Makima-san.” She says, lowering into a polite bow. “It was a pleasure working with you.” Makima lowers her head in a polite nod in response but doesn’t speak.
She watches the old woman rise from her bow, Quanxi is quick to pack up her things. Her sword returns to its sheath at her hip, its hilt bumping lightly into her newly acquired gold. Makima watches her like a hawk. She watches as she pushes the younger Tendo into a stand, left hand tight on her arm. “Come along, Michiko.” She says.
The younger Tendo clearly wants to push back. Makima can see it. Those loose threads of fear hanging off her, they sing so beautifully, the fear of control. Fear always tastes good, but her fear? That very thing which brought her into this world? It’s like a drug. It sits on her tongue sweeter than any candy, richer than any meat, a feast she could devour for eternity and never be satisfied.
When the younger Tendo stubbornly refuses, Quanxi simply throws her child over her shoulder like a sack of rice. The younger woman screeches profanities, swears on every god that comes to mind, kicks and punches and squirms, all to no avail. Her mother is stronger and faster, this was true even before she became a hybrid. It’s likely even old Kishibe would struggle to fight her now, a toss up over the actual victor She can’t help the bolt of pleasure that comes from the thought of how vicious that fight would be. Makima could watch them rip each other apart for hours. It’s a tempting prospect.
"Makima." Kobeni squeaks. "My hand..." A single blink, that's all Makima shows. She lets the hand in Kobeni's own relax from the strangle hold she'd put it in. Still, Kobeni doesn't pull away. Makima doesn't turn, but enjoys the sensation of Kobeni's lips pressing against the now open palm of her hand. It's deliciously distracting. Not enough to compromise though. Kobeni is tempting, all likely knows what she is attempting to do, a bold strategy for one usually so meek. Offering herself as bait to let the other two escape. Makima will have to ravish her later, as a reward or punishment she's yet to decide.
Quanxi has already started to move.
Another thing is, people often forget how fast Makima is. Assume her tendency to play the long game makes her lazy and slow. She never bothers to correct them. After all, unassuming prey is much easier to catch.
Faster than anyone in the room can register, Makima’s hand snaps out. “Of course,” Makima intercedes, hand wrapping around Tendo’s wrist like the jaws of a bear trap, “the young Ms. Tendo will have to remain with me.”
In an instant Quanxi has her sword out, steel tip pressing against Makima’s chin. “Let her go.” The old hunter says, still cool, still masked with calm, but edged with something…delectable. “We have a contract.”
For a moment Makima has to marvel at the switch, at how quickly the polite bounty hunter melts away and the Khan of Khans emerges. Her eyes are cool, voice firm, face the perfect frame of a killer. Her stance is perfect, sword masterfully angled, Makima has no doubt it would not take much effort for the woman to slit her throat. She almost wants to let her try.
If nothing else, she could give Yoru this, she honed a blade better than any other.
Across the table old Kishibe sighs. He’s managed to collect a fair few sake bottles in his short time. Despite that, it’s hard to tell if he’s more or less drunk than when she’d arrived. “I told you.” He says, slowly rising from his chair. “Makima was never going to let you go.”
Makima tilts her head, letting the steel beneath her throat tease against the column of her throat. “I have every intention of honouring our contract.” She answers, unprompted. “Quanxi is perfectly free to collect her wives and leave the islands.”
“We have a deal.” Quanxi retorts. “That means me and my daughter are free to go.” She attempts to pull her daughter free, yet Makima’s hands remain. Steel would bend easier, concrete crack under less pressure than what Makima is capable of producing.
“How curious…” Makima hums. “What makes a family then? Blood?” She’s pulled Tendo free of her mother by this point, and with free movement leans in to sniff at the woman's neck before returning to center. “I sense none of your blood in her.”
“She’s mine by right of claim.” Quanxi answered quickly. “She is as I say she is. Blood has nothing to do with it.”
Makima finally smiles. It’s a disconcerting thing, she knows. Her Kobeni had once described it as the smile of someone who had never learned, and so imitated from others, which Makima supposed wasn’t that far from the truth. It was a wholly unnatural urge she would admit, and yet even in this moment, she did so willingly.
“And yet,” she drawls, “not even once has she called you mother.” She relishes in the cruel realization that comes over the other woman, and so tightens the screws. “In fact, she has spent much of the last few hours arguing the opposite, isn’t that right Tendo-san?”
She watches, unblinking, as Tendo swallows. Her fear is more palpable now, she reeks of it. Her heartbeat thump, thump, thumps against the pad of Makima’s thumb. She’d almost forgotten this feeling, the sensation of warm blood on her skin and a victim in hand, it scratched at an itch deep in her mind.
“Not that it matters.” She continues. “Our deal was clear. Upon the termination of your employment, I would allow you and your wives to leave without pursuit. I fully intend to honour that deal.”
To her right, she watches Kishibe shake his head. “You weren't thinking clearly.” His voice was a cold monotone, one single finger raised. “Rule number one: don’t get distracted. You taught me that.”
Quanxi growled, low and deep, and for the first time Makima felt she could truly say that Tendo was her mothers daughter. She watched the way the old Khan’s eyes darted around the room; from her, to Michiko, to Kishibe, to Kobeni. She was trapped, just as Makima wanted.
Slowly, oh so slowly, the sword pulled away from her neck. “What do you want?” The question came out bitter and low, defeated even.
“Make a contract with me.” Makima answered without hesitation.
The declaration rang in the room. Quanxi didn’t even flinch, but even still, something in her seemed to break. Her convictions? Her dreams? Makima didn’t know, and she didn’t particularly care. A broken sword could be reforged, if necessary, but she much preferred a willing tool. It made certain things easier (never mind the fact that Kobeni was scared enough as it was).
Swallowing, Quanxi sheathed her sword.
And what else could Makima say? It was always more rewarding to take her sister's things.