Chapter Text
Makima had always liked the port of Otsu. Even from her early days as little more than a bugyō, Otsu had been her first posting, her first real taste of the game. Often overlooked by the eastern capital and overshadowed by Osaka, Otsu served as neutral ground for smaller nobles and rival factions. This also meant, however, that it served as a hub for multiple criminal elements. A fact Makima had been more than happy to take advantage of for years. Even before she made a deal with the emperor, and her subsequent ennoblement, she had haunted the port town's shadows. As such, places like the Silver Dragon were hardly anything new
Famous in many less than reputable circles for beautiful women and plentiful sake, Makima had darkened its doorway on more than one occasion, both officially and...otherwise. Such a place was not without its regulars, afterall. It was the sort of place where the dead in waiting and honourless were pulled like moths to the flame. There was always someone willing to make a contract. For Makima’s purposes today. Ronin.
In particular, a ronin of Chinese descent who, many whispered where they thought none could hear, had taken to visiting with her harem.
Pushing the curtains of her palanquin to the side, Makima stared at the small cleaning before her. Barely large enough across for her to fit comfortably, it was framed on either side by the neighbouring buildings. A large wooden Torii gate framed it, painted the traditional red. A thick blanket of snow covered the ground, but still, a single stone path remained clear through the middle. Stepping out, she let the soft crunch of the snow beneath her feet echo, eyes firmly locked on the path ahead. Passing beneath the wooden arch she paused only for a moment. A few seconds later a rat emerged, so with a smile she bent down and allowed it to pass into her hands. Standing once more she let it's visions pass through her minds eye.
‘Inside. Grey Hair. Four Fiends.’
She smiled at that, then frowned, watching as the creature slowly turned to dust. A shame, useful tools were so hard to come by, but such a creature could only handle so much of her power for so long. If either of her companions felt anything for her interaction, they gave no indication, rather they seemed entirely preoccupied by their destination. She supposed she couldn’t blame them, such a palace was hardly befitting a noble of her status. She supposed the fact that she knew where it was alone could stand as a mark against her, not that she expected her subordinate to do anything with such information, but one could never be too careful. She already had one traitor to deal with.
She sighed. It had always frustrating when they bent out of shape. Yoru had always taken great pleasure in breaking them for just that reason. Pushing the unfortunate thought of her sister to the side, she turned her head just enough to catch sight of the two men who acted as her guards.
Aki was one of her more useful servants. Like many others he’d come into her service with the promise of revenge against the Gunpowder devil. It was hardly a unique goal these days, but unlike many others, he’d proven particularly adept at finding the pieces necessary to track the monster. As such he had been elevated in her service. Once little more than a wandering swordsman, he now cut what many would recognize as the standard figure of a noble Samurai. His posture was straight, his black hair well kept and tied in the traditional manner. His sword rested at his side, only partially hidden by his cloak. If he noticed her staring he gave no indication, cold blue eyes instead locked on their surroundings, scanning every shadow for potential threats.
Denji was the exact opposite of the man beside him. Not what anyone could possibly hope to describe as a traditional samurai, he’d come into her service only recently. A half-Japanese/half-Dutch child; what he lacked in respect for authority and traditional social structures he more than made up for through frenzied violence. Not a demon, not a fiend, not a human, he represented something…new. His vacant gaze was locked on a distant horizon, mouth open, a small spattering of fuzz on his chin. His hair was unkempt, loose and shaggy as the snow continued to gather on it. His clothes were rumpled, cloak loosely hanging by the threads of the messiest knot she’d ever seen. He held no katana, but then again, she supposed he hardly needed one.
“Are you certain this is the right place?” Aki asked aloud. His voice was quiet, but more than enough to carry over the silent evening air.
She was somewhat surprised to hear him ask at all. He was often stoic, quietly doing as ordered with nary a complaint nor comment. Then again, she supposed if anything were to rankle his sense of propriety such a den of debauchery would do it. Perhaps Lady Himeno had been more reserved than originally thought. She thought them close, close enough to spark rumors among the palace staff, but perhaps not. Another thread on which to pull, though she’d have to be sure not to pull too hard, lest it unravel. So messy, those human emotions.
“Certainly.” She answered him, tone even.
She could feel his gaze on the back of her head. The desire to ask more questions was heavy in the space between them, but before he had the chance Denji interjected.
“What does it matter? If Lady Makima brought us here it must be the right place.” He said as he picked at his ear.
Ever the loyal dog, if only everyone else were so mindlessly led about. Her life would be so much easier. Still, his words seem to ring true for Aki. She could feel the way he relaxed, the aura of him calming, his gaze cooling as he accepted his fellows words.
“Of course.” Aki’s voice echoed out. “My apologies, Lord Makima.” His clothes shuffled as he bent in a bow.
She waved him off without even turning. She had tolerated much worse than a perfectly reasonable question from one of her most loyal subordinates. She was brutal, true, but those closest to her had little to fear so long as they maintained their usefulness. She would tolerate mild insubordination so long as that remained true. Even the most well trained dog barked when caught off guard. Besides, she had more pressing concerns. He was still new to his position as well.
Snow gathered around them, filling in their old footprints, and melting into the top layers of their clothes. The silence was nice. Makima was so often surrounded by bustling fools in the palace, even her own sanctum was often without the bliss of nothing she craved. It was almost enough to make her overlook the rudeness directed towards them.
She eyed the space she knew the door resided in, solid wood that gave no indication of what lay behind it. She was sure whoever was stationed at the entrance had heard their conversation. Even without the rats beneath the floorboards she knew. The fact that they had not even afforded her the opportunity to speak the password meant either something was happening inside, or whoever was manning the door was more of a fool than she gave the business credit for.
“Ah, do we need to knock?” Denji asked, voice heavy with confusion.
Before she could respond the door opened. The man inside stepped out with what was clearly supposed to be some form of aggressive bluster; his eyes hard, chest puffed up, shoulders raised, a picture of intimidation. An image that swiftly dropped the moment his eyes landed on her. Whatever flush of anger he’d managed swiftly drained to a sheer white as he quickly lowered into what must have been the most formal bow of his life.
“Lady Makima! My most great-I mean, my humble-uhh-”
“Enough.” She said softly. Her words, while gentle, cut like iron between his stumbling attempts at an apology. “You have a question for me, yes?”
He rose quickly, nodding as he stepped back towards the door. “Of course, of course. Password please?”
Makima allowed him to sweat for a moment as she remained silent. Her eyes unrelenting as her lips remained in a gentle smile. No matter her mask of cold politeness, a part of her base nature reveled in his fear. He reeked of it; the tantalizing sensation radiating off him like fine spice on roast meat. In that moment she entertained the idea of simply devouring him whole, the fantasy played out behind her eyes as the man before her only grew more nervous. She savoured it. Her usual meals had grown boring, and she had grown complicit in the lack of a hunt, a sorry state of affairs if so little of it was enough to tempt her. It never bode well when an apex predator stepped down the food chain.
“Red Currant.” She responded at last.
Her words washed over him, relaxing his shoulders (and his blood pressure) as he stepped back and out of there way. With the path no longer blocked the sensations from within were finally free to spill forth: the clinking of glasses, the murmur of conversation, the smell of food, and the warmth of fire. Without a word she stepped forward, up the steps, and into the establishment. Aki and Denji shortly followed, silent in her wake.
The first thing Denji noticed about the Silver Dragon was how plain it looked. Plain wooden walls, simple white shoji, the least interesting lanterns he’d ever seen. Not a flower pattern in sight. Maybe his standards had simply been raised for how long Lord Makima had allowed him to reside within her palace? What did he know about interior design? The answer came quickly, nothing really, but Makima seemed to care so he at least pretended to care. If you’d asked him a few years ago if he cared about lantern patterns he would have laughed. What did a homeless, half race, child care for fancy patterns? All they meant was that the demon he was killing had some coin he might have been able to take for himself after the job.
He cast his gaze back to Makima. She walked forward with purpose. Hair done up in its usual due. She was wearing a cream coloured kimono with bright red lilies strewn across her hips. It made for a hypnotizing effect, like the lilies were riding on a river, rising up and down with the sway of his master's waist. He hadn’t even realized he’d been staring until Jerk-Face slapped him upside the head.
“Keep your gaze respectful.” He ordered. “The last thing we need is any more rumour spreading about the likes of you being in her presence.”
Denji was half tempted to throw down right there. That ever present demonic urge to square up flaring in his chest before he pushed it back down. Makima had told them to stay on their best behaviour so he’d let this one go. With a grunt he raised his eyes as he rubbed the back of his head, letting the Jerk pass in front of him, as they passed into the main room.
Like the rest of the place it was remarkably unremarkable. Plain wood tables, simple mats, even the woman were fully covered. Nothing like the ones he’d known in his earlier years. Then again, the Europeans tended to have…different expectations for their women. The closest thing he’d had to a mother was the french woman who ran the brothel. She’d been harsh but she paid well for running messages between her girls. At least before the Yakuza had cut her head off.
They passed through the room, various eyes watching them as they made their way, some inquisitive, others judgemental, most in awe. It was those last ones he could understand, he’d been much the same when Makima had found him, offering him a warm meal and a night of peace. Makima tended to have that effect.
He figured Makima was looking for someone, but he had zero clue who. Makima hadn’t bothered informing them of what or why, simply ordering them to accompany her into the city. Neither he nor Jerk-Face had bothered to ask what they were doing. Loath as Denji was to admit it he could grudgingly respect his fellow retainer for his loyalty. If nothing else, he’d never doubt the man’s commitment to his Lady. Not like the Yakuza at least.
They veered to the left, into a section that seemed…less welcoming. He knew these gazes, the promises of violence they carried, the anger, the hunger. Like sharks to blood. Jerk-Face must have felt it too, Denji could see in the corner of his eye, they way the grip on his Katana tightened. Still, no one did anything. Oh they watched, more than one patron leering at his lady as they passed.
“Oye.” He said, leaning towards Aki. “Aren’t we supposed to punch people who look at Lady Makima like that?”
Aki rolled his jaw for a moment before taking a deep breath and responding. “She told us not to make a scene.”
Denji groaned. “Ah man. I was hoping to do something to impress her, you know?” He complained.
Aki sighed. “You can impress her by demonstrating restraint.”
Denji scoffed at that but dropped it as they made their way further in.
Making a few rude gestures at the people around them, he barely noticed when Makima (and Aki, he supposed) stopped. Once he’d made sure not to bump into Aki, Denji looked over the other man's shoulder to the table before them.
It was large, with five women already seated around the far side. Makima made no bother with greetings or introductions, simply seating herself across from them and waiting with her arms patiently on her legs. Denji shared a look with Aki before following her lead, the both of them taking their place on her right and left respectively. Seeing as Makima seemed to be in no rush, Denji took the opportunity to look at the two girls opposite him.
The first seemed normal. She wore a bright red Kimono and was pressing herself tightly into the arm of the older woman at the center of their little revelry. Her dark hair rose high and was tied off in a ponytail, her face small and cute, her stature short, barely coming up to the other woman's chest. He found her relatively attractive, like most women he encountered she was no Makima, but still…he gently shook his head before he could start daydreaming. Jerk-Face got mad at him enough for doing that at the palace, let alone on a job. So he turned his head to the second woman. She was…significantly less normal.
Like the first woman, she was on the shorter side, but that’s where the similarities ended. Her green hair was done short, falling around her head like a fan. Unlike the others, her attention was firmly locked on their party of three. Her yellow eyes cut between them, stopping lastly on him, at which point the full brunt of her appearance hit him. Where her mouth should have been a long set of stitches carved across her mouth, intersecting with another set crawling up the right side of her face. It was, frankly, incredibly unnerving, and the longer she kept her gaze on him the more awkward he felt.
In an attempt to break off the terrible eye contact he cut his gaze to the central woman. Clearly on the older side, she looked the most normal out of the three of them. Cream coloured hair fell short around her head, with a few grey hairs poking out here and there. She wore an eye patch over her right eye, but her remaining one was firmly locked on Makima. She had a sake bowl gripped in one hand, with her other arm wrapped around the short girl pressed into her side. He couldn’t see any weapons on her, which felt stupid to him given the rather large stock of dangerous people around them. The Yakuza hadn’t been good for much, but if nothing else, they’d made sure to drill into his head that a weapon was a must.
He watched her take a drink, the bottle rising and falling without her gaze bugging an inch, before she finally shifted. Her arm untangled from the woman beside her, the other depositing the bottle on the table. She said nothing, simply pausing for a second before turning to her left.
“I suppose we need more glasses. Long, would you…?”
The woman named Long stood from the right side of the table. She looked some kind of Chinese, with bright yellow eyes that bled red before the whites, and two horns not unlike Powers sticking out of her head. She was easily the most attractive of the five. The bright red kimono clung to her hips and chest, accentuating her long legs and ample hips. The sort of woman he would have expected to see at a pleasure house, not hanging off the arm of a no-name ronin.
She said nothing as she stood. He watched her wander off to…well, presumably to get sake glasses. He supposed she must have been one of the Silver Dragon women. He was somewhat surprised that this shabby old hag could afford the attention of four women, let alone ones such as these (well, maybe not the scared one but he’d certainly seen weirder kinks. Who was he to judge?), but before he could get much further down that line of thought Makima waved her hand to grab his attention.
“Denji-kun.” She said, her voice calm and measured, her gaze still locked with unusual intensity on the woman across from her. “Would you mind getting us a fresh bottle of sake?”
“Ahh, okay?” He said questioningly.
Getting up from his knees he moved to do as requested when Makima’s arm shot out and wrapped around his wrist in a tight grip. “The best they have. Imperial Reserve if possible. Tell them my name if they make a fuss.”
He barely registered the order if he was being honest. The sheer joy that washed over him at having her touch him overrode any real capacity he had to think. Her skin was smooth. Her palms were shockingly cold but warmed quickly from their shared contact. He couldn’t help the grin that crossed his face. Then she pulled away, and the moment was over. She didn’t bother looking at him, her request had been clear. That was fine, he’d do anything to make Makima happy, so if she wanted sake, he’d go get sake.
Quanxi watched from the corner of her eyes as the bumbling idiot wandered off. His face still locked in that dopey grin that had emerged after Makima grabbed his wrist. She scoffed internally. Another one of her love sick idiots then. Still…she let her eyes wander and discreetly as possible up and down the woman in front of her, it wasn't like she could blame him. Besides, she knew an olive branch well enough when she saw one.
“So,” She began, “what brings a devil such as yourself to my little corner of Otsu?”
As she spoke Cosmo, her third wife, began to refill the dish. Quanxi watched, a warm feeling in her chest as her fiend ever so carefully tilted and poured the alcohol so as not to spill any. In thanks she gave her a short kiss to the cheek, which spawned an excited giggle as Cosmo settled into her side. This, however, meant that the copious grey matter pouring out of her head made an unsettlingly wet squelching noise as she cuddled close. Long used to it, Quanxi could only sigh, evidently the man opposite Cosmo was not so lucky.
Where moments before he had been stiff like a bamboo rod, now, he wilted like a reed in the wind. Eyes locked firmly on Cosmo’s head, he seemed nearly ready to vomit as the bits of brain matter swung around. The fact that he didn’t was either a testament to his constitution or loyalty to his Lady. She wasn’t sure which yet. Yet, even in that state, his hand remained firmly locked above the hilt of his Katana. Not entirely useless, then.
“I have a job for you.” Makima responded. Her eyes like amber, still firmly locked on Quanxi’s own. She hadn’t even blinked, not once since sitting down, ‘freaky’ Quanxi thought to herself.
Her words were simple, curt, she could appreciate that much. Yet, she couldn’t help the way her eye narrowed. With Makima, nothing was ever so simple, or clean.
Breaking eye contact, Quanxi bent over to grab her sake bowl. Lifting it up to press just beneath her nose, she let the scent waft upwards; grainy and just a tad sour. Altogether nothing fancy, but Cosmo had poured it so carefully, just for her. As she raised it and herself back into a seated position, she took a gentle sip and pulled her deranged wife just a little bit closer.
Returning her gaze to Makima’s own, she let the sake settle in her words. “I don’t do jobs for you.” She responded.
Makima hummed. Her calm and unperturbed demeanor seemed none shaken by the curt refusal. Rather her gaze turned to the still not entirely well man at her side.
“Aki, the bounty if you would.”
Quanxi raised her brow, but watched in silence as the man seemed to regain himself. He swiftly swung the tube off his shoulder before untying the lid and pulling out a scroll. He offered it to Makima who promptly laid the scroll out across the table. Had Quanxi been any less professional she might have spit out her sake as she read:
Higashiyama Kobeni
Alive - Reward: 3 ryō
Quanxi couldn’t help the way her eyes widened at the reward. One ryō was enough to feed a family for a year, three was unprecedented, especially for something so simple as a bounty. Then her eyes narrowed. That begged the question, of course, who this Higashiyama fellow was. Or, perhaps more importantly, why they were worth so much to the Lady of Kyoto.
“That’s a lot of gold to be offering for one girl.” She finally said, setting down her sake cup.
As usual, Makima gave nothing away. Not even a twitch from her cold smile as her amber eyes bored into Quanxi's own.
“A price which accurately represents her value to me, I assure you.” Makima replied, her voice never wavering. “She’s…gotten lost. I require your assistance in locating her.”
“Lost…” Quanxi very much doubted that. Makima wasn’t the kind to let the people she needed stray very far. “And how does a woman of such value become…lost?”
“She ran away.” The man beside Makima said, unprompted, a look of confusion settling onto his face.
Narrowing her own eye, Quanxi glanced to her right. Pingsti remained entirely uninterested in the conversation, still pressed as close as humanly possible to Quanxi’s side, but beyond her...Tsugihagi. Blinking, she felt that familiar tug in her gut as Long’s power came to her.
The world suddenly grew dark. The people and things around her fading to little more than chalk lined shells, lit only by the glow of the energy within them. Compared to them, Tsugihagi glowed fiercely; her aura was active, pure and white, little tentacles of her energy crawling like webs over the ground towards the man. ‘Aki’ Long’s power spoke in her head. Tsugihagi’s aura dug out onto the ground, like roots tangled in the ground, they curled around the man’s foot. At the point where they touched, the blue of Aki’s aura slowly bled into her fiends, little blue wisps plucked like embers. She knew well what her fiend was doing. While more limited as a fiend, there was no denying that this was the work of the truth devil. Tsugihagi was literally pulling the truth out of him.
Then, like a switch, the world changed. Quanxi could feel the way her girls stiffened as Makima’s aura flared. Like a fire catching from flint, it roared to life, smothering everything around them in a fierce red haze. Makima’s gaze had cut across to Tsugihagi and in an instant the vines of truth turned to ash. In an instant dozens of red chains struck out, into the table, the walls, the roof. Like burning blood, they hung ominously, caging Quanxi and her girls in. She could feel the fear in her girls, the way they pressed closer to her, eyes wide yet unable to look away from the true monster before them.
With another blink, the world returned to normal.
Seemingly satisfied with her results, Makima’s gaze returned to Quanxi’s own. To spite the frightening display of power, Makima’s eyes hadn’t even twitched. She still hadn’t blinked. Those amber eyes, so…empty. Devoid of even a shred of humanity. She didn’t need Long's powers to know that she had little choice in the matter. If Makima wanted her to do this, she would, the only question was whether she did it for a reward or because Makima told her to. She was sure either was perfectly fine to the demon across the table.
Blinking, Quanxi let her shoulders drop as she leaned forward. She could feel her girls confused gazes on her back but ignored them. Faster than most at the table could hope to keep up with, Quanxi raised the sake bowl high and threw her head back, downing the liquor in three large gulps.
Once she was done she swiftly threw the bowl to the side before leaning forward to grab the scroll off the table. “Kobeni, huh?”
Makima didn’t answer, but her smile widened just enough to be concerning.