2026-08-16: Christmas for Two
- Log: Christmas for Two
- Cast: Shiryuu Ryouhara, Umie Akabane
- Where: Yumezaki Ward, Shibuya
- OOC Date: August 16, 2026
- IC Date: December 26, 2012
- Summary: After the heroes' victory over the white-clad Colonel of fried chicken, Shiryuu steals away a sneezing Umie to the Prince Hotel. Turns out, that was just from the eleven herbs and spices, as the night gets spicy in other ways: panicked text messages, a shirtless Shiryuu, someone getting kneed in a sensitive place, a family member barging in, and, most importantly, a Christmas miracle.
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
The penalty for sneezing too much around the Ryouhara Shihaisha was steep.
In all truth, it was (probably) true that Akabane had suffered an irritant reaction to spice -- Shiryuu, who had trained for years under "Lightning" Kiyoto to resist poisons and blinding powders, had no concept of the idea that anyone could have such a reaction to excellent cooking alone. Even his own stomach rebelling could not possibly had been the chicken he ate. Years of training, he insisted. URP...
Nope. Shiryuu is too stubborn to just take care of it in a bush or something. More importantly, his girlfriend is about to succumb to the elements.
(Nevermind that most of the fight they were all on varying flavors ((literally)) of 'on fire' and thus, Umie's earlier plight had been given plenty of opportunity to dry. To be honest, Shiryuu hasn't at all noticed how filthy she got -- everyone else was much filthier, in his opinion)
One ill timed sneeze is enough.
And so the onmitsu is back on the jog, having picked up Akabane and slung her across his back again. Interestingly, he moves a lot faster when he's not carrying ten bags as well as Umie, and so making the trip back to the Indigo was not anywhere near as much a problem.
Other than the fact that he's about to vomit the whole way.
"Iih-- I'm not sick too!" Shiryuu objects, while waiting for a traffic light to change for no real reason. "I'm too invincible to do anything like th--urp.."
And the arguing. So much arguing.
(To be fair, Shiryuu is focused on not dying and achieving the mission, protests be damned. Maybe not so much arguing from him.)
This mission in this case is the lofty suite at the Prince -- rather, the Sumaru hotel that Shiryuu booked in a panic a few weeks ago, whose concierge couldn't stop making insinuations about the day after they had the maids shotgun it with rose petals. Shiryuu was no less scandalized being reminded about it than he was the first time encountering it directly. At any rate, the room at the Hotel Indigo was his place in Shibuya, and now that Shiryuu actually has had an opportunity to clean things up, the Prince is starting to resemble it, with the same ruthless hand disposing of most of the wall hangings and extraneous furniture, and -absolutely- 99% of the rose petals. It wouldn't be untoward to start getting them mixed up at this rate.
One has his laptop. The other has a wardrobe with a box of chocolate on top of it. The third has SAMURAI! Kenjiro. All three seem to have some kind of neon lamp and mysterious mechanical crate in them, differing only in size. Sometimes the laptop moves between the three. It is the same laptop.
Now the purpose of the crate can be seen. Shiryuu wastes very little time in pulling the case out from under the bed, this one being noticeably slimmer than a footlocker. He uses an honest-to-god ninjutsu to get the locks to release (seriously? it has to be a ritual. it's not even a supernatural space..) and then opens the case with a hiss, sending a bit of petty cash flying as he goes through bottles and bags, most of them curiously chilled. ???
A lined Ryouhara samue is thrown onto the bed, next to the long towels. "Off," Shiryuu says, stiffly, before shutting and resealing the case. He will -eventually- make it to the bathroom. To draw the bath for her. And then promptly die on the bed.
There lies poor invincible Shiryuu, succumbed to his ordeals.
Maybe eventually he'll exorcise himself. Ah, that was like an hour or two ago at least, wasn't it? Shiryuu's definitely 'died' at least twice by then. ("NO. I DIDN'T. I WAS WASHING MY FACE. THERE WAS SMOG.")
He's just laying down because he's trying to keep a persistent state of shinobi readiness, in case the enemy commander has sleeper cells throughout the city.
That coffeecat shop they passed by looked suspicious. It feels like he's forgetting something, isn't it?
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
"*achoo*--"
No sooner did Umie sneeze one more time after properly disposing of the Colonel did she find herself kidnapped yet again, slung across Shiryuu's shoulders as he disappeared into the city.
WIth how Sumaru City became an absolute unlucky mess, it's probably not even near the top ten weirdest things any of the civilians have seen, especially since Umie is quick to wave away any offers of 'assistance' to get away from her kidnapper. "It's fine. He's mine."
Yes, the choice of words is intentional. "I can hike there too; I'm not going to get your sick on me because you're too stubborn to slow down!"
'I'm too invincible to do anything like th--urp..' "That was Joka curse energy!" (She *could* use the word 'kegare', but she's not sure yet if her senses are counting it the same because it *is* the same, or because she can't tell the difference.)
As their route becomes clear, Umie's heart rate begins to race. I-is he...? Maybe, now that he knows the Prince can have a service like that, maybe he's going to surprise her with it properly, and.... and...
----
".... You got rid of everything." Umie frowns as Shiryuu lets her down. "If you're going to get rid of all the furnishings... doesn't it defeat the purpose of a place like the Prince?"
Then again, the Indigo was like that too, and now, this room shares the same strange crate as it did, strange locks and all.
It's a lockbox. _It's a lockbox_. "I guess using a key would be too extra for a Ryouhara..." she murmurs wryly.
Did he seriously use hand signals to open it?!
There's also the neon lamp. ... Maybe he just fights neon light comforting, Umie assumes, before her attention is drawn back to the _cash flying out_ as he goes through some curiously chilled looking bottles and bags. "... You're literally throwing money around."
See, when she finds a yen in her couch cushion, she calls it *lucky*.
Plop goes the pair of samue. 'Off', he says.
She smiles sharply. "... So forceful... you want to see me undress already--" No, he's already stiffly wandering off to draw a bath.
Her expression softens. He's obviously feeling sick, and yet, he's worried about her.
Undressing and putting on the samue, Umie pinches the lined fabric between two fingers, waiting for Shiryuu to exit before taking the towels with her. Her cableknit sweater, coat, shoes, and pants are folded and laid on another surface next to a box wrapped in colorful furoshiki cloth, leaving the bed mysteriously open.
She'll even take her time bathing, quietly taking in the luxurious tub and indulging in some of the complimentary condiments there, if Shiryuu hasn't gotten rid of them already.
----
The bed shifts as the newly cleaned and dressed Umie sits at the edge, doing her towel-dried hair up into two loose buns. She doesn't say anything, just letting Shiryuu rest there.
She has to, eventually, however.
"How are you feeling? You want me to get you something?" She reaches out to gently pass her fingertips into his hair with a gentle affection. "Some water, maybe?"
If he allows it, she'll continue gently stroking his head as he lays there, red fingernails peeking from silver hairs.
"I meant what I said, earlier... It was Joka-based. I could sense it," she says, quietly. "I've been able to sense that, lately. Just like the kegare from your eye."
She breathes, her eyes cast on Shiryuu's prone back. "I guess it's because I'm bad luck," she jokes. "Having a date on Christmas... the world needed to balance that all out."
She's smiling; she doesn't truly believe it.
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
"..........ugh..."
The sound is small, soft and wan. Shiryuu must have dozed off for a little while. It's to be expected -- running across Sumaru (twice) would be a crippling feat for others -- now wanting to be face-down and buried in the grave is the least that he can ask of tender fate. Just let him die, it'll be fine if it's just at this moment. He watched an anime once that had good, peaceful music that he could expire to.
He is, in fact, dimly aware of some of the disagreements that passed over the last few hours. ('You want to see me undress already--' "urrh! -- 'bane don't be a rascal when your life is on the line," promptly marches off)
It is very likely that she saved a few lives along the way because there is certainly enough gas in his tank for another axe kick if a bystander even had the slightest inkling to be in his way. That didn't keep him from stopping dead in the middle of the crosswalk in the street when he realized she declared him as hers. ("Wait, what? You -- d, don't just say it so boldly --" *HONK* "--hey!! for the--'IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 2012'!! go around! --glkk--")
And truthfully, despite ("It's the latest in security technology, inspired by our ancient ninkou manual, Umie! It's not extra!") his intention to argue with her on every possible battlefield ("It's fine, this is more important than a few dollars--") there are a few glaring comments which go simply unanswered.
Interestingly, as she bathes she'll notice that he doesn't seem to have anything against amenities, or items that have some clearly useful purpose, so the mints have fully taken over the bathroom by the time Umie gets to it. It's really only the expressive items -- the tasteful bits of art and ornaments and visual interest -- that he seems to have such antipathy towards.
Everything else is fine. He's used half the napkins already. The bag in the wastebasket has been mysteriously tied and the whole thing has been moved to the door.
Despite still desperately wanting to be asleep, Shiryuu is at least nascently awake against his wishes by the time Umie makes her way back. The imposition of her soft weight compels him to shift -- only coincidentally slightly closer to her, or at least as far as he can get. (It's not very far.)
"Mnrrnmm. That feels...good.."
Shiryuu, for once, is not at all in a position to put a stop to Umie being nice and stroking his head, sending little tingles down his spine. He may as well be paralyzed, one arm dangling helplessly off the bedside. "... it's fine," he insists.
"'m...invincible." pause. "maybe... toothbrush. In a lil bit."
A pause, as the boy's eyes sliver open. One is brown, the other is bright blue. Not that it's relevant, beneath the mop of grey hair sprayed over the pillow. "..H..hey. What about you...?" he asks, dimly.
"Do we need to turn the heat up? .... that's a girl thing.. right? Don't get sick...mnnnff."
Well, he ran out of words for a minute. It gives her some time.
...?
"The enemy commander was born under the thirteenth dragon...?" Shiryuu supposes weakly, after a whole forever later. "..th...but his chicken was so good..." As if in evidence, Shiryuu's sweater is still deeply spicy, and the ninjutsu-sealed cutlet is still in his back pocket. Of all the days for him to _not_ be dressed in ten layers.
'I guess it's because I'm bad luck.'
Shiryuu squints at his pillow. "H..hey."
A hand limply pats Akabane's leg, and stays there awhile. "don't say that."
"...you're good luck," the boy with the grey hair manages. "everybody else ... sucked. they stole your idea, though. everybody trying to be on a date... I thought it was Christmas... s'posed to.. wh-- oh fuu..!!"
Now Shiryuu starts wiggling furiously. He's trying to get to his phone, the red handset in his pocket, and manages to fire off at least seven text messages in a surprising amount of time for being someone who's barely alive.
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
No no no, you can't die now, Shiryuu. The date's not over yet.
("Don't get distracted in the middle of a road. You can object all you like later~")
Nevermind that Shiryuu doesn't even realize the significance of the day yet. That, or he's too distracted to put one and one together to form two, a necessary component of a couple. Umie's sure this is the case here.
Still, even Umie at the height of her teasing has her limits; his mumbled objections to her little barbs is the first clue he's not as well as he's trying to project.
The second was how quiet it was when Umie eased into her bath. Not that Shiryuu is a chatterbox (quite the opposite), but usually by this point, she'd hear him restlessly moving towards something or another, his nature unable to let him rest as much as Umie's own.
(She'll take a handful of those mints while she's in the tub. That seems like an excellent idea. She's cleaning up for him!)
However, much like how Shiryuu cannot sleep, Umie cannot allow herself to mercilessly become one with the bath for well over an hour, so, eventually, two souls go towards each other to reconvene.
'That feels...good..' Umie's cheeks grow pink from the compliment, as she teases her fingers through his hair with gentle motions.
Shiryuu would normally never let himself have little comforts like this, would he? Something so innocent... it'd dent his image of being 'invincible'. "Toothbrush, eh... I can do that."
... He must be pretty ill.
Ah, it's a good thing she's here.
This way, she can take advantage of it.
Soon enough, Shiryuu shifts, turning his attention towards her, despite his own cursed stomach. "I'm fine. The samue's pretty comfy." She's still warm from the bath, besides. Is it a girl thing, he asks.
"I suppose it could," she humors, but doesn't shift from her position, content to keep stroking his head until he feel asleep.
Don't let her win, Shiryuu.
"It's... well, that'd mean there's a thirteenth month, but it's not like that, in Wang Long," Umie responds, to Shiryuu. "It's... a passage of bad luck. I've always been able to sense it, when I was in Sumaru City. It comes and goes." Her half-smile grows sharp, her throat holding back a cackle at Shiryuu mentioning how good his chicken was. "It's all just rumors. Just like me, being descended from a ninja princess."
It's like a natural disaster, each rumor owing its existence to the ids of the human society.
'Don't say that.'
"Didn't you know?" Umie turns, more fully this time, shifting her weight to lean over Shiryuu, loose damp tendrils hanging like a pale gold frame on either side of her cheeks.
"When something bad happens, that means the good will be just as good..."
It's a lie she's telling Shiryuu; she wants to be the cool person he sees her as.
'.... you're good luck.' Umie stills, stunned at the naked compliment, cheeks growing pink as she tries to carry on with whatever seductive plan she was going to attempt.
Then, she's stunned for another reason, as it's only *now* that Shiryuu realizes what today was.
Huh, he really didn't realize--
By text message #7, Umie's already running damage control. "It's okay, Shiryuu. Really, this is the first Christmas date I've ever had--" NO YOU'RE MAKING IT WORSE, UMIE "I have a present for you." NO UMIE NO
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
Shiryuu would probably be fighting with her right now if he could be. As it is, the boy is (mostly) motionless, ambiently restless, and trying his best to say things in as aggressive a tone as he can, warning her that any attempt to take advantage of his poor stomach is going to result in immediate censure.
Even so. 'iiih... wh.. nnn..' is hard to make sound fierce, or really very cool at all. The onmitsu moves a little bit, ineffectually nestling close to Akabane.
"...sh...."
Theoretically he's trying to fight her off. If fighting her off means getting chills from her touch. "...mmmm."
_Maximum aggression._
No, wait. There is a hot flare of emotion as she insists everything is just rumors. "Wooh," Shiryuu complains gruffly, a single sprig of rebellious, nettled grey hair sticking up from his scalp as he dart-raises his head from the pillow, as far as his neck will go (not far.) "Just because it's a rumor doesn't mean it's fake!" the activated onmitsu muffles just above the pillow. "Umie, don't underestimate the enemy's ancient flavor profile...!"
The collective id has nothing against the font of true flavor. This is apparently something Shiryuu feels strongly about. Once he's re-hydrated, he's probably going to be ruined for chicken forever, at this rate. At least he might be quieter about it.
*paf* oop. Nope, he's out of argument again.
"I would take you with me everywhere if I could," Shiryuu mumbles into his pillow, haphazardly trying to return the favor, soothing gentle strokes along her leg. So drained, he almost doesn't notice her seduction. Almost.
...!
Even worse yet, he's noticed that she's _insanely close._ And his hand is...!! Akabane's voice trickles into his ear like the smooth babble of a mountain creek, and the boy's eyes widen all the way until his left starts twitching involuntarily, the bright bleached blue and fine circuitous patterns glinting in the light as he tries his best to roll over.
"A, Akaba--" She was trying to get away with murder!
All of a sudden, Shiryuu's mouth knits shut tightly, midsentence. His hand darts back, as if her thigh were the surface of a hot pan. "Mmnf!" That's right about when he realizes what day it is, and this starts a whole chain reaction of texting and expensive sounds. IT'S CHRISTMAS.
'This is the first Christmas date I've ever had--' "!!!" Why is she saying it like that?? This is a thing?? It's her first?? "?!"
'I got you a gift.' "!!!!"
_pow_ Well, in trying to squeeze a reply out of his phone, Shiryuu's rolled right off the side and crashed to the floor, caught in his sweater and a pile of blankets.
The -woop- -woop- -woop- sound of text bubbles filling someone's screen can be heard, muted from off the edge of the bed.
SBSN: zen
SBSN: zen wake up i knead u
SBSN: need* fuck
SBSN: listen dont make a big deal about tit
SBSN: i got in a fight left the med pkg in indigo
SBSN: i'm at the prince need it shukuchi fast
SBSN: zen omfg where are u i need the guys
lordlongjohn: What are you saying
SBSN: ZEN OMFG YOUL 2012 GET YOUR ASS IN GABLE
lordlongjohn: Calm down I'll call Nahara she's in Shibuya
SBSN: OMFG NOT HER
*woop* *zoo* *woop* *woop* *woop*
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
The level of aggression coming from Shiryuu right now is like hearing the little aggressive 'mowmowmow' sounds a kitten makes when they're hungrily chowing down food. (That is, it just incites Umie further, ho ho ho)
Maybe he'll settle down soon... She'll probably find a couch or something to sleep on. They may be girlfriend and boyfriend, but sleeping in the same bed like this would be better suited for when he can consent to it, not when he's too sick to really care.
Alas!! *poing* Umie's statment awakens a rebellious cowlick hair in Shiryuu, who feels a need to object against her incorrect characterization of the colonel's eleven spices of finger-licking tyranny.
Umie opens her mouth, about to protest, but realizes the best procedure is to give it a few more seconds and-- *paf* there he goes, again.
This is the same young man who drugged and kidnapped her, had her bound to a chair, and demanded to know what her intentions were for the Ryouhara clan, and if she, at any point, truly loved him.
Mai-chan had determined that Umie giving in and telling him exactly what she wanted to say would further his spiral into paranoia. She always expected the worst in people, a trait Umie tried her best not to inherit, yet still, it'd slip through in her darker moments.
... But that wasn't what happened. Neither did it fall into the opposite sort of loop of abuse.
And now, Umie's top half arcs carefully over the weakened Shiryuu, her eyelids half closed, breath (suspiciously) minty from the complimentary mints left in the bathroom.
'I would take you with me everywhere if I could.' Umie's breath jumps a notch as she feels Shiryuu's sleepy attempt to comfort her, his gentle strokes touching her leg.
... She almost made an embarrassing sound there. Don't let him win, Umie!
'A, Akaba--' His own face is shocked, his hand withdrawing as he realizes what he was doing.
It comes to her smoothly, then, that blackbird smile. "I think I'm where I want to be, right now," she says, about to lower down for a kiss--
wait where is Shiryuu, where did he go
POW "S-Shiryuu!" DID HE JUST ROLL OFF THE BED
She disregards the woopwoopwoop of the phone, crawling onto the bed to go check on the swaddled shirogarasu. "Hold on, let me..." She reaches out a hand, intending to tug him out.
Of course, if he tugs too hard, she might end up in the pile with him, but there's no chance of that happening, is there?
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
'This woman is infuriatingly cool.' Shiryuu's eyes are sharp and fine as he gives her the most dire look, somewhere between imperious rebellion and panic. His mouth is still knit shut as his eyes half-lid, as she gets intensely close to kissing him. A single bead of sweat trails down his temple, and it doesn't have anything to do with his sickness.
Every inch of the boy is alive and active, with her warm and soft and close. She's cut off the space entirely between them -- and every inch of the young man is completely disarmed, pliant and hyperaware. It, th- this is bad!!
Woop woop woop, even as she starts to fill up every inch of the shinobi's attention and view, she can hear the boy's text bubbles going off in successively faster rapid fire somewhere by her hips. Now a whole shock of his hair is fully spiked up in open revolt.
As a side note, never insinuate a shinobi's hair makes noise. It does not, no matter how hard you try to impugn his honor by imagining it.
The young man himself, on the other hand.... Ah, she's so minty. 'Akabane, did you eat the choco,' Shiryuu almost says. Instead, it comes out like: "...mmnnf." Peering down the lines of her, he makes the *smallest* noise in the back of his throat, without opening his mouth. His hands twitch, locked around his phone as his grip tightens.
Based on the way his legs raise to run along hers, he seems _deeply fine_ about her being on the bed. It's just...
Come _on_ Korozen. You'd better not be playing Drake Adventure...
She's going to win at this rate...!!
And as she leans in, crossing the last couple centimeters -- that's when Shiryuu falls off the bed entirely, flipping all the way around to land roughly on his back in a nefarious pile of bedding and deliciously spicy clothing.
woopwoopwoopwoop!!! ... vooo.
"_aaahhhh,_" Ryouhara growls from down there, at his phone, looking up as she calls out his name in just such a way. He blinks.
And then Shiryuu stops paying attention to his phone at all.
...vooo?
"...ah... it's alright.. I'm.."
It's a bad idea for him to be on the bed right now, really, truthfully. Actually -- he shifts, finding himself caught, really, and -- is she tugging? Wait, what's she tugging on? His zipper starts to unzip as it's caught in the blanket. "!!" Shiryuu tugs back, trying to --
_oh no_
The rest of the comforter comes with Shiryuu trying to keep his sweater on, a resounding _zziiiip_ pulling as the boy manages to dislodge half the bed by fighting back -- and with it, Umie Akabane.
"wh-- watch out!!"
To his merit, he -will- try to catch her, with his hands somewhere at his sides, maybe attempting to keep her from roughly colliding with the ground and -- "augh!"
"y-- your knee is.."
Akabane... do you have a heatseeking knee?
It's a weird mirror image of that night in her apartment so long ago. So long go, and it still feels like the first time -- with the young man deeply hyperaware of where his hands are, aware enough that he has almost immediately forgotten the intense amount of pain he's in. Again.
Except this time he's not talking directly at her. He's talking to something that is apparently under the bed. No, there's nothing under there -- the case he pulled out is still on the other side of the room. But for some reason he's not talking directly at her. Shiryuu is -very- insistent about it.
"--aigh--"
Let's just hope that Umie doesn't move too much this time. The last time, Shiryuu ended up unconscious.
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
"H-hold on, let me get you up." All pretense of seduction has flat out disappeared, as Umie is concerned she had not only made Shiryuu get hurt, but also, pushed him a little too far. "Don't move, I'll, ah...."
In the low, neon-fed light of the room, it was hard to figure out what was safe to tug on, in order to try to help Shiryuu up.
Logic would say that a better method would be to straighten, find the light switch, and walk *around* the bed to the other side where Shiryuu was, and help him up there instead of trying to do it over the width of a bed. Umie doesn't have the Badb's assistance in this matter, so he could easily--
--pull her
and the comforter
OFF THE DAMN BED
_why does he smell like spicy chicken and something a little less pleasant_
'y-- your knee is..'
"... eh...?"
....... oh
Umie's face immediately flushes as red as a beet with embarrassment. "... S-sorry," she squeaks, uncharacteristically. "... I'm... going to move my knee, okay?"
Normally she shouldn't need to announce her intentions, but Shiryuu's attempts to commandeer the situation may overwrite Umie's attempts to *correct* the situation.
Surely they can fix this with as little pain and suffering as possible, just the two of them, clearly at their most logical.
'I wonder what it'd look like, if someone came in right now~' SHUT UP MAI-CHAN
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
"aigh," Shiryuu replies succinctly, turning blue.
It's good he can't breathe. She's still too close. Be brave, nin-shounen, you are strong. You will survive this.
Objectively, Shiryuu doesn't find ... most of this ... problematic. There is the obvious problem of course, the fact that his heartbeat is lodged somewhere in his neck right now, causing the young man to be ramrod straight and locked in place.
But if he's not talking or breathing, then maybe he can steal a bit of a glance across the beet-red girl, uncomfortably close and ..
Shiryuu dares to shift a little bit, under her. It proves not to be the greatest idea, but the discomfited look Ryouhara fixes her with, a two-toned awkward glance, up and down, is proof he may not be entirely upset with her. He's not going to face to face with her, just in case, but...
She smells much nicer than even the cutlet, he thinks idly while waiting, while her knee pushes his spine into his throat. A tiny look of appreciation, despite all odds, distracting him entirely. She's... really...
Akabane shifts, and his attention snaps to the fore, the pressure leaving Shiryuu all at once. He very carefully avoids breathing out, no matter how his chest burns for it. "..."
"I taste metal," he thinks aloud, tepidly.
Of note, Shiryuu hasn't moved a lot since Umie landed on him. The onmitsu is still more or less in the same position, knees spread, bound up in the blanket and the comforter, with her on top of him. This also means -- technically he caught most of her, and because he's spent the last minute or so frozen solid, he hasn't -actually- let go of her yet.
... Ah, his grip is dangerously low on his date's hips. Mostly because his elbows are tied tight to -his- hips. Shiryuu only notices this when.... oh, that _isn't_ a pillow he' holding between them. Not at all. Oooh... fu..
"...er...ah... sorry," he says.
Then without thinking, he lets go.
It's a little bit like dropping a hammer.
Hopefully your foot isn't in the way.
(it's definitely in the way)
(the foot is a euphemism, probably.) (likely.)
...*zooo*, his phone muffles.
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
Be brave, mighty shirogarasu.
The night is only beginning.
Umie's gaze, when Shiryuu finds the nerve to glance back at her, is likewise unable to look down at his own, despite how intimately close she is to him.
It's not like this is the first time this has happened; they've found comfort in the simple acts of holding each other, holding hands, or kissing. There's no embarrassment to be found in this action specifically.
However, this *is* the first time Umie's injured him in such an undignified manner.
Still, it allows Shiryuu a chance to smell something that *isn't* spices.
It's the smell of freshly shampooed hair and clean skin, of soap and water, mint and faint chocolate, furthered by the smell of her underneath it, like a foundation.
'I taste metal'. "God... my first Christmas date and I'm going to have to take my boyfriend to the hospital..." she groans, with a pitiful wheeze.
She's likely joked that the worst punishment she could give Shiryuu for his crimes is to be in love with him, but that was meant as a *joke*.
It's too bad; something about being swaddled with the person you love in a tangle of blankets feels sweet. Comfortable clothes, freshly washed, the smell of him against you and nothing outside...
.... except the threat of Mai-chan's presence, right when it would be the most uncomfortable for her to be there, and only then.
Tellingly, Mai-chan is *not* here, which means Umie is doing a great job of making things worse on herself, as usual.
And so is Shiryuu, for that matter, as Umie's embarrassment begins to die out, and the sensation of where Shiryuu's hands have grabbed makes itself known. Umie's face pinkens anew, but she says nothing. It's not his fault, after all. She doesn't even entirely mind it, even; in another context, she'd find it a little exciting.
The only excitement here, however, is when Shiryuu tries to do the right thing and let go of Umie's hips and posterior.
....
FOR THE RECORD, Umie *did* have her hands to either side of Shiryuu's head, the Mark peeking out from her right wrist like a curious, constant observer.
However, the grip her hands had on the fabric was not prepared to support her full weight without warning.
"-oof-," Umie goes, though her objection is muffled by two things: the rest of the comforter coming down on top of them both, and her, coming down straight on the bound Shiryuu.
At least the fabric he's tangled in cushions much of the impact.
It'll do nothing for their dignity, however.
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
And just like that, it's probably the closest Shiryuu will ever come to being full knighted by Umie.
To his merit, Shiryuu is quite capable of determining the difference between someone's... ahem ... and a pillow. Especially Akabane's. But it's significantly harder to make that mental leap when the only thing you can taste is someone's muay thai-grade crow knee genocide.
(It is absolutely not the first time Umie has obliterated Shiryuu. At least he isn't going to get kicked in the face again. Shiryuu's fast; he's ready this time and he will dodge it.)
(Being mashed, on the other hand; that's a new one.)
'-oof-,' "-kuh!-"
Just like that, the entire bed is stripped unceremoniously, dropping in a vast white pile on top of the two. Here we see the problem with Shiryuu's attempts at excess; the bed is absolutely massive, and the comforter is too, and though Shiryuu is certainly tall enough to appreciate it, the entire amount of bedding is quite a lot for the space between the bed and the wall.
And just like that, the scent of linen starts to overpower the spicy scent of homestyle chicken, the warm scent of her mint, and the enduring street rain. Along with other things that should rightfully remain nameless.
"... iih.. are you okay?" he asks quietly, once he gets his wind back. "I didn't -- mean to..."
Agh, what does this mean? Is he an offender? Do they have to get married now? He's very not sure. It wasn't this hard in the club. Shiryuu's hair is the only thing visible from behind a wall of heavy comforter, giving him the appearance of a blanket with really rebellious grey hair. It leaves him to muffle and blindly reach (carefully!) to her, patting only one he's absolutely sure he's hitting her hand. Her hand.
"It's just..."
"..mnnh." The onmitsu is absolutely not capable of forming a coherent thought, this close to her. In lieu of -saying- something, the boy shifts noticeably underneath her, popping the sweater's zipper so he can eel out of it one shoulder at a time. It's hard to really talk like this, so...
The grey-haired blanket sighs, slipping a bare arm out of the blanket pile to rest over the small of Umie's back, winding up with her just a little bit more.
".... why the hospital?" he asks, murmuring quietly, moodily into the labyrinth of the comforter. He still can't see her, navigating by feel of her warmth alone, and letting her weight rest against him. "no need. I'm invincible."
"And..."
"'I think I'm where I want to be,'" he decides, quoting her, before giving another pat.
Thought.
"...maybe a little to the right of where."
The bed's on the left. "... this is fine," he supposes.
At least she kneed the nausea out of him.
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
For the record, Umie has a very nice--
(let's move on)
As the comforter's weight begins to settle in on them, Umie stays there in the soft expanse of cloth, bewildered as well as a little appreciative.
It's kind of cute, like the sorts of things she have dreamed of doing with one boyfriend or another, before the weight of everything made her break up with them and start over.
.... when will it happen, for this relationship? Surely, the Order will intervene at some point, or force a conclusion to the matter with a wedding, with the pretense of tying Umie back into the fold and stuffing her back into the very box she was trying to get away from.
A pretty wife, there to serve as a means to an end. For the Ryouharas, obviously, that would mean....
'... iih.. are you okay?'
"... Have you... ever lasted this long, in a relationship, Shiryuu?" Did that mean a yes or a no?
A second passes. "... Yeah. Just... had a moment." She huffs a breath. "The Order... they might force the issue, you know. Like Ruin said. Getting me married off... they'd see that as a great way to rope me back into the fold. Whether it's you or Honjou-san..."
".... Sorry, I just felt really happy and got worried, for a moment, that I wasn't considering everything that could go wrong."
She feels Shiryuu shift in the sheets underneath her; she tries to oblige it, not wanting the boy that mess of hair belongs to to suffocate, either from heat or lack of air.
The hand patting hers may be incidental, as the shinobi feels his way around with touch, but she squeezes his hand back, all the same, as she pushes those anxious thoughts out of her head.
.... that process is *definitely* helped along by the feel of his fingers touching the small of her back, sending little sparks running up her spine as it rests there. He'll even hear the quiet little sound she makes.
That arm is bare. Is he tangled up in his sweater?
He's where he wants to be.
".... Shiryuu...."
Not a second passes before Umie adds, just to offset how sweetly she whispers his name, ".... you big dolt."
Somehow it still sounds just as affectionate.
'...maybe a little to the right of where.' "The wall's to your right," Umie helpfully(?) points out.
"Could we... spend a little time, like this?" She smirks. "Assuming you're not dying from the heat underneath there." Or... wait. If this arm is bare, does that mean _he's naked now_?
Umie's cheeks get bright red at the thought. But it's fine, right?
After all, no one's coming to see them in this state, after all...
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
DON'T REMIND HIM HE IS DEEPLY AWARE.
ahem. yes, let's move on.
The mass of blanket and comforter is quiet and still for a moment, as he considers the woman draped in with him, a soft warmth just on the other side of the dense bedding. For a moment, it's .. it's nice, right? He even manages to surface, his face popping up from the edge of the blanket like a swimmer coming up for air. "Pffffwwiff," he gasps, cheeks puffed out. But despite his initial instincts, there is something ... sad, in the way she starts.
'Have you ever lasted this long in a relationship, Shiryuu?'
"....." For a moment, the two brightly contrasted colors of Shiryuu's eyes look down at her, before he remembers to shut his left, a concession to trying to look presentable -- not that it matters, even the craze his hair's become. The question hangs in the air for a few uncomfortable moments.
".. I .. don't know."
There's certainly been sensual moments in his life, or at least things that he would classify as sensual. Girls from Sendai who smiled at him just so -- people who stayed a little too long after the set was over, people who came backstage, and the sound of the bathroom doors creaking as he wasn't alone.
He remembers recurring faces, tears, pills, tangled limbs. He could put shapes to the lips, and names to the people, if he really thought about it.
But would he even know if it meant anything at all to him...?
The onmitsu is quiet, avoiding looking directly at Umie after, staring off under the bed again, this time for entirely different reasons.
Does not knowing how any of it made him feel make him... soulless?
He tries to explain it. "I... um.. don't know if ..."
.... he shakes his head.
Maybe it does.
But it's not what she needs to hear.
"...ignore me, I'm just... what matters is you, okay?"
The idea that the Order might force things takes preeminent priority in his mind, especially to the idea that she might get married to someone -- anyone, really. Honjou, him...?
'If you'd put a ring on it, then perhaps the Lions could let this slide.'
Those particular words, in that particular order, burn in a very acid way.
"...um.. If you don't want ..."
The onmitsu halts, thinking about how best to say it.
He can't quite see it, but his hand slides into hers, and squeezes back.
"... you deserve the same choices that any person does. If anyone wants to try differently, I'll just crush their limbs and teeth, until they beg you for their freedom."
I'm sure he meant that to be comforting.
'..you big dolt.'
"iiiih, Umie!" Shiryuu replies through pursed lips, his russet eye narrowing as he is entirely vexed. Or at least, that's the idea, until he breathes outward into the blanket's space, a little *puff* raising the comforter over his face. "That's not fair."
The wall's to the right. "I know, i--"
... her voice is nice.
"....mmm," the boy concedes.
"That's fine."
He slides his fingers out from between hers, and links them both behind her, to hold the troublesome Akabane tight, steepling his fingers together behind her in defeat. Hrmnrr. She's winning right now. And both of his arms are actually bare. Luckily -- there's a lot of blankets between them, so the mystery is..
"..h..hey. For the record, I _did_ get you a present too, you know. J--just so you know I'm not a deadbeat person, or an...an... 'EBENEZER SCROOGE.'"
He clearly just found out about him the other day, judging by his pronunciation.
Leave it to Shiryuu not to leave a moment well enough alone.
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
Just as Umie becomes worried that Shiryuu might be running out of air while his girlfriend began to wonder on the melancholy of the past and the bonds of the present, he surfaces, looking more like the confused boy her age than the indomitable shihaisha that has bloodied his hands.
But isn't that a fantasy a lot of women have? 'He's like this, just for me.' But that would imply the way he's acting is the way she wants him to be, rather than something she was attracted to.
It's just the natural state, of two people letting go of their masks.
Right?
The brown and blue of his eyes are visible briefly before he closes the blue one, as he considers Umie's question.
When he does answer, it's with an honesty that wouldn't be out of place for someone else their age, but a complete antithesis for him, the shirogarasu, the head of the old Ryouhara clan.
With the distance between those two comparisons, Umie feels like she's seeing not just insecurity, but the edges of a wound Shiryuu has yet to fully understand.
He's looking away, now.
Now able to see where his body lays in relation to her own, Umie lays her head against the crook of his shoulder (or where it seems to exist, under the blankets). "I guess, it's the same for me."
'... ignore me, I'm just...' "... It's still something on your mind."
What does it mean, to understand someone? Umie can't say she's ever really tried to understand any of the people she dated back then, few as they were. To understand someone would mean to accept the possibility that she'd consider a relationship for longer than it took to come to reason with the breathy, flighty butterflies in her stomach and the chills of simple, innocent touches and whispers. Like a butterfly in summer, they were not meant to last more than a season.
"... Does your eye hurt at all, when it's blue like that?" she asks, her head turned towards his chest.
'If you'd put a ring on it, then perhaps the Lions could let this slide.' Umie'd make a sweet little wife, wouldn't she, Shiryuu? You could have the Lions' (with an s, indicating more than two, not that Umie understands the significance) blessing, for taking this little troublemaker off the Order's hands before she could graduate into something that would need to be dealt with.
Everyone loves a wedding.
'...um.. If you don't want ...' "I-I mean... if I do..." she stutters, in that intimate space, as Shiryuu's fingers clasp into hers, "... it'll be because I want to, and only then." She hesitates a second. "... It's not that I don't... want to, I just... it feels like I've barely stepped into the world. And... with..." The Order, she wants to say, and add onto that--
'If anyone wants to try differently, I'll just crush their limbs and teeth, until they beg you for their freedom.'
There's a squeak in the sheets.
Umie's fingers fumble to her mouth as she realized *that was her*.
Ahem. ".... I'll do the crushing, thank you very much," she projects, with a deeper, confident tone.
She is the one having a date with her _boyfriend_, and she's scandalously tangled with him in *bedsheets* (a comforter and blankets) because they were just that in love with each other (he was too focused on his phone as she leaned in to seduce him) and she will make out with him and give him his present and they shall be very much acting like they know what they are doing.
Yes.
"Is that what you were texting about?" Umie teases. "And my, my, who is this Ii-bo-ne-za Sukoruji fellow you mention? Sounds like someone who's forgotten the spirit of Christmas~" Look at that face, she knows exactly what she's doing here. "Maybe, three spirits will come teach him..."
Wait.
With a quieter tone, Umie repeats, "... you... got me a present."
She got him a present, yes. Something cute that she saved up for, knowing that he's very particular on the brands he wears. Even something simple needs to be well-made and a marker of style.
Maybe this was a last second thing, on his part.
She wouldn't even care, if it was.
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
The idea of 'weakness' is something incomprehensible.
Even in that situation, even with the slow, measured blink of that leader of the clan and the slight part of his lips as he looks off into the dark with quiet introspection -- the idea of 'admitting what was lost' is not at all something he can give himself the grace to do.
If he is 'less than human' as a result of what he did, then it's fine.
She, in this moment, that moment, or the next, is the incontrovertible priority. There's no need to burden her with impossible notions and miserable things.
'Does your eye hurt at all, when it's blue like that?'
His remaining eye is almost shut, lidding to a thin crescent with his warmer mien. "...don't worry about little things like that."
Impossible notions and miserable things. It's why the boy makes a low sound in the back of his throat when she replies, her quiet admission that commiserates with him so simply, the stronger confidence of that cool girl's attitude she shows him. It's fine if she doesn't want to, he resolves strongly. If it's not 'her'... then there's no point in it.
The opinions of lions don't matter to the crows in the tree.
But Shiryuu is moved most by the small sound she makes in the sheets with him, the boy peering over the ridge of his blanket fortress appraisingly as she nestles in in that little notch, the floor between the bed and the wall. One brown eye, now open, sharply concerns her. A thought, a moment.
...that grey-haired boy's mouth presses together into a small smile.
She'll feel him shift, unlinking his hands to touch the back of her hairline as she rests her head against the boy's lissome stretch. It's enough that he considers her tough words while he mulls over the nape of her neck thoughtfully, to fondly curl at stray, unminded strands of her hair to soothe himself and her in the same run, endeared.
'I'll do the crushing,' she insisted so bravely.
"Okay," Shiryuu replies, soothing the tough little bird.
("i'll definitely crush their bones even harder after," the shijou shirogarasu resolves under his breath.)
Yes, Shiryuu knows what's really important here.
Even so, it's just not well enough to be left alone. His telling her flatly that he's no terrible scrooge only seems to earn him MORE OF THIS DEPRAVITY. "iih--!!" Shiryuu objects nobly and fully to this woman. "Three!" he says in full, hushed alarm. "Umie...!"
That's too many!
"I could only satisfy two at my current level!!" Shiryuu is in colors. Absolute dismay. Not even her attempts to rewind to what he was talking about is going to calm his alerted grey hair and exposed fang down.
"Eh-- well yes!" he agrees quickly, no longer paying attention at all. "I, I figured I would bring it to you after I finished, so it's just in the wrong cit--Akabane! More importantly, three is too much!"
He's very concerned about what kind of performance Umie is expecting out of him in this state.
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
'...don't worry about little things like that.' "That just makes me worry more," Umie shoots back, with a deadpan tone.
"... You... do know that there's sometimes kegare around it, right? I can sense it." Shiryuu can feel the way her head turns upwards, in a vain attempt at seeing that eye, before she resigns herself to settling back into the crook of his arm. "Just like with the Joker Cursed, but... different. It's the same stuff, but yours doesn't follow the same pattern." She's mentioned it before, she's sure of it.
"Just like it's been everywhere in Sumaru City, lately. Maybe it's always been there and I didn't know, but... it's like a hum at the back of my head."
Just enough to exist, but equally easily ignored, when she's distracted by other things.
.... like the interlinked fingers against the small of her back, one hand now moving to curl and gently pull at the wisps of hair at the nape of her neck, drawing pleasant prickles of sensation.
Then, there's the angle of his face when it smiles at her.
She loves that smile, and secretly wonders how she managed to draw it out of him now, without having done much of anything at all to grab it.
(That's all it takes, for her to forget about kegare.)
If that was exhibit A, the next part is exhibit B.
'Satisfy', huh.... "Three," Umie asserts. "Are you saying the mighty shirogarasu couldn't handle three ghosts? Mm hmm hmmm.... I suppose I'll have to take one ghost off your hands, then."
She hides a toothy grin into the sheets on his chest.
"I can't have you satisfying ghosts when you should be busy with me instead, after all~"
Don't blame the girl, you set this up yourself, Shiryuu!
Finished. "Finished..." Is he... making something? For her? It could be a knife or a mishapen piece of pottery at that point; the way Umie's cheeks burn make her wish she could cover her face, like she used to.
..... she hasn't done that in a while, hasn't she...
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
".... mmm," Shiryuu concedes in his wintry quietude, not begrudging her her riposte. The boy sits with it for awhile, buried in that little rolling pile of soft bedding with his 'bond,' the entire universe of blankets slowly replacing the spiced scent of chicken with that of linen and chocolate mint.
"A ninkou is a way of performing a 'miracle in our time.'"
It's something he's spoken about briefly, in the past. His eye is still closed as he speaks, as he busies himself with the feel of her skin, with the tousles of hair and their sensation between his fingers.
"But... all miracles have a cost."
It's something implicitly understood to the Ryouhara, and a damning secret to the rest of the world. If she were any other person, in any other place, even admitting she can sense that much about his eye would have been cause for execution.
Here, there are greater weaknesses shared.
"Among other things, my 'eye' can invoke auspicious transmission, but it unbalances the net rational in doing so, causing a circuitous blight. That is the kegare level, the thing you can sense..."
He thinks over it, anxiously soothing fingertips into the back of her hairline, as if he could feel the source of the hum she was talking about with touch alone.
What little anxiety is paid out in touch is more than repaid in words, and Umie's chattering is not helping Shiryuu's mounting alarm.
"Aaah, what an insatiable woman you are--!" Shiryuu complains loudly.
The boy shifts, ornery.
And just like that, the onmitsu flips his crow in the little blanket nook.
The entire mess tumbles into a knot with Shiryuu's roll, and the whole tide of white is a little bit like a capsizing ship in the young man's rancor. Hands, body, the entire shinobi disappears for one laundry-white moment. And then he's above her.
At least his hair isn't quite long enough to surround her.
A strong, dexterous hand slides into the morass of blankets and what remains of his sweater, bracing on the floor under her. Ryouhara's eeled almost entirely out of his confinement in the trade -- and yes, other than the varying accessories around his neck, biceps and wrists, it does mean the boy's all but slithered out of all of the clothing north of his belt buckle.
Ahem. Let's move on.
She'll feel that her weight isn't quite on the floor-- the hand at the small of her back, now swathed in an entirety of blankets holds her suspended in some version of hapless safety.
More importantly, she's eye to eye with him now.
"Finished," Ryouhara confirms flatly with the tables literally flipped.
His lips are close enough that she can feel his cool breath on hers when he slowly draws a breath in, holding it as he leans closer....
...and kisses Umie on the forehead, if she doesn't find some other diabolical way to crush his descendants once more.
"I've been sitting on a cutlet for twenty minutes...and I need to find a toothbrush," he whispers.
If she doesn't get up of her own volition, Shiryuu will help, hauling up the entire mass of bedding with her somewhere inside it on an arm, to drop his bundled girlfriend on the bed unceremoniously like cute luggage.
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
'But... all miracles have a cost.' "So, in short, it's a correction..." Umie's voice grows softer, lulled to a sedate space by Shiryuu's fingers as they worry their way through the baby hairs at the nape of her neck. "... Won't that hurt you, eventually?" Shiryuu may hear Umie's own worry in her question. The value in it is in Shiryuu, not his eye, or the ninkou.
Umie is, however, ignorant of what fate would normally befall someone with this knowledge; no doubt, if she did know, she'd object at how the punishment nowhere fit the crime, considering how simple a concept it is.
She does, however, see it as Shiryuu admitting a 'weakness', here in the moment.
So, she shares her own. "I guess, if you'd call my Mark's abilities as a 'miracle'," she starts, dryly, "maybe it runs on the same principal. A demon has to come from somewhere. To bring something from another place... it's not so different from transmitting something to another place. The price..." She can only feel safe, thinking about these things, right here, nestled in a blanket fort with a member of the NWO. How did this happen...? "I imagine, someone in the Order likely knows."
The irony of it all... no wonder they're poking and teasing each other, moments later.
"You should have known that to begin with~" she playfully chides back, reaching a hand up to curl against shifting Shiryuu's jawline--
But... she's not fast enough.
Like a whirlwind, the world becomes a round mess of white sheets and linen, with Umie laughing and cackling, even as Shiryuu has now suspended himself, half-naked, over her.
"Ah, Christmas is saved yet again..." She grins up at him like a pleased cat, all slow blinks and with an open-mouthed scythe of a smile as he closes in.
Shiryuu is spared more injury by his thoughtfulness, Umie trusting in the hand at the small of her back and the suspension of blankets to not just dump her as long as she stays still.
"..... a.... what?" A cutlet, Umie, keep up! "... Mmmn... just a little longer..."
Nope; Shiryuu is hauling the mess of her and the blankets straight onto the bed, leaving Umie to waddle out of them, static making the drier parts of her hair stick out by the time her head pops out.
She's still cackling as she pops her head back into that little nest, indulging in the scent left behin--
--nope she's popping her head back out; his rain scent's been defeated by the spicy chicken, bok bok.
Reluctantly, she sheds herself from that cocoon of blankets, and sits on the edge of the bed, attempting to tame the mess of her hair and buns. "I thought I saw one on the side of the sink. Though... if I'm going to stay over, we'll need one for me too."
She casts a glance over at the gift for him, placed protectively on top of her clothes. Somehow, by virtue of it being tucked on the inside of her jacket, the present was spared everything but the bit of sweat that may have gotten through her sweater. ".... There's still your present, too."
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
'...Won't that hurt you, eventually?'
If Shiryuu were to stop and think on it, it's the logical conclusion to come to -- the Kyotosaigan isn't a forgiving 'eye.' There's a lot to be said about the costs of being a shinobi, of the bargains that are accepted when one raises the mantle of the moon to one's own shoulders. But this 'bond' of his is a curious bird, who'll likely hear none of it.
His left eye is still closed -- absent the seal he forewent for the purposes of blending in, it was easier to manage. Too much 'stress' for it, even now.
His mouth sets in a thin, determined line.
"I'll have to make sure that using it is worth it, then."
The idea that in their desperation they found a way to throw an entire ship through a building is a fact that hangs in the air.
"--yes, the inimitable legacy of the enemy commander, Umie!" Shiryuu is almost hurt Umie is still not taking the Colonel's chicken seriously even after being shown proof of its power, and the laughing gremlin is dropped back onto the bed as Ryouhara stretches out all of his kinks in a shade of detached annoyance, linking his arms behind his back and leaning into the arch, not stopping until he hears the satisfying pop in his back. He doesn't seem to mind the few bruises from being slammed into an unwilling sandwich.
Mmn. He slides a hand into his back pocket.
It's actually pretty impressive that his pants aren't ninety percent grease by now, but when the boy unsheathes the perfectly preserved wrapped paper package (it has some sort of fuinjutsu inscribed on it. Does that really work on chicken??) the exquisitely carved shape o the cutlet lets the onmitsu spin it in the air like a throwing knife, or a cowboy with a revolver. "Behold, the power of the enemy, preserved for our use." He slaps it down on the table that (was) where the choco was the last time they were here. The table hasn't been eliminated in one of Shiryuu's many austerity sweeps, and is probably now carrying the 'food table' designation, judging by the way the young man places the wrapped cutlet dead center, and uses another ninkoujutsu at the unassuming package, sweating as he presses both of his hands together.
"Fuuin!" Shiryuu barks at the cutlet, after an impressive chain.
The cutlet does not seem to care.
"Yosh." Satisfied by apparently something only he can see, the boy's hands plant on his hips hard. "With this technique under our control, we'll be well apportioned to deal with any future insurgencies, should they arise." Hrmpf.
Shiryuu's determination is ice cold. "'The South shall not rise again,' commander."
After giving her a tiny look that betrays far more of his appreciation of the way she looks with messy hair than he'd like, the young man pads off to the bathroom on Umie's suggestion, after that.
The sound of water almost immediately follows a the boy turns it on, wasting no time to finally scrub the godawful second coming of said 'South' from his mouth.
An edge of him can be seen from across the luxuriant stretch of the room, the way the boy slings himself low to lean against the sink, resting his weight as he considers her words from earlier.
"...Anyway," he continues from inside, after spitting. He never thought he'd love the burn of mint so much. Ambrosia. "In ninkougakujutsu, the power of 'sending' and the power of 'receiving' are often interlinked inextricably. It's probably why the Mizunagi flew into the sealed space, with our abilities." Leave it to Shiryuu to reason these things out in a fashion that disarms them of their emotional weight, and when the boy is done rinsing, he comes to lean on the frame of the entry into the bath space, one hand stuffed into a pocket.
"I'll send for everything you need," the young man finally tells her. Absolutely she'll stay over, though even his one-eyed gaze turns pensive when it follows hers -- to the colorfully-wrapped furoshiki given pride of place atop her clothes.
She can see the way he swallows uncomfortably.
"I..." Suddenly, Shiryuu's words run quickly and violently to their extent and end. "...you don't need to do these things for me," he says quietly.
"...There's no way I deserve any consideration like that."
There's a tacit reminder of the differences that hang between them. No matter what else transpires between them... she's on the right side of the world, and he simply isn't.
He is an Order spymaster. That much alone should preclude him from that sort of thing.
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
'I'll have to make sure that using it is worth it, then.' Umie opens her mouth, following that knee-jerk complusion to object, but instead, she closes her lips, thinking about the 'miracle' they produced.
"... I'll do the same," she murmurs against him, instead.
Until then, they'll just have to make do with what they have, which will always involve its share of arguing, apparently.
"That was a mascot of a fried chicken fast food chain, not a commander!" Umie shoots back, exasperated. "... Stop falling for rumors! ... You're worse than... a... uh.... high school gossip!"
That is the sound of Umie being distracted by Shiryuu's stretching in front of her, up until she hears that *crack* of his back and her spell of temporary distraction is summarily broken.
At least she's making a sympathetic face now. "Hey, do you need me to-- a...."
..... up until he draws out that cutlet. "It was in your back pocket?! Shiryuu, what if that's going to explode on us?! You certainly can't *eat* it without getting food poisoning!" Quieting as he slaps the cutlet on that poor table, Umie quiets.
She squints, as he barks a word at it.
"... Well... I guess, if it's sealed," because Umie's just going to assume that's the case with whatever he just did, "we can just...." Throw the perfectly good, yet possibly poisoned food away!
A person can ask themselves why, exactly, a young woman of Umie's background hates wasting food. She certainly didn't want for anything, and there was never a time where she knew true hunger, as a child.
Maybe it was the random, rare sight of seeing aspirational food choices going bad in the fridge before it was used.
Maybe it's some Badb-induced crow behavior (WHICH IS NOT A THING) wherein she sees nothing wrong with saving money by eating boxed food that has been marked down.
Maybe, it'll be a mystery that will have no good answers.
Either way, Umie sits there, furiously occupying herself by taming her mess of hair into buns, almost missing that tiny, lingering look of Shiryuu's.
The room falls quiet except for the sound of Shiryuu brushing his teeth, as Umie completes the second bun, adjusting it on her head.
Sending, and receiving... "But it doesn't explain the ship in two places at once," Umie debates, quietly. "... They *are* the same ship, right?" She wasn't exactly paying attention when she tried to scale it following after Joker, and she wouldn't be able to tell from sight alone if it matched the one on the side of Narumi Memorial Hospital.
"... Was that space always there, or did we... make something new?" she also wonders, in a quieter voice.
Umie is still sitting there, when Shiryuu comes back out, her gaze on the brightly wrapped gift.
Her voice is gentle. "... I did it because I wanted to," she says, simply. "Not because it was the right or wrong thing to do."
'...There's no way I deserve any consideration like that.'
"... You can't say that before you open it, Shiryuu," she says, with a wry, lopsided grin. "I promise, I didn't get you something grand, like jewelry."
No, it's something worse: something she picked, because it felt like something Shiryuu could, and would use.
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
"Umiie!" Shiryuu complains, his hair spiking up at her in objection. He can't abide any of her conclusions, but in lieu of a more impassioned argument in the heat of the moment, Shiryuu emphasizes her criminality in tone of voice alone.
Calling him a gossip!!
"Ne --" Shiryuu turns and points illustratively.
He has a mark on his side, at the small of his back just above his beltline, a long visibly purple bruise where the edge of the sandwich smashed into him and burned a bit. There are a few more like it, but it's the most prominent. 'Hey, do you need me to -- ah..'
"This!" Shiryuu argues and interrupts, "is not gossip."
"That was no simple mascot," he continues. "We were in a battle for our lives against a superior foe in the guise of intense flavor Akabane," Shiryuu lays it out reasonably. "A true wolf among the sheep. Danger is everywhere, and making use of every possible advantage is necessary."
He slowly folds his arms, casting a long shadow over the cutlet. "...furthermore, as the shijou shihaisha of the Ryouhara clan, the crows over Shinano, the spearhead of the revolutionaries, the Shirogarasu and the flashing blade of Akita, I am bound to honor and rout every commander of men who stands before me instantly. This is the way to protect 'synchronicity,' and ensure primacy for all of the wayward sons and daughters that bear the peerless mantle of Ryouhara."
This only allows him to say it with extra conviction:
'Yes, the 'South shall not rise again,' commander.'
"Hrmph." Convinced he's made an airtight case, he only shakes his head at her, a little later. "...Anyway, don't be afraid. It's just my ninkougakujutsu. If I wanted it to, the enemy cutlet could destroy this entire floor, but we'll keep it for use in later jutsu."
Read: He's absolutely going to eat it when appropriate. Apparently, Shiryuu's oft-lamented disdain for expired food only applies to food not stolen from a powerful overlord of Christmas.
At least he has a chance to settle down after brushing his teeth.
'did we...make something new?"
Suddenly and sharply self-aware, the young man wets his lips as he shuts the water off. Even resting on his shoulder against the trim across the room, so far from her, he shifts uncomfortably, as if all of his parts aren't slid together in the right place, spurred with a sharp, angry, guilty pang by the idea of making something new.
With her.
"...I think we were the door to it," the onmitsu finally concludes, pushing the thought away. "The Mizunagi that's here is probably a shadow cast by the original. Or maybe it's the opposite. Perhaps it's a ship of Theseus. Perhaps the shadow will rot away with time, when the people forget about one or the other. We're looking into it."
His fingertips rub together absently as he lifts the light box and its colorful wrap off of her clothes. His touch lingers there; her fine sweater, and the reminder of what the shape of the morning was _supposed_ to look like.
Padding across the room to slide onto the bed across from her, there's a long, thin, rapier of a sigh, his anxious fingertips placating themselves with the simple curiosities at the edge of the wrap. "I... is it really appropriate, to do it this way? I should go get yours before..."
He's completely forgotten about his phone. [2 new messages]
Shiryuu is clearly not experienced with opening gifts, especially not on Christmas. Eventually he may be prodded to open it. Slowly, carefully, apologetically, glacially.
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
The bruises do make Umie's brow bunch, as she makes a soft hiss under her breath. "Nevermind who made them, do you need me to get some pain patches or something?"
'Futhermore--' With every title, Umie's expression grows just a little more flat. "The guy tried to set me on fire while I was wearing my new sweater. The only 'route' he's going on is in the trash!"
A pause. "I guess if I can get the smell out it'll still be okay... I thought I looked really cute in it..." she mumbles, crossly.
'Anyway, don't be afraid. It's just my ninkougakujutsu.'
Umie squints back at the shihaisha as he further explains. "It's not the ningyogakubutsubutsu I was afraid of, it's the chicken contraband."
She *is* proud of that nonsense term, though at least she didn't say it was *Shiryuu's* ningyogakubutsubutsu. "Also, you throw out the specials I snag from Triple 7, but this is somehow okay? Hmph!"
At least she, also, gets a chance to simmer down after Shiryuu brushes his teeth.
The connotation of Umie's words skirts by her, the blonde briefly oblivious to the connotations.
Briefly.
The silence from Shiryuu makes her quickly realize.
"... I... think that's probably a little more reassuring," she concludes. "Otherwise... the Order would likely demand we both be hauled off into some secret lab or hospital somewhere, for testing." She swallows, nervously.
She wouldn't be surprised if that's what happened to the Bride.
As for the ship... "A ship of Theseus...? Like, I get the paradox, but..." A shadow, or a lingering memory. "Maybe a cost paid, to try to make up for the overreach," she quietly surmises. "There must be a ship, and we needed to be somewhere else."
She's unaware of how Shiryuu's fingers touch the sweater, thinking about the shape of the morning.
There was no shape, to her, other than the memory of his warmth in those blankets, his fingers worrying the hairs on the nape of her neck.
His weight sitting on the opposite side of the bed signals her to scoot, her crossing her legs so that she's facing his back.
She has likewise, forgotten Shiryuu's dinging phone.
"You said it wasn't finished yet," Umie teases.
She leans in, and gently, lands a soft, single kiss on his bare shoulder. "You can wait, if it makes you feel better. It's not going anywhere."
"But," she adds, as she draws away, "I would like to see your face, just so I know my intuition was right."
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
Oh, that's not going to stop the bickering at all.
"Chicken contra--what! You'd better not be intending on throwing our power advantage by discarding a priceless o-cutlet with the latest technology!" Pause. "Wait, wh-- ningyo--Akabane! That doesn't make sense! What kind of hentai-shinobi crafts butted fish with boots!?"
Now they're just talking over eachother.
'Also, you throw out the specials I snag--' "_Nin kou ga-ku_--"
'--from Triple 7--' "Tokubetsu Great War Cutlet Secret Class A--"
Let's face it, it probably goes on like this for awhile.
What remains left is the sudden, violent tonal shift between the two as Shiryuu sits on the bed with the box on his lap. He is hyperaware of her presence at his back, as any dutiful shinobi would be--but for entirely different reasons.
"No, it is, but..."
It's hard to explain the exact chain of logic that kept the tiny box in Shibuya, and Shiryuu runs out of words before an attempt can mount itself, partly due to the warm kiss she plants at his shoulder, partly due to an idea that he's tangled up with.
His skin, predictably, is somewhat cold under her kiss, and a frisson of a chill chases across his skin with the soft landing, leaving a dusting of gooseflesh prickling across his arms and chest.
He is exceedingly careful not to tear the cloth as he delicately unties the furoshiki, sliding off the cover of the box inside to sit with the contents; nestled inside, a bundle of dense blue cloth, woven in a thick geometric crosshatch meant to invoke ichimatsu. The boy stares at it for awhile.
".... You know," Shiryuu comments, "until this year, I'd never known really what a gift even was supposed to be for."
Kiyoto and Takeshi were both capable caretakers, with ample spending money and his every need and want taken care of. Kiria gave him a mud pie once, when they were both younger. Certainly, in Sendai, he could dimly remember being sent any number of 'gifts,' the table in the backrooms filled with all manner of trinkets -- mouse ears and stuffed lions, copies of Alice in Wonderland, gaming handhelds and cake pops. More illicit substances, photos and articles of clothing than he'd care to admit. But..
Shiryuu lifts the small bundle out of the pack, recognizing the weave long before he even bothers to inspect the tag. "Saori," he identifies quietly, before slowly pressing the material deeply onto his face.
He can't remember anything of what any of that was supposed to mean. Did he care at all about those nameless, faceless people? It all seems lost as Shiryuu breathes in slowly.
"....you smelled great," the boy quietly says. "You looked great. Even now..."
Even after being seasoned. She may realize the grey-headed boy's absently replying to something she'd said upwards of ten or more minutes ago at this rate, before he was distracted with bickering with her. The boy breathes in and out slowly there for a few moments, his good eye closing.
"You always find a way.."
Then he lowers the scarf, laid delicately between two hands -- one below, one on top. It's really like the onmitsu's forgotten what all he was even doing -- most of the fight simply abandoning him.
He looks to the right in her direction, but not far enough over his shoulder to actually see her, regretfully. He has no idea how to behave or how to respond, having completely lost his train of thought. Instead.
"... did you.. want to have a slice of cake with me?"
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
The only person someone like Umie would put up with is someone she holds no illusions about, doesn't feel the need to impress, and especially someone just as stubborn and driven as she is.
And maybe, someone who is at least a little bit cursed.
Such a build of things would have to come with some 'downsides', if someone wanted to make a list and divide traits down a line of 'pro' and 'con' without considering all the sweetened complications nestled inside.
Umie bites back because the dance she weaves with Shiryuu demands it. His grander speeches, actions, wealth, and power mean less to her than the allowances he makes, the small nods and smiles, or the shouts that would mean nothing if she didn't know how painful it was for him to say it aloud.
They mean less, but they are not _meaningless_, as those parts form the canopy that shelter those parts she treasures, and gives them proper context, the contradictions, that form the whole. As someone who has been taunted with her own contradictory humanity for nearly half her life, it is precious to her.
... And why she kisses his shoulder, at that moment, when he struggles with the question of opening that box, and how to convey it.
She doesn't entirely understand it, but it endears her to him, much like the squeak Shiryuu heard earlier-- a concession that his grandstanding actually managed to hit her in just the right way, right when she didn't expect it.
"I've had tea, many times, and I've made tea for myself. Yet, when Ryouhara-kun makes tea for me, it tastes better." His skill is top-notch, in Umie's opinion, but that's not the point of it.
She bites back a proud smile, as Shiryuu seems to recognize the brand from the weave and quality alone, and how it feels against his face. "... When I saw that color and pattern, I knew."
'You smelled great. You looked great. Even now...' Umie's cheeks flush. Why did he have to come out with how she smelled, first, then how she looked?
But if he said it the other way, would her heart beat like it does now? ".... Thank you. You too... that sweater... it really suited you." The ripped up one. ".... I like the way you smell better now, though," she just has to point out. "... None of the chicken grease, covering all that up."
She lets the silence stay there, basking in the joy of giving something that communicated what she couldn't, in words.
It's a language Shiryuu also knows, as well.
"I'd love to," she says, bowing her head. "Do you want me to get a shirt for you?" Pause. "... As much as I appreciate it, the delivery person may get the wrong idea~"
She grins, cheeky as ever.
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
It's something a little deeper than even that.
Shiryuu recognizes the weave as a SAORI-style, the small, intentional imperfections and the avant garde mixed textiles a telltale sign of the recent Parisian influences on Japanese designers. Underground, one of the newer names. Isagawa, maybe, after graduating but before he disappeared into the faceless 'MMM' in Paris.
But Shiryuu' appreciation extends deeper, and the deep breath he takes through the fabric is a story unto itself. Most of it is just the scent and fragrances of the shoppe the scarf came from, perhaps even a hint of the original birchwood of the loom. But it's hardly what he's looking for.
No, he catches the barest drift of her scent, from where she held the scarf close before she got it boxed up.
He realizes with some annoyance that it's why he can't seem to focus on a single thought, the smooth drift of her. It's also why he lets he impugn the eleven secret herbs and spices with no further objections, tucking a leg to slide into bed just so -- that he can place a hand at the thin of her waist and pull her into a brief, sweet kiss.
For a second, it occurs to him to be polite and say 'thank you.' "Ah... mmn," Shiryuu blinks, just now realizing exactly that he's not been wearing a shirt at all.
'Do you want me to get a shirt for you?'
"....??" Shiryuu looks -- "!"
"--er... sorry."
You pointed at your bruise and everything, Shiryuu.
'--the delivery person--' "!!"
"FU--"
There is absolutely no time to waste. Shiryuu immediately draws back, patting his pockets with the furor of a boy who left the oven on, his sprig of hair now standing shock straight with the force and vim of his new uprightness level. Pat pat. Where did it go?? It wouldn't be like him to just -- oh wait.
She was on top of him, and his phone was on his belly, and ended up somewhere in his sweater. Which means that it's...
Umie can see the dotted outline of Shiryuu's one good eye as he looks directly to the mass of blankets behind her. Unfortunately, because it is between her and him, when Shiryuu 'vaults over her to find it' it's more like 'tackles his girlfriend wholesale into the mattress.'
It would all be very romantic, if Shiryuu's hands were buried literally anywhere other than the absolute miles of comforter just past Umie. Maybe she gets out of the way. Maybe she can save herself from a life of being lodged somewhere between his neck and collarline. Maybe she can avoid the necessary headlock he'd have to put her in to get to his phone and send the cancel order --
.....(50 mins ago)
SBSN: i got in a fight left the med pkg in indigo
SBSN: i'm at the prince need it shukuchi fast
SBSN: zen omfg where are u i need the guys
lordlongjohn: What are you saying
SBSN: ZEN OMFG YOUL 2012 GET YOUR ASS IN GABLE
lordlongjohn: Calm down I'll call Nahara she's in Shibuya
SBSN: OMFG NOT HER
SBSN: DONT SEND HER
lordlongjohn: Lord Shirogarasu if you need assistance that bad it makes no sense to send a shinobi to Shibuya and back, I'm texting her
SBSN: YOU DONT UNDERSTAND
SBSN: THIS ISNT THE LIGHT SITUATION
SBSN: RIGHT* damn itrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrtffgh
lordlongjohn: Okay I've made arrangements. You should really get a phone with better autocorrect.
(40 mins ago) secretkissycode: SBSN-sama just got to indigo to get your meds and Con Fes Sion I peeked~.. You sneaky little devil boy, there's no medicine in here at alllll~. What a corrupt leader to implicate innocent me in your flirty schemes~. Ah life as an underling~. On my way~
"..._--CK_! Akabane, quick, hi--"
("Keycard~~!")
The sound of the door unlatching effortlessly shortly follows the musical lilt on the far side of the hall. Therein strides Raigarasu of Ryouhara -- she'd be on the short side if she didn't stride on on at least two inches of chunky heel. As it stands, the teal-green kunoichi enters like a nuclear launch, wearing a bright red cargo overcoat shining with yellow trim elements, and is literally spinning the keycard she used to hack the door off of a black glove on the end of a wire.
Oh yes. The door: "Door~!" she announces, as she hip bumps it open, midstride. It doesn't put up any more of a fight.
"Araaa, Shiryuu-san. I'll never understand why you need to be on the top floor of literally every hotel. You'd think someone who could teleport would just -pick one,- so we captains can have an easier --"
Nahara gets to just about the middle of the room before she spots Shiryuu and Umie. In the bed. With Shiryuu (Nahara: 'absolutely') (Shiryuu: 'not even half') naked, in the process of...!!
Nahara grins at both.
"I didn't know the scent of chicken was your thing. _Merry Christmas, my lovelies!_"
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
'--er... sorry.' You're only enabling Umie's wickedness, Shiryuu. Her eyes are like merry half moons, glinting with an almost devilish shade of brown that borders on red.
"... You have nothing to apologize for," she says, finally, turning away from all the possible comments she could make.
This, too, is him revealing weakness, being that he rarely is seen this naked in any capacity. "I don't mind at all; I feel happy you feel that comfortable around me." Because it's the truth. It's one thing to steal tantalizing glimpses of someone she has feelings for, but it's another for that person to simply exist, bruises and all, even pointing to them as signs of his epic battle with the white-suited commander.
What *does* surprise Umie is Shiryuu's reaction to her mention of the mysterious delivery person. "Eh?" She tilts her head.
She has absolutely *no clue* what's about to happen, as Shiryuu furiously pats down his pockets. "Oh, I guess you'd have to pay... but wouldn't it just be added to the bill?"
( o o
>_e- - - - - - - >_>- - - - - - - - - - MISSING PHONE
".... Ah, your phone-- WAUGH--!!"
That is not the cry of someone who's just been tackled into a passionate embrace, because that's not what's happening here, at all. Umie knows it.
This has all the passion of an elderly lady haggling away at the last discounted box of dumplings.
And of course she doesn't get out of the way, because she's Umie. "Finally given into your passionate desires, I see," she teases, "Ahhhh, to be ravished on a Christmas date.... I'll be an innocent maiden no more at the tender age of twenty... oh please, Shiryuu, please be gentleHNRK~"
Again, Umie knows that is *not* what Shiryuu is intending here, but she has to punish him for his hubris in not just walking around the bed like a normal person.
After all, what sort of boyfriend puts his girlfriend in a headlock?
'Keycard~~'
With all the respect of a cat walking in on its owner in the bathroom, Nahara walks in. Umie instantly abandons her coy teasing for wide eyes and an awkward cough. "... not what it looks like," Umie manages, her face bright red.
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
What is about to transpire next has not been approved by the Shirogarasu.
"This is no time for your unending sexiness, Akabane!!" Shiryuu talks across Umie, his face knit with cold determination and lit by the pale glow of the phone. He's got her in a full headlock, dove partway into her and trying to furiously text something, anything, before he realizes she can already hear them. Damn it.
"Ahaa.. found you out." She raises a black gloved finger, wagging it at Shirogarasu chidingly.
The teal green kunoichi does not at all look like a shinobi. Oh, certainly, she's wearing the cute little sash, done up with a giant hoop buckle and a tucked fold that has the 'RAI' kanji blazoned on the hem -- but that's literally where it ends. From the cyberpunk armor accents on the insteps of her heels, to the leggings that literally say 'LUNAR' printed in thick impact font down her right side to the glowing neon lemonade gold trim on her pocket-and-belt-infested red overcoat, absolutely everything else about her screams 'future!.'
You can even see when the HUD OS on her glasses boots up, a swirl of the Ryouhara leaves as she peers at Umie, for pete's sake.
The kunoichi purses her lips in pixie innocence at Umie as she gives the poor girl a minute to explain why she's in bed in Ryouhara bedclothes with the Ryouhara scion and currently heir-less boss on top of her. Bright. Shining. Completely innocent.
"So..." the sound of the wire winder in her glove buzzes, as the thoughtful kunoichi throws the Denkenshintenki into the air again idly, the keycard spinning in the air like a yo-yo before retracting, snapping back into her palm, the card caught and held at a quizzical angle close to her lips.
"You're ... not here to be... ravished," she uses the word cautiously when she asks, "...on a Christmas date?"
Nahara's glossy lips turn in muted disappointment.
"Well. That's no way to deal with rowdy boys."
At this point, Shiryuu will release Umie from her headlock, rolling onto his back on the bed in abject irritation. "This is Nahara," he tells Umie flatly, staring at the ceiling. "She has a death wish..."
"Mou~! Shiro-chan, that's not true!" Nahara objects. "I came running when Korozen told me you were compromised. And -- oh, he didn't lie did he?"
If Umie looks very closely, she can see the translucent display making an outline of her figure in the bed, three distinct sets of brackets finding her edges. Bust, waist, hips. The Shinshingankyou projects her clothing size, for later impersonations.
"...Ooo. I guess this is the first time we've met up close, isn't it..." she thinks of Umie. "Ah. The ideal Yamato nadeshiko refined figure," Nahara thinks aloud, clucking her tongue as she unclips the keycard to tuck into an inner pocket of her overcoat. "You're supposed to be resting your _eye_, Shiro-chan," she nags, to which Shiryuu stubbornly refuses to dignify with a response. "You're going to blow a fuse looking at this one all day."
Pause. "And that's _Raigarasu_ Nahara in front of the lady," she corrects. "I'm second-in-command after all~"
"No, you're not"
"Aaaa~!" Nahara complains, waving the crow off. "What's Shinkun-kun going to do? He's too busy with all of his boys~... that leaves me as the only remaining mistress in charge. You should be lucky to be visited by me with a word from that promiscuous Korozen, of all people."
"That reminds me." The teal-haired kunoichi reaches deep into a pocket clearly labeled (05) in her overcoat, and takes out a small, cloth-wrapped box, with a medician's red cross on the front. She scoffs at it. "Anyway~~ you don't have to call me Nahara-sama or Raigarasu-taichou right this minute," she informs Umie graciously and in no uncertain terms.
She offers up the gift in a flat palm, for who-so-ever-wants-to-take-it~
Shiryuu is busy not giving her the satisfaction, glaring daggers into the ceiling.
"Today, you can call me Santa-sama, but *just* for today, ne?"
The ceiling is full of daggers.
"Go away before I consign you to hell." "Mou~!"
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
'This is no time for your unending sexiness, Akabane!!' "So you *do* find me sexy~URK-" And that was the last anyone heard from poor, poor Umie Akabane.
'You're ... not here to be... ravished... on a Christmas date?'
Ah, so this is what it's like to be on the other end of it...
At least she's being released from that headlock, so she can properly respond! "Welll....." Umie's eyes look to the ceiling, her lips twisting as she considers her words. "I wouldn't say 'no' to a good time, but I think he was just looking for his phone." She grins, cheekily. "It just felt like an excellent occasion to give him trouble~"
'She has a death wish...' "I'm pretty sure people have said the same thing about me dating you, Shiryuu." With Shiryuu now flopped on his back and no risk of her bonking him in the head by rising, Umie rises her legs into the air and uses them to leverage the upper half of her body up. "'Compromised', eh... Technically, that *would* be true, as he got some food poisoning from that rumor statue that came to life. The one causing all the bad luck mojo going around." She straightens the samue top. "He selflessly rescued Sumaru City's luck from the evil commander, so that all hopeful couples can get 'lucky' tonight~"
"It definitely is. You likely already know, but I'm Umie. A pleasure to meet you." Umie does like this Nahara, definitely. Shiryuu may want to get Nahara out of here before the two of them properly sync and cause a surplus of chaotic gremlin energy.
That doesn't mean that Umie misses the outline reflected of herself in Nahara's glasses. "Don't they already have my measurements on file?" she asks, propping her upper half on her palms, behind her. "Or maybe they haven't updated those since I graduated... I'm sure I've gained a few inches here and there--"
'The ideal Yamato nadeshiko refined figure.' "Don't remind me," Umie sighs. "I'm sure--"
'You're going to blow a fuse looking at this one all day.'
Oh, Umie *really* likes this one.
"Raigarasu Nahara..." Umie tilts her head towards Shiryuu. "... And you're the shirogarasu..." Come to think of it, Umie must have heard Nahara's voice back then...
And the person she was talking to, then... that must have been 'Shinkun-kun'.
"Nahara-sama seems a little easier to say," Umie says, sitting up at the sight of the box. "Though now I know what to call you if I need you to bother Shiryuu about something~"
Her heart's beating fast, mostly because she didn't even expect it to be 'finished', whatever it was Shiryuu was planning on giving her.
Since Shiryuu isn't taking it, Umie does instead, standing up and walking over. "Thank you, Santa-sama~" Umie chirps, plucking the box from Nahara's hand, as Shiryuu makes his threat. "Seriously, though... thank you. If Shiryuu was still sick, I would have seen if I could get you to get some medicine for him. Even if he'd certainly never need it, because he's invincible."
She curles the box into her palm, her red nails keeping it protected, as her thumb feels the cloth with a thumb. Of course, he'd keep it hidden like this.
.... Or maybe it really is medicine. Or-- WAIT
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
"I don't care about other people," Shiryuu says flatly.
"What I said stands taller."
Unconscionable.
Shiryuu is laying flat on his back on the bed, arms folded cattily as he stares dead straight up, lips pressed together in a cold flat nonexpression. If looks could kill, anyone on the floors above would have needed to be evacuated from the way Ryouhara burns through the ceiling with his gaze, unwilling to give Nahara even an inch.
There is the distinct feeling in the air that violence might have broken out if it weren't for Umie being there. Nahara knows this -- and is clearly enjoying every second of it.
She blinks as Umie replies, the gilded edge of the keycard lowering from her lips. 'I think he was just looking for his phone.' "Aaa ..." she vocalizes softly, understandingly as she leans over by the slightest inch, a fist planting on her hip as she stares at Umie with wide, sharply inquisitive pale gold eyes.
"...But," Nahara is thinking aloud, full of youthful, chaste inquiry, "I wonder in exactly which hidden spots he was looking for this _phone_...?"
The girl's conspiratorial hint hangs in the open air.
Letting it breathe, Nahara grins after a second.
"...don't let boys take charge so easily."
"Don't tell her _anything_," Shiryuu complains at Umie with all of the urgency of an interrogation subject, sharply looking over as she kicks back upright in the bed, only snapping back to the ceiling when Nahara gives him an even, quick glance.
It's really too late. Akabane is already blabbing. "Of course you did," Nahara replies, clapping her gloves together happily. Note that somewhere in the exchange 'he' became 'you,' as in 'you two.' -- Nahara's patiently putting Umie right back in the same box as her illustrious leader by assigning her an equal share of the credit -- or the blame. "We'd heard about a supralunar attack, but we thought you'd have it under control. And -- you know --"
She swirls a finger in the air, illustratively. "Fried chicken isn't my thing..."
"Who trusts _those_ files?" Nahara clucks her tongue, unwilling to say the word 'Order.' "Measurements taken by a bunch of depressing shut-ins. Tainted data will never be part of any database _I_ make. If I'm going to be Umie Ryouhara, or Nahara Akabane to implicate you in crimes, I need to make sure my information is just right. I suppose I'd need a wig, though -- I'd have to match the color, and my hair isn't quite long enough for the..." she makes an elaborate aqueezy-hands mime at about bun level. "Dee seven bee eh ay five?" she thinks, while doing so. "Hello Bubble Ash Beige? No -- more like Blonde Brown..."
Mm. She's getting ahead of herself.
To that end, Nahara's slightly taller than Umie but likely not by an awful lot and only once the lift from her heels are taken out of the equation. She is, however, entirely pleased when Umie takes point, taking the gift from her. "Aaa~" she all but purrs, hands returning to her hips. "What a polite young lady. I'll put you on my 'special nice list' for this year. Santa-sama's always watching, you know. Speaking of the naughty list, though --"
She points over Umie's shoulder.
"He just peeked at your legs a minute ago." "I DID NOT"
She waves a hand at Shiryuu easily. "And to think all of those times we poisoned him went to waste?" she thinks aloud of Umie's ask. "A bite of spice or two shouldn't get invincible Shirogarasu-sama in that poor a state... oh well!" She absolutely doesn't care. "Thank you for taking care of him! I'll have some bedding and maybe some other things sent up, I'd really love to stay and show you two a thing or two but... well, I really should go back and untie *my* Christmas date, ne?"
(No one ever asked what _Nahara_ was doing on her Christmas, obviously. It's a lie, obviously -- she's not going to untie him. She has work to get done too!)
"Of course, I could be troubled to," Nahara thinks, "if you need a rating on exercising crow's privilege to really put him through the mat--ie!!" "Time to go--!!" "OH~ destructive! Hishinmeisen's string is not meant to be used like this Shirogarasu-sama! You should save these moves for your girlfrie--" "Get--urgh--out!"
That is the story of poor Nahara, physically tied up, drug to the door and thrown out on her neon ass. After which, Shiryuu slides the wastebasket after her into the hall.
"I wasn't peeking!" Shiryuu tells Nahara with finality, then slams the door and shims it shut with a chair.
From the other side of the door: "Keep telling yourself that~"
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
Violence may have broken out otherwise, but it's Umie's presence that spurred Nahara needing to come here with the precious package.
Where was Shiryuu looking for his phone in, Nahara asks. "The boring spots," Umie says, with a shrug. "Not the fun spots."
'"...don't let boys take charge so easily.'
Umie grins, closing one eye as she taps her chin with a red nail. "Who said he was in charge?"
... It was fun, pretending he was there to 'ravish' her, knowing that he was instead driven by that single-minded desire to get to his phone instead.
All until Nahara was there to witness it all. But, on the other hand, Umie got to meet Nahara! And she *likes* Nahara.
Hence the babbling.
"I guess so," Umie hums, now rubbing the back of her neck, unsure of what to do with that hidden praise (or blame, as it were). "I like it, every once in a while--" She realizes, as she holds her right hand to rub the back of her neck, the wrist is bare, exposing her Mark. She tries not to make much of it, hoping that those 'files' already had mention of it. "The bucket of chicken I had got soaked, along with my nice sweater."
Hence the samue, but Umie doesn't say that, either.
"If you get to pose as me, do I get to pose as you?" She touches her hand to her chin, thoughtfully, examining Nahara over. "I'd have to get used to walking in heels that tall, though... and the clothing'd be hard to match... But..." she continues, letting the hand drop from her chin, "Nahara-sama would never do something like that. That would be the actions of a Nahara-san..."
SPEAKING OF NAUGHTY
"Oh was he..." She leans in, conspiratorially. "I always suspected he was all about the legs..."
ha ha ha that poisoned thing is a joke, ha ha ha happy joke time, ha ha ha Umie is looking at Shiryuu, trying to read from his expression if it's a joke or not.
"The night's still young," she answers back, semi-distracted by the feel of the package in her hands, trying not to think about whether this is an actual date Nahara is talking about, or...
... a victim.
*WHAM*
When he shoves that chair under the door handle, by the time he looks around, Umie is sitting on the bed, legs folded, cupping the wrapped 'present??' in her palm.
"I figured I'd wait for you, just in case it's just some nausea medicine."
She grins at him, and pats the space next to her on the bed. "You did imply the present wasn't finished yet."
Yet, if she's allowed, she'll open the package up anyway, carefully, trying to hide the excitement on her face.
Don't ruin it by getting your hopes up, Umie.
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
'Who said he was in charge?'
Nahara grins, a glossy, finished smile. "Aaa. Polite, fun little Shibuya," she thinks of her warmly, putting her best foot forward for her contemporary's examination gracefully. Answering wonder with wonder, the kunoichi has no problem stretching all the way out for Akabane's examination. "You're absolutely right. Always shoot higher than the moon," the kunoichi tells her.
Part of the show is just for the dance, isn't it?
"That way no one can split your arrow."
There is a flicker across the teal-haired kunoichi's glasses, outlining the shape of Umie's wrist. Nahara with her thin, knowing smile doesn't appear to pay it any mind.
Unfortunately for Umie, Shiryuu is of absolutely no help in determining whether he was genuinely poisoned or not -- he's too busy filling the ceiling with daggers and pointedly not looking at Umie's legs. He's not letting her win.
Either of them.
'I always suspected he was all about the legs..'
"That's the spirit!" To that end, Nahara titters devilishly, keeping the half-hand cuff of her glove just below her chin. Ah, but she's already starting to get distracted by Shiryuu's little toy. "You know, I think," she appraises, "you'll do just fine, Shibuya-san."
'The night's still young..'
"Make sure to take hold of everything you want guiltlessly...ne?"
To Nahara's merit, she does manage to get off a giggling 'I'll call you~' hand symbol and a wink to Umie over Shiryuu's shoulder as he physically picks her up and forces her out.
The young man only breathes once the door is locked and barred, his hands on either side of the frame as he finally relaxes, letting the tension drain from his spine.
"The Ryouhara clan is filled with scoundrels," Shiryuu grouses finally.
Padding across the room, Shiryuu finally rejoins Akabane, turning to first kneel, and take a seat next to her. "For all of that, it had better not be," the onmitsu realizes in deep, deep dread.
Luckily, even though Nahara peeked, she did a marvelous job of not adulterating the package -- the outer layer is only the part that keeps it from being conspicuous. Had it actually been handed to Shiryuu, he would have taken the tied cloth off of it first. Beneath the medician's guise, there is a more elaborate cloth, patterned in dark blue with a starfield pattern in the Subaru grouping. Unwrapping this, a delicate wooden box has a rudimentary latch -- and then finally, a small pendant, at the very end of it all.
Contrary to implications otherwise, it doesn't _seem_ unfinished. It's a tooled pendant, lightweight and made of a dark grey type of matte pewter metal. Though it was at one point clearly meant only to hang from the short jewelry chain included with it, a small clip mechanism has supplanted it. It's made of wound concentric circles, the centermost ring capturing in its settings a droplet of jadeite, so pale and polished so as to almost be entirely translucent. When the outer ring is twisted, it makes a satisfying click, spreading apart in three sections to open into a tripartite shape, letting a thin amount of light in around the setting and allowing the stone to shine. It is also clearly either handmade, or modified heavily from some other design.
His fingers tie up in the knees of his clothing, bunching the fabric up until the wrap binding his ankles is prominent.
"...Ah..." Shiryuu says, more than a little anxious over it.
"Um.. I suppose I got tied up thinking I would take you somewhere you liked in Shibuya to find an outfit you liked that would go with it.."
The best laid plans of mice and men.
He also completely forgets to say anything like 'Merry Christmas.' It was right there, man.
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
Welp, it seems that 'Shibuya' has become Umie's nickname.
Umie's not complaining; a nickname is better than Nahara freely spreading Umie's name around.
But in the end, it's all just part of the dance.
"Always." She'll aim her arrow high and claim her goal.
..... The biggest goal of all, however, remains covered by fog. What is the Mark? Who is Mai-chan? Who is Nyarlathotep? How do all of these relate to each other? Will she become like that man locked away, eventually? If she's lasted nearly ten years...
How does something that summoned a childhood friend also help to create a door?
Don't think about such things, Umie Akabane. It's Christmas, and the person you love is half-naked and--
DON'T THINK ABOUT THAT EITHER UMIE
"She's cute," Umie muses idly, as Shiryuu disparages his family clan. "Shibuya-san, huh... I don't dislike it, as a nickname."
She now turns her attention to the mysterious little present, slipping off its medicinal disguise to reveal the cloth underneath, pausing to recognize and admire the pattern before she carefully undoes the wrapping.
Her eyes glint at the equally mysterious wooden box, situated on her lap in the unwrapped fabric. A puzzle box? Ah, no, there's a latch, which she undoes.
She draws her breath in, cupping the pendant in the palm of her hand, running the pad of her thumb over the pewter, rings, the pale jadeite centered in the middle. "...?" With a barely audible note of curiosity in her held breath, she discovers that the outer ring can be twisted. Like a worry ring, maybe?
The ring clicks, and Umie's eyes widen, slightly, leaning her head closer in interest.
The wan jadeite now shines, like a small moon given access to a ray of reflected sunlight.
It's beautiful.
"You made this... for me." Her voice is barely above a whisper. "Didn't you."
A man who haunted her thoughts, driving her to explore Mementos with the goal of beating him at his own game....
Who won, in the end?
She draws her eyes back to Shiryuu, who is obviously anxious.
"... It's beautiful," she says, gently, fiddling with the clip on the back to clip it on her samue. "Honestly, I'm... god..." She wants to cry.
However, with that happiness comes a tickle of fear that something will come, to prick the bubble of that joy prematurely. Would it be out of jealousy, maliciousness, or just plain sadism?
She takes a moment to reassemble herself, and her emotions.
"That gives us an excuse for another date," she manages to say next, as she leans in, gently touching her left hand against Shiryuu's jawline, leaning in to plant a lingering kiss against his cheek.
Did she say Merry Christmas? She can't remember. "Though, right now, what I'd especially like... is to have cake with you."
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
"She's an incorrigible tyrant," Shiryuu says, at first refusing to give Nahara the benefit of any doubt. "But," he does concede, "she's the best at what she does."
After all, there is a reason why he put her and O-Shinkun at the opposing compass points. Their entire nature is to act as a check on one another, and in turn, him. The institution of the Ryouhara Yongarasu is one that Shiryuu has at least some grudging respect for.
But the young man is ultimately eager to push any thought of that exhausting experience out of his head -- his hands tightening restlessly at his knees quickly replaces whatever other concerns he might have had, as his gaze wanders, skating over her hands as she opens the box.
If he were ever going to say anything about Christmas, he immediately forgets watching her.
His expression softens as Akabane enjoys the entirety of his attention, the sound of her voice and the way she turns the jadeite ornament to open it. His eye lingers along the softened lines of her, a distant part of him remembering to be concerned about the tone of her voice, though it's debatable if he really even understands why.
She was .. asking something, right?
"...aaa?" Shiryuu recalls lamely, a shuttered blink of a single eye moving his train of thought along slowly.
'You made this for me... didn't you.' "...um."
It's the most eloquence you're getting out of him.
Normally, Shiryuu would have a lot of opinions. About the nature and danger of supralunar powers, and how they relate to people. He'd explain that he made the pendant to be safe to wear as long as it's closed, that it won't catch the eye of anyone in battle. That it's meant to be opened and held up to the moon, to remember that he thinks of her when he looks at that same moon now.
He'd thought very carefully about what he wanted to say to this person that he loves.
"...ah."
No chance of it now. Sad.
Shiryuu is only broken out of it when she leans in, turning him pliantly into a small kiss on the cheek, and it's only that warmth that triggers him, making Ryouhara sharply, painfully aware of exactly how out of sorts he is. "--ah," he repeats, for emphasis. "S-sorry.." She said something about another date. Right. Cake. Oh! Cake. "I--it sounds good," he says, in that smooth, meandering fashion.
A short, sharp, minty puff of air as the young man releases the breath caught in his chest. This time, at the very least, he _doesn't_ put his girlfriend in a headlock, leaning into her space to reclaim that saori scarf, hidden carefully from prying eyes underneath a blanket the moment they were interrupted.
His hand slides into the box, feeling the little imperfections if the weave, an arm around Akabane to reach. It puts him very, deeply close to her.
In that space, while trying to focus on literally anything but her sweet, crisp scent, Shiryuu can finally consciously recall with some clarity what Umie might have been saying to him. 'What I'd especially like... is to have cake with you.'
"...I'd like that, too..." he says, deeply unaware he's repeating himself. "It's, um... the concierge is holding onto some for me, since their fridge is colder... I'll just get dressed, and..."
He hasn't actually recovered his gift from the box behind her yet, his hand still slid into it. He has however, leaned further into her silhouette, until there's no practical difference between hers or his.
When his kiss finds its circumspect way to her lips, it's much warmer than warm, and finally, after an agonizing forever, there's nothing left between them to get in the way.
"...I'll need to get dressed," Shiryuu tries to think. Don't kiss her again, Ryouhara. "..and.."
They'll have cake in a few minutes.
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
For every moment of happiness, there is a price.
The less that she hears or sees Mai-chan's presence, the more she wonders when her childhood friend will show up, and how.
And when even that doesn't gain a response, she wonders if that, in itself, is a prelude to a fall, a way to build someone up so that the fall will be so much more spectacular.
Weeks from now, this suspicion may be proven right.
But all that is for later. Tonight is for them.
Shiryuu may struggle with eloquence, but Umie's not that much better. Thankfully, she knows enough to find Shiryuu's tied tongue a sign of his feelings.
His actions often speak louder than words, his arm drawing Umie close, aided by Umie melting into the smell and cool press of him, stray blonde bangs draping around his shoulder closest to her.
Something about the concierge, and the fridge.
Hm.
'I'll just get dressed, and...'
Maybe there's a way to do that without him leaving. Hm. Hm. Umie will have to think about it, as her lips cross with his.
Hm.
Another kiss, to think on it.
He'll need to get dressed.
The cake can wait, she decides. "Just a few minutes..."
Shiryuu's lips are sweet enough, she decides.
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
It's been a long morning, an even longer afternoon. If you were to stack up every ill conceived thing, every poor, embarrassing little contrivance one upon the next and then set that stack against the miracles of the moment, one will assuredly find the match lopsided.
It's in that miracle of a moment they have to hide, with the onmitsu trying to pluck a single coherent thought from the aether and only finding a few more reasons to indulge, the bass-deep involvement of his breath a steady tempo against her. One kiss becomes two, and once paired, they only want for more company.
One could be forgiven even now, for waiting for that other shoe to drop.
But Shiryuu Ryouhara is nothing if not stubborn, letting his mind drift to the feel of his person's hair sliding along his bare shoulder. Nahara was, anoyingly, right about one thing. He was paying _far_ more attention to Umie than he was willing to admit, and her words, unbidden, choose right now to ghost back along his consciousness.
"Mm.. hey.."
It's somewhere between the third kiss, and when his hand slides his own gift along the small of her back. Inconveniently, it means that Shiryuu doesn't have much support anymore, and they are slowly moving across the bed.
"...'d you mean.. 'I'm not looking in any of the fun places'...?"
To Nahara's credit, she is not half the cruel mistress she claims to be -- once she gets downstairs, she'll have new bedding sent up to the room, along with a cake she should absolutely, could absolutely not have known about. Of course, she also sends a few other things.
For Shiryuu; a few bottles of Pocari, and a pack of medicine. It's for stomach discomfort.
For Umie; a heating pad, and a pack of medicine. It's for the morning after. Lord knows how she got it from the pharmacy.
(And for Nahara herself? The most expensive bottle of designer Aramasa sparkling sake she can find. To go, also charged to the room. Gift wrapped. For New Years. Business expense. Obviously.)
But all of that's a little later on, still.
Even if the two will likely find their way off the entire other side of the bed in their mutual distraction, and through a few more unlucky pieces of furniture aside.
Shiryuu will have enough time to argue with Umie, and be scandalized in turn. Right now, the boy is exactly where he wants to be.
'Just a few minutes,' she says...
"....yeah," Shiryuu agrees, somewhere in the middle of it.