Constellations 18
Taylor ducked out of school early. Nobody really cared, since she'd managed to finagle her study period as the last one of the day, so it had become a habit that had so far lasted most of the school year. She loaded up her bike, unlocked it from the rack, and started off. Sunny joined her mid-way to the shrine, darting out of an alley and falling in step beside her.
"Hey, Sunn-- augh, you're all muddy again! Seriously, do I have to give you a bath?" The canine stumbled, missing a step at the sound of the dreaded B-word. She whined. "Well, it's your own fault. Either rinse yourself off or I will, because you're not jumping on me or going inside anywhere until you're clean." The wolf whined again and hung her head, absolutely forlorn.
They reached the shrine and Taylor set about starting her routine, getting her bike settled and putting her bento in the office's minifridge. She suspected it was another addition Oni Lee had 'donated,' though for her or for Sunny was up for debate. Taylor had claim to the top shelf, and everything below was reserved for the bottles of sake that kept appearing. The fact that her wolf friend was possibly an alcoholic didn't bother Taylor so much as wondering who would sell alcohol to a wolf.
A very loud slosh sound drew her attention back out into the shrine, and Taylor sighed before she went to investigate. Hopefully Sunny hadn't jumped into the fountain feeding the chozubachi. Again.
Sunny was not in the fountain, thankfully, but she and everything around it were drenched. The wolf shook herself vigorously, then lolled her tongue at Taylor once her fur was sufficiently poofy. Taylor stared, then shook her head and went to retrieve her apron and dog brush.
"I don't know what that was, but I know what it means." She sat on a dry section of grass and gestured. Sunshine trotted over and sat down to be brushed. "It means we're definitely hitting a water park next summer. I think it'll be hilarious." Sunny chuffed, then barked in agreement.
The two settled into an easy silence, Taylor brushing out the wolf's thick fur so it could dry, and Sunny enjoying the contact. As soon as she was mostly dry, Sunny made a sleepy murr sound, and settled down to rest with her large head on Taylor's lap. Taylor rubbed the wolf's ears for a bit, feeling a little of the tension and worry drain away from her.
"I'm… still not sure about this, Sunny. I know you say it'll be okay, but I can't help it. Lung… Lung is scary, for a lot of reasons. And I'm worried that if he knows I'm scared, he'll…" Sunny lifted her head and pushed against Taylor's hand, interrupting her thought. The girl smiled, just a little, and scratched at the red markings that had spread over the wolf's neck.
"Yeah, I know. We'll just have to have a plan, right? I gotta admit, it'd be easier to make one if I knew what you wanted to get out of this."
At that Sunshine lifted her head more fully, getting her paws underneath her properly. The wolf snorted, then shoved her face at Taylor, putting a cold nose-print on the girl's neck. Taylor grinned and shoved the wolf's muzzle away, but Sunny did it again.
"What," she laughed, as Sunny went in for a third boop. "What? ...are you asking what I want out of this?" Sunny thumped her tail on the grass. "I'm guessing other than not hosting a tea party for a gang leader? Hm…"
Sunny wagged her tail a bit more, a smile stretching her lips, and Taylor resumed her scratches and pets. "What would I want… let me think about it a bit? A couple days, okay?" Bark!
A distant vrrrrrrrrr dispelled the atmosphere of easy head-scritching, and as Taylor and Sunny looked up the sound grew louder. At the entrance to the shrine, Taylor recognized the upperclassman Souta as he walked under the torii. He was followed by Yuuta, and then-- as the VRRRRRR grew even louder-- a procession of little old ladies. On segways. Sunny's jaw dropped open. The wolf looked up at Taylor, eyes wide.
"I am not buying you one. Don't even think about it." Whiiiiine.
* * *
Dragon queued up her camera access to Armsmaster's lab, but didn't connect to the speakers just yet. Instead, she took a moment to just watch. Colin had his helmet off, now that his lab was securely closed off from the rest of the Rig, and the wrappers of almost a half-dozen cheap meal bars were sitting in the wastepaper basket at the edge of his desk. The tinker was bowed over his work, finishing up the nanocircuitry necessary for their ongoing project on predictive combat algorithms. The bank of computer monitors carpeting the wall in front of him were all displaying rows and pages of numbers, the compiling data being processed and rendered down to more useful lines of code that would form the bulk of the Leviathan algorithms.
Dragon eyed her friend for a moment more, then brought up her copy of his schedule and compared it to her internal clock. She spun off a few lines of code from her emotion complex to simulate a frown before she pulled her avatar onto a spare screen in Colin's lab.
"Skipping leg day, Colin?"
The tinker shot her a quick glare before returning to his nano-soldering. "Need to make up for lost time. It's not a habit."
"I didn't think it would be," she assured him. "It's just unusual. What disrupted you, the Good Dog case?" He nodded. "Hm. I've been wondering about that, actually. Why hasn't Chessman or anyone simply brought in Brushstroke for M/S screening?"
"Chessman said he wasn't confident enough in his knowledge of her psychology to provide an accurate litmus test to compare her to." Dragon spent a few microseconds running code for a wince. Colin caught the slight motion of her avatar out of the corner of his eye and nodded, expression grim. "Yeah, that's about right."
"I suppose I don't understand how that could happen. He's got days off, vacation time, don't they go anywhere?"
"He doesn't really touch his PTO, just lets it bank up. Then any rollover for the year gets paid into his personal budget for combat miniatures. I think he's even imported a few things from Aleph, for a rainy day. It's not cheap."
"Hmm." Dragon let the conversation lapse, and busied herself with a quick systems-check, a review of her maintenance reports, and opening a text file to write a quick list or six. It seemed like it might be useful to check on Chessman's personnel files and compare them to published psychological data. Actually, that reminded her:
"Colin, can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Would you mind describing Good Dog's master effect?" She saw him stiffen. "I've read the reports, I was hoping for a first-hand account. I wanted to compare it to other known human-affecting Masters, see if I could spot any patterns in power behavior." She wasn't allowed to lie, but that didn't mean she couldn't find reasons to support inquiries. Her friend focusing on one cape was unusual, when it was his policy to be ready for as many as he could name. Dragon wanted to know why.
Colin tapped his fingers on his nano-soldering tool, but nodded. "It was… surprisingly subtle, considering how it turned out. I was in pursuit of Brushstroke, and when I turned a corner, I caught sight of something white in my peripheral vision and turned to look." He frowned. "Even now I keep thinking of it as a dog, when photographic evidence proves otherwise."
"Noteworthy, but also a very common error in human memory trials. Please continue."
"So, I saw what I thought was a dog, and then-- just stopped to pet it." He made a frustrated noise. "There wasn't memory loss-- I hadn't forgotten about Brushstroke--and what I felt wasn't a euphoric effect. Just this-- this certainty, that I could afford to stop and pet this dog. That it was okay."
Colin had ceased working on his project, and his fingers worried at the tool in his hands. His gaze was distant, and his voice very quiet. "I just felt like… it was okay. Everything was going to be okay."
Dragon waited, but Colin didn't say anything more. Instead he took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and got back to work.Chapter 19
There was no escaping them. Every day for the next week, Taylor would show up at the shrine, have enough time to brush Sunny and maybe steel her resolve, and then the Vrrrrrr would approach from down the street. Souta and Yuuta would show up in front, Souta as carefree as ever and Yuuta with an implied apology writ large upon his face. And then?
Baachan. They were all baachan, they explained, at least until Taylor either memorized or felt comfortable using their actual names. But until then--or however long she wished, apparently--they were baachan, grandmother. And as frightening as the thought of being under the steely gaze of a half-dozen grannies was, there was also something kind of magical about it. Taylor's own Gran had never been particularly close, considering the blood feud she seemed to have with Danny Hebert, so being alternately commanded and fussed over by a cadre of old women was a very novel experience.
The whole process began as something extremely tense. Taylor gave the collected grandmothers a tour of the shrine, and listened to their increased tsks and clucking of tongues in worry. Through some ritual of seniority that Taylor feared she would one day understand, Yuuta's grandmother was elected the spokeswoman of the group. When the tour was done, Baachan shook her head and turned to Taylor.
"Miko, you do good work for this shrine, but this is not a tea house. There is not enough room in the office or haidan for such a thing."
Taylor bit her lip. "Is it possible to hold it outside? The weather's still warm, and there's a lot of room."
"Nodate? Yes, that could work. It will be difficult."
"I think that goes without saying," Taylor replied. "But if you can teach me what I need to do and what I need to do it with, then we'll have a plan, right?"
"Mm. You have good spirit, miko. Yes, we can do this. Between us, we can find the tatami mats and tea utensils. There is still the flowers and the artwork to find, but--"
Sunny wuffed, and gave a proud toss of her head. Taylor jerked a thumb at the wolf, ignoring the stares of the less-hardened baachans of the group. "Sunny's got that covered, I think."
Taylor's confidence in the wolf was met with doubt, at least until the necessity of a flower vase and the shrine's lack of a hat rack were mentioned. Sunny pulled Souta out of the shrine for an errand, and they came back with a few decorative bonsai pots of bamboo and a receipt for them, which Souta handed off to Taylor. Sunny buried the bamboo pots, and the next day, the thick shoots had sprouted and twined themselves into living shelves and spiraling decorations.
There was considerably less skepticism and considerably more whispers, after that.
So it began. Every day, at least one or two of them would bring food with them (which put them firmly in Sunny's good books, of course) and the rest would come armed with tape measures, or pins and large folds of silk, or books, and different utensils and bowls that Taylor was struggling to learn the names and uses of. A sketchbook was repurposed for taking notes with the instructions she was given in English, and after only a little prompting, the romaji translations.
After Tuesday, she started calling herself in sick to school. Not pissing off Lung was slightly more important than algebra. Haru was summarily recruited to bring her homework to the shrine. To Taylor's surprise, he also brought her class notes, and not just the ones from the periods she shared with the boy.
"Yeah, those are from some of our other friends," Haru explained, making a gesture at himself and at Yuuta, who was being a packmule for his Baachan and carrying in some tatami mats. "It's kinda… not exactly a secret that you're here? I mean, at least among the guys wearing the colors, and any of their siblings. So I asked around, and got the kids with the best notes to make copies for you."
"That's-- really helpful, actually. Thanks, Haru." Taylor glanced up from finishing her work on Sunny's fur, and saw the boy giving furtive looks towards the Grandmother Collective. "Something you need?"
"Well-- I mean, not need, but--"
Sunny huffed in amusement. Taylor tweaked the wolf's ear and said, "Just say it, Haru."
"I was hoping you could make another charm… I was gonna ask you at school, but-- well, you know."
"Sure, that shouldn't take much time. Grab my bag for me, I'll do it before Baachan catches me. You've got a picture, right? Is it the same one as last time?"
"Oh! Uh, not quite. It's close, but that was for success in endeavors, basically. This one is for academics." He dragged over her school bag, and Taylor handed him the book of ofuda to flip through while she picked out her ink and one of her special brushes. "It's actually for my cousin. Finals are coming up, and she's always stressing about every test she takes."
"Sure, I've met a few like that. She go to Winslow?"
Haru shook his head. "Nah, she's in college. Graduated high school early and went up to Cornell." He grinned suddenly, then laughed. "She's not really the mystic type, being an engineer and all, but even if the charm does nothing to help it'll at least give her something new to call my mom and complain about."
"Win-win situation, then. Here-- let this dry and it'll be good to go."
"Thanks, Miko!"
"It's Ta-- oh, never mind. You're welcome."
Friday crept up steadily, and the tatami mats settled in permanently in their bamboo pseudogazeebo. Oni Lee stopped by to check on her, and was treated to the trial run of the tea ceremony. It was… less than an ideal showing. The chabana flower arrangement was still growing in its vase, the wagashi sweets weren't to be brought until tomorrow by Baachan (Yuuta's specifically; she claimed she knew a good recipe and would prepare them that very night) and the hanging scroll had yet to be hung. The assassin didn't know the proper procedure for being a guest, so Taylor did her best to direct him, but it wasn't long before the ritualized conversation collapsed into informality.
"I thought it looked hard enough, but it's so much worse." Taylor chewed on her lip, and tried to remember if she was supposed to be using her right hand or her left to handle the fukin cloth as she wiped clean the tea bowl.
"Tea ceremony is meant to take years to learn, Miko. You have had one week."
"I know, but there's a lot riding on this… um. Probably. I still don't understand what Lung even wants."
"I… do not fully understand him either, Miko. Or, I cannot fully express it. Lung will not care about the tea-- he will demand much more than he expects from you-- but it will provide a-- a space, for conversation." Oni Lee made vague gestures with a hand as he spoke, trying to convey his meaning. "So that you may answer his questions with less fear."
"But-- that's just it! What does he want to ask me? Why is he so interested in the first place?"
"He must know why you are here. You are in his territory, and though I have tried to explain your presence, he cannot allow a cape to operate near him without his permission."
"He thinks I'm a parahuman?" Taylor asked, mouth agape. "That-- I guess that would explain it, but I'm not! Why would he even think that?"
Oni Lee didn't answer directly. Instead he turned his head once to look at the shrine, its fixtures and form like new, then turned his head the other way to stare at the bamboo that was growing around them, forming shapes and structure like a bonsai with years of careful tending.
"...okay, I guess there's that." Taylor admitted. "I know it's probably strange to everyone else, but that's all Sunny's doing."
"The Ōkami has displayed much power, yes. Whatever god she serves must be great indeed." The assassin fell silent for a time, while Taylor cleaned the utensils and let her own thoughts work furiously. "Hm. Miko?"
"Yes?"
"Whom does this shrine belong to?"
"Everyone."
"Ah-- I meant, which kami is enshrined here?" He clarified. Taylor bit on her lip again, and looked towards the haidan.
"You know, I don't actually know? I looked up what I could, trying to find where that'd be referenced, but any markings for the kami's name have been worn away. There's a… there's a word for this-- shintai! There's a shintai in the honden."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, it's a round mirror set into a big bronze disc. The honden is about the only place here Sunny tends to shoo me away from, but she likes to lie near the mirror sometimes when I'm busy cleaning or doing homework."
"I see."
They settled into an easy quiet, a fact that admittedly left Taylor a bit stumped. It was hard to reconcile the quiet man who liked omelettes with the cold-blooded killer that she knew he was-- she'd seen him mentioned on the evening news more than once, over the summer. Perhaps his own words were the best at explaining it: the shrine, and the rituals and history associated with it, created a sort of space unlike the streets of Brockton Bay.
A place where old women walked to without fear of being mugged. A place where the rough teens she'd avoided at school respected her. A place where gang members set aside their weapons for a while, to pray or talk or plant trees. A place where she could work and see results from it, unlike the faceless drudgery of high school. A place where nobody spited her, or laughed at her, or completely passed her over.
A place where she could sit with her friend, and watch the clouds go by.
Oni Lee thanked her for the tea and left. Sunny wandered over as she cleaned up and put away the utensils she would be using again tomorrow, and she gave the wolf a quick pat between tasks.
"I know what I want." She told the wolf, who thumped her tail against the tatami mats. "You'll be right here, right? So I can ask Lung directly." The wolf nodded, and she reached over to grip the canine's fur in gratitude.
The sun was setting as she packed up her bicycle, and wheeled it under the red gate. The evening light cast ripples over the hand-carved wooden poles, and the tiny imperfections that gave them character. Someone had loved this place.
Someone did love this place, and her name was Taylor.
"...Sunny, you don't think anyone else mistakes me for a cape, do you?" Taylor asked, as she pedaled and the wolf trotted alongside. Sunny snorted, once.
"Yeah, I didn't think so. That'd be silly."20
Lung was angry.
There could be no other term for the quiet, persistent seethe that had overtaken him, simmering under every scale and pulling every nerve and tendon tight. And unlike the torrential rage he was feared for, that sent him crashing against his foes with unassailable might, this lasted. It grew with the rain-scent of every thunderstorm, burrowed deeper with every disturbed sleep. The anger was not empowering, it did not stoke his fire. It was unusual, and this angered Lung.
Ridiculous, that a single question could cut so deep.
The cape's impertinence at making her home could have been forgiven, with proper obeisance. Even her rebuke could be set aside, with proper chastisement. But what had happened after Lee had picked him up, carried him from his failure, and settled him to rest with a bottle of whiskey and unnecessary bandages:
"Drink this, to numb the pain. Your mask has melted, I will cut it from you."
"Fuck the pain, it is nothing! Where is that bitch, I will--"
"Kenta, please."
"...what did you say?"
"Your mask has melted. I will cut it from you."
"No. Lee, you-- you remembered my name?"
That could not be swept aside.
Unthinkable, that a single question could feel so raw. More were needed.
* * *
"Lee. What is my name?"
"You are Lung. Your name is Kenta."
* * *
"Lee. What is your name?"
"Oni Lee."
"Your name, Lee."
"...I do not remember."
* * *
"Lee. How did we meet?"
"You came, and crushed any who stood against you. You killed any who would not bow. I did."
* * *
"Lee. Where did you live, before here?"
"...Fukuoka. It was Fukuoka."
* * *
"Lee. Why do you serve me?"
"You are the strongest."
* * *
"Lee. Why do you serve me?"
"You took control of the area. I am in the area."
* * *
"Lee. Why do you serve me?"
"I… I asked to. Yes-- I asked you to keep me in your service. To give me direction."
* * *
Every day, he asked a question, and the answers changed, little by little. Every day, Lung went about his business as usual, and watched from a distance the shrine and the increasing draw it had on his territory. Every night, his sleep was restless, and his dreams were deep. He dreamt of something breathing behind his neck, and its breath was ozone. He dreamt of rain, rain so heavy and relentless he could have swum in the air. He tried to strike at it, split the drops on his claws, but no one could fight the rain. He dreamt of drowning.
The days were easy, he could set aside his questions for actions. He visited his holdings, arranged for a push against the Empire, stomped angrily out to meet Coil's mercenaries when they dared encroach on what was his, and sent them scattering like mice.
The nights were hard. In the night, despite the women and the liquor, there was time to think. To wonder.
"Lee. Arrange a meeting with the shrine cape."
Just thinking wasn't going to set things to right. He needed to act.
* * *
Taylor darted out the door of her home as soon as she'd finished breakfast and said a quick goodbye to her dad, and headed to the shrine as quick as her bike could carry her. Sunny ran alongside, her bright doggy grin a mocking contrast to the clenching butterflies in Taylor's stomach. Saturday already-- why couldn't she have had more time? Every possible scenario that could go wrong played itself out in her thoughts until they arrived at the shrine, and then Baachan refused her any more space to brood. She was cleaned up, and dressed, and given careful instructions, and watched like a hawk as she set out the utensils and the charcoal and the bowls where she would need them.
And despite all her preparations, all the work put in by the baachans, it was still going to fail because--
A car horn honked, just before eleven, drawing stares and judgemental tongue-clicking from the flock. Souta got out of the beat-up vehicle's driver seat, then headed around to the trunk and withdrew a flat, heavy-looking wooden box. The older teen marched the box up to the shrine, looking disgruntled.
"Miko! Some guy dropped this off at my house for you."
"Huh? Who? And why, I mean I didn't order anything, and if I did then I'd--" Taylor paused. She hadn't ordered anything, but… she turned to look at Sunny, who was wagging her tail so fiercely the motion was propelling her butt across the ground.
"Sunny, I swear to god if you used my dad's credit card again…!"
The wolf ignored her, and ran over to Souta and generally got underfoot. The teen set the crate down as gently as he was inclined to, and when Sunny pawed and whined at it, he rolled his eyes and withdrew a switchblade to help pry the container open. Taylor caught sight of a misshapen, lumpy mass within before Sunny stuck her head into the crate and huffed, going still.
Baachan gave the wolf a cursory glance, then settled for interrogating Souta instead-- that had a better chance of getting her answers. "Souta, who brought this to you?"
"Dunno. Some guy."
"Souta, what I tell you about being helpful?"
He frowned. "Some foreign guy."
"Well, better than nothing… Miko, you have any idea what this is about?"
There were too many possible guesses for what Sunny could send away for, and none of them she would admit in front of Baachan. Taylor instead waited for Sunny to finish up what she was doing and back away from the crate-- or try to, as the wolf promptly got her head stuck. Taylor dutifully rescued her, then peered at the contents of the delivery. After her flute, she couldn't say she was surprised.
"It looks like a wall scroll. We do need one, after all. Thanks, Sunshine." She rubbed the wolf's ears, and the canine practically radiated smug. Quick work was made of unboxing the scroll, and Taylor assisted in hanging it up. As she brought it out into the light, one of the baachans cleaned her glasses for a closer look. Her wrinkled hand flew over her mouth, and she began speaking rapidly in Japanese. Taylor noticed tears at the old woman's eyes.
Taylor turned to Baachan and spoke quietly, as some of the other grandmothers comforted the distressed one of their collective. "What's wrong? Is… is it a bad painting?"
Baachan pursed her lips, and straightened the scroll on its bamboo hanging. "...no, Miko, it is a good painting. Very good. Just one we did not expect to see again." She did something then that Taylor had never witnessed-- she sighed, and closed her eyes. Sunny trotted forward and pushed her furry head under the old woman's hand, and stayed until the grandmother smiled and gave the wolf a quick pat.
"Lung will ask about it-- he is expected to. Here, let me tell you about what your friend has brought you, so you can answer him."
* * *
When they arrived at the shrine, Lung sent the driver away, and instead instructed Lee to remain outside and be on his guard. The assassin bowed, and took up position at the entrance to the shrine's cobblestone path. Lung walked inside, alone.
A tea ceremony, of all things. Trust capes to clutter business with unnecessary ritual. He had a few memories of them from his youth, when his mother had requested his participation a few times a year, always as a guest. Propriety suggested he arrive in a well-made hakama, or maybe a suit. A proper ceremony was a black-tie affair, or the equivalent of one.
Lung passed under the torii wearing black pants, a bare chest, and his mask. Fuck propriety, he was the dragon.
The cape met him at the entrance to… some sort of skeletal structure, formed of bamboo poles. Perhaps it was meant to take the place of a building, or simply frame the tatami mats to make them seem more than simply a fancy picnic blanket. The cape was dressed properly, in a red and white kimono with embroidery of blossoms and leaves, and she'd had her hair pulled up into decorative combs. She caught sight of his minimal clothing and bare feet, and her brow twitched together in irritation. Hah.
"Welcome, honored guest." She made an attempt at smoothing her voice. "If it pleases you, I would like to continue in English. I fear my pronunciation of Japanese is still lacking."
"It does not please me, but it will offend me less than hearing you butcher my tongue." Lung watched that slight twitch again, pleased. Rattling her was a petty act, but one he enjoyed. His power was quiescent still, not stirring in the least despite his memory of their last encounter, as though she were completely and utterly not a threat to him. It was annoying, that his fire would not obey him when he knew better.
"Then, please follow me, and we will begin." She turned and walked carefully into the bamboo structure, clearly unused to wearing the sandals and kimono. More effort had gone to this than he had expected, but a farce was still a farce. He considered tossing away what remained of the ritual and instead getting straight to the point. He took a single step forward, then paused when something white caught in his vision. Lung turned to look towards the shrine proper.
Cold adrenaline shot through his stomach, making his power turn over in surprise. Oni Lee had mentioned what he thought was a wolf spirit, but Lung had not expected to see anything of the sort. Nor had he expected the illusion to be so big. The beast was enormous, a wolf with fur so white it nearly glowed, and it was sitting on the steps to the haidan and staring directly at him. It met his eyes, even, as wild animals were not wont to do.
Lung's eyes flicked upwards, checking the sky despite himself. The sparse clouds hung, light and slow. When he looked back, the wolf stared at him still, unblinking and intense. A discreet inhalation, and he caught wind of its fur, the heat of its breath. He saw its ribs expand as it breathed. If it was some sort of trick and not a beast, it was a very convincing one. He looked away.
Lung followed the cape towards the tatami mats. He bowed, entered, and folded himself into a seat on the mats. He watched the cape as she busied herself, but instead of reaching for the charcoal, she… opened up a warmer box? The scents of finely-prepared food met his nose. Lung wracked his brain, trying to remember what his mother had taught him.
"What ceremony is this?" He gave up, and asked.
She was hesitant, perhaps a bit thrown by his interruption. "It is October now, so we are saying goodbye to summer. This is the Nagori-no-chaji."
A chaji? The formal ceremony? He was going to have to sit in seiza for four hours? Whose bright idea was-- Lee, you inhumanly-patient fucker. Lung bit down on the sigh and started detaching the lower half of his mask. At least he'd get lunch out of this. And at least the wolf couldn't stare at him the whole time. No animal, no matter how well-trained, could stay still as a statue for long.
(It did. Fucking wolf must have been carved from stone.)
The wolf (it was not a spirit) wasn't even the strangest thing that was at the shrine. An experimental tug at the bamboo poles would not dislodge them, and when the cape's back was turned Lung tore a stray leaf from the pole, and it oozed sap. The chabana arrangement was not in a vase, but in a basket of intertwined stalks as living as the rest. Lung didn't know much about flower arrangement, and he did not care to, but he recognized the golden chrysanthemum readily enough. Impertinent? Surely. Not quite as unsettling as the bed of four-leafed clovers the arrangement sprouted from. An actual bed of them, all growing.
Still, it was within the bounds of a cape's influence. The scroll was… less so, if for a second he dared to believe it.
He'd examined the artwork, as expected of him, and it was interesting to look at, at least. His mother had always hung calligraphy, while this was a landscape painting. A small figure by a riverside, under the drooping branches of a large tree. It… seemed familiar, actually. As though he'd seen it before. Not in person, he'd never been the type, but he was certain he'd seen a picture of it somewhere.
"This scroll is interesting. What is it called?"
The cape visibly steeled herself for mangling his language, and gave a go at it. "It is called, Zhou Maoshu Appreciating Lotuses."
Huh. That sounded familiar wait a minute. He reached out a hand-- it certainly felt real, beneath his fingers. It could not be. It was a forgery. It had to be. Lung kept his eyes away from it for the rest of the ceremony.
By the time the cape was serving him the thin tea, Lung was just done. It had been a very fine meal, but if not for his power his legs would surely have fallen off long ago, and he still had no answers. Watching the cape told him nothing of her powers or intentions, just that she was naturally clumsy but painfully earnest in her efforts. Lung had been patient long enough.
"Cape. I have questions that you will answer." That slight twitch again, as he interrupted her careful actions. "And do not play games with me. Who are you?"
"I told you before, my name is Taylor." She set down the tea bowl, careful not to spill. "And I'm not a cape."
Lies.
"And I'm not here to take territory from you, or whatever it is you think I'm up to. I'm just here for the shrine. Running it makes me happy, that's why I'm here."
"Is that so. And what did you do to Oni Lee?"
"What? I haven't done anything to him. He comes here because he wants to, and he's peaceful and helpful so he's welcome to."
That twitch had become permanent. Lung felt his lips pull around his teeth. "You are angry at me."
"Of course I am!" She snapped, surprising him. "You hit me! And you're a gang leader! And you didn't even dress up for tea!"
The wolf was still staring at him. Lung reigned in his temper, for now. "And yet, you welcome Lee? My right hand?"
She pursed her lips. "Lee's not the same as you. He's a criminal and a killer, and that's terrible. But you choose the most painful ways to do things."
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
"Everything," she said, then sighed and took a moment to organize her thoughts. "You don't just command people, you rule them by fear. You don't just run businesses, you run them crooked, or collect protection rackets, or force people to pay in ways they'd rather not."
"You are naive. This is how the world works. I run this gang, I fight against the Empire's constant aggression. These things take precedent, and they take money. You do not like how I do things? Tough."
The cape started tapping one finger against the tatami, clearly upset. "You're suggesting… that you're competing with the other gangs? Drugs, weapons, whatever? Not just over territory?" She waited for his nod, then scowled. "Then you've already lost, and to the Merchants."
What. "Explain yourself, before I grow angry."
"Capitalism. You said running a gang takes money, so you sell drugs, weapons, prostitutes, all that. Except the Merchants will win that race, because they'll always be cheaper, more desperate. You can't just go for quantity, because they'll always have more."
"You tread dangerous ground. Think carefully, cape. What would you suggest, if you think my means so wrong?"
No hesitation, not even a little. "Unionize."
"...what?"
"Offer better care and compensation, receive better services. Quality over quantity."
"Stupid girl. Such ideas fail because they are expensive, and unnecessary. The guns, the supplies for fighting the Nazis? They are not cheap. Or perhaps you wouldn't mind if they came and burned down your shrine, hm?" Shit. Wrong thing to say. The cape didn't seize upon the slip of his tongue-- instead her gaze turned shrewd.
"In other words… if you didn't have to fight the Empire, you could afford to do things better?"
"A simplistic reduction, but yes."
"Hm." She fell silent, and resumed what little there was of the ceremony, for which Lung was thankful. This place had too many oddities, he was ready to leave it. Living plants where they could not have grown, a long-destroyed painting, a wolf too still and judging to be real… and white as any Inari fox, a traitorous part of his memory insisted. An Ōkami, Lee had insisted, as humorless and patient as ever he had been. A servant and messenger of some greater god, with the girl as its servant.
It was foolishness. The gods were dead, if they had ever been alive. Lung was more than ready to leave this grave of theirs behind.
The cape walked with him, out of the bamboo enclosure, but instead of any formal parting she instead took a quicker step forward and turned to face him. Lung stared down at her, and waited.
"...I will thank you for coming, but you have been most disrespectful."
His eyes narrowed within his mask. "And what do you expect me to do about it?"
(Was that ozone he smelled? No-- there was nothing.)
"You will leave the shrine alone, since it's not yours to begin with. This is a safe place-- no violence, no gang business." She took a steadying breath, and gripped the ruff of the wolf at her side-- and Lung's stomach turned over in a sudden queasy motion. He'd neither seen nor heard the beast move, but there in the grass behind it were fresh footprints, the grass still bending back into place.
"To apologize for your disrespect, I want two sidewalks."
...he had to turn that one over in his head a minute. "Excuse me?"
"Sidewalks. Extensions of the shrine's neutrality-- safe paths for people to come here without fear of being shot or stomped on by a ragebeast. I'll mark them out clearly." She nodded to herself, once, then looked up at him again. "Was there anything else you needed, Honored Guest?"
"What did you do to Oni Lee?"
"...I made him omelettes with mirin, like he likes them."
When Lung stepped out of the shrine, Oni Lee was where he'd left him, loyal and implacable. The assassin sent off a quick text--likely to the driver--and then offered Lung a cigarette from somewhere in his jacket. Lung's preferred brand, as Oni Lee didn't smoke.
The action was unbidden, and thoughtful-- so unlike the Oni Lee he'd come to accept in recent years.
He took it, then lit the end with a quick flick of his power. As long as she caused him no trouble, then… perhaps sidewalks were an easy enough trade.