Souma walked carefully around the piled supplies, limping along as he craned his sight upwards. He no longer had the luxury of his younger brother, to scale and sprint across the warehouse without caution or care. Injury had left the elder forever earthbound, sentenced to watch the younger fly above. It was a mixture of concern and pride one would find in his gaze, watching his little brother enjoy life where he could, while hoping it didn't end in tragedy.

And so his happiness could easily be seen as relief, when Souma's 'brother' returned to his side. He responded to the younger's bow with a nod, his quiet laughter easily understood by any who might hear. After all, the exploits of such an excitable, active brother would be amusing to listen to, wouldn't they?

"Quiet, for now." He led them towards the explosives as they talked, the best supplies always worth grabbing first. Galina truly did have a good eye for things, scouting the area as quickly as she had... and to pick out additional 'products' that hadn't been on the list. Explosives would be a delicious revenge against the American Mercenaries that had put both their homes to the torch. No, they definitely could not let such supplies slip by them.

"I'll save inner-American, for America." His grin only grew as they walked, Souma reaching up to point out the various crates they needed to load on the next cart. Most where higher up, but that's what the younger brother was for. Experience and energy at work together, each working to their strengths to overshadow any weakness one might see. "Loud might be needed, later. Maybe loosen one, in case..."

"...Maybe pocket some, in case." Something wicked sparked in Souma's mind then. Maybe his 'inner-American' would be indulged tonight. "Will pass plenty explosive, as we work. Can make good distraction, if needed."

"As you will, aniki. May your pockets be wide and deep, because I intend to fill them with all manner of goodies, just to see that inner-American crow with delight." The boy's dark eyes flashed up to his elder brother's, and he bowed once more before lighting off to grab the attention of one, and then another, of the warehouse workers, plucking at the men's sleeves before darting back to his brother, the honored first son who would do all the speaking for the duo.

Quick little brother was there simply to learn the family business beneath the wise tutelage of his elder, and to add his speed and surprising, wiry strength to their small endeavor this evening. No matter the unfortunate matter of his injured leg, the elder brother obviously possessed a great deal of shrewd intelligence and a grand deal of experience in this business. His golden tongue and easy manner stated oh-so-quietly and yet oh-so-firmly that he knew what he was about as he began to streamline their sojourn through the warehouse, all the better to see them gone and on their way in service of this clan.

The elder caught the attention of one of the administrators keeping the inventory, his calmly assertive demeanor ensuring that of course a cart was brought to central loading area at his request. Its empty bed was padded with thick palettes of straw that filled the air with that heady, sweetly golden scent as the younger brother trod over it. The slender boy climbed over the edge to the seat, offering his hand to help his elder brother maneuver his way upward and into a far better vantage point, from where he could direct the efforts of his little brother and the two warehouse workers they had recruited.

There were crates of rifles of course, and even a couple Colt revolvers carefully packaged in wooden boxes, all slowly, carefully lowered from the top shelves where the limber younger brother had easily vaulted. He caught his elder's eye on occasion as he leapt from shelf to shelf, seeing the loving concern there tempered with the knowledge that they had a job to do this night.

The young boy's limbs trembled with the exertion, the sweat saturating the back and front of his shirt as he helped haul the unwieldy and unspeakably heavy boxes down from the shelves, and then to the cart itself. A proud young boy it seemed, wanting nothing more than to show his elder brother that his decision to bring him this night had been a wise one, that he could do the work of any man.

The ammunition came next, though this time the boy let the two brawnier warehouse workers maneuver these crates into the back of the cart. Swiftly and unseen, he darted back toward the wing next to the one they had just exited, climbing up the shelving once more. The slender slip of a child was lost to the shadows as he made his way to the 'toys' that would bring such a smile to the face of his beloved big brother. The nitroglycerin compound was slipped oh-so-carefully into the pack he wore on his back, along with a box of fuses, and then detonators as well. The sticks of already crafted dynamite also fit easily into his pack, which he carefully lifted back over his shoulders.

The climb down was a tad slower than the one he took upward, but no matter. Beneath the brim of his hat, the shadows concealed a rather sweet and undoubtedly pleased little smile, gracing the boy's face as he wound his way back through the throngs of warehouse workers and clambered into the back of the cart. Layers of canvas tarp, dusty and hard, were tied down over the back, the rough hemp of the rope cutting into the boy's hands 'til they bled - not that he minded of course.

No, he minded not at all, particularly when he could finally lean over the back of the seat to whisper in his brother's ear, "their share" secure in the cart and the brazen duo apparently about to simply ride out of this rival yakuza warehouse.

"You have been in America long enough to have caught some of their holiday traditions I imagine?" Galina whispered softly into Souma's ear, her breath softly tickling the tender skin. "You are simply going to love the early Christmas present I found for you, my dearest aniki."

Things were going smoothly.

Bluffing his way around was second-nature to Souma, a skill that proved useful in all classes and standings. The wealthy and powerful were easy to convince of your own importance, the hardworking quick to believe that you had work to do as well. To fear, to distrust brought far too much risk when the act was done well. No one wanted to ring false alarm, and everyone was content to believe what let them avoid confrontation.

Because of that, he and Galina set about their work with ease.

Souma directing and talking, Galina running and working, both fitting easily into the brother/brother act that suited the scene. If anyone, they might soon find something was wrong with the number of workers running about, with what supplies were being loaded onto what carts. If anyone pried further, they might narrow down the suspects, and eventually find them out. It was the risk of infiltration, no matter how carefully done. They were a flaw in this clan's tapestry, a small loop of thread that worked against the larger image. Easy to overlook, but standing out to a close inspection, it was a risk that grew larger with every moment that passed them by.

So they worked. Quickly, efficiently, smoothly. They picked out what they would need and got them loaded on the cart, secured and set ready to go.

"I know I will, Aniki." Teeth shone in his grin once more, as he set their cart to moving. How could he not enjoy any 'present' Galina might have? And in the wake of such a successful -so far- mission, spirits were rising to startling new heights. A good night, a good start to what will have to be a good revenge. The beginning set the tone for it all, and Souma was quite liking the tone...

"...Though, may need spoil, sooner..."

The tone soured, slightly, as Souma spotted trouble brewing around them. Someone had found the courage to question, a supervisor now visible near the back, talking to a couple men and glancing at their slow-moving cart. He and Galina weren't free yet, not from the warehouse and not from the compound, and it looked like soon the men of this clan would realize what was happening. His hands gripped staff and reins tightly, eyes glaring out from under his hat, watching for the sign that they would make a move.

"Catching on," His words were a whisper, low and cold, the slightest tilt of his head indicating the direction of the supervisor in question. "Running hard here, will fight. Unless... bring Christmas, more early."

"You're worse than an eager little child, my dearest aniki, sneaking to peak beneath the tree on Christmas Eve... " Of course Galina could not know if Souma had the least idea of her reference, but surely he could not miss the tease in her matchless voice. As Souma began to edge the horse team forward toward the exit, she peered nonchalantly over her shoulder from beneath the brim of her wide hat, her dark eyes inscrutable. The warehouse supervisor had only just begun to gesticulate wildly, slamming the tip of one thick finger into the stack of paper he held in the other hand, and then peering back at the pair of brothers and their newly loaded wagon.

Galina's gaze returned to Souma beside her, letting a long, longsuffering sigh from her nose as she shrugged her shoulders. Nothing to be done for it of course, though they'd come so close to getting away completely clean. No matter, no matter - this wouldn't be the first time Galina managed a tromp l'oeil in her line of work, though perhaps not one near so brilliant as she intended now.

"You'd best be as good a horseman as you are a thief," she whispered once more in his ear, "Because you've got about twenty seconds left to impress the hell out of me."

Galina scrambled over the back of the wagon seat once more, dropping down into the bed and crawling nimbly over the tarps that had already been lashed down. But for the supervisor and the underlings harangued who the eagle-eyed Souma had noted, no one else in the loading area gave any of them so much as a second glance. Sliding easily back into the role of the younger brother once more, fingers already scratched and torn from the ropes still worked nimbly to loosen them but for a moment, reaching down to the canvas bag beneath, reassuring himself that it too had been loaded and his elder brother need not worry they failed to pick up the entirety of their supplies.

Hunched over where she perched precariously against the wagon's edge and the tarp-covered supplies, Galina broke the seal, snatching at the pin that ignited the ten-second fuse. Unnoticed in the bustle of the warehouse, she shoved it swiftly through the wooden slats. The squat iron ball rolled some yards away, lodging itself neatly beneath a plank of shelving.

'10'

Galina leapt nimbly back into the seat beside Souma, her hiss of a whisper carrying all the weight of her sudden and most appropriate urgency as the bag fell from her shoulders to her lap. "Oh! Yes, this would be the point where you impress the hell out of me. And you've about nine seconds to do it now, or we're dead." She reached for the hilt of the shashka within, pulling it forward as she let the rest, with the nitro and the dynamite, lay beneath her feet. Leaning forward, she steadied herself against the coming jolt, though whether from a sudden and desperate forward motion or from the heated death of a grenade blast, she could not possibly have guessed.

'8'

Under her breath, she whispered the Lord's Prayer nonetheless.

'7'

Souma didn't reply, not in words. The tense poise of his form and the intent, piercing glare of his eyes conveyed enough. He was prepared for whatever he had to do, ready for any trick or trouble that was thrown in their way. With a resume like his, 'ready' became a way of life, the whimsy of fate well-known and well-experienced. Galina was the same, he had no doubt, and so when warned him before and after scrambling across the cart on a mission of her own? He knew there was no choice but to impress her.

And if the feral, almost manic grin spreading across his face conveyed anything, it said Souma was more than willing to do just that.

"IMA!" All subtlety thrown out the window, the spymaster snapped the horses of his cart almost immediately into gallop. Workers jumped at his cry, the supervisor behind shouting as he saw the cart building speed. No use for subtlety now, if Galina had done what he expected she had. What was it now, five seconds? A small clock ticked down in the corner of his mind, as they flew free of the warehouse and out into the compound proper.

The alarm started from the back, if they had been caught off-guard, the guards likely wouldn't spread word for a few seconds more. The supervisor needed time to shout orders, others time to register and follow them, precious seconds they could afford to lose, as word would still make it to the walls before the runaway cart.

Sound was faster than horses, another shout from just outside the warehouse reminding him of that. His mental clock ticked down once more in time with the cry, and Souma hauled back on the reins, forcing the horses to slow for the turn they would have to make.

Also, to keep them in control, as one ticked to zero...

And the entire warehouse began to explode.

It started as a single, terrifying crack of fiery thunder, joined by more and more every instant until it grew into a deafening orchestra that consumed the structure entirely. Munitions, explosives, wood and cloth and more added to the devastation. Waves of heat and sound washed over their cart and the courtyard around, the horses bucking and neighing in blinding panic as Souma struggled to keep them in line. People tumbled to the ground outside, or bolted to windows and doors to see what had made such a terrible, continuing noise. Surprised, horrified, enraged, injured... but alive.

The same couldn't be said, of those who had been inside.

"Ready, Galina!" Souma cried out through the fiery roar, sweat beading on his face as he forced their horses to move toward the outer wall. "Gate might close first. If does, will have force open!"

Sound traveled faster than horses, and everyone in the area now knew something was wrong, somewhere. Panic and confusion were their allies, now, ones that might be kind enough to hold open those gates a few moments longer, or at least give them the time to do the job themselves.

Galina's head whipped back over her shoulder as the first deafening *whoomp* resounded through the very ground, shuddering through the wagon wheels to her very bones. For a single moment, the fires of the warehouse flashed in the dark depths of her eyes, alongside the briefest glimpse of regret. She had not intended to incinerate the building in its entirety, much less all the simple, hard-working men within, all consumed by the howling roar of the explosions. Her expression remained set, grim; there was nothing to do now but make good on the lives she'd sacrificed. Galina's attentions swiveled swiftly to Souma beside her, gaining control of their horse team as they fled for the compound gates.

"Hai," she countered quickly, scouting the gates ahead - their only escape. Stunned, bewildered, many of the yakuza who streamed from the adjoining buildings either stood there as if inexplicably rooted to the spot, stunned and staring at the impossibility of the inferno that had once been the warehouse; or bolted for the buckets and wells in a desperate attempt to stifle the flames. Either way, the last thing many of them could be bothered with, was the runaway wagon jolting past.

But a handful had all-too-quickly noticed their carriage, bolting far too fast and far too purposefully away from the conflagration. A few barked orders were flung at them, ordering their wagon to halt while clamoring for the attention of the already panicked, disorganized men. The blade of Galina's shashka flashed crimson and flame in the burning light, unsheathed in a single fluid motion as she crouched forward from the wagon's seat, perched for a single precarious instant on its edge as she found her balance in the chaos.

Silently, her lithe body moved swiftly and nimbly and without hesitation as Galina leapt for the back of the roan draft horse in front of her. With a quiet oof of an exhalation she landed, her Cossack horseman's instincts taking over instantly as her free hand snarled itself in the wild lengths of mane, steadying her easily as her legs gripped the horse's heaving sides above the straps of leather harness.

Her shashka held low in her expert grip, her attentions turned toward the large man sprinting at them, his expression contorted with a rage that could only mean that somehow, some way, he knew what she and Souma had wrought in this place. Staff in hand, he bravely rushed the horse and the team, screaming his inarticulate fury as he made to bash one of the horse's heads.

Galina's blade flashed upward and the down again in a single, seemingly effortless and fluid motion that belied all the skill behind it. Streamers of crimson followed her down stroke, and the man stumbled away screaming, blood spilling from between his fingers as he clutched at his face. Somewhere overhead, a single rifle shot rang out, a crack of thunder that ripped through the cacophony that reigned in the compound. Galina instinctively flattened herself over the horse's withers, realizing that the bullet had missed her at least, gone wide, but that was not the most immediate of their troubles.

The darkness of the gateway's tunnel artifice loomed ahead, the figures of the guards flanking the narrow sides of their passageway to freedom seemed not much more than jerkily moving blurs to her eyes, but she still made the calculations in her mind. They were going to close the gates. 'Dear God be merciful... ' They were going to close the gates and there was no way for her to stop them in time, not where she was now.

"Eggs!" she shouted above the din as she tried to twist toward Souma behind her, praying he saw the danger too, and deciphered her cryptic call.

It seemed Galina and Souma were thinking the same thing.

He had managed to carefully fish out his collection of 'eggs' as they careened through the compound. At first, he thought they might be useful as they made their way to the tunnel, in case anyone came to stop them in the compound itself. But Galina took charge of that potential problem, and while her skill with that sword wasn't unfamiliar in the least, her grace and poise on horseback most certainly was.

Good thing he fought her on foot, last time.

Offering only a nod in response to her cry -one he wasn't sure she even saw- Souma loosened his grip on the reins and focused solely on aim. At this speed, steering didn't matter, they only could move forwards, and certainly couldn't stop in time should the gates close. One less thing to worry about, then, his arm curling back with the first of six eggs held tight.

The first two he launched went high, arcing way overhead to barely miss the rough ceiling above as they entered the gateway tunnel. The next were aimed directly for the scrambling guardsmen. Thrown straight with brutal strength, they shattered immediately on contact with flesh, wood and stone, setting their payloads free. Finely ground pepper and sand rose in clouds throughout the short tunnel, drawing cries where they found their way into eyes, noses and mouths. Stinging, burning, blinding, too much so to ignore, he forced guard after guard to crumple in tears mid-sprint.

Not every shot could be perfect, however. Some eggs struck only structure, causing men nearby to pause but otherwise only confirming their suspicions. One of the guards who had barely missed getting struck sprinted hard for the gate winch, features set in grim determination. He crossed the distance in great, swift strides, shouting out for his comrades as his gaze focused solely on the lever that would release the gates and swing them closed...

They were wide open when Souma's lobbed eggs landed down before him.

"Clear!" The gates flew past with a new chorus of cries, Souma's grin growing only wider as they broke fully free of the compound. He scrambled for the reins once more, slowing their horses as they moved towards the streets of Tokyo proper. They would be just another cart moving towards the docks, there. The same as a hundred others one might find, loaded down with supplies, it's drivers plodding along dutifully to the end. He called out to catch Galina's attention as they approached the 'official' boundary of the city itself, signaling for her to return to the cart by his side.

"Back to brothers, now." It was all-but impossible to keep the excitement from his voice, flush with their escape. He resorted to speaking low, a cautious whisper that nevertheless glowed with feral glee. "Daisuke at docks. Will help load, then we board, then we sail."

He couldn't help it, the chuckle that wormed its way up from the bottom of his stomach as dark as it was excited.

"Then, we hunt."

But, as Souma had said, first they sailed.

This ship was nothing at all like the Empress of Japan, the famed luxury ocean liner Galina had boarded the last time she'd made a trans-Pacific journey. There was of course, no elegant state room, no magnificent dining area or a slew of chefs to ensure their meal was a sampling of one earthly delight after the next. There was no grand deck to promenade at their leisure, or string quartets to while away the evenings in the ball room with all the glittering personages.

And there was also no Klara with her now, the only mother she had ever known, the gracious woman who had cared for at least two generations of Demidov children. There was no silver-tongued Goemon to keep her amused, engaged, always just one step ahead as he maneuvered an unwary woman just where he would, at his master's behest.

But the ghosts of these two singular people, the shades of two fathers and so many lost loved ones traveled with steam cutter's passengers to America, haunting the two master spies bent on a vengeance to shake the very gates of Hell. Old bonds broken, old worlds shattered - but in their place, new things grew, raised their tender heads to the sun. New relationships and alliances, unexpected and, in a sane world, utterly impossible.

Yet Galina Demidova was below the deck this very moment, dressed in some borrowed men's clothing: a white linen shirt and men's linen pants tucked into high, hard leather boots. Her dark hair pulled back into a no-nonsense bun tied tightly at the nape of her neck, the elegant noblewoman had only just finished mucking out her Cossack horse's stall. She set the shovel into the small wheelbarrow, and wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her sleeve with a wry smile and a loving pat of the stallion's thick, muscular neck.

No, Galina was not above caring for her own horse, and never had been. But the stallion Anatoly was being decidedly ill-pleased about this second, longer cross-water trip, and taking out his ill-tempered irritation on anyone and everyone but Galina, who dared come near his stall. None of the crew would come anywhere within biting distance of the horse's stall anymore, and while Galina did feel the occasional twinge of guilt? She quickly discovered that however smelly and supposedly beneath her dignity the work might be, this was also one of the few places she could be alone to think, to wonder at the enormity of the strangeness of how in the world she should find herself mucking a stable in the bowels of a steam cutter with a man who should have been, by all rights, her mortal enemy.

But he wasn't. Not even a little. Galina smiled, even as she pushed a small wheelbarrow of horse manure to the hawse hole. She could not exactly say what Souma was to her now, much less what would happen on the other side of their vengeance - a moment that Galina, not even once - not for a single second - doubted would happen. Sacrilege or not, she was fully convinced that all the circumstances that had led a Russian noblewoman to shovel horse shit out beneath the decks of a Japanese steam cutter, had been the will of God from beginning to end.

Yet what was to become of her at the end of it all, nor the nature of what stood between her and the Japanese spymaster now, she simply could not say.

Galina pushed the wheelbarrow back toward Anatoly's stall, lashed it down with the shovel and then pulled her leather work gloves off. "You don't bite anyone, bad horse, and I'll be sure to bring you a carrot tonight... " she said in Russian, her voice tender and loving as she lay her head against the stallion's thickly muscled neck, one hand running down his withers to his wide, warm back.