[IC] Masques and Daggers (Derren Krenshaw & Igraine)

[Igraine]

"If you say a thing Raigo-sama, it must be so," Shizuka replied softly, a respectful bow of her head and shoulders to the regal elder who sat across from her. Her dark eyes peered up to Raigo, ivory-skined face framed in waves chestnut hair pulled back behind her head, knotted and left to fall down her back. Only the elegant cherry blossom-shaped bira-bira kanzashi seated in the crown of her hair tinkled sweet metallic laughter as she moved. Beyond the honorific, she spoke entirely in English, a concession to allow her host an opportunity to practice this new language as much as possible before his much-loved son returned from America.

The young woman kept her words to an absolute minimum as she continued through the small deft movements that made even the wiping of a cup, or the pouring of the water, an act of profound beauty and meditation. Even so, she did not hide the small, tender smile from this kind man, that said she truly appreciated both his sincere compliments, and his reassurances that she was doing well - or at least well enough for a Western woman.

Though she had her own quite natural grace, she held no illusions that she was near so adequate at the ceremony as so many who had spent years learning this deceptively simple-seeming art. And even though she practiced the bonryaku temae, the simplest of all the ceremonies she had worked faithfully for some months now, she still did not feel perfectly adequate to either the task or the honor the patriarch of the Takahiro clan bestowed on her.

This was no small thing to Galina, that she should serve Raigo Takahiro's son upon his return from America after nigh on a year now. Even if she did have her very own reasons of course.

The chakin was put back into the cleaned bowl, and then the chasen wisk, the natsume returned to the right side of the tray and the chakashu spoon cleaned. Thoughtfully, mindfully, she ceremonially folded the plain vermillion fukusa cloth and placed it back into the side of her ivory obi, bowing low once more where she knelt to Raigo.

She let her eyes rove over his face for the thousandth time, and wondered at the resemblance between father and son. Of course there was often a resemblance between parent and sibling, but to Galina the likeness was near uncanny, all the way down to the smile she remembered from the Winchester Mansion. That smile no longer had the power it once would have over her - not even the ability to make her cringe with shame, at the memory or the humiliation. But that did not mean she could not appreciate the genuine warmth she found there, the easy good humor she first noticed during a broken conversation about artwork and architecture.

"I am pleased you would indulge my poor attempts at the bonryaku temae when your son returns," she said softly, her melodic voice as lovely and pleasant to the ear as the song of the mejiro. "You are very kind Raigo-sama."

And Galina did not lie. There was no need. The patronage of the nobility here, and then the kind host of the Takahiro clan, had opened doors to Shizuka that she likely would have never pried open without them. The network she laid within and without these walls was as strong as an iron web, its weaver, the lady spider, lying in wait within, as calmly as her moniker in either language.

[Derren Krenshaw]

"Back home, Takahiro-san." Goemon's smile stretched wide as he bowed, standing to one side of the ramp leading down towards the Tokyo docks.

"Good to be home." Daisuke's face remained neutral as he bowed as well, standing opposite Goemon as Souma stepped between them.

"We are, and it is." Souma grinned at the familiar sight of his homeland, Voice and Fist falling in behind as he made his way down. It had been far too long since he was last home, his efforts in America seeming to always require more time than he had to spare. But now, finally, he had the opportunity to take. The foundations were in place, building upon themselves with only minor direction from the heir to the Takahiro clan as they wormed their way further into the framework of American life. Money and knowledge were beginning to flow like rivers now, and within only a few years it might even begin to rival the connections his father held in Japan. A more worthy accomplishment couldn't be found, the true testament of Souma's desire to see his family flourish, and to prove his competence as heir.

It was a good day. A very good day to be home.

"Otōto!"

...And a very good day to see his sister...

"Ane-sama." Grinning wider, Souma bowed deeply to Takahiro Ai, his elder sister who parted from the crowds to stand before him now. She moved gracefully within a rich blue kimono, an ebony sash helping to cause no small amount of concern among passerby, unaccustomed to a lady wearing dark -morose, almost- gowns in public. Her skin fair as porcelain and dark hair well restrained, she smiled with warmth and welcome towards her younger brother, who returned both in kind.

"I didn't expect you to meet me here, sister." Souma fell in step beside Ai, the two moving as one towards her waiting cart as Goemon and Daisuke dutifully followed. "You are not needed at the castle today?"

"Well my good brother has done much for the Lord, hasn't he?" Ai offered him a quiet wink as he helped her into the cart. Closed from the outside world within, the siblings soon felt the subtle bumps and jostles of travel as Ai and Souma's followers took up the task of running the cart to the Takahiro compound. "He couldn't refuse my request to see my brother for a day, could he?"

"I imagine he couldn't." Souma chuckled at the thought, wondering how much progress Ai had made over the years he had been gone. Her charms had been instrumental in gaining favor with the nobility from the start, and while Souma and his father worked to further improve the standing of the clan, she worked to ensure their patron remained convinced to help them. "No guards, though? He let you come alone?"

"Why, my brother has capable guards of his own, does he not?"

"That he does." Souma found himself enjoying the conversation more and more as time passed, remembering all the times they had spoken like this before. He was home again, well and truly. And it was good.

They passed the rest of their trip in casual conversation, trading questions for questions and needling one another as it was deemed appropriate. Something seemed off to Souma, however, as if Ai was hiding some delicious secret she desperately wanted to both tell her brother of, and withhold from him completely.

"It looks like we're here, brother, doesn't it?" Ai smiled wider than ever as the cart settled down, Souma already moving to step out, though with a sidelong glance that did not go unnoticed. "What is it?"

"My sister wouldn't be keeping secrets from me, would she?" Souma's mimicry of Ai's speech was met with crystal mirth from the older sibling. She gave her brother a light pat on the shoulder as he helped her down, Goemon and Daisuke falling in behind her -as was appropriate- as she led the way into the compound proper.

"Just a surprise for you, brother." Her jovial laughter served as an announcement to the clan that Souma had finally returned, her words doing as much to intrigue her younger brother as they concerned him. "You wouldn't want me to spoil it, would you?"

[Igraine]

Shizuka quietly went about her preparations, making ready for the tea ceremony proper, anticipating the arrival of her good host's son and the moment when she would have the 'honor', at last, of offering Takahiro Souma a refreshment of her own. The cups and tea set she chose to serve were truly exquisite, expensive and paid for entirely with her own coin in lacquered colors to honor the home of her hosts. Deep blues faded to a gleaming ebony in its expertly applied glaze, somber colors that spoke the true depth of the Takahiro clan's dedication to the business of their family and their honor.

But the young woman who personally saw to the arrangement of the tatami mats appeared, at the least, anything but dark or somber. An iromuji-style kimono swathed her lithe body in deep pinks and subtle reds, reminiscent of the intricate floral rinzu pattern of its shimmering silks, the soft tinkling of the polished metal kazanshi secured in her long, dark brown hair. The ivory obi was secured about her tiny waist with a pale green obijme cord, completing the effect for all purposes of a single ephemeral cherry blossom resting on a branch.

She made only two concessions in her outward appearance, to the truth of her Western heritage. She did not wear her hair in the more precise and taut style of the most elegant Japanese women, like the lovely Takahiro Ai who, in her secret heart, she came to wish might have been her sister in another time, another place. Rather, her long brown hair was pulled back from her face, adorned by the kazanshi and bound at the nape of her neck, the long, wavy tendrils instead spilling down her back.

The second concession, was in the rings she chose to wear on the index finger of each hand: a polished onyx ring bound in an ornate platinum setting on the left, sparkling darkly in the sunlight; and a mother of pearl ring on her right, glowing with an opalescent luminescence in a band of gold.

Shizuka had learned a great deal in her eleven months in Japan, about a great many things. A Western woman come to teach these ever-inquisitive people the ways and language of those far-flung Western lands, she had become a student herself among them, her simple and sincere love for the customs and language and people of this island nation charming not a few in her wake.

And all the right people as well.

When Galina returned with Klara from their voyage on the Empress, she confessed everything to her father. Everything, to the last. She spoke of the meeting in the Winchester Mansion, and those once-precious moments with the gallant young Japanese man who stole away her naive heart as easily as she stole the schematics from the safe. Galina even shared the true reason for her strangely morose behavior for all those long months afterward, and did not spare her pride a single lash as she spoke aloud the ridiculous, shameful daydreams she once held so dearly. She told her father the truth of all that happened aboard the Empress of Japan, the elaborate deception and her humiliation, and yes, Takahiro Souma's message for her family, to the very word.

Never once in her life, had her father struck her in anger. Oh, he had trained her as hard and vigorously as any one of her brothers, and spared her nothing of the fist and blade and the hoof, every last blow that all Cossack boys knew in their youth. His unsparing training had made her harder, stronger and faster, honed her instincts and wit to a razor's edge. Baron Demidov had crafted a true Cossack warrior from the flesh of his girl child, her will married to the Church, to her people, to the Tsar and the Russian nation. And never once in all that time had he raised his hand to her in a rage, to strike his beloved little Night Wolf.

Looking into the darkly-lit depths of her father's eyes in that moment, Galina was suddenly certain if she did not bear her father's ancestral name, if she did not so resemble the wife he loved above all Earthly objects? Baron Vasily Demidov would have killed her where she stood.

Oh, there would certainly be blood spilled for all her folly, but not a drop of it would flow from Galina's veins. And that carnage had been merely the start of her penance.

Her penance and her punishment. Galina would take these months exiled from the seat of her family home to entrench their own interests in the Japanese nobility, in the patrons of the Takahiro clan. The master spy had managed through subtlety and charm, through daring and audacious boldness to take root like a creeping vine throughout all the family interests - the cover businesses and the illegitimate enterprises they masked - of Souma's beloved Takahiro clan.

All while stepping not one foot on American soil.

And now the favored son had returned triumphantly from his adventures roaming that same soil, rightly anticipating a homecoming worthy of all his success and accomplishments.

Galina's dark gaze turned toward the opened shoji door of the tea room, spotting the large shadow of Yury pass by in the hallway. His own dark eyes glanced toward her, and brother and sister exchanged small, knowing smiles as the laughter of Takahiro Ai drifted toward them like the sweet, high sound of tinkling bells.

[Derren Krenshaw]

Raigo Takahiro, Souma's father and current head of the Takahiro clan, was there to greet his children with open arms as they stepped up into the main building of the compound.

"Souma!" The large, graying man wrapped his son in a tight hug, Souma returning it fully with a welcome grin. "It has been too long, son."

"It has, father." They held the embrace a moment longer, finally parting after a quiet -if poignant- cough from Ai. Stepping back, Souma bowed low to the house Head, rising to receive a shallower bow of his own before the three stepped together into the building.

"News was slow, at first. I started to worry..." Retainers and fellow clan members stepped aside as they passed, bowing to the three in excited shouts of acknowledgement. Goemon and Daisuke had stepped aside before, moving on to their own quarters in one of the smaller buildings for respite and reunion with their fellow members from the homeland.

"But then we heard good news, didn't we?" Ai chimed in to follow Raigo's words, grinning over at Souma. "Making up for lost time, weren't you?"

"Things started slow. I admit." Souma left out what, exactly, 'slow' meant. The Winchester house would have been the perfect splash to mark the beginning of his enterprise in America, but instead he had been forced to settle on recruiting an aging engineer. The defeat had been humiliating, infuriating, but nothing to concern his clan over. It had been dealt with, as his clan had always dealt with things, and he had moved on to greater successes. "But we grow, Father. Faster and faster with each step."

"In America, and at home, Son." Raigo's grin took on an almost feral tone, something not missed by his son.

"I expect nothing less... Would this include Ai's surprise?"

"Oh? You know?" That grin didn't fade, Ai's laughter telling Souma what he already knew- Raigo had no doubt his daughter had given nothing away. "I suppose it couldn't be a secret forever."

"But we tried Father, didn't we?"

"We did indeed." Raigo indulged himself lightly in Ai's continuing mirth, Souma resigned to shaking his head as they reached the end of the hall. Here they stopped, Raigo sliding open the screen to a pair of small, simple waiting rooms, gesturing for his siblings to step inside. "Clean up from your travel, I will call for you shortly."

Ai and Souma bowed in response, each stepping into one of the rooms as the screen closed behind them. Water lay in shallow basins by the side in each to wash one's hands and rinse their mouths. Clean outer robes of fine silk hung on one wall, to be changed out with the garments that had collected dust over the journey. Rich blues and blacks for both Souma and Ai, deep colors trimmed in silver instead of Raigo's gold and red. Dark colors, rich colors, those preferred by a clan who had never been used to the fashions of the wealthy. With quiet, deliberate ceremony, the siblings changed and prepared, waiting for their father to call them each over into the room across.

~-~-~

As his children stepped into their own waiting rooms, Raigo moved to the tea room across the hall. He moved casually, smile seemingly carved into his face now that his son had returned. Souma would be ready and waiting to be called in soon, and so the Takahiro head needed to be ready himself.

"Soon, Shizuka." He accompanied the words with a shallow bow, moving to take his place at the host's seat in the tea room as he did. The western woman sat nearby, between him and where Souma would sit and to the side. She would be able to serve his son there without obstructing any conversation Raigo may wish to have.

Though he might not want conversation to interrupt her serving of his son's tea.

Settling down, Raigo closed his eyes, calmly waiting as the time passed. His children would prepare themselves quickly, but that didn't mean one rushed the wait. There was a certain way to go about all things, and for the tea ceremony, patience and elegance were the way.

Finally, after a short time had passed, Raigo raised his head. Smiling briefly toward Shizuka to let her know it was time, he turned then to the closed screen.

"Takahiro, Ai." He did not shout, but his voice carried nevertheless. Low and rumbling like distant thunder, the reverberated through the nearby rooms and was followed soon by the slow opening of the screen. Ai stepped through in small, delicate paces, bowing first deeply to Raigo, then offering a more shallow inclination towards Shizuka. Her paces took her gracefully across the room, eyes marveling over everything that had been laid out for the ceremony, sparkling with mischief whenever they happened to land on the western woman. Finally, she settled herself to Raigo's right, across from Shizuka where the second guest usually sat.

"Takahiro, Souma."

The screen opened slowly once more, Souma stepping through to stop just within the room. Keen eyes fell upon Ai, first, seated where he would expect himself to be, given how the names were called. Those eyes rose in question to his father, who only smiled in response, waiting for his son to continue the ceremony that had already began.

But Souma didn't move.

Gaze drifting away from his father, they fell upon the last person in the room, growing wide indeed before he managed to gain a measure of control. Souma stood locked in place for a moment, not trusting what his body might do if he tried to move. His staff was at the entrance of the building, and with no weapons permitted during the ceremony, only a single, simple knife was tucked away under the folds of his sleeve.

It could be enough, though. If Raigo or Ai reacted slowly, it could be enough. He could explain after, why he broke the ceremony, why he stained the tea room floor with hot blood from the throat of a guest. It would fly in the face of family tradition, spit upon the respect he held for both father and sister... but if he moved, now, a knife just might be all he needed...

"Takahiro, Souma," Raigo's voice jolted him into movement, gaze snapping back to the clan head. Raigo was smiling, Ai mirroring the expression, both seeming to have expected his reaction. Oh but of course, this was a surprise right? Everything he had said to Ai when they were younger, admissions of one obsessed with the western world- how could they pass by the opportunity to have him waited upon by a western woman?

"Do not stare. You delay the ceremony."

"Apologies, father." English- of course. Collecting himself, Souma moved calmly through the same paces his sister had taken. He admired the ceramic cups laid out before his father, appreciated the cloths, the whisks, the pot simmering calmly upon the warm coals of the hearth. Finally, he sat himself as the first guest, directly opposite Raigo, noting how close Galina sat to his side.

It would be even easier, now...

"Souma, to introduce." Ai's ability to keep a straight face during the ceremony was a testament to willpower as great as the seas, though Souma could not seem to be impressed by it right now. She gestured lightly to the woman across from her, inclining her head as Raigo prepared to begin the ceremony itself.

"Shizuka, teacher from West. Will be serving, for ceremony."

[Igraine]

When Ai introduced her, Shizuka bowed low to Takahiro Souma where she knelt, a softly demure smile on her pretty lips as she rose once more. As if she simply could not help herself, the Western woman's gaze flicked upward, searching his handsome face for the space of a heartbeat. But the light in her dark eyes as she peered up to him almost shyly, spoke all she could not for this moment. My sincerest wish is your hesitation at the entrance means only the surprise my presence brings you is a deep and profound pleasure.

The very match of my own.

He had neither attacked her, nor tried to slit her throat, nor gut her which - while not a thing she truly expected anyway? She embraced as a promising sign she might yet do all she came to Japan to accomplish. Souma once had a message for her family. Well she had one for him alone, and she did so hope to deliver it.

Shizuka's dedication to the art of the tea ceremony was flawless. Every last, least move was a slow, deliberate and thoughtful grace, from putting a scoop of the matcha tea powder into the tea bowl, to ladling the hot water and setting the ladle to rest once more, and whisking it just so. Artful movements meticulously, mindfully completed, a small prayer, a benediction in every gesture.

But this performance was not for Souma. Not entirely. In truth, this was for Ai. This was for Raigo, as well. Every last act, every last demure smile and to endear them all the more to the humble, pretty and unassuming Western woman, the teacher come to teach them her language and her ways.

This was for the message she had yet to give a proud, cruel man.

Had this day come even a year ago, Galina's pleasure in this exquisite display would have been truly complete. But she must take what pleasure was left to her now. Shizuka did not speak of course, but simply let her gaze rest on Souma as she lay the exquisite tea bowl before him, the first guest. Shizuka could appear the hopeful young woman, doing all she might to please her dear host, his family and of course, the honorable firstborn son.

But Galina could not help but wonder somewhere in the back of her mind, at the thoughts racing through Souma's head for that one brief, expectant moment. He knew very well, what happened the last time he took a drink she offered, one prepared especially for him. But he was expected to drink the tea she prepared, and offer her a compliment. Perhaps even receive another serving if he found it to his liking. And Shizuka dared a sideways glance to Ai.

[Derren Krenshaw]

Souma was, for all intents and purposes, trapped.

He should tell his family that 'Shizuka' was in reality Galina Demidova, daughter of a Russian baron and skilled spy in her own right. How long had she been in Japan? How long had she been working inside his own family? There was damage here, such that could take years to fully repair. For his family, he should speak up now. For his honor he should let Raigo and Ai understand just what had been done. For his pride he needed to cut this affront down without delay.

And yet, for those very same reasons, he could do nothing.

How long had it been, since Souma had sat down with his family? Since he had answered the small, simple questions posed by father and sister, while 'Shizuka' oh-so-delicately preparing the tea? How long had it been since he was part of the tea ceremony? Since he had held such good news for his father? Since both Raigo and Ai had gone through so much trouble to find a 'surprise' they genuinely felt Souma would love?

He couldn't ruin the ceremony. It wasn't an option, wasn't remotely possible, no matter what reason tried to scream within his head. Any action he took against 'Shizuka' would mar the ceremony forever in the eyes of his family. It would be a violation of tradition, of one of the few practices the lowborn family had ever held dear.

He couldn't do it. And that hurt all the more.

Souma took the bowl from Shizuka with a shallow bow of his own, a light smile across his lips to satisfy father and sister. In honor of the ceremony, he would keep the facade, and deal with matters quietly later on. There was a slight hesitation as he lifted the bowl to his lips, recalling how the last drink she had given him had gone. But she could not ruin the ceremony any more than he could- no, if she acted untoward, it could be the excuse he needed. The ceremony would be soured, still, but it would almost be worth it... almost...

He took a shallow sip from the bowl, mulling the taste around over his tongue, Souma remaining quiet for some time after, before finally turning to Shizuka at his side.

"Father would not have you make tea, if you did not know the right way..." He paused to finish the tea, nodding quietly in appreciation. "But still, this is excellent."

Lowering the cup, Souma caught the quiet grin of Ai beside him, apparently quite enjoying the scene playing out now. Raigo as well was nodding along, both enjoying the ceremony as they should... even when it was the wrong time to be doing so.

Nothing that could be changed.

"I would love a second serve, Miss Shizuka. If you could?"

[Igraine]

Like the rapt, perhaps even entranced young lady she seemed in the presence of the beloved first son of the Takahiro clan, Shizuka held her breath as Souma took his first sip of her tea. Still as an alabaster statuette, she awaited his verdict. And though the graceful young woman did nothing to mar the flawless performance of the ceremony, his declaration of the excellence of the tea she prepared set a light behind her dark eyes, a glow that radiated warmth and genuine pleasure like a hearth in winter.

When he asked for a second serving of her tea, the pleasure radiated from her like the gentle rays of the springtime sun, and her gaze flickered toward Ai once more. Only for a moment, the small, ephemeral smile on Shizuka's lips said all she could not speak aloud, to the precious sister who befriended an eager foreign teacher and her brother, both so unsure of their footing in a land so very different and so very far from their home.

Oh yes, the young, naive and lovelorn woman she had once been still lived on within the calculating spy. Yet gutted and hollow as she had become after the voyage of the Empress, that lighthearted lady was not much more than a mask Galina wore when the guise of sweet, unassuming and genuine innocence was most needful.

Shizuka took the bowl from Souma once more, her gaze and small ghost of a smile entirely his as she bowed low. She cleansed the bowl ritually and in truth, all with those same perfect graces she had studied with such sincere dedication all these months. And the second bowl of tea she placed before Souma was as meticulously and mindfully prepared as the first.

Though she heard the conversation - the familial small talk that, for all its familiar subject matter, spoke to the love and dedication that flowed like gentle waters between father and son and daughter - Shizuka of course did nothing to interrupt or insert herself in any way. She simply turned to Ai, and then to Raigo, preparing for each a bowl of tea with all the grace and thoughtful attention she had for Souma, neglecting not a single slight move as unworthy of her intent and deliberate note.

And when she was done, the young woman simply remained where she was, as patient and unhurried as the eternal Mount Mitake. In truth, the veil of the woman she had once been glowed softly, happily, in these moments where she could do naught but wait for her time to cleanse and clear this precious tea set. If even for a few moments, that woman could pretend the compliment from Souma had been sincere, that he truly thought her tea excellent. She could pretend the surprise so carefully calculated by Ai and Raigo, the Western woman Shizuka, was truly a joy for the returning firstborn son, and that his hesitation at the doorway was born of genuine, joyful wonder.

She could even pretend she did not realize all too well, that Souma truly wished little else than to run the blade of that little dagger over her throat, if only he could.

It was all for the best, she supposed, that Galina was the wolf lying in wait beneath that veil. She'd grown quite fond of breathing through her nose, and not through a gash of hot blood and flesh carved into her neck.

Far easier to speak that way too. She sighed, and suppressed a small, weary laugh before it could escape. Oh, Souma had certainly received a message by now, but Galina still had far more to share with him than tea.

[Derren Krenshaw]

Galina seemed quite content to sit in the role of 'teacher from the west', patient as a statue before the eyes of her admirers.

And admirers they were. Raigo had to have been teaching her daily to instruct her, motion by slightest motion, the subtleties of the tea ceremony, and yet even he seemed impressed as she passed the Clan head his own cup. Ai was easier to read, the lady too often away from the Takahiro compound, living her work with the nobility of the capital. No one would have been allowed to serve in Raigo's stead unless they were fully prepared to honor the task, but knowing and witnessing were two different matters. Souma's sister smiled wide and easy, nodding in appreciation as she received her cup as well, following the motion with a knowing glance toward her brother.

Souma had to admit, it was a wonderful scene.

But a scene was all it was. An act, a play, robbed of the genuine ceremony that was supposed to be present. The Takahiro heir flashed his sister a brief smile in return, drinking from his returned cup as he tried his best to savor the contents. It... was good. Very good, in fact, Galina could never be faulted for not committing wholly to her task. That was what had led him to fail his mission at the Winchester estate in the first place, hadn't it? The fact that she had done nothing to spur his suspicion, up to the point where it no longer mattered.

Not that he had the luxury of complacency now... or even the capability for it. Galina's face was etched within his mind as one of an opponent. Her skill outmatched that of his own prized agents, and it would be foolish to believe she was the only member of her household who worked from the shadows.

She hadn't stepped foot upon American soil since he left her on the Empress. He hadn't found hint or sight of her agents before he left for home... but that no longer carried the sense of satisfaction it should have. Of course she had taken advantage of his message. If nothing else, it gave Souma new appreciation for her abilities, one who stood rival to his own.

Which was something he would have to address. Before the damage was worsened.

Perhaps it was the tea, or simply being able to speak with his family again, but Souma found it easier to resist the urge to slit Galina's throat here and now. There was time, he remembered. Time to find the right place, the right scenario. Possibly quite soon, but not now. At the least, not right now.

"Good to be home, Son?"

Raigo's voice brought Souma's gaze up to meet his father's, a contented smile growing on his lips as he did. Despite Galina's presence, it wasn't hard to answer the question.

"Very, father."

"Long travel, must be tired, yes?" Ai's grin made it more than clear the intent behind those words, as if one couldn't catch it before. "Father, we should let rest, yes?"

"We should." Raigo was about as transparent, though Souma found it hard not to forgive them both. This was supposed to be a time where masks could be lowered, of course, one of the few moments of respite where family could speak as family. The Takahiro head rose slowly, placing an empty cup before the mat where he had sat. Ai followed him, including in her motions a slight bow towards both her father and brother, in that order.

Still seated, Souma bowed to Raigo, then Ai, watching as they moved to leave before rising himself. He lowered his own empty mug to place before his mat, turning finally to Galina by his right.

"It has been long, since I was here." He spoke calmly, gesturing towards the screen behind her, that would open to the outside. "I would like to walk some. Would you join...

...Galina Demidova?"

[Igraine]

"Of course I will, Takahiro Souma."

Galina unfolded herself slowly from the tatami mat with a slow, reassuring smile, and gracefully knelt from place to place, where the empty tea bowls for Ai and Raigo remained when father and daughter 'inconspicuously' left the honored first son Souma with the lovely Western woman. "First things first though, if you would be so kind. Only a few moments... "

And whether he would be so kind or not, Galina turned to set the cups and used utensil on the tray, showing her defenseless back to him time and time again, as if she hadn't the least worry for her person in his presence - and truly, she did not. She had learned a great deal during her time here, and was as certain as she could be that it was a matter of honor and tradition and love of family that stayed his blade and hand within the confines of his palatial home.

"I cannot leave things like this." Galina set the tray aside by the door before taking the exquisite clay teapot off the coals to cool. Idly she wondered if she would be the one who cleaned this set when the time came, and knew that, quite likely, she would not. She could still find within her though, the hope that the family would keep it nonetheless. The care and cost procuring it for the Takahiro clan, for Raigo who had been so kind, so patient as they taught one another, for Ai with the spine of pure steel behind that sweet, gentle smile; the cost had been nothing in comparison to the amount of thought that went into her humble gift, to find the perfect craftsman who could develop the glazes just so...

She rather hoped the tea set would not wind up smashed or otherwise destroyed, but there was no help for it, and Galina would simply have to let come what would. Galina stood to her full height, her gait alone with Souma no longer the mincing steps of a 'proper' woman of this household, but the long strides of the warrior she truly was as she crossed the room back to him, back to where she kept him waiting by the door.

"And I would appreciate you waiting to shove whatever blade you surely have somewhere on your person, into some vital part of my anatomy?" One perfectly shaped eyebrow shot upward, a wry little grin on her face as she looked to Souma from the corner of her eyes. "Well, at least trying to shove your blade into something needful for life, until you hear me out. As you can see, I have harmed not one hair on the precious heads of your father, nor your sister, nor a single person within your household."

Though of course she did not say as much, the unspoken words hung in the air between them as she moved the tatami mats, setting them aside carefully: 'And I could have, Souma. I could have murdered your whole family and everyone in this compound a hundred times over if I wished to. If that was my true intent.'

"Does that not buy even a few precious moments of your time, 'unmolested?'" Galina bowed politely to Souma, chuckling under her breath as she walked past him outdoors, slipping her own sandals onto her stocking feet as she moved.

"The gardens here are so lovely," she said softly, taking in her surroundings instinctively, orienting herself to persons and place in a moment. "I truly do not know how you can bring yourself to stay away so long. It has been almost a year now, hmm?"

[Derren Krenshaw]

Souma waited patiently, watching from the open screen as Galina ever-so-carefully moved to collect the set used for the recently-ended ceremony. She gathered everything with methodical delicacy, as should be done, and he found himself content to let her continue. It was what should be done, after all. And if -despite everything else- Galina was willing to still honor the traditions of the ceremony, he would as well...

...Even if she seemed determined to provoke him.

"Galina," He spared the spy a small smile, true emotions suppressed beneath walls of false courtesy. "The tea ceremony is where anyone can sit and speak without fear of coming to harm. Weapons are not allowed in this room."

Not that such a rule stopped anyone from concealing arms on their person -indeed, it was almost expected- but he would not rise to her words. Instead he inclined his head, watching Galina pass by him outside, before following to stand beside her. He stood so she was closer to the walls of the building, affording him a better view of the grounds and gardens, as well as any who might try to approach.

"It has." They began to move slowly along the walkways, Souma's gaze laying on the grounds themselves more than Galina by his side. If she wanted to talk, then they would talk. She seemed the one to hold her word, which meant it was important to hear her out, at least.

After that...

"Gardens are wonderful, but... Hmm" He paused a moment, trying to catch the right words. "Gardens in Russia, yes? They are... different?" He gestured towards the carefully combed gravel beds spotted with copses of flora, the stone-lined koi ponds and bamboo stands out in the distance. "Different plants, different... look. Still garden, but not the same."

"If like gardens, even if own beautiful ones... want to see others, yes? See different gardens, different plants, appreciate different beauty... understand?"

He took a moment to look Galina in the eye, his own features serious. "Culture is my garden. No matter how wonderful Japan, want to see others, appreciate others. Because of that, I stay away for long."

[Igraine]

Galina turned to catch Souma's gaze, nodding meaningfully to tell him she understood his words, his analogy of culture and gardens. The laughter that had bubbled up when he sounded so exasperated with her, when he claimed no one would bring weapons to the tea room - as if she were a small child much in need of lessons on the basics of just how the world worked? That laughter was cut short, brief for the sake of necessity and died swiftly in the sunshine of the Takahiro gardens.

"I could see this thing in you, this wanting to see 'more' in the world, and then even more after that, as if only whetting the appetite. There is never an end to the wait, is there? The anticipation of what might be just beyond that next corner, the next bend in the road. I imagine this is why you are so very good at what you do, and how your family becomes so very prosperous, even in your absence."

Galina spoke nothing of her intimate knowledge of just how prosperous the Takahiro clan had become. She could truly see no need - Souma could guess on his own for the moment, just how familiar she truly was with his family's business, and would know without the least doubt for himself soon enough.

And so the young woman's unmatched musical voice continued with the smaller talk of the moment, by all appearances to any who witnessed, simply the demure, lovely young Western woman who had charmed them all walking with the brilliant, skillful heir of the Takahiro clan. "We have many gardens in Russia," Galina continued easily, "Many kinds of gardens, from the humble, fruitful dacha gardens of the common men, to the spectacular, formal Russian Imperial gardens. We too have gardens on the Demidov estates, though they are now a touch... Difficult to traverse."

"To please my mama, Papa had acres of formal gardens created, for no other reason than to see her smile, and have her feel at home in this new land he brought her too - Papa loved her very much. There were hedge mazes and blind ends, secret lovers' groves, resting benches for the weary - even fountains with clear drinking water for thirsty travelers."

The young woman's dark gaze traversed the walkways once more, gaining a feeling for where this walk might end, where Souma would - of course - be expecting far more than pleasant words to pass the time. "But after my mama died, Papa let all her gardens run wild, and return to the old growth from whence those grounds were wrested. Still, it remains quite beautiful and terrible, all at once. Bear and wolf prowl among the deer once more, in the shadows of stone statues and the ruins of trellis and arbor."

Galina laughed softly to herself. "When I was very little, Papa used to say the wolves in mama's gardens howled to sing her babies to sleep in the night. It was... Strangely comforting. I miss them dearly."

"The gardens here are also comforting as well," she continued, nodding toward one simple bamboo fountain, cleverly built to time the fall of the water just so when a counterbalance was filled, adding a watery musical rhythm to their walk. "But so very differently. Your gardens do not protect you, or watch over you in your troubles like a mother protecting her brood. Here, I can see your gardens wanting to take the hand of a passerby, to invite him to sit and listen and be taught the secret things of this world that whisper and do not shout."

"We have some moments yet Souma," Galina said, using the familiar form of his name as he had seen fit to do with her own. "Tell me, have you yet found a favored garden of culture in the New World? What have you found there to delight you?"

[Derren Krenshaw]

Souma found himself seriously pondering the question, as he had intently listened to Galina while they walked. Why? Why was she seeming so open in their conversation, beyond what was necessary to convince those around that they were merely two enjoying the company of one another?

It seemed... out of place. For the Russian spy who had infiltrated his family within his homeland, her current actions and demeanor were nowhere near what he had expected.

Different cultures, perhaps?

"America I have learned most, So I might call favorite." He pondered the sights and sounds of that country, what little of it he had actually seen. One massive coast stretching up the ocean separating it from his homeland, with more and more to learn the further one traveled inland.

"America... borrows. Everything from somewhere else, from someone else, but is made their own. It... shouts, calls to look at, begs attention. Wants to be seen, wants to be heard, loves to be recognized. Loud, messy, young...

It is... exciting, to be part of."

It was really the only thing to say. The energy that was found there, everything done in such strange ways, but drew one in all the same.

"But, came for more than this, yes?" They moved further and further to one of the corners of the compound, away from everyone else, the buildings shrinking to mere sheds as the gardens and ponds grew to dominate the area. A small, tended forest within the walls of the compound, a place for members of the clan to step away from their busy lives, and find a few moments of peace for themselves.

Perfect for a private conversation between spies... and... maybe more.

"Did not convince my father you were 'teacher', just for this." Stopping, Souma turned to lock his gaze upon Galina before him. "Had message, yes? Tell it."

[Igraine]

Galina nodded, pulling up short beside Souma, dark eyes roving the grounds about them, taking in the perfectly miniature forest, the man before her, thoughtfully calculating all. It was not lost on her in the least where their promenade had finally ended, together amongst the perfectly manicured tree, far from prying eyes or too-keen ears.

"Of course," she said softly, nodding her assent once more, her gaze steady and unwavering as she met Souma's own. "My message then. Please know, this is my message for you alone, Takahiro Souma. Mine - not from my father, nor the Demidov family."

Galina knew very well that Souma would not care for her message - not in the least. But the one her father wished to send? That was a message far too brutal, much too cruel. Even now, near a year since those dark first days of her confession, she could still hear the glacial ice moving through her father's voice as he commanded her to exact the only vengeance that would right the grievous insult to his highborn honor and noble family, the affront by some up-jumped foreign peasant: Souma's family was to be put to the sword, all of them butchered like animals before his eyes. And when all was done, even those eyes were to be gouged from his head, his last sight the bleeding, broken corpses of those he loved best in this world.

Galina would not. Could not. Not from the moment she laid eyes upon the patriarch Raigo's kind face, so patient and good to a foreign teacher who took the time to learn his culture as well. Not from the moment she first laughed - truly laughed - with Takahiro Ai, delighting in the woman's subtle wit. Galina defied her father's wishes from the sanctity of the Takahiro compound - and yet refusing him as she did, even with the safety of several hundred miles between them? This was no easy feat. It was only by her brother Yury's subtle machinations that Baron Vasily Demidov finally relented, conceding at last that his daughter's subtler plan had far more lucrative merit, spiced with a dash of ironic Russian "justice" that made this lesser scheme a touch more palatable.

And even if Souma never knew, never understood what she had done in his stead or the war she fought against her own in his home, Galina could still rest her head at night, and sleep deeply and well. Oh yes, the young woman had certainly been molded and shaped and trained become many things in her short lifetime, and none of them terribly good: spy, warrior, assassin, thief, liar - but the one thing Galina had never been?

A monster.

"I imagine after the events aboard the Empress, you never thought to see me again - well, if you bothered to think of me at all, of course." Galina smiled softly, chuckling just under her breath without the least hint of mirth.

"I, unfortunately, did not have that luxury when the ship finally docked. I had to carry the humiliation home with me, and lay my shame - to the very last - before my father."

"What followed those disgraceful confessions of mine, was a bloodbath. Every last contact, every last fool who took your bribes or duplicitous agent who looked the other way to ensure Baronessa Galina Demidova boarded the Empress of Japan? All were torn up by the roots. The network you laid to find me, to falsely commission my services and arrange out little meet, has been obliterated."

"And all I have done during my time here, was return the favor. Even now, my brother Yury is arranging our imminent departure, with many regrets to your father and sister. But my eldest brother has fallen tragically ill you see, and we are expected home right away. But the network I have laid in your family's business, in your finances and the American-earned monies that have mollified my father? I will not spoil the fun ahead of you, ferreting out every last tendril I have planted, in each and every Takahiro enterprise, legitimate and... Less than so."

"To be rid of me entirely Souma, to finally uproot every last vestige of my influence in your home and hearth? You shall have to confess to your father, and likely even to Ai, the truth who I am and what you did aboard that ship. Sake with me was far more of a 'personal' conquest than recovering Mr. Selvin, now wasn't it Souma? Nothing in the least sanctioned by or for the Takahiro clan, after you failed to recover the schematics from the Winchester Mansion." Galina arched an eyebrow meaningfully, one corner of her lips curving upward slowly.

"To rid yourself of every last toehold I've made in nigh on a year now, you must also explain how it came to be that a Russian spy could come into the Takahiro home as a guest, using her own Christian name, as brazen and bold as summer sunlight."

[Derren Krenshaw]

This was the place.

Over a year of hunting. Of ensuring it had indeed been a theft by foreign agents, of identifying said agents and managing to track down their furtive movements, they could finally act. The compound was massive, walled and brimming with all manner of thug and thief, the task before those settling into position a daunting one indeed.

But these men were born for daunting deeds. Soldiers trained to survive suicide mission after suicide mission, bringing results when it seemed impossible to do so. They were driven by raw discipline, tempered by skill, and glowing white-hot with righteous anger.

The ones who had stolen their work from the Winchester estate were behind these walls.

But they would not stay safe for much longer.

~-~

Souma granted Galina the courtesy of listening to what she had to say. Standing silently within the private confines of the garden, eyes never leaving hers, rapt attention paid solely to her lilting voice.

She wanted him shamed. She wanted him embarrassed and dishonored, wanted a revenge to mirror what he inflicted upon her almost a year ago. Galina had said then, that what he did not know of Russia was vast. Had this been what she meant? That Russian revenge, Russian 'justice' was to inflict upon others what one felt was inflicted upon themselves?

Quite the difference, from his own people.

If a child was born to a wealthy and powerful Japanese family, he was expected to honor the reputation his name held. He needed to act a very certain way, maintain a certain image, and overall stick to a minimum set by the status he was born into, one he could try to rise above, but never fall below.

For a child born to the poor, the less fortunate, or the 'simple' Japanese family, however, the 'minimum' was always one step higher than you could reach. Your parents had a name worth less than the filth shoveled from the stables? It was on you to change the opinions of those you met. Your parents had a decent name, a good home, an average life? It was on you to distinguish yourself as someone with the potential for more. Step forwards, reach higher, never fall back. The smallest dishonor could be more harmful than any great deed could erase. True no matter one's heritage, but to the Takahiro's it rang truer still.

And Galina had to know.

How long had she been here? Living within his clan, weaving her contacts as she learned his culture? She knew his family, knew what they honored, what they stood for, what they strove for. Of course, this was a fitting revenge, then, to force dishonor upon the honored son.

But Souma knew his family, had been raised by his family. And Souma knew his father, knew what lay in store for those who could not lift up the Takahiro name... but also what could truly be called 'dishonor'.

If Galina wanted her 'Revenge' to be complete, to have meaning, there was one more step she had to complete.

And if she knew that, she wouldn't be standing here, alone in the corner of the compound.

"I, see." Souma nodded quietly, no smile appearing to match the one on Galina's own lips. They stood apart, facing each other, not another soul in sight. "You plan well, work well, cannot ignore that. Will have to find right words to tell Father..."

His voice trailed off at the thought, as if Souma decided that moment to try and figure out just what he would say... The he moved.

Reaching for the knife would take to long, so he lunged, bare-handed for Galina before him. He didn't snarl, didn't shout, his eyes remaining locked on the Russian spymistress, lips drawn tightly and paling from lack of blood. He surged forth, aiming to drive a heavy blow into the softness of Galina's stomach, aiming to land a foot behind her leg so he might topple her down, aiming to catch her off guard long enough to drive her skull against one of the many, heavy stones dotting the grounds.

The body of the one who shamed him would be the first thing Souma showed his father. He would salvage his pride and honor by denying Galina the full victory she sought. Right here. Right now.

[Igraine]

Her miscalculation was inexcusable, and Galina paid that debt with a powerful fist to her gut. The sky and bright canopy of the trees above suddenly wheeled into view as her entire world was upended, her breath knocked out with a soft ooof of a gasp as she landed, hard, flat on her back on the ground.

It was not that Galina failed to anticipate he would attack her - she most certainly did. She counted on it. Galina had been awaiting Souma's blade from the moment he entered the tea room. In truth, she had to admit - however reluctantly - that his exquisite self-control to this point was a most admirable feature. But it was the matter of his blade - or lack thereof - that she failed to take into account. The entirety of their 'reunion,' Galina believed he would have tried to cut her, to slice her throat or stab her in the chest - perhaps even sever her spinal cord, were he quick and precise enough. She had anticipated he would make a move for his own blade, wherever it might be hidden on his person.

It was no false pride informing the Russian spy that, blade in hand, she was a matchless artist, utterly without peer. Galina knew very well she could move far faster than Souma, sweeping the kindjal from its hidden sheath at her back long before Souma could produce whatever blade he carried, wherever he may have hidden it. Yes, he would suffer some cuts at her hands, of course, but only those needed to incapacitate and not kill. Only those injuries needful, to keep Souma still long enough that she and Yury might yet make good their escape.

Galina understood herself well enough now, to recognize the sentiment of a scarred yet stubbornly naive woman, once enamored of the kind, exotic young man she met at a magical party one starlit evening, who did not wish Souma dead. Even humiliated, hurt and shamed before her entire family, she could admit to herself that her inner world at the least, was still degrees brighter with him in it, no matter his guise.

A shame then, it seemed Souma did not share that sentiment at all.

He was on her in an instant, making swift use of his advantage. Her grave, possibly mortal mistake was her failure to foresee the possibility he would not pull a blade at all, but would prefer to choke or beat or crush the life out of her with his own bare hands. And this was a choice that had given him the so-slender edge he needed, to see her flat on her back.

Galina's dark eyes widened in surprise, but only for a split-second as years of training - and the survival instincts of an apex predator - surged through brain and body all at once. She did not think, only acted now before Souma could incapacitate her further still, and finish what he had begun. The kindjal was sheathed behind her at her back, and she could not reach that familiar bladed comfort. Instead, Galina's right hand grasped at Souma's throat as he descended on her, her left flying to the sparkling cherry blossom kazanshi in her hair. Deft fingers twisted a single metal leaf just so in the elaborate clasp, and then wrapped about a metal bough, lifted from the hair piece to reveal a gleaming, delicate-seeming stiletto blade. The small knife's razor edge flashed in the sunlight as it descended, to be buried to the hilt in the back of Souma's shoulder. At the same time, Galina bent her legs upward, beneath his body, to catapult him up and away and scramble to her feet at the very least, where she could finally unsheathe her kindjal.

[Derren Krenshaw]

His decision had been the right one. Even moving without delay, even managing to catch Galina off-guard, forcing her down to the ground as he fell upon her to finish the job, she survived. His hand closed around her neck, and her own pushed up against his, the Russian spy struggling to fend him off, to keep him from gaining the freedom he would need to bring her skull down upon the nearby stone. She wanted to live, to throw him off, to get away.

Souma couldn't afford that.

Her escape, her victory, might as well spell a death sentence for himself. Her body was the only thing he could bring to grant words any meaning, when it came time to tell Raigo what had happened. Maybe, maybe, he could salvage things otherwise, but it would not go well. Mercy was too much of a risk... and in the end, she had brought this down upon herself-

A sudden flash caught Souma's eye as they struggled, the gleam of a slender blade seen just long enough to react. He relented his own grip slightly, strength surging through his left hand as it struck out in a vicious blow, aimed to catch her knife-hand on the inside of her wrist and slam it down to the ground. This was his fight, a brutal brawl to the end, but even still Galina fought on. As he drove her right hand down, sudden pressure struck his chest, her legs pressing him up and pushing him away with tremendous force.

A double-attack, he hadn't prepared for it, and Souma found himself forced to relinquish his grasp, sent stumbling back along the ground as Galina scrambled across herself.

Fine then.

The knife fell into his waiting right hand as he stumbled, and the Japanese spy turned to hurl it with a keen eye towards his adversary's center of mass. Blade or hilt, it didn't really matter which struck home, only that it did indeed strike. He moved quickly in the wake of it's path, left hand dragging along the ground as he moved, gathering loose earth to then send arcing up towards Galina's eyes as he charged forwards once more...

Then shifted to the side, coming in at an angle behind blade and earth, feet landing in a solid stance as he aimed to drive another heavy blow into the soft target of Galina's belly.

[Igraine]

The kindjal was in Galina's grip even before she scrambled to a crouch in her stocking feet, whirling on Souma the instant his blade finally materialized - and at the worst possible moment, airborne in a silver flash at her chest. She feinted slightly, the knife's edge catching and slicing easily at the seams of her kimono sleeve before burying itself in the earth behind her.

Instinctively her eyelids shut tight against the dirt he threw at her face, her body following the original feint but only managing to change oh-so-slightly where Souma's powerful blow landed.

She heard more than felt the dull *snap* at her ribs, a flash of white hot agony immediately dulled by the adrenaline fueling her lightning swift movements. Galina sucked in a quick hiss of a breath through bared teeth as she allowed the momentum of the blow to whirl her away from Souma. No, these were not the first broken ribs she had ever known, and would likely not be the last - unless Souma killed her here and now, of course.

Galina realized he would wear her down like a hammer to stone if she let him, that she must keep her feet and stay out of his grasp. Instinctively, she knew if Souma grappled her to the ground once more, she would likely not rise again. He was stronger than she - far, far stronger, and he certainly wanted her dead.

But Galina was swifter, and not yet ready to die.

Her free hand dropped to the dirt to steady herself for a split-second, just long enough to wrap agile fingers about the fallen dagger Souma relinquished. She allowed the momentum of the blow to marry with her own grace, lifting her form from the earth with the ephemeral lightness of a windblown leaf. Whirling away from Souma, Galina sidestepped him in a nimble dance that belied her injury utterly. Both blades glided in twin silver blurs as elegant as she, the kindjal slicing for the meat of his shoulder and Souma's own dagger flowing like water in a stream toward a hamstring as she landed delicately behind him.

Neither the muffled agony in her ribs nor her sudden struggle to breathe forced the pained grimace on Galina's face, but a single thought that seared her spirit like a brand:

Please Souma, please go down... Stay down... I don't want to die... God in heaven, please don't make me kill you...

[Derren Krenshaw]

Daisuke moved slowly down the outer walkways of the compound, listening idly to the conversation brought on by the two old friends at his side, enjoying the company more than the words. Veteran soldiers of the Takahiro clan all, they had fought and bled together far to often for words to be necessary between the three.

And yet his two friends seemed to have grown looser tongues while he was away. They talked more easily than ever before, wondered on questions they never would have considered, and laughed at jokes they had never found funny. A strange sight to Daisuke, Souma's Fist, who had only found more work in America, while his friends at home now seemed to bear less.

Had things really improved so much within the clan at home, that his friends could now talk like this?

Such a question rising to his mind nearly sent the imposing Fist into a fit of mirth himself, discipline restraining the outburst to a mere, shallow smile- one that vanished as soon as it had appeared.

"Stop." His friends obeyed instantly, looking back as Daisuke's hard gaze swept out along the gardens and buildings of the compound. He could feel the question building on their tongues, one they would never had thought to ask before. Sloppy. They had gotten sloppy, everyone at home had.

And-

"Intruders in the compound." Daisuke's hand was moving the instant he caught the brief flash of light striking metal, coming from the shelter of bamboo that swayed with no breeze. His friends hesitated longer, catching on only as they saw the heavy revolver he drew from within the folds of his kimono. Hands went to weapons of their own, eyes darting about to scan the area, that same, sloppy question now escaping the confines of their lips.

"What is it?"

An eye, peeking carefully through shadows and brush not thirty paces away, found itself arrested by Daisuke's glare. They held position for an instant, each recognizing the soldier -the killer- they saw in the other, each daring the other to make the first move.

Then the eye vanished.

"Attackers- Defend the Takahiro heads!" The sudden, choking crack of a muffled gunshot went unheard in the wake of Daisuke's rising bellow. One friend staggered, but moved with the other, both sprinting off to find Raigo, Ai and Souma Takahiro, the heads of the clan that needed to be warned, to be protected at all costs. Only Daisuke stayed behind, drawing the Wakizashi Souma had given him from within his Kimono to hold in his free hand, and side-stepping into the building he had been patrolling.

The scent of blood reached him there, assailants already moving through the houses to quietly exterminate who they could. The thought erased any smile, any easy features, any relaxation from Daisuke's form as he began to move. With the compound under attack, he was but a single Fist, drawn taut and thrown alone to drive away a greater force.

But he was Souma's Fist. And as anyone who had fought the Clan Heir knew, there was more power in that one blow than you would expect.

~-~-~
Yet again, he was unable to decide the fight there.

His blow landed, he felt the impact that sent Galina staggering backwards... and yet she continued to move. Dancing away from him, grabbing his knife, charging back with blades flashing.

Souma had an instant to choose, to try and back away, to dodge those gleaming edges, or lean in and take the strike. Her speed against his strength, her blades against his fists. He needed to keep her here, to find an opening, but what did she need to do? What was all she had to do to win?

Escape.

With a rising growl, Souma turned into Galina's blades, throwing one arm up to meet her dagger, while shifting his leg away from his own knife. The silken fabric of his kimono offered no protection, hot fire leaping across his raised limb, soon joined by a flare across his leg. The pain threatened to blacken his vision to nothing, his right arm falling down coated in scarlet while his leg continued to sear. Pain. He couldn't help but stagger after those blows connected, but the fact that he could still stand lent him strength. It wasn't a lost cause, the knife hadn't severed muscle and he was in close.

Death his only option if he stepped back, if he hesitated a moment longer, Souma snapped his head forwards in a sudden effort to crack his forehead against Galina's face. His right arm pulled itself tightly against his body as he moved, blood staining more and more of his once-treasured clothing while his good leg snapped out in a low sweep to try and knock his opponent to the earth... one last time.

[Igraine]

Yury Demidov tightened the lash that helped jerry rig their small trunk to the back of the rickshaw, for likely the hundredth time. His long fingers ran irritably through longish brown hair, a nervous tic that made his locks stand up at strange angles about that handsome, unshaven face, only adding a physical manifestation of the growing agitation in his chest, racking his heart. He paced slowly, long-legged strides soundless despite the heavy boots he wore as he stalked the length of the rickshaw, flashing amber eyes narrowed beneath dark brows resembling nothing so much as a wolf worrying over its cub.

She was late. Yury knew exactly when that tea ceremony ended, that strangely beautiful dance she had dedicated herself to these past months with the Takahiro clan leader. He did not understand why Galina did what she did here, why she defied their father's express command to destroy this entire household; to, in essence, raze this entire place to the ground and salt the proverbial earth upon which it was built. Even with the distance of so many miles between herself and Lord Demidov's wrath, her rebellion was no small thing. He did not understand why she chose thievery over assassination, for the family of the man who nearly cost her everything dear in her world: duty, honor, faith, family.

But Yury did not have to understand. She was Galina, bright and terrible, his baby sister who followed in his footsteps since the time she could walk, her chubby little fingers wrapped around his own, her eyes so like Mama's laughing up at them all. Dark eyes that shone nonetheless, their depths full of strange and wonderful secrets. And if she wished to keep one or two of those secrets close, all for her very own? Yury could let this be. He could even stand with Galina as she meticulously laid out her rationale to their father, that this venture would be far more lucrative with the Takahiro clan alive than dead. That hot, unreasoning vengeance could be savored cold as well...

No, Yury did not have to understand a single one of Galina's motives for all she did here in Japan - or even for what she chose to leave undone.

What he desperately did want to understand, was why his little sister would be running so late. A minute or two – and no more – for Takahiro Souma. A minute, and no more, to reveal what she had done, to give him a single, bitter taste of the cost for crossing the Cossacks –

A shout like a roar blasted through the Takahiro compound, rumbling like thunder past even the front gates. Yury did not recognize this voice, but that mattered not at all. His face fell pale in an instant though he did not hesitate. His shashka already sheathed at his side, its mated kindjal riding beside it on his belt, he tore the Winchester model 1892 rifle from its moorings atop their trunk and bolted back into the compound with a feral snarl. Any man who dared stand between Yury and his sister would die, horribly.

**********

Galina's eyes widened in undiluted horror as Souma threw himself into her blades, sensing the subtle, all too familiar feel of flesh parting from flesh thrumming through the hilts – and still he came at her, through a rain of razor edges no sane man would dare. Shocked, horrified, she was not prepared for the blows he rained down on her, too close, too near to dance away once more to the relative safety just beyond arms reach. She flinched, but not near enough as Souma’s forehead hammered into her cheekbone. Another bone cracked beneath Souma's assault, tiny bright lights flashing into her dimmed vision in an instant, the blow stunning her just long enough for his still-good hand to shove her backward over his sweeping leg. Galina found herself thrown easily, brutally to the ground once more, and she knew this moment for the end it must be.

’Please don't make me kill you Souma.’

He moved with all the reckless ferocity of a berserker – yet the key word in these precious seconds was the word ‘reckless.’ Galina was no unworthy adversary, no mere thug or cutthroat or brigand. She was a warrior trained from the time she could hold a blade in her tiny hand, and she could have finished this tangled rivalry now, in the breadth of a heartbeat.

All she had to do, was bury even one of these blades in his neck this very instant. Souma was gone mad with bloodlust, his desire to see her dead overriding all reason, all sanity and pain. And all Galina had to do to live, amounted to barely a flick of her wrist, a subtle movement she mastered when she was still just a small child. She even knew how it would feel, that first gout of hot blood against her face, in perfect synchronicity with the very next heartbeat after an artery is severed…

’I cannot kill him.’

Her hands shook with the inhuman effort. Galina’s teeth bared as a cry of anguish tore itself from her throat, a wordless lament to scream her torment to the heavens – and then buried both blades to the hilt in the dirt at her sides, where she had fallen. She released the hilts, a world-weary and exhausted woman relinquishing her final, desperate and bleeding finger holds on a perilous cliff's ledge.

’I will not, Souma... ‘

Galina squeezed her eyes shut tightly, her face a rictus of misery. She could not bear to look into the face that hovered above hers, to see the hate or contempt in his eyes – or worse yet, to know he felt nothing at all as he killed her. The impossibly strong fingers of one hand dug tightly about her throat once more, the other buried painfully in her hair as if he meant to tear it out by the roots, half-lifting and half-dragging her body from the ground. She did not know if Souma intended to strangle her. Beat her. Crush her to death or simply break her neck.

It did not matter. She was going to die, one way or another, at the hands of the one man she could not bring herself to kill. She could only pray Yury would not suffer for her failing, that he would be able to get far and away at the end of this last charade.

Her shaking hands rose to Souma’s face above her own, gently, as if they had a volition of their own. The last sight Galina wished to hold in this world, bright in her mind’s eye, was the memory of a man she once held, fast asleep in the cushion of her lap as she tenderly traced the lines of his face with her fingertips. All she could hope for, beyond the pain and the darkness to come, was the touch, the memory of that face beneath her fingers one more time.

‘Please don't... ‘

[Derren Krenshaw]

The attackers were spaced out, sweeping carefully across the compound as a staggered wave. They picked off members of the Takahiro clan with quiet efficiency, continuing even after the alarm began to ring through building after building. They would regroup later, when the stragglers had been taken care of, when only the core of the clan remained, holed up wherever they planed to make their stand.

Then, they could attack in a group, burn down the buildings and slaughter any who tried to flee. But for now, they worked better spaced apart, ensuring none slipped past their net.

It was a tried-and-true tactic for clearing an area such as this. But they hadn't figured Daisuke into their plans.

One soldier looked up as footsteps echoed out to him within the building he was sweeping through, rifle swinging into aim as the imposing Fist stepped into view. Before he could fire, however, Daisuke hurled his Wakizashi at the man, forcing him to flinch away from the heavy, awkwardly-spinning blade.

There was no way it could have done more than bruise the man, such a weapon was never meant to be thrown. But a flinch was all Daisuke needed, his other hand calmly swinging his revolver up to roar rounds into the attacker. Bullets tore through the man, jerking him to the ground as Souma's Fist stepped quickly by, retrieving his blade and moving to the next room.

Still no sign of Souma, still no sign of any of the Heads. They had separated after the ceremony, likely, but where would his Boss have gone to? After so long away from Japan, from the compound that had become their home, where would Souma wish to-

Ah.

Quickening his pace, Daisuke leapt through the fragile soji screen before him, wood and paper tearing apart to startle the assailant creeping along the edge of the outer walkway. He stood clear to the Fist's vision, Wakizashi brought down in an overhand stab that drove it's blade to the hilt into the man's neck.

Two down, Daisuke only moved faster. He knew the place Souma would likely be, so far from where the Fist was now. He moved back inside, using the buildings to hide his movements from any gunmen outside.

And to anyone he encountered on the way, anyone who happened not to be of his Boss's clan?

They fell quickly to steel and lead.

~-~-~

Souma was in pain.

Even as he stood there, left hand clutched tightly around Galina's throat, his right fell from where it had gripped her hair. It hurt too much to use it anymore, his vision blurring and body feeling cold. Overwhelming pain pulsed from his arm in time with each heartbeat, the sharp sear from his leg echoing behind in case he might forget.

He needed to end things now, right now. Galina had thrown away her blades, she had given up. It gave him pause- no, he had to end this.

It was either him or her, at this point. Galina might not understand that -she would never have followed him here if she did- but that couldn't save her.

Even as her hands fell gently upon his face, Souma turned slowly so that the heavy stones at the base of a small statue would come in line with the back of Galina's skull. He had enough strength for this, at least. Finally, he could end this.

-And then the compound behind them erupted into gunfire and shouting.-
"Wha-"

Galina slipped from his grip, Souma stumbling to the ground to find himself kneeling above her. His hand loosened around her throat, there but applying no pressure.

Had this just been a ruse?

"What... did... Galina!" He shook her by the throat, demanding she open her eyes and meet his gaze. Chaos continued to build behind him, the sounds bringing a desperate, terrified wrath to the fore of Souma's features. Before he ended things, he needed her response, he had to know.

"Look!" He shook her again, nearly bashing her skull into the statue on accident. "Galina! What... what did you do?"