Kamikura Island grew more cramped by the day.  Time went on, and the next batch of Sekirei were prepared for their tunings - she hadn't bothered to learn what number they were at now.  Still only a fraction of the whole.  Karasuba hated waiting.

She spent most of her time looking out at the sea.  At the world she'd never be part of, so far off that she knew it in name only.  The sole point of interaction invasion, trapped in the world where they were naught but tools, lower than even dolls.  A flurry of action.  Seagulls attacking one another, devolving into shrieks and squawks and battered feathers, bruised wings.  Nesting season, or so she thought.  Territory disputes.  When the water grew boring, Karasuba would drop her gaze past her dangling legs and watch the birds who loved that cliff, same as her, but there was too much animosity between them for her to truly pay them much mind at all.  Although she looked down upon them, sometimes a cold sort of recognition hit her. Like sees like.  But no matter the day, the wind buffeted her; a reminder that she was forever grounded.  Sekirei.  Wagtails without wings.  Incomplete equation - solve for x.  Love makes us whole.  Where is the proof?  Where are your proofs?

A shiver ran down her spine, and, second nature, as she was born, Karasuba reached for her sword as she whipped around.  Felt herself chill as she met the gaze of a wolf eyed woman standing at the edge of the tree line.  The world didn't stop.  Her breath didn't catch, heart didn't skip.  There was no love.  All Karasuba felt was the creeping suspicion that, in some way, this moment would be one she looked back on for years to come.  A chance encounter.  A slip of fate.  She'd forgotten just how fast Takehito worked; the image of those new Sekirei pattering around in the halls, bare footed, snotnosed things she'd held in her fuzzy memories had already been made outdated.  Now they wore the same uniform.  She couldn't recall her name, not really, or even if they'd spoken before.  The woman nodded at her and, despite herself, despite who they were, what they were, Karasuba's hand edged back, and she nodded in return.  Turned back to the ocean, though she could hear the stranger approach. 

"Every time I see you here, I wonder if it'll be the time you jump," she said matter of factly, head cocked as she looked down at Karasuba.  Not once had she looked away from her; hers was a gaze of looking through something at a spot just past it. 

"Name and number," replied Karasuba, glossing over the sound of her voice, rough and throaty in its disuse.  Was too caught up on the idea that she'd been there before.  Just how many times had she gone unnoticed?

"Yume. Number eight."  A sigh of an exhale, her next words quiet as a promise.  "I know you."

"Is that supposed to mean anything on an island this small?"

"Let's fight, you and me," she said.  No question.  No hesitation.  Yume spoke as if in the past tense.

A shudder ran through Karasuba.

"You sure that's a good idea, little girl?" Wild eyed, felt the strange stretch of her lips curling, teeth flashing.

"It's what we were made for, isn't it?  It's how we understand each other," Yume smiled softly, offering her a hand.  How naive this Sekirei was.  MBI was a falconer.  She was not free but trained, miles and miles of open sky yet she circled abovehead, always choosing to come back.  The lacquered wood was still cold as she grabbed it, though the sword, much like herself, had been sitting out in the sun for hours at that point. 

She clasped the outstretched hand, rose to her feet whilst thinking of how badly to beat the woman in front of her.  Still had a grin so fierce her eyes were crescents when the fist crashed into her face, right under her cheekbone

snarled like knuckles pushed through skin deep sort of pain and she held her tight, held her close, neither letting go she slammed her sword's hilt into her gut that fucking sneak rat bastard least she trusted her senses, ears picking up on the exhale all the air rushing out of her at once wheezing needed her bent over keeled over dead-

~~~

The infirmary was an easy place to hate.  Easier still to resent the one already up and out.  How dare she.  How dare she?  It wasn't the fact that Yume had won.  Wasn't how MBI's facilities meant that she got away without even a scar.  She didn't even care that Yume hadn't left her to rot.  Dragged the both of them back to the lab, pushing herself off nothing but grit and collapsing as soon as they were there.  How dare Yume visit her, pretend like this was normal.  Like she wasn't changing Karasuba's idea of normalcy.  How dare she be so unaffected.

Really, nothing big was altered.  Karasuba still spent her days waiting.  Waiting for her fractures to mend enough that she could work some crutches, wait to get back outside of the stifling complex, wait to see her only visitor; the only one who spared her more than a passing glance, a curious look into an open door.  How she waited for the day where her chest didn't seize at the mere sound of Yume's name.  Hate.  Hate.  She hated how weak she was.  One more fight.  Another one, just to patch up her broken pride.  Karasuba's biggest mistake was putting herself in a position where Yume could break her arm.  Next time she'd do better.  Next time she'd win.