#xtreme writes

mari’s the director, of course. (but instead of the director’s office, they’re in the detention room, because that’s where mari has to be as a student. this is okay because they’re really old-school, it’s been protocol for a thousand years, and they’re sticking with it even if the director is in detention and the student in the crystal cuffs isn’t.)

what you is there for is that she’s suspected to have ingested a forbidden potion of sorts that day. and it was an accident, but she really did.

mari check a list that dia’s little investigation team send her. it’s a love potion! a soul mate potion, to be exact, and one mari is familiar with!

what she explains to you is this: a fragment of her soul will leave her body in search of you’s soul mate -- its other half. it can’t stray too far from you’s body, because that would be bad, but it will hover around her prospective soulmates as she meets them, and will judge whether or not they are The One.

you sneezes in the middle of this explanation which is how that piece of her soul leaves her body.

(an excerpt from the proper fic version of this about what you’s soul piece looked like:

Yō flinched at the brilliant blue ball of energy when it crossed the edge of her vision, but once she relaxed, she silently agreed with Mari. Her soul, as she examined it closer, had a bright center and a charming, translucent depth to it, and tendrils of its essence floated around and trailed behind it as it flew, like the tails of a liquid star. She wondered, briefly, if deeply observing and thinking so poetically about it was vain of her.

“You know,” Mari said, resting her head on her knuckles, “now that I look at it, it… kind of reminds me of those jellyfish you see in those aquariums… like, where they light the tanks up and the jellies do, too…“

Yō acknowledged the statement.

Yoshiko’s soul i haven’t put in written form, but i think like if there was a wispy silver cloud covering white candelight.)

soon after mari notes that yes, the potion is certainly working, yoshiko tsushima joins them with her own handcuffs and a loose piece of soul. she takes a seat (apparently she and mari meet like this often) and awaits judgement, as she does.

mari continues explaining. the other thing about the potion is that what makes it so forbidden is that 1: pieces of souls arent even really supposed to leave the body and 2: it lets the drinker see souls, which is also not safe. seeing souls due to unnatural causes like potions causes weird things like the loss of important memories (or something).

as a precaution, these loose pieces of soul can be kept in jars that keep them from sight and the same dangers that mortal bodies provide. it will never find its other half, but it will be safer that way.

yoshiko knew about everything mari told you and luckily doesn’t need a repeat of the explanation. she also, fairly easily, fesses up to the crime. (“Well, she drank your potion, see?” “She what?! That was meant for—“)

not only did she practice forbidden, magic but she also intended to implicate someone else! yoshiko now faces expulsion

or so she would, had mari not outed herself as another who could see souls.

you is the one to point out her comment about her soul, but mari doesn’t seem bothered by it at all. 

since the injustice of expelling a student over something the director is also apparently guilty of is now plainly evident (yoshiko Should be expelled, tho), mari lets yoshiko off with a week-long suspension after they get their little soul containers. the decision to use them though, is theirs, and the don’t need to tell anyone about it except maybe the doctors.

you is a little upset at yoshiko for being wrapped up in the accident, but she’s also, admittedly, a little curious about what her soul will do now. 

it flies circles around her closest friends, sometimes it flies across the room to someone she wants to meet, and sometimes it dulls its light and hides behind you’s back when she speaking to someone she’s uncomfortable with. hm.

she and yoshiko meet each other more often than either of them expect after yoshiko returns from suspension. their souls are plain for each other to see.

they both watch.

(there might be someone for whom both their souls will dance around.

the ways their souls react to each other might change over time.

and never again will yoshiko involve you in one of her little tricks... not without asking.)

---

It’s late. She leaves mud in a trail behind her, through the door, up the stairs, into her room where at last her bones snap apart and back together, and her muscles burn as they tear and weave themselves back to familiar form and size.

When it’s over, she’s still exhausted. There’s a cold, heavy feeling in her stomach, like something’s wrong, but more than that she feels a thick haze in her head.

She can’t think. There’s school tomorrow. Her futon is there. She needs to sleep.

The morning news plays on the little TV at the front of the bus that Hanamaru and Ruby take to school. Hanamaru tries to tune out the report on the couple found dead in the thick of the small wood nearby.

Estimated time of death: between the hours of midnight and 5AM. There’s a lot of collateral damage in the area surrounding the corpses. The police say it points to an attack by a wild animal, but they’re hesitant to make a definite statement because there are no such animals wandering about Numazu.

Investigations are fast now, because nowadays they expect casualties like these. It turned into something of a nightly thing for them to send people out at night to prowl for dead bodies. The lack of them these recent few months had some hoping the deaths had ended.

Too bad about last night.

In any case, the report is fast and succinct. The camera work beats around the worst of the carnage and any descriptions on the damages and wounds the couple sustained are kept to a decent, broadcast-passable minimum. It seems it’s only the police and Hanamaru who might know about how the young lady died quickly from a messy bite to the jugular and not the impact to the back of her skull, or maybe how the young man’s leg was ripped off only after his spine had snapped twice, or that maybe, maybe if he just hadn’t pulled that knife out he’d still be—

“Hanamaru-chan? Hanamaru-chan, listen to me.”

Ruby is nudging Hanamaru’s leg with her knee. The news has moved on to something about rice imports. From the looks of the outside, they’re still a good ten minutes away from arriving at school.

“Hanamaru-chan,” Ruby says. Her voice is soothing. The skin under her eyes is a little darker than usual. “You looked a bit spaced out. You were watching, weren’t you?”

“Oh… Yeah. I was.” Hanamaru just keeps from tacking an apology on at the end.

Instead of saying anything, Ruby finds Hanamaru’s hand and squeezes it. “Just don’t dwell on it too much, okay? Everything’s going to be all right.”

She does a cute little nod at the end of that sentence, to prompt Hanamaru to agree with her or something like that. So Hanamaru does. Things are fine. It’s going to be okay.

When they arrive at school, Ruby strays from the routine path to the classroom for a detour to the student council office. It’s a quick errand for Dia, who has to stay at the hospital for a while to watch the new stitches on her leg for the wounds she got last night.

Hanamaru’s a touch grateful. If Dia hadn’t stepped in, it would’ve been Ruby on the news today.

The lunchtimes Hanamaru spends helping out at the library are her favourite times of the week. She was never one for noise, people, and noisy people, and the library at Uranohoshi provided her with just the perfect dearth of that. People visited the library often enough, but outside of the worst exam crunch times, there was never a soul who willingly stayed for any longer than five minutes.

There was one exception to all of that, though—a noisy person that Hanamaru really didn’t mind who actually stayed at the library to read for extended periods of time.

Yoshiko Tsushima arrives again today, this time with a stack of books she places at the counter with a heavy thump. “Done!” she says proudly.

Hanamaru pulls the stack close and skims over the titles on the spines. Save for one book about low budget gardening techniques, they all belong in the section for myth and the occult. They were also all borrowed on different days, and due for return on different days, with only about half arriving on the counter on time.

“And your late return fee comes up to… eighty-seven yen,” she says after a little math.

“Totally worth it,” Yoshiko says, reaching into her pocket for her wallet. There’s a self-assured smile on her face as she does so.

As Yoshiko digs around for the proper change, Hanamaru proceeds with the menial task of scanning and logging the books in record.

“What was it all about this time?” she asks.

The coins in Yoshiko’s change clink as she drops them onto the counter, and a timed beat later she places her hand on her chin and grins to herself. “I had taken this opportunity to educate myself on beings of the other world,” she says. “From the common dragon to the leshi, I’ve made sure to become familiar with a veritable legion of hellish beasts.”

Hanamaru smiles. “Got a new favorite?”

“No,” Yoshiko says. “Chimerae remain objectively superior, but if you’d like, I could share something about coeurls?”

Then Hanamaru indulges her, and they slip into old routine—storytelling after a finished collection of “forbidden tomes” and avid, eager listening.

Yoshiko was always a big person in many ways, but there was, apparently, something to be said about how good of an open ear Hanamaru was. At good parts her eyes lit up, at dull ones her shoulders would sink, her lip would curl when she had something smart to say, and there were some things, important things, that she would remember with her heart. It took a while to understand them, but those were things she never forgot, and somehow she remembered more about Yoshiko than Yoshiko did about herself.

And Hanamaru, in turn, didn’t know these things about herself, until Yoshiko came up to her one afternoon and told her that it was how she fell in love.

“We’re sorry we couldn’t cure you,” Dia tells her, leaning on the tea table of her house’s living room. “And sorry for… what happened afterwards.”

Hanamaru nods. They’re all sorry and all disappointed, but she honestly couldn’t ask for more than the kindness of the Kurosawa sisters with her issue. As confidants they were beyond trustworthy, and they took such huge risks for the sake of saving Hanamaru that it seemed unthinkable.

But as saintly as they were, they weren’t looking to be martyrs. By now they must’ve figured Hanamaru wasn’t worth the danger. Dia doesn’t look at her the way she used to.

“I’m afraid this is as far as we can go,” she continues. “We can’t afford to take any more risks. To ourselves or otherwise.”

“I understand,” Hanamaru says. “That’s how things gotta be sometimes, I guess. I’ll try to do things the way I was doing them before, then.”

“For now, that might be for the best.” Dia straightens up and bows, a little off-balance. “Again, we’re sorry for our shortcomings. We wish you the best, Hanamaru-san.” Then she walks away.

Hanamaru stays the ‘Thank you’ the end of her tongue in hopes that Dia won’t close the door on her, and she’ll turn around and say she has one more idea, another last chance for Hanamaru.

Dia doesn’t, of course, so Hanamaru goes home kicking herself over her ingratitude.

The ocean at night is cold enough to kill during the later weeks of fall. Hanamaru has to hide away in the thick of the wood again until sunset, and wait for the moon to stir the wolf awake.

And when it wakes, she suffers through the change again—snapping joints and tearing muscle, her jaw cracks to make room for rows of new fangs and jagged teeth, and the stretching her spine has to do to reach the height of the beast rips the feeling away from her limbs as it snaps in place, its revolting crackles muffled by flesh and rustling leaves. New eyes, muscle, bones, new skin, a new stomach that almost asks more for blood than meat.

The wood she hides in isn’t as dark in this form, and the smell of the sea mixing with the thick and teeming vegetation is so much crisper she can practically taste it. Though her mind is hazy with the aftershocks of pain, the world is so much more vivid. It’s always a shame she can’t experience it as she likes.

Her nose picks up strangers a short distance away, behind her, but she insists on running forward, to the ocean. Only then can she bear the sharp cold of the water.

She dives to hunt, because the wolf has to eat, or she can’t turn back. Somehow with just the scant light of the moon she hunts down a few dozens of fish that escaped the nets of the boats in the distance, and bites them whole, even if it takes hour upon tiring hour to eat her fill and the icy water mats her fur and weighs it down. It’s an ordeal, and she hates the feeling of grinding little fish bones and skulls between her teeth most of all, but compared to the real human lives she’d cost otherwise, it’s a bargain.

By the time she’s finished and dripping seawater back on land, the moon hangs high in the sky. Her body breaks back down to human size, her own, real skin, which prickles and almost stings at how cold it is.

Hanamaru digs through a specific patch of undergrowth for the dark canvas bag holding her change clothes, which she throws on as quickly and quietly as she can manage. It’s just her boots and the jacket left when she notices shadows moving.

The light is from behind her. She turns, a dangerous ache bristling in her jaw again, and then recoils at the sight of Yoshiko.

“Zuramaru?” Hanamaru can’t dare to look at her, but leaves crunch underfoot as Yoshiko approaches. She’s so close that Yoshiko has to turn her flashlight away from the both of them so Hanamaru doesn’t get blinded. There’s a firm, anxious hand on Hanamaru’s arm. “Zuramaru, it is you! What are you doing here—why is your hair so wet?”

There’s nothing but concern in her voice. Hanamaru knows she sees the bag and probably smells the blood and the ocean from her person, because Yoshiko is too keen around her. She wants to run, but her body just refuses to move.

So Yoshiko does. Amid all the warning signs blaring in her mind and fogging her thought, she can still hear a zipping sound. Somehow Hanamaru doesn’t resist putting her arms through the sleeves when Yoshiko holds her coat up for her, and she finds the warmth and weight so comforting she wishes she could just fall asleep already.

"Okay," Yoshiko says as she zips the front up for her, "you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but geez you're going to catch a cold... Ah, here, my scarf, it'll catch the water from your hair."

Yoshiko wraps it around Hanamaru's neck and shoulders so gingerly, like she has no clue what Hanamaru is or what she's done, at all. And then she has the audacity to wrap Hanamaru in a hug, where she's sure her face is pressed against sea-soaked, freezing cold hair.

What's wrong with her?

There's some warmth tickling her ear from Yoshiko's breath when she asks, "Hanamaru, are you okay? Can you at least tell me that?"

Hanamaru stays in Yoshiko's hold for just a little while longer, trying to keep from tearing up. "Yeah," she mutters eventually. "I'm fine, Yoshiko-chan. Just soaked."

Yoshiko squeezes Hanamaru one more time. "Okay. Let's get you home? You live in the temple nearby, right?"

Hanamaru nods into her shoulder, and Yoshiko pulls back, takes her hand, and leads them both off.

The path they take is nearly void of any other passersby, which Hanamaru appreciates of Yoshiko, but it’s also void of any conversation until after the woods and the short trail, when the guest entrance comes into view.

“You’ll be alright here?” Yoshiko says, squeezing Hanamaru’s hand. It breaks her out of a daze.

“Yeah,” Hanamaru says. “Yeah, it’s… warmer at home.”

“Good.”

They reach the doorstep and let go. Hanamaru takes her first steps inside, then makes to take Yoshiko’s scarf off when her hands stop.

“Will you want these back?” she asks. On her mind is how it’s soaked and probably smells strange, so she hopes Yoshiko says no.

“Ah, you can keep them for now,” Yoshiko says, probably forcing that grin on her face, “to wash and all, heh. I mean, that’s how courtesy goes, isn’t it? Er…”

“But then what about you, Yoshiko-chan?” Hanamaru asks. “You live far away, don’t you? How will you go back by yourself like that?”

Yoshiko shrugs. “Exams are coming up soon. I’d have gotten a cold anyway. But you…”

She’s looking at her like that again. It’s hard to see because the temple is dark and moonlight can’t break between leaves easily, but Hanamaru has always been able to feel it.

“Nothing,” Yoshiko says, turning around. “Take care of yourself, okay? I’ll see you soon.”

In lieu of saying goodbye, Hanamaru just watches Yoshiko walk away.

When she curls up in her futon, she remembers the look she gave her. Hanamaru knows what it means. ‘What’s going on with you?’ ‘Are you really alright?’ ‘Please let me help you.’

She hates it. She’s terrified of it. She wants Yoshiko to give up on her.

It’s not what she tells her when she sees her again at school and gives her clothes back, but it’s all she can manage.

“Don’t go there again,” Hanamaru says.

Yoshiko’s demeanor takes on a rare kind of gravity. It’s good that Hanamaru had the foresight to confront her after class. The room is empty aside from them and the sun sets early today, coloring everything red-orange. There’s dormant heat in the air, or maybe just in Hanamaru’s ever-eager imagination, but either way she’s glad no one is around to interfere.

“Why not?” Yoshiko says, standing up. “You don’t even know what I was doing there.”

“It doesn’t matter what you were doing there,” Hanamaru says. “You can’t go back. It’s for your own good.”

“My own good? Then what about you, Hanamaru?” Oh no. “Why were you out there, by yourself, half frozen to death? I worried about you every night after that!”

“Then stop worrying about me!” Hanamaru speaks louder to match, which makes her all kinds of uncomfortable, because it’s just not like her at all. “There’s nothing about me to worry about. Please, worry about yourself, Yoshiko-chan.”

“Nothing about you—that’s bullshit, how can you tell me to do that when you know how I feel about you? After I saw that? “

“That was nothing! Why won’t you ever just listen to me?”

Yoshiko’s hands hit her desk. “You never tell me anything! I know you need your privacy, but this? You could be in danger!”

Hanamaru grabs Yoshiko’s shoulders and looks her in the eyes. “You’ll be the one in danger, Yoshiko-chan! And you know why, so stop pretending you’re doing this to keep me safe. You can’t help me.”

Now, frozen under Hanamaru’s stare, Yoshiko can’t say anything. They don’t move, they don’t break eye contact, they’re not even sure they’re breathing, but slowly, maybe because she sees Hanamaru’s eyes welling up, the tension leaves Yoshiko’s shoulders.

“And if I told you I could,” she says quietly and unsurely, unlike herself, “would you let me?”

Hanamaru is exhausted. She lets her arms fall to her sides. “People have tried. Just stay away from me, Yoshiko-chan.”

But Yoshiko never listens.

She’s always been a little bit peculiar. Naturally rebellious to the norm. Midnight candle rituals, standing on the school rooftop on the coldest, rainiest days, downing hot sauce like candy syrup—the more absurd it seemed to be, the more likely Yoshiko was to do it.

Hanamaru finds this bold, eccentric spontaneity attractive in a way. So much so that she feared she might’ve even fallen in love with her because of it.

She still fears she loves Yoshiko, especially now that Yoshiko stands before Hanamaru with only a spray of blue flowers in her hand and a heartbeat loud enough for Hanamaru to hear even from ten paces away, over the rustle of leaves.

Hanamaru’s ears can only hear something like that through bones, muscle and skin because it’s something that she seeks out, along with Yoshiko’s shallow breathing, wide eyes, her cold sweat and trembling fingers…

But her heartbeat, drumming in her ears louder than rolls of thunder, is euphonious.

thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump

The thick coat Yoshiko wears is something Hanamaru comes to dislike almost immediately. It’s rough, and dry, and would just spoil her taste.

Her claws seem to bare themselves at it. And her teeth. Her fur bristles too, and something low rumbles from her throat.

But she does her damned best not to move, and hopes to everything she can think in her limited lucidity that Yoshiko finds a way to run where Hanamaru can’t get to her.

Naturally, Yoshiko does the exact opposite. She takes a step forward, holds the flowers out to Hanamaru, and shouts something Hanamaru can hear perfectly but not understand. She recognizes her name, “Hanamaru,” but the rest of it is just loud, maybe angry, and she takes it as a taunt.

It’s weak bait, but encouragement is encouragement, and Hanamaru is hungry. She pounces, and when she tastes blood, the last flimsy sliver of humanity slips out of her conscience.

And when it comes back, not too long later, it’s because she eats something wrong and horribly bitter. Her insides are burning, her throat feels raw, she can’t breathe, and her limbs feel like they’re being torn apart from the inside out.

When Hanamaru comes to next, there’s something that tastes like dirt in her mouth, and the stench of blood is so strong she physically flinches and digs her face into the warm mass underneath her.

It shifts, and coughs, and… holds Hanamaru tighter?

Yoshiko.

The blood.

Yoshiko.

Hanamaru shoves herself up. “Yoshiko-chan!”

It is Yoshiko beneath her, pale, bleeding from deep, frightening wounds around her right arm. Only the stems of the flowers in her hand remain, and her fingers only seem to curl around them from the cold now that her gloves are torn, but she’s breathing.

Then she coughs. “Zuramaru,” Yoshiko says weakly. “Hi. You’re back.”

Hanamaru sees Yoshiko’s mouth warped in a grimace for her, and she has so many things to say that she can’t speak at all, so she just crumples into Yoshiko’s chest and tries not to let her crying break into full sobs.

In these minutes she realizes she’s wearing a coat with end of the right sleeve torn and stained black, and between that, Yoshiko’s wounds, and the flowers being missing, Hanamaru pieces together what must’ve happened.

And despite what she’s done, what kind of pain she might’ve inflicted on Yoshiko, at that moment she can’t feel anything but selfish gratitude and relief because this time, this time, no one’s dead.

The thought echoes in her head for long moments after that, as Hanamaru, still dazed from everything, lets herself a minute of rest. With her ear pressed into Yoshiko’s chest, Hanamaru finds her heartbeat again. It’s calmer this time.

Thump-thump.

Thump-thump.

Thump. Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Yoshiko gasps hoarsely, and Hanamaru jolts up. “Yoshiko-chan?”

Yoshiko’s eyes are unfocused, but she manages to shove her phone into Hanamaru’s hand. The screen is lit, displaying the emergency contact number for the nearest hospital.

“Maru, listen,” Yoshiko says, out of breath and voice trembling. “Wolfsbane poison gets into wounds. Hurry.”

Her arms go limp, she starts coughing, and Hanamaru, as she sees this, wastes not an instant calling the hospital and telling them what she knows, as fast as she can.

If she’d really gotten better, if the wolf is really gone, she can’t let Yoshiko’s be the life it takes with it.

The paramedics have the courtesy to only ask Hanamaru about Yoshiko, and outside asking if she needs medical attention, too, the only effort they direct to her goes into words of reassurance. They can save Yoshiko.

They can save Yoshiko.

They save Yoshiko.

Days pass, then a week, then two. Since staying was too expensive, Yoshiko and her family decided to just move her home after several days passed and her condition stabilized enough. She hadn’t come to school since.

As far as their classmates knew, the most of Hanamaru’s involvement about Yoshiko’s “accident” was that she was just the first among them to find out. It was a piece of information they made and agreed upon by themselves, and Hanamaru made no effort to make them think anything otherwise.

She did volunteer to be the one to bring notes over, though, even if Yoshiko lived so far away from her own home.

Hanamaru knocks on the door to Yoshiko’s apartment, and steps in once Yoshiko voices her acknowledgement.

“Hey Zuramaru,” she says, eyes glued to her television screen. “You forgot about the bell again?” Even when part of her forearm and wrist is covered in medical wrap, she doesn’t seem to have much trouble with her game controllers. Good to know her hand wasn’t too impaired.

After shutting the door behind her, Hanamaru places a notebook at the foot of Yoshiko’s bed, and sits down next to her on the floor. “I think I like knocking better, anyway.”

Yoshiko hums. Hanamaru’s only seen her play a handful of times, but she can gather from watching that the next thing Yoshiko does is find a place to save before exiting the game and lowering the controller to her lap, where her stare lingers for a while.

“So…” she says, drawing the word out. “How about it?”

Hanamaru’s brow tightens. “Yeah. I think I’m ready to talk.”

“Okay. Uh…”

“First of all,” Hanamaru continues, hunching over a little, like the words are that heavy. “Never do something like that again, hear me? Especially not without telling me first.”

Yoshiko flinches. “H-Hey, in my defense, you would never have said yes—“

“Of course not! Handling poison, showing yourself in front of a-a werewolf, it’d be like asking you to die for me!”

“But it worked, and I didn’t, and nothing like that’s ever going to happen again!”

Hanamaru looks up. “That’s not the point, Yoshiko-chan. I know what you did worked, and I’m better now, and nothing like that’s ever going to happen to either of us again, but you scared me!” She pauses, glancing at Yoshiko’s dazed expression and back away, and then she takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I was terrified, okay? You came so close to dying so many times because of me. I don’t know how I’d handle letting that happen to someone I feel like this about.”

Her voice got quieter and quieter until she finished, and Yoshiko let the silence remain. Until one of them found it in themselves to speak again she moved to find the fist Hanamaru buried on her lap and wrap her fingers over it.

Then she squeezed it gently and said, “I’m sorry. For scaring you, I mean. Really reckless of me.”

“It’s okay,” Hanamaru says. “I think. It’s over now, after all.”

Yoshiko nods. “Yeah.”

“…And besides,” Hanamaru says, “it’s still kinda my job to keep you from doing dumb things like that.”

There’s a pause were Hanamaru glances back at Yoshiko again, shooting her a sort of half-smile. Yoshiko sees, returns it, and playfully bumps her elbow on her. “No kidding. I’d just be a mess without you around.”

“Oh, I doubt it’s anything like that. You’re such a veritable force of chaos that sometimes I feel like a buzz in your ear.”

Yoshiko chuckles darkly. “’Force of chaos,’ you say? I find that a high praise, even from a being of such holy light as yours.”

“Shut up, Yoshiko-chan.”

“Ah, the scorn of heaven—a most familiar burn.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Hanamaru shoves Yoshiko by her head, earning them both a faint chuckle, and Yoshiko shoves Hanamaru back a bit herself before deciding to lean on her.

“But seriously,” Yoshiko says. “That aside, I think I should start listening to you more often. You’re smarter about me than I am.”

“Maybe,” Hanamaru says. “And actually, even if I’m not a werewolf anymore… I don’t know, it doesn’t feel over.”

“What do you mean?”

Hanamaru wrings her hands. “They weren’t so many, but there were people that I… so…”

“It wasn’t you,” Yoshiko says.

“We can’t say it was anyone else,” Hanamaru says. “It’s all on me, Yoshiko-chan.”

Yoshiko looks away, to a corner of the room, and frowns. “So you say,” she mumbles. “I don’t know how that must feel for you, as usual for me, but at least this time you don’t have to deal with it on your own.” She shifts somehow closer. “There’s time for us to figure this out.”

Her words take time to sink in, but Hanamaru feels Yoshiko’s right. She nods, and Yoshiko smiles.

“So, anything else?” Yoshiko says.

“No,” Hanamaru answers. “I’m taking this a bit at a time. I’m not good at jumping into things all at once like you are.”

“Oh, guess it’s my turn, then!” With a sudden little burst of energy, Yoshiko sits up and spins around so that Hanamaru can see her smirk clear as day. “What’s this earlier about ‘someone I feel like this about,’ eh, Zuramaru? Feel like what?”

And seeing Yoshiko’s smirk, Hanamaru feels light, for the first time in a long while. “Yoshiko-chan, I think you’re just a little nasty, you know that?”

“Aw, what?”

Hanamaru can be honest now. There’s no reason for her to fear herself or how she feels.

Met with cheers and the sounds of clinking glass and metal, Kanan considered her crew’s little celebration officially commenced.

As the chatter grew, she walked past a few of the crates they used as makeshift tables, bouncing back greetings where she felt they were due, until she found the one where she knew her seat had been set aside for her.

“Captain!” Hanamaru called. “Thanks for the party, zura!”

Chuckling, Kanan took her seat on a small chair. “Much obliged. You two especially need to be celebrated this time.”

“How’s that?” Hanamaru said. “We did nothing so important, Ma’am.”

“On quite the contrary,” Kanan said. “Without your silver tongue and Yoshiko’s impeccable eye in the dark, I think by now we’d have a few of the governor’s gunships on our tail. In a way, it’s thanks to the two of you that the crew can even rest easy and celebrate right now.”

At Hanamaru’s side, Yoshiko gestured proudly to her eyepatch. “For my humble Eye of Shadow, Captain, the thanks should be to the Hellish forces that so graciously—“

“What she means is a humble ‘you’re welcome,’ Captain,” Hanamaru says. “Yoshiko left the Hell business behind with her last crew, didn’t she?”

“Actually, the evening winds whisper of a reawakening—“

“You’re dreaming, Yoshiko.”

Kanan chuckled, giving Yoshiko a fond shove. "Hell or not, we got her," she said. "Our year's worth of gold is asleep in the ware room, and we owe it to the crew. This celebration will be more than compensated once we make land at Tochiman."

"Isn't it going to get cold in the ware room, zura?"

Kanan shook her head. "I lent her my coat for the night before we locked her up, of course. She won't be able to leave, but it should keep her warm enough until morning when she wakes."

"Classic Kanan," Yoshiko said. "A real pirate's guile, keeping prisoners bound without locks or chains or rope. Can your coat double as a straitjacket?"

"N-No, nothing like that," Kanan said. "In fact, weren't the restraints your job, Yoshiko?"

"Um, no," Yoshiko said. "Captain, we've been out of spare locks, chains and rope since the ransacking at Homura."

Groaning, Kanan slapped her own forehead. "Of course. How could I forget the bears?" Eyebrows still knit, she took a swig of wine.

"Hey, it's no disaster," Hanamaru said, waving Kanan's problems away. "She ain't likely to wake until dawn tomorrow, isn't she?"

"True," Kanan said, the sourness in her face barely receded. "And besides, she's only a village girl. What trouble could she be?"

Someone from the crew tapped Kanan's shoulder. "Captain, the girl wants a word with you."

For an instant the wine bottle threatened to slip out of Kanan's grasp, but she supported it on the surface of the crate-table before turning her head back.

Behind Kanan, the village girl was causing a small scene, stirring the crew into a small, curious crowd around her, which she molded and cut through as her words and gestures allowed. "You have a captain, do you not?" she roared at them.

"Frankly, they are the only person for whom I have the time and patience. If I don't see the captain this minute, there will be an incident."

"I am the captain." Kanan walked through the small crowd. "What's the issue?"

Their village girl took only one glance—brimming with contempt—at Kanan before her face twisted into one of impatience. "I didn't know hooligans as blind as you could be qualified to captain a ship. Do you not see my dress? How your grunts have begrimed it with the litter of this sorry vessel? If you don't have a good reason for this mistreatment I will bring you and your lot to the judges."

"Bring us to the judges?" Kanan shifted her weight to the other leg. "Do you have any idea what sort of mess you're in right now? See, you're good as cargo on my ship at the moment, and we're sailing to Tochiman so I can collect the hefty bounty of 300, 000 gold coins on your noble head. So, if you want your conditions to be cozy until then, dame, I suggest you keep—"

"'Dame?!'" Now the fire in the girl's eyes had been stoked to a dangerous brilliance, and she took strong, heavy steps toward Kanan, who squinted at the change. "Listen well, you ass-witted oaf, my name is Dia Kurosawa, and if you knew a single damn thing about me you'd know I wouldn't tolerate a prick on my finger from the Devil himself if I believed I was undeserving."

"Well, then, Miss Dia, my name's Kanan Matsuura, and as the person in charge of your keeping, I won't have anything but your compliance."

Dia huffed. "Frankly I am astounded that you think someone of my status would—"

Click.

Dia Kurosawa had no choice but to quiet down, then. Not much else she could do when she was faced with the barrel of the captain's flintlock.

"Did I not make myself clear?" Kanan said. The steel in her voice was carefully measured. Her parents' ghosts would weep for her if she let the crew make light of taking to firearms. "Nothing less than compliance. Return to your cellar."

Dia was silent. She looked from the barrel of the gun to Kanan's eyes and back, slowly and considerately. "Is this a joke?" she said, and when in the next instant Kanan didn't answer she continued. "Are you seriously threatening to shoot me with that? Do you take me for an idiot?"

As if to punctuate her statement, Dia stepped forward and swiped the gun from Kanan's hands, which had grown just limp enough after listening to her speech. "Wh-what—"

"You look like a damned fool, you do, with a gun in one hand and alcohol in the other. My bounty was what, again? 300, 000 gold coins?"

Eyes steely and ablaze with anger, Dia took the gun in her cuffed hands and shot Kanan's bottle of wine, the bullet shattering glass and piercing through the wood of the floor.

"Now a bit of that gold will have to cover for your alcohol, and the round I spent to spill it, and floorboard repairs." Dia pointed the smoking barrel of the flintlock at Kanan. "Mind you, I've never fired one of these in my life, but if it means bringing hell into yours I'm willing to learn a few things."

Murmurs arose amidst Kanan's crew. She could hear Hanamaru trying to soothe the commotion, while Yoshiko walked up to her and whispered in her ear.

"They say we can just tackle her, captain," she said. "That she's a fool herself to think she can stand up to a whole crew of hardened pirates on her own."

But the issue was more delicate than that. Kanan could see in Dia's eyes that she meant every word she said, and in a way, Kanan believed in her. Those 300 000 coins weren't worth the Hell Dia Kurosawa could raise.

She really should've bought a few locks.

"It's not like we're going to be shooting you back," Kanan said to Dia. "You think us hooligans when you are the one who shoots first?"

Mari takes it seriously, surely enough, since she’s still with them on this little quest and she’s probably saved them both from danger more times than Kanan can count with her fingers, but she’s a weird, backwards case of words not matching up to her actions. Not a problem for Kanan, but a groomed princess like Dia?

In Dia’s own words, whispered under the moon of an honest night, “Aside from the dance, another thing I fantasize about more and more lately for when I get my body back is punching her sparkling, incorporeal face for half of everything she passes off as a ‘joke.’”

Kanan holds back a sigh. How frustrating it must be for a frog to wish to punch a specter so strongly.

“See?” Mari says. “Even you think she’s a frog. You’ll have to fall in love with a frog.”

“S-Stop that!” Kanan says. “And she’s not just a frog! Even you tell me things aren’t what they appear to be. Dia’s a princess.”

“First of all, it’s not good to generalize illusions, transformations and things being other things. Knights and wizards and sailors alike get killed from that kind of thinking. Second, Dia was a princess when she had opposable thumbs. Now she’s a frog, and an uneducated one at that. Do you know how many poisonous spiders I had to tip her off eating when I saw her little froggy eyes sparkle at them?”

Kanan looks away and frowns at the mention of spiders. “Stop. Stop.”

“Did you hear that?” Mari continues anyway, cupping a hand around her ear. “Snap! One less fly in the world. I hope it was crispy.”

“Ugh.” With a loud groan, Kanan lifts her oar out of the water and swings it through Mari’s glowing golden torso. “She’s just doing what she has to to survive.”

“That’s absolutely right, so I hope you’re ready to smooch that mouth.”

“Oh. Yeah. That reminds me.” Kanan points at Mari with the end of her oar now that they’re at the center of the lake and there’s no need to row. “You’re making some pretty hard assumptions that I will be Dia’s true love.”

Whatever strange little high Mari was in ebbs away, and she leans on the side of the boat, idly tracing starry hearts onto the surface of the water with her free hand. “Yeah? What, you think you have competition?”

“Mari, I’m a fisher girl who talks to dolphins and alligators,” Kanan says as she leans back. “Dia’s a princess who’s stormed a cursed castle. I don’t think I’m even a competitor, especially compared to…”

“Oh, that other blonde?” Mari snickers. “You’re both so cute I wish I could kiss you both. But yeah, maybe I let slip a bit too much.”

Kanan can’t help how her heartbeat picks up. Mari probably knows about it, too. “Let what slip?”

“Ooh, sneaky sneaky Kanan,” Mari says, flashing a grin like the sun. “Sorry, but you both will have to find out for yourselves. Fairy laws, you know?”

Both of Kanan’s hands fly up to cover her face. She heaves and lets a sigh out into the evening air. “I think I’d rather be talking to seagulls about now.”

“Ouch, okay, I’ll give you a hint, you poor thing. Come here.”

Mari leans toward Kanan, and Kanan leans toward Mari. Whispering things into Kanan’s ear is probably useless as far as the ears of whatever fairy superiors Mari has are concerned, but Kanan’s curious and tired and curious.

“You’re both more than halfway there,” Mari says, “if you know what I mean…”

“I’m… I’m not sure I do?”

“Well!” Mari shrugs with her arms and shoulders as she backs away. “That’s out of my hands! I have to go now. Dearest, Darlingest Dia draws near and I’d hate to intrude.”

“Hey! Mari!”

Kanan reaches forward, but the last of Mari’s light leaves the lake before her fingers can phase through her. Damn.

She feels a bit alone now, but she sees a small hint of green in the water, which she reaches her oar out to. Dia climbs up, and Kanan helps her hop into the boat.

“What was she bothering you with this time?” she says, climbing onto the rim of the boat to look out at the dark expanse of the lake.

“The usual,” Kanan says. “Teasing. Maybe I give her too many openings.”

“Ugh, I swear I’ll even kick her when this is all over.” Dia pauses, probably counting to five. “…But I suppose many of the things she says shouldn’t be taken to heart. I find she can be confusing.”

Kanan looks at the same lake Dia watches, and wonders.

No, she told herself, sniffling loudly and with trembling shoulders. There had to be a way to fix this. Even after having done so a dozen times before, Yō wracked her mind again for other ways to apologize, more without words.

Her eyes strayed to the bushes lining the sidewalk. Little bunches of flowers poked their colorful heads through the green, and they had cute, round petals that flared out like festival fireworks.

Yō made an O shape with her mouth and followed the trail of firework flowers. Her next apology. The bushes offered all sorts of different colors to choose from, but she would behave and limit herself to just one perfect flower for Chika.

Then she came across the perfect color—soft, welcoming red, like Valentine’s chocolate boxes. The blossom was about the size of her palm, and the neck of the stem under it was just long enough that the bottom would stick out the end of her hand if she held it in a fist.

Chika was probably still at the playground, which wasn’t far away at all. If she ran as fast as she could, she could make it there and back quick enough to keep her mom from worrying. Yō nodded, and reached out to pick it when she noticed someone standing next to her.

Her hair was dark and her face was friendly, and Yō must have turned too fast, because the new kid jumped a little before introducing herself.

“H-Hi,” she said. “I’m Kanan. Are you Yō-chan, Chika-chan’s friend?”

Yō tried not to look too nervous as she nodded.

Kanan smiled. “Well, uh, Chika-chan has something to say to you.”

She stepped to the side, revealing behind her a Chika that still had her back turned toward Yō. None of them moved for a moment, until Kanan poked Chika on the shoulder.

“Chika-chan? Yō-chan is waiting.”

Chika remained obstinate and stayed still as stone. Yō was about to call out to her.

But then they heard a sniffle. It wasn’t Yō, as scared as she was feeling, and it wasn’t Kanan, so it must have been...

“Chika-chan?”

A whimpering kind of sound followed. Chika finally turned around, her face and watering eyes a little redder than normal, and thrust something in her hands toward Yō.

An ocean-blue flower, about the size of Yō’s palm, with cute round petals that flared out like festival fireworks.

“I’m sorry, Yō-chan!” Chika shouted, soft sobs wobbling her voice. “I didn’t mean to make you mad and fight about something really dumb! I’m dumb! Yō-chan can call me Bakachika forever and ever!”

Dumbstruck, Yō looked at the flower and Chika’s bowed head. That horrible tightness behind her eyes was coming back full force.

“No fair, Chika-chan!” Yō blurted out as she started to cry. “Me too! I wanted to give you a flower, too!”

“Wha--?”

“T-Turn around!”

And Chika did, while Yō went and picked that red flower and handed it out to Chika before Chika even turned back around.

“Chika-chan can call me Bakayō! I’m dumb, too! Dumber!”

When she did turn around, Chika saw the flower and started to cry too.