| Black Roots; [Noburu Nakano - Single Post] | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Dec 7 2013, 08:45 PM (87 Views) | |
| The One True Nobody | Dec 7 2013, 08:45 PM Post #1 |
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"...does this clockwork hand follow you... or guide you?"
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Four o' clock in the morning, pitch black. The narrow passage between buildings here played host to but a single door. Slowly, that door cracked open, and a single blue eye peeked out. Then, light... a flashlight. A beam of light peeked out of the partially-opened door and illuminated the alley, revealing nothing at all but the dirty pavement and the barren walls, which here hadn't even been defiled with graffiti. The door opened further, and the flashlight-bearer turned to shine it up the alley in the opposite direction. It was likewise empty, save for an overturned, empty, dented metal trash can. Satisfied, the flashlight-holder clicked the light off, plunging the alley into near-total darkness again. Quietly, Kuro Matsumoto adjusted the strap on her shoulder--the gym bag she carried was heavy, and filled with glass jars, which softly clinked together as she shut the door behind her and turned the old key she'd found, locking it behind her. Then, her task completed, she slipped the key into the bag's outer pocket and zipped it shut. A minute's slow walking brought into the dim light filtering in from the back parking lot, revealing the faint outline of a woman in tight pants and a black leather jacket. Her brown hair was almost crew-cut short, barely discernible in the gloom from her dark skin. Her eyes swept the lot before she stepped out, and again, twice, as she loaded the bag into the storage compartment affixed to the back of the motorcycle. Once it was in, and securely locked shut, only then did Kuro reach into her pocket and take out her phone. She had felt the silent vibration while she was in the basement, but had been too preoccupied to check. As she brought the phone out, she found what she expected to find: a notice that she had one new text message from a vaguely familiar-looking number... Tapping the "OK" button, she brought the message up, and narrowed her eyes slightly at the message that displayed there: Matsumoto, it's Noburu Nakano. I'd like to hire you to find out something for me. When can we meet? "Interesting," Kuro muttered to herself, sliding the phone shut and slipping it back into her pocket. Well, there was no sense in answering that message now; it was far too early in the morning for its sender to be awake, anyway. And scheduling a meet-up with Nakano was never a problem, he didn't even have school to worry about... Instead, the woman opened the smaller compartment inside the back of the motorcycle itself, extracting her black helmet and slipping it on, and ten pulling out her gloves and pulling them on. Shutting the cover with a snap, she stepped around the bike, swung a leg up, and swept the lot one last time with her eyes from beneath the visor, before starting her bike with a roar and taking off... --- Noburu Nakano was nothing special at all to Kuro, nor her to him. Their relationship was simple: sometimes she wanted information, sometimes he was able to provide it, and sometimes he even did, if she had enough money to make it worth bothering. Once, Noburu had even trailed after some green-haired teenage girl that she'd been trying to locate--trailed her to a motel in the backstreets, which she evidently had been sharing with a foreign man and a timid-looking teenage boy. That green-haired girl (who bore a slightly spooky resemblance to Samurakami, now that he thought about it, although this had been before the Army of the Dead had become Samurakami Road and Building in the first place) was probably dead by now, considering what Kuro usually did with the information she asked for. But, money was money and it was a dog-eat-dog world, after all. Kuro Matsumoto was just a revenge enabler, when it came down to it: she gave people what they needed so they could kill the people who'd wronged them. Fairly well-known in the backstreets, but Kuro--like Noburu and his friends--had become noticeably less active in the time since Samurakami had taken over the area. In Kuro's case, it was probably because most of her old informants had simply been absorbed into the gang. The red-haired boy stood alone on a street corner, smoking. Pale green eyes stared upward as he waited, one hand in his pants pocket, the other occasionally reaching up to remove the cigarette long enough to tap some of the ashes out. It was almost noon, but Noburu couldn't work up much of an appetite right now. School was in session now--June, at Noburu's insistence, attended her classes even now. After their last talk, after admitting that she felt like a burden, she seemed to be putting up less of a fight about that than usual. Like she was determined to prove herself, even... "Hey, Nakano. How is?" The voice of the informant drew Noburu's eyes away from the sky, and he looked to his left. There she was, as ever. Normally she dressed in ridiculously revealing clothing--short shorts, bellyshirts with fishnet undershirts, but autumn had set in, so she'd downgraded from trashy to just garden-variety provocative. Black, almost knee-length boots, dark-green, tight pants, and a black jacket that hung open, revealing a rather low-cut top underneath, probably a sleeveless one knowing her, maroon. Noburu blew out a stream of smoke, ashed the cigarette, and dropped it to the floor, crushing the butt under his heel. "Shouta is dead," Noburu said flatly, bluntly, and calmly. "I want to know who, how, and why." Kuro's eyebrows shot up, and then slowly lowered. "Sorry to hear," she said in a faintly sympathetic voice. "When did it happen?" "Five days ago. We were hired by a high school girl to off some woman... she got away, Shouta went after her, they both vanished. And when we next heard from him, he was dead. Officially it was an 'accident.'" Kuro walked up closer, folding her arms over her chest. "Officially," she echoed. "That makes it sound like a police cover-up. Dramatic." She meant it as sarcasm, but Noburu's eyes narrowed. Kuro's mouth dropped agape for a moment, her face going blank with comprehension. "You mean it is a police cover-up?" she asked. "You think one of them killed your friend and they don't want to take the heat for police brutality or something." "Maybe," Noburu said. "I only know that it has to do with a Yakuza member named Nishiyo Sadako, the police officer who hired me to spy on her, Maki Yamada... and the woman we were hired to 'take care of,' Eri Charinko. Yamada told me to ask Charinko-san about it if I wanted to know, but--" "Wait. Hold up." Kuro held up a hand in the stiff, universal gesture that said Stop right there. Noburu paused, waiting for her to say what she wanted to say, taking a reflexive step away from the streetlamp as he did. After a few seconds of contemplative silence, Kuro said, "Nishiyo Sadako, black hair, brown eyes, horrible fashion sense? Osakan accent, kind of an airhead?" Noburu slowly nodded. "Yakuza? You're sure about that?" Kuro asked in a low voice, stepping closer to Noburu, unfolding her arms. It took Noburu a moment to notice that her fists clenched at her sides the moment they were free to do so. The boy nodded again, and said: "Yes. That's what Yamada tells me..." Kuro stared at Noburu with narrow eyes for several long moments, and then she said, "Yeah, alright... I'll look into this for you. On the house. Thanks for the intel, Nakano. Pleasure doing business with you." "What--?" But the woman turned on her heel and walked away. Noburu made a slight forward jerking motion as if to follow, opened his mouth to ask her to come back, but just before the woman's face turned fully away, he caught sight of something that gave him pause: a glint in her eye, a glint almost like sunlight off a knife's edge, and a faint curling snarl on her lips, utterly silent and yet clearly murderous. Noburu stood there for a long while, watching Kuro Matsumoto's retreating back, and wondering exactly what it was that look meant. |
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