[Fic] Reborn!: Ten Shots (or more)
Am going to cheat a little and also use this as my obscurefandom July Fic Bingo Challenge. :P
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Title: Ten Shots (or more)
Series/Characters: [Reborn!] Gokudera, Hibari, Yamamoto, Lambo, Tsuna, Mukuro, Ryohei, I-pin, Reborn. IN THAT ORDER
Disclaimer: Amano's. Am only playing.
Word Count: 2,463
Notes: Gen, but totally cracked--like an over-baked cake. Spoiler warning goes for the guardians' identities, Future!Yamamoto's newest facial addition, and vague insinuations to Mukuro's current predicament. Was inspired by all those Bleach fics that followed the 20_souls format, couldn't actually come up with 20 shots, and Lambo almost gave me a hernia. ::sigh::
Also available on AO3.
___________________________________________________________
Ten Shots (or more)
Something like an occupation hazard
by kasugai gummie
___________________________________________________________
1.
To be perfectly honest, Gokudera doesn’t mind catching a few bullets, whether it be with his weapons-of-choice or with his body. He’s had a lot of time during his youth to get used to it after all. And, if it’s for what he believes is the next best thing since indoor plumbing, there’s no complaining.
Having the Tenth finally step-up as the official boss was a fucking godsend; being able to serve at his right hand-his Wish Come True.
Having to take a few shots for the Tenth? No complaints whatsoever.
That doesn’t mean he has to like it though. The thing is, Gokudera now refuses to even think about how many times he gets shot at, much less how many times he got shot. Couple those with the amount of firearm related injuries he’s had to sustain during the Ninth’s reign-it’s enough to make eunuchs of lesser men.
Sometimes he really wonders if there is a large, neon-fresco sign proclaiming “Colpi bassi qui,”(a) or maybe just a “COLPISCELO,”(b) pinned to his person. It certainly doesn’t make him feel any better when Fuuta reports without fail, at every weekly meeting to-date, that he is second only to Lambo... and that distinction is only due to the head start Reborn gave the ex-Bovino when he was five.
The intra-family ranking is probably what infuriates him most though-he still maintains that the single barrage of needles from Chikusa’s retarded yo-yo’s only counted as one (if at all); Fuuta’s ranking planet begs to differ, and Chikusa is inclined to agree. “A projectile weapon is a projectile weapon,” the bespectacled man quotes, matter-of-fact.
Gokudera, in a bid to even out those numbers a bit, takes the opportunity of sending him merrily lit-telegrams on a daily basis. Ever so gracious, the Tenth takes it all in stride.
(a) "Cheap shots here"
(b) "SHOOT THIS"
___________________________________________________________
2.
Most information brokers kind of hate Hibari with the force of a thousand suns.
Of course, that doesn’t stop them from becoming hospitalized when they’re caught trying to extort his deep, dark secrets from the little yellow bird that always follows him around. Nor does that get them anywhere closer to digging up dirt on the man, therefore encouraging them to ad lib for all they're worth when prompted by powerful clients.
What consequently runs through the rumor mill might have a shred of truth, cushioned by a lot of wrong. For example: contrary to what's currently circulating through the Sicilian Crime Network proper, Hibari Kyouya has had to experience the kiss of a bullet. And not just once (scandalous as that may be), but twice (three, if he doesn’t beat XANXUS’ lucky shot out of memory):
He was still in grade school when the first time happened-only halfway home from classes when he found himself in the middle of an inter-gang war. Quite unfortunately, though neither side really cared to take note of the misplaced boy in their midst, a stray bullet managed to graze said child right below the eye. Deciding that no, he didn’t like the sensation very much, Hibari had proceeded to unarm the Yakuza responsible (a delinquent at least twice his size) by breaking his arm in three different places.
This was, of course, after introducing the peon’s face to a very unyielding tree.
The second incident, being more recent, took place within the Namimori-turned-Vongola compound itself. The occasion was another one of the baby’s “family-bonding sessions,” with paintball as the medium. All was well, despite the odd explosions here and there, until a newly promoted capodeci managed-through what could only be sheer, dumb (bad)luck-to clip Hibari in the shoulder with a girlishly pink shot. That was when Hibari abandoned his own paintball dispenser and tonfa’d the transgressor into an early retirement. (The session was incidentally cut short and Hibari was proclaimed the winner of the game.) The body was disposed of that same day, and all witnesses to the events were made to forget under penalty of “being bitten deader than a beached whale.”
With all being said and done, only two others know of these incidents and neither is inclined to receive a love-tap to the face.
This leaves the Vongola’s combat-happy guardian to beat up, whenever he can, all those who suggest he start wearing Kevlar.
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3.
He let’s them think that the nick on his chin is from Squalo. Or, if they’re so inclined, from when he tried to shave his non-existent stubble with his sword, seeing as he lacked a razor. Of course, it’s from neither.
(Though last time he heard, apparently there is a betting pool going on among the little guys about how he was going to get his next scar. He personally likes the “Cow sets off Chain-Smoker’s fuses and explodes Pineapple’s weapon IN HIS [Yamamoto’s] FACE” best.)
The thing is, Yamamoto is one-of-a-kind in terms of his weapon (personality too, but that’s beside the point). Aside from Superbi Squalo, there may be only two other swordsmen left in their field where long blades (inconvenienced by length and bulk) are considered obsolete.
On the other hand, his specialty has eight forms, ninth in the making-and even though he doubts that pro-league baseball needs a swing that could split bullets, he still thinks it’s pretty damn cool. It isn’t until his blade actually breaks (from over-training against titanium shot-puts the size of his fist), that he finally learns how to shoot a gun.
Embarrassingly enough, he turns out to be a natural at handheld firearms too... but only after he almost shoots himself in the face
Yamamoto considers the scar to be good lesson learned, a remnant of the first strike per se-“Never point a gun at yourself while the safety’s off. Unless you’re Mukuro or Lambo.” In the meantime, he’s pretty sure he won’t strike out anytime soon. So, he waits patiently for the repairs to be made, practices not shooting himself, and gets Gokudera to place his bet for him in the Sword-Dude’s Next Scar Fund.
___________________________________________________________
4.
That he is consistently ranked first as the “Most Shot At Mafioso in the History of La Cosa Nostra” doesn’t bother him as much as it should... not when he himself triggered half of those shots. It would be stupid if he were unnecessarily bothered by his own bad habits. The other half is credited to Reborn and the various gunmen he’s had to face during the course of his career-most coming from the former than the latter though.
To say that he is desensitized to enemy and friendly fire alike is an understatement; to say that Lambo is completely there, that he’s totally in possession of all his wits, is giving him too much credit; to say that the Bovino family is only too happy to let him go is rather harsh (but closest to the truth).
For a largely illogical weapon to become a five-year-old assassin’s security blanket, and then consequently seeing more use than what its warrantee had hoped to cover, is to be expected. In fact, the number of times Lambo visits the future has given him a pretty clear idea of how things are supposed to turn out. For the most part he’s content, happy even, with how things are looking up ten years down the line.
Not only is the Tenth a good boss, and the Vongola an excellent famiglia-but he himself has become a better hitman under the tough-love-tutelage of his peers. Sure, he may still get attacked more than is fair, but nothing has been so debilitating that he cannot rebound again.
Lambo supposes in the end, however, that he’s just glad that Reborn hasn’t (and won’t, to his precognitive knowledge) taken a million dollar shot at him yet.(c) He’s not sure how he’d react to one of those and hopes to never find out.
(c) Forrest Gump, anyone?
___________________________________________________________
5.
He, Sawada Tsunayoshi, has come a long way.
He’s the farthest thing from a No Good chump now; he’s the leader of one of the more respected Italian crime syndicates. Markets are booming, alliances solid, and no one has tried to assassinate him for five days running.
Now if only his cursed consigliere would stop greeting him with 3-volley salutes at the breakfast table.
___________________________________________________________
6.
Shooting one’s self is by no means an act of suicide-not in Mukuro’s case at any rate. He remembers thoughts and dreams not his own; remembers personalities and abilities bending under the weight of his mind’s eye. People are fascinating creatures with the most random abilities; he discovers this early on in life when forced to possess a middle-aged businessman whose only redeeming quality was the ability to hang eight spoons off his face (ten, if you count the ears).
Admittedly though, it does get old: the human mind has only so much to offer, so much material to work with, and so much imagination to stretch. This is why he, upon being freed from his corporeal cage on the eve of Tsunayoshi’s inauguration, tracks down a certain yellow pet and nicks its tail feathers. Then he systematically does the same to the Guest of Honor’s mutant turtle.
He has a grand old time with Bird’s former aide-exercising the animal’s “speech” mimicry and reciting the Kokuyoh alma mater while perched on Hibari’s shoulder. Making a sudden appearance (as the infamous Enzio) in the communal punch bowl and causing the Cavallone representative to lunge for him across tables, laps, and floral arrangements is enjoyable too.
It’s when he simultaneously possesses both animals and performs various instances of interspecies copulation, however, that the resulting damage to all who witness the spectacle becomes a beautiful, beautiful thing.
Mukuro supposes ending his little escapade with Leon (a lucky accident for all its worth) isn’t perhaps the most brilliant possession to date-but it certainly is great fun morphing into the slipper that Tsunayoshi had used to chastise his Cloud guardian with during their collective youth.
That, and Hibari’s expression-when he notices the footwear-is absolutely priceless. Almost makes being forced into a Rubik’s cube shape moments later, worth it.
___________________________________________________________
7.
To date, the elder of the Sasagawa siblings has racked up the most overtime out of all the guardians. That is, he has racked up the most if the system even bothered with the concept of “overtime.” As it is, Ryohei is considered the most active agent on the Vongola payroll. This is mainly because of his unique abilities to give back as good as he got against the likes of armored vehicles and heavy artillery and anti-tank personnel.
It truly is a miracle that he hasn’t died yet. Even he has to marvel at at his own resilience once in a while.
“You’re like a solar powered cockroach,” Master Paopao once said; Ryohei took it as a compliment... of which had, in due course, lead to the inevitable.
It’s actually gotten to the point where if there are no advancing tanks to beam through, Ryohei volunteers, more often than not, to “make friends” with natives on their own turf and Tsuna is hard pressed to deny him his burning dream.
As a result, Ryohei has been shot at by no less than ten tanks, two missile launchers, and one plasma energy cannon. Being a rather extreme case where the strength measures indirectly proportional to common sense, he’d defeated them all with his own projectile punch, the crowning glory of Colonello’s unorthodox training. That is to say, it’s really no wonder a stray missile hasn’t killed him yet, considering the pure oddity of his body constitution that which allows him to throw such punches.
He hopes to fight against a NASA rocket, one day.
___________________________________________________________
8.
The truth about I-pin is that, despite her appearance and supposed lack of aesthetical sense when she was younger, she is now possibly the most erudite towards the matter of physical appearances amongst the upper-tier Vongola. That is to say, she knows she wasn’t some knockout when she was five; she also knows that, given some ten odd years later, she’s no chopped liver either.
She supposes she should thank her colleague for his overactive finger, which had been poised over a particular bazooka trigger more often than not. It’s how she manages to get over her extreme shyness over the years after all, what with all that capering through the time-space continuum and catching glimpses of her future selves.
(It was rather nice knowing that certain growth-stunted appendages wouldn’t remain so. She had looked forward to having proper ears for the longest time.)
But she won’t; she still hasn’t forgiven him for causing the single most traumatic experience in her life with the very same instrument that had helped her get over her social phobia. In fact, the likelihood of I-pin pardoning Lambo of anything else he might do to her has been close to nil ever since.
It’s bad enough being hit with something the size and relative shape of a frozen tuna; it’s even worse being hit when her central post-pinzu particles have yet to finish amassing back into a humanoid shape. The trauma is such that she has to return from the past missing a good six inches off of her left braid, three inches off of her right, and the entire back of her camisole shirt.
Subsequently, after beating the contemporary Lambo into the dirt with her hairbrush, I-pin demands that he fix her hair. And gets herself a hair-bitch.
___________________________________________________________
9.
His favorite is still the Beretta 98, though throughout the years he’s also developed a fondness for rifles and canons (as well as the meaningful salutes that can be performed with them).
“Good morning Reborn… can you dismiss those ceremonial mercenaries? There’s gunpowder in my coffee.”
“Ciaossu, Tenth. No, I’m afraid not. I’m paying them by the hour.”
The Beretta doesn’t see much action nowadays. He keeps it tucked away and loaded with Leon’s special bullets though, just in case.
Or just for kicks. He’s raised Tsuna to be a capable mafia lord. Perhaps a little too good considering the general state of utter peace and lack of tension that runs through their organization.
Good thing Tsuna hardly expects one right between the eyes from him anymore.
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10.
“A toast, to the Tenth.”
The good-natured “Salute!” and “Kampai!” ring the table, punctuated by the sharp click of empty glasses being set back down.
“And a shot for old time’s sake.”
“Thank you, Reborn-?!” The stream of blood following the initial bang arcs from the Tenth’s forehead in a nostalgic trail. Silence settles as the gathered family members hold their breaths. The wait is not long.
“BEAT THE EVER LIVING SHIT OUT OF REBORN AS IF I WERE ABOUT TO DIE.”
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Fin
Completed: July 15, 2007
Editted: July 17, 2007 (with thanks to jagapyon and lovely-fatima!)
___________________________________________________________
Edits 'n feedback, pls? =3=
___________________________________________________________
Title: Ten Shots (or more)
Series/Characters: [Reborn!] Gokudera, Hibari, Yamamoto, Lambo, Tsuna, Mukuro, Ryohei, I-pin, Reborn. IN THAT ORDER
Disclaimer: Amano's. Am only playing.
Word Count: 2,463
Notes: Gen, but totally cracked--like an over-baked cake. Spoiler warning goes for the guardians' identities, Future!Yamamoto's newest facial addition, and vague insinuations to Mukuro's current predicament. Was inspired by all those Bleach fics that followed the 20_souls format, couldn't actually come up with 20 shots, and Lambo almost gave me a hernia. ::sigh::
Also available on AO3.
___________________________________________________________
Ten Shots (or more)
Something like an occupation hazard
by kasugai gummie
___________________________________________________________
1.
To be perfectly honest, Gokudera doesn’t mind catching a few bullets, whether it be with his weapons-of-choice or with his body. He’s had a lot of time during his youth to get used to it after all. And, if it’s for what he believes is the next best thing since indoor plumbing, there’s no complaining.
Having the Tenth finally step-up as the official boss was a fucking godsend; being able to serve at his right hand-his Wish Come True.
Having to take a few shots for the Tenth? No complaints whatsoever.
That doesn’t mean he has to like it though. The thing is, Gokudera now refuses to even think about how many times he gets shot at, much less how many times he got shot. Couple those with the amount of firearm related injuries he’s had to sustain during the Ninth’s reign-it’s enough to make eunuchs of lesser men.
Sometimes he really wonders if there is a large, neon-fresco sign proclaiming “Colpi bassi qui,”(a) or maybe just a “COLPISCELO,”(b) pinned to his person. It certainly doesn’t make him feel any better when Fuuta reports without fail, at every weekly meeting to-date, that he is second only to Lambo... and that distinction is only due to the head start Reborn gave the ex-Bovino when he was five.
The intra-family ranking is probably what infuriates him most though-he still maintains that the single barrage of needles from Chikusa’s retarded yo-yo’s only counted as one (if at all); Fuuta’s ranking planet begs to differ, and Chikusa is inclined to agree. “A projectile weapon is a projectile weapon,” the bespectacled man quotes, matter-of-fact.
Gokudera, in a bid to even out those numbers a bit, takes the opportunity of sending him merrily lit-telegrams on a daily basis. Ever so gracious, the Tenth takes it all in stride.
(a) "Cheap shots here"
(b) "SHOOT THIS"
___________________________________________________________
2.
Most information brokers kind of hate Hibari with the force of a thousand suns.
Of course, that doesn’t stop them from becoming hospitalized when they’re caught trying to extort his deep, dark secrets from the little yellow bird that always follows him around. Nor does that get them anywhere closer to digging up dirt on the man, therefore encouraging them to ad lib for all they're worth when prompted by powerful clients.
What consequently runs through the rumor mill might have a shred of truth, cushioned by a lot of wrong. For example: contrary to what's currently circulating through the Sicilian Crime Network proper, Hibari Kyouya has had to experience the kiss of a bullet. And not just once (scandalous as that may be), but twice (three, if he doesn’t beat XANXUS’ lucky shot out of memory):
He was still in grade school when the first time happened-only halfway home from classes when he found himself in the middle of an inter-gang war. Quite unfortunately, though neither side really cared to take note of the misplaced boy in their midst, a stray bullet managed to graze said child right below the eye. Deciding that no, he didn’t like the sensation very much, Hibari had proceeded to unarm the Yakuza responsible (a delinquent at least twice his size) by breaking his arm in three different places.
This was, of course, after introducing the peon’s face to a very unyielding tree.
The second incident, being more recent, took place within the Namimori-turned-Vongola compound itself. The occasion was another one of the baby’s “family-bonding sessions,” with paintball as the medium. All was well, despite the odd explosions here and there, until a newly promoted capodeci managed-through what could only be sheer, dumb (bad)luck-to clip Hibari in the shoulder with a girlishly pink shot. That was when Hibari abandoned his own paintball dispenser and tonfa’d the transgressor into an early retirement. (The session was incidentally cut short and Hibari was proclaimed the winner of the game.) The body was disposed of that same day, and all witnesses to the events were made to forget under penalty of “being bitten deader than a beached whale.”
With all being said and done, only two others know of these incidents and neither is inclined to receive a love-tap to the face.
This leaves the Vongola’s combat-happy guardian to beat up, whenever he can, all those who suggest he start wearing Kevlar.
___________________________________________________________
3.
He let’s them think that the nick on his chin is from Squalo. Or, if they’re so inclined, from when he tried to shave his non-existent stubble with his sword, seeing as he lacked a razor. Of course, it’s from neither.
(Though last time he heard, apparently there is a betting pool going on among the little guys about how he was going to get his next scar. He personally likes the “Cow sets off Chain-Smoker’s fuses and explodes Pineapple’s weapon IN HIS [Yamamoto’s] FACE” best.)
The thing is, Yamamoto is one-of-a-kind in terms of his weapon (personality too, but that’s beside the point). Aside from Superbi Squalo, there may be only two other swordsmen left in their field where long blades (inconvenienced by length and bulk) are considered obsolete.
On the other hand, his specialty has eight forms, ninth in the making-and even though he doubts that pro-league baseball needs a swing that could split bullets, he still thinks it’s pretty damn cool. It isn’t until his blade actually breaks (from over-training against titanium shot-puts the size of his fist), that he finally learns how to shoot a gun.
Embarrassingly enough, he turns out to be a natural at handheld firearms too... but only after he almost shoots himself in the face
Yamamoto considers the scar to be good lesson learned, a remnant of the first strike per se-“Never point a gun at yourself while the safety’s off. Unless you’re Mukuro or Lambo.” In the meantime, he’s pretty sure he won’t strike out anytime soon. So, he waits patiently for the repairs to be made, practices not shooting himself, and gets Gokudera to place his bet for him in the Sword-Dude’s Next Scar Fund.
___________________________________________________________
4.
That he is consistently ranked first as the “Most Shot At Mafioso in the History of La Cosa Nostra” doesn’t bother him as much as it should... not when he himself triggered half of those shots. It would be stupid if he were unnecessarily bothered by his own bad habits. The other half is credited to Reborn and the various gunmen he’s had to face during the course of his career-most coming from the former than the latter though.
To say that he is desensitized to enemy and friendly fire alike is an understatement; to say that Lambo is completely there, that he’s totally in possession of all his wits, is giving him too much credit; to say that the Bovino family is only too happy to let him go is rather harsh (but closest to the truth).
For a largely illogical weapon to become a five-year-old assassin’s security blanket, and then consequently seeing more use than what its warrantee had hoped to cover, is to be expected. In fact, the number of times Lambo visits the future has given him a pretty clear idea of how things are supposed to turn out. For the most part he’s content, happy even, with how things are looking up ten years down the line.
Not only is the Tenth a good boss, and the Vongola an excellent famiglia-but he himself has become a better hitman under the tough-love-tutelage of his peers. Sure, he may still get attacked more than is fair, but nothing has been so debilitating that he cannot rebound again.
Lambo supposes in the end, however, that he’s just glad that Reborn hasn’t (and won’t, to his precognitive knowledge) taken a million dollar shot at him yet.(c) He’s not sure how he’d react to one of those and hopes to never find out.
(c) Forrest Gump, anyone?
___________________________________________________________
5.
He, Sawada Tsunayoshi, has come a long way.
He’s the farthest thing from a No Good chump now; he’s the leader of one of the more respected Italian crime syndicates. Markets are booming, alliances solid, and no one has tried to assassinate him for five days running.
Now if only his cursed consigliere would stop greeting him with 3-volley salutes at the breakfast table.
___________________________________________________________
6.
Shooting one’s self is by no means an act of suicide-not in Mukuro’s case at any rate. He remembers thoughts and dreams not his own; remembers personalities and abilities bending under the weight of his mind’s eye. People are fascinating creatures with the most random abilities; he discovers this early on in life when forced to possess a middle-aged businessman whose only redeeming quality was the ability to hang eight spoons off his face (ten, if you count the ears).
Admittedly though, it does get old: the human mind has only so much to offer, so much material to work with, and so much imagination to stretch. This is why he, upon being freed from his corporeal cage on the eve of Tsunayoshi’s inauguration, tracks down a certain yellow pet and nicks its tail feathers. Then he systematically does the same to the Guest of Honor’s mutant turtle.
He has a grand old time with Bird’s former aide-exercising the animal’s “speech” mimicry and reciting the Kokuyoh alma mater while perched on Hibari’s shoulder. Making a sudden appearance (as the infamous Enzio) in the communal punch bowl and causing the Cavallone representative to lunge for him across tables, laps, and floral arrangements is enjoyable too.
It’s when he simultaneously possesses both animals and performs various instances of interspecies copulation, however, that the resulting damage to all who witness the spectacle becomes a beautiful, beautiful thing.
Mukuro supposes ending his little escapade with Leon (a lucky accident for all its worth) isn’t perhaps the most brilliant possession to date-but it certainly is great fun morphing into the slipper that Tsunayoshi had used to chastise his Cloud guardian with during their collective youth.
That, and Hibari’s expression-when he notices the footwear-is absolutely priceless. Almost makes being forced into a Rubik’s cube shape moments later, worth it.
___________________________________________________________
7.
To date, the elder of the Sasagawa siblings has racked up the most overtime out of all the guardians. That is, he has racked up the most if the system even bothered with the concept of “overtime.” As it is, Ryohei is considered the most active agent on the Vongola payroll. This is mainly because of his unique abilities to give back as good as he got against the likes of armored vehicles and heavy artillery and anti-tank personnel.
It truly is a miracle that he hasn’t died yet. Even he has to marvel at at his own resilience once in a while.
“You’re like a solar powered cockroach,” Master Paopao once said; Ryohei took it as a compliment... of which had, in due course, lead to the inevitable.
It’s actually gotten to the point where if there are no advancing tanks to beam through, Ryohei volunteers, more often than not, to “make friends” with natives on their own turf and Tsuna is hard pressed to deny him his burning dream.
As a result, Ryohei has been shot at by no less than ten tanks, two missile launchers, and one plasma energy cannon. Being a rather extreme case where the strength measures indirectly proportional to common sense, he’d defeated them all with his own projectile punch, the crowning glory of Colonello’s unorthodox training. That is to say, it’s really no wonder a stray missile hasn’t killed him yet, considering the pure oddity of his body constitution that which allows him to throw such punches.
He hopes to fight against a NASA rocket, one day.
___________________________________________________________
8.
The truth about I-pin is that, despite her appearance and supposed lack of aesthetical sense when she was younger, she is now possibly the most erudite towards the matter of physical appearances amongst the upper-tier Vongola. That is to say, she knows she wasn’t some knockout when she was five; she also knows that, given some ten odd years later, she’s no chopped liver either.
She supposes she should thank her colleague for his overactive finger, which had been poised over a particular bazooka trigger more often than not. It’s how she manages to get over her extreme shyness over the years after all, what with all that capering through the time-space continuum and catching glimpses of her future selves.
(It was rather nice knowing that certain growth-stunted appendages wouldn’t remain so. She had looked forward to having proper ears for the longest time.)
But she won’t; she still hasn’t forgiven him for causing the single most traumatic experience in her life with the very same instrument that had helped her get over her social phobia. In fact, the likelihood of I-pin pardoning Lambo of anything else he might do to her has been close to nil ever since.
It’s bad enough being hit with something the size and relative shape of a frozen tuna; it’s even worse being hit when her central post-pinzu particles have yet to finish amassing back into a humanoid shape. The trauma is such that she has to return from the past missing a good six inches off of her left braid, three inches off of her right, and the entire back of her camisole shirt.
Subsequently, after beating the contemporary Lambo into the dirt with her hairbrush, I-pin demands that he fix her hair. And gets herself a hair-bitch.
___________________________________________________________
9.
His favorite is still the Beretta 98, though throughout the years he’s also developed a fondness for rifles and canons (as well as the meaningful salutes that can be performed with them).
“Good morning Reborn… can you dismiss those ceremonial mercenaries? There’s gunpowder in my coffee.”
“Ciaossu, Tenth. No, I’m afraid not. I’m paying them by the hour.”
The Beretta doesn’t see much action nowadays. He keeps it tucked away and loaded with Leon’s special bullets though, just in case.
Or just for kicks. He’s raised Tsuna to be a capable mafia lord. Perhaps a little too good considering the general state of utter peace and lack of tension that runs through their organization.
Good thing Tsuna hardly expects one right between the eyes from him anymore.
___________________________________________________________
10.
“A toast, to the Tenth.”
The good-natured “Salute!” and “Kampai!” ring the table, punctuated by the sharp click of empty glasses being set back down.
“And a shot for old time’s sake.”
“Thank you, Reborn-?!” The stream of blood following the initial bang arcs from the Tenth’s forehead in a nostalgic trail. Silence settles as the gathered family members hold their breaths. The wait is not long.
“BEAT THE EVER LIVING SHIT OUT OF REBORN AS IF I WERE ABOUT TO DIE.”
___________________________________________________________
Fin
Completed: July 15, 2007
Editted: July 17, 2007 (with thanks to jagapyon and lovely-fatima!)
___________________________________________________________
Edits 'n feedback, pls? =3=