fic!
It was raining
Nozomu's brain noticed in a wild spasm as he took to the streets at a run, hakama trailing behind him
And getting wet and getting heavy and why did he wear this damn thing and those had been tommyguns and a mafia hitsquad and most importantly TOMMYGUNS and
He was not a swearing man, and so he did not swear; the only one to listen would have been himself, and panicking was more useful in any case
(and, screamed part of his mind because sometimes some impulses you cannot stop, "What is the world coming to?!" and something about despair but he couldn't quite catch what it)
A church! A shrine even and that was more perfect because the mafia were the mafia and so they were Italian or at least Japanoalian or Italinese or something but whatever, doesn't matter, moving on! it meant they were Catholic or Protestant or whatever that Vatican place was and so there was no way they could attack him there the ground would repel them or-- or the priest would look at them sternly or
Huddled behind a gate, thanking God or the Director or whoever it was he pretty much believed wasn't up there for his being so adept at curling into a ball definitely not sobbing one small part of a compartmentalised brain had been busy tracking what he had ever done to earn such film noir ire and ultimately had decided the ultimate, ultimate answer had to be nothing and
It was a bit of a shock. More bits of brain sent the query again, and a little note tacked on telling it to pull the other rope it's got Shinto bells on so you'd better
Nothing came the second answer. Embezzlement, particularly from italian despots, was nil. Accidental jostlings of an Armani-suited sort were coming up empty. Carefully planned societal insults at the expense of the Famiglia - any Famiglia - had hit a record low last Tuesday and
The barrel stuck in front of his face reminded him that no priest present meant no stern look so maybe he'd better
Black.
Some more black.
Lots of people laughing and then some motion that he realised was his and then his feet got the idea and he was moving maybe sideways or forwards and that's when he figured out he had a blindfold or possibly bag on and then he was just about ready to soil his clothing when the barrel of the gun was removed from his back and ready even more when the gravelly voice from right by his ear when had someone moved there he was supposed to have training in this sort of stuff by now declared
"You're gonna sleep with the fishes, sensei."
and the bag was yanked off and there right in front of him was Fuura of all people in a very sharp suit and flanked by men with machineguns doing her bidding and he should have been surprised, would have been surprised really except Fuura and somehow this only confirmed a bunch of suspicions rather than denied them and then the words actually got interpreted by his brain and he stared for a long, dumb stupid moment and really very definitely considered a dead faint and
then Fuura snapped her fingers and a flunky bought her a small white bag which his mind screeched at him cocaine or-- or concrete boot mix or-- or-- and then he ran out of options and Fuura demurely reached in to pick up a *oldfish cracker or something like a parody of one or
and then she, rather than eating it while he was shot violently or maybe throwing it at him or gloating at him about it while his stomach gurgled and when did he last eat again she balanced it on her head and gave him the brilliant smile that when he dared to believe or even listen to it always said everything would be alright only with this many guns he really wasn't sure that was possible and
--and he woke up, wheezing and frightened and something he absolutely wasn't going to admit especially to himself, the sheets flung away and his body wrenching him up to sitting more out of a sense of habit and duty than any other particular emotion. Majiru barely turned, used to such noises and nightmares - the soft, sleeping 'jiiii--' somewhere behind and to his left only stuttered for a moment. He took his bearings twice, first quickly, then more slowly. And finally, in a rush of emotion, slumped and considered that dead faint once again.
His stomach gurgled again. Maybe it hadn't all been a dream, but he had most definitely eaten recently. In point of fact, it was...
Head swivelled on neck to stare at the latest gift from the pleasant neighbour who bought him food. The fish penne had been excellent, he had to admit, but there had been an underlying ... sourness that rather suggested something was a little off in more ways than one, so maybe--
Another gurgle confirmed it, and with a weary sigh that did not match his speed in getting up he at least thanked the neighbour that, as a silver lining, he was going to be able to call in sick today.