Tyl Vongola first imprinting on SO?
There was a flash of color, a flicker of hair, and sudden breeze as someone sprinted past him, forcing the boxer to jolt to a stop in surprise and turn to see the runner. He just caught the tail end of them as they jumped on top of a dumpster before leaping for a fire escape and pulling themselves up. Ryohei could only stare in astonishment of the sheer speed and agility the person possessed as they clammered up the stairs and onto the roof as if it was nothing, disappearing from sight entirely.
There was the sound of angry shouting and a couple of police officers rounded the corner with a furious merchant, one that he recognized having visited the very produce stall belonging to the red faced and huffing man. Having caught sight of Ryohei, they immediately accosted him and demanded that he tell them if he had seen someone coming running past… someone matching the appearance of the mysterious sprinter exactly.
“I did,” he told the group easily. “They went that way.” He pointed further down the road that lead into the alleyways, a maze of narrow roads found everywhere in Italy, not all of them closed and they usually lead into bigger streets with crowds. A logic choice for a runaway thief to go, and the pursuers knew it. Still, they weren’t giving up without a fight and run in the direction indicated.
Ryohai watched them go with a smile, bringing out his cell phone to make a call. He hadn’t pointed them in the right direction because, like it or not, the quick-footed thief had caught his attention and he wanted to have them for himself.
(besides, did you see how fast they went? Vongola could easily put such a runner to go use)
Your movements were sure and precise, flowing from one action seamlessly into another; the pleasant sounds of a samisen filled the room, putting the visiting group at ease as they chatting quietly, enjoying the ryokan that they had reserved all to themselves for the week, a feat they could easily do as Vongola’s sky and respective guardians. The fact that Hibari also personally knew the owner likely helped.
Several things had changed since the last time he had visited here: tatami mats had been recently replaced, there had been an expansion, furniture rearranged… and different employees as well as more of them in general. He didn’t recognize you, one of the few permanent geisha employed there to entertain guests. He didn’t feel compelled enough to approach you, but instead merely deemed to observe you instead, interested in seeing for himself what made you valued enough to remain here as staff.
So far, he had not been disappointed.
The song came to an end as you took as short break to drink some tea, giving a demure smile to Yamamoto who had said something to you. He couldn’t hear what you said in response or what your voice sounded like, but he imagined that it might be sweet and airy like Hokkaido milk bread.
You bent over to reach something, delicate hand stretching out before carefully grasping what you sought… But Hibari’s eyes were more focused where your kimono had slipped slightly at just the right angle to reveal the base of your neck to him. He tried to force himself to look away, but he couldn’t.
You happened to glance up as you straightened, catching him staring. You gave a tiny jerk of surprise before a small coy smile appeared for approximately half a second. He blinked; it was gone.
Hibari didn’t imagine it, though. And if some herbivore was going to tempt him, they better be prepared for the consequences when he takes them up on their invitation.
He glanced over to the counter again as he dithered by the selected of sweets on the wall, slightly obscured from sight by a stand filled with more confectionary. You met his eyes and smirked, blowing a large bubble with your gum until it popped sharply. Lambo flushed in embarrassment at having been caught staring and forcibly made his selections.
You didn’t say anything when he placed the candy on the counter, but somehow you unreadable look seemed that much worse than any disparaging comment you could’ve made. Despite the tutoring Reborn, Tsuna-nii, and Fuuta-nii put him through, Lambo fidgeted and felt tears of embarrassment prickle the corner of his eyes. He knew he shouldn’t have stared, he just knew it, but he couldn’t help it! If there was ever a ‘type’ that he would be attracted to, you were it, immediately drawing his eyes back again and again. Oh, and making him lose his head too, of course.
“Do you like red or green grapes better?” You asked idly as you meticulously entered the total on the old-fashioned register — efficiency sacrificed for aesthetic.
“R-Red?” He answered hesitantly, it coming out more like a question than he would have liked.
“I like green. It’s more sour, has more of a bite to it.” You popped another bubble before stating the total due and moving to the side out of Lambo’s direct view, presumably to get a paper bag for the candy. He hurriedly handed over the proper amount of bills and you took your sweet time in getting out the change, to make him suffer as much as possible obviously.
Picking up the paper bag and handing it to him, you counted out the money out loud before handing it to him, but Lambo had been too anxious to leave to have been paying much attention. Reborn would have been greatly displeased if he knew about the lightning’s lapse in awareness. Lambo left the shop as soon as he could.
It was only when he was putting the money away about a block down the road that he noticed the slip of paper which had a phone number and:
Hey, Cowboy, nice ass. Feel free to booty call me anytime. xoxo
He entered the main store for his supplier, the bells at the top of the door jingling, only to hear furious shouting, “The hell do you mean the whole shipment’s out?! I reserved that stock months in advance, I waited for almost a year until you could find a new source, only for you to tell me that you sold everything to a third-party?! What the actual fuck, man?! I thought we had a better working relation-ship than that; I’m your most reliable client!”
“Our longest one, maybe,” another voice conceded. “But this client, you don’t understand, Name, they are the biggest source of our income.”
“Oh, I understand just fine, have enough money waved in your face and you’ll completely disregard the policies,” the first voice spat disgustedly.
“It’s not just that, Name, they…” The second voice, probably the clerk’s, trailed off. “You can’t refuse them.”
There was a long pause before the first voice spoke again, defeated and small, “But the whole shipment? I only needed a fraction of that for my craft, you know this.”
“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I can offer discount for next one —“
A bitter laugh. “Sure, what’s another nine months? A woman could have a baby in that amount of time, you know. And I could be ruined. I can’t work without it and without work, no pay.”
“Yeah, me too,” came the heavy sigh. “Please put me on priority this time, double the amount. I’ll take your closest substitute.”
“…They… also bought all of that.”
“Son of a bitch —!“
A vase went hurtling by and almost hit Gokudera in the face. He caught it before it could be broken.
“O-Oh shit,” you murmured weakly. “I didn’t mean to… Sorry.” He took in the stress lines and pinched look around the eyes; a glance down revealed worn and scarred hands, bandages at the tips. The air had the scent of menthol and aloe, known pain relievers for aches and burns. You clothes were dusty, but not just with dirt… Gokudera could tell there were particles of things much more valuable speckled there.
He spoke finally, “How did you order originally?”
“Of helmi powder, how much did you order?”
“—much did you order? Last time.”
He turned to the clerk, “Detract that much from our purchase and give it to them. Quickly, please. I’m in a hurry.” Stunned silence followed, but the worker was quick to do as he was told. It was two kilograms less than what he had thought he would originally have to work with, but he could relate to being in your position, having been there many times himself before joining Vongola. It wasn’t pity that he did this, but understanding.
“Thank you,” you murmured behind him, but left it at that; not daring to question generosity when it was given, for fear that it could be taken away just as easily. Still, you catalogued his appearance and your sharp eyes managed to catch a name from the hasty signature given. A lot could be found out from a name…
Weeks later, a package in the mail addressed to one Hayato Gokudera appeared. Inside were several specialty crafted fireworks. Inside was a note thanking him for the favor, signed with your name and sealed with a kiss.
Out of curiosity and no small amount of foolishness on his part, he placed a finger on the blue dusty residue that made up the kiss and tasted it. Helmi. He smiled.
The thunderous sound of taiko drums filled the air, thrumming and rattling his bones with the power of it as it echoed over the temple grounds. Yamamoto came here for the Obon Festival in Namimori as was tradition, taking a well-earned break to spend the next fortnight with his dad. They would spend the next two days after tonight visiting and cleaning the family graves.
Looking up onto the stage that was placed to the side, his eyes skimmed over the performers, most of them blocked from view until he rested his gaze on the tail-end drummer closest to him playing one of the three ō-daiko drums (each of those three being about two meters in height).
He blinked in surprise at the size of you; for a taiko drummer, you sure were puny!
As if somehow hearing his thoughts, you gave a quick frown into the crowd before pounding on the drum in front of you a bit more viciously.
(Yamamoto would find out later from talking with you, that you had been stood up by someone else and that you agreed to go on a date with him that night half out of spite)
You strode into the alley, frowning at the map of Venice’s streets you had in your hand. Muttering quietly to yourself in fractured Italian, you tried to make sense of the foreign names of each street and remember the route back to your hotel. The only warning you got was a footstep behind you before a hand landed on your shoulder.
On autopilot, you made a motion to stab at the offending hand with what appeared to be a knife…
Tsunayoshi Sawada, only had a split second to smack the hand to the side hard enough to send the would-be weapon flying out of your grasp, revealing it to actually be a big car key that had been thinly covered with mist flames. He only got to appreciate the surprise for an instant before you managed to smack him upside the head with your map.
“Touch me again and I’ll do more,” you hissed defensively, backing away with the map raised in threat, it now posing as a wooden cricket bat. “Try me, punk.”
He laughed, apologized before trying to keep a straight face, and laughed some more. You were about as intimidating as a small kitten to him, and the both of you knew it. Eventually, he calmed down and offered you directions since you had looked horrendously lost earlier.
Bored beyond all hope for a reprieve as he lounged in the library, waiting, Mukuro took to using his illusions to amuse himself. Namely, by terrorizing the librarian at the desk. A lot of it had to do with the fact of how they reacted, doing their absolute best to remain utterly silent and not disturb the quiet of the building.
They were still rightfully horrified, disgusted, and panicked (of that, there was no doubt); but their first instinct wasn’t to kill the offending creature.
Rather, they slammed a giant glass terrarium dome that used to cover a stuffed snake to trap a conjured bird. Sliding the dome over to the edge of the desk and covering the bottom with a portfolio, they quickly stood over to a closed window, opened it, and released the ‘bird’.
Mukuro had given you a few minutes to recuperate before evilly sending a rather large spider their way. It actually took you a moment to notice it before flailing and slamming your cupped hands down on the arachnid. He honestly thought you had ‘killed’ it until you walked away speedily over to the window with clasped hands and released the second illusion. He blinked, stunned at this happening a second time, having planned to make all evidence of the spider disappear the moment you lifted the weapon of choice, because no knowing where the spider went after trying to kill it often freaked people out more than spotting it the first time.
Intrigued now, he conjured a rat and sent it over after an hour. He was not disappointed.
Ripping off your sweater, you stalked the illusion down aisles for finally striking, covering the ‘rat’ with you sweater and hold it tightly but gently amidst the thrashing. You face was the perfect mixture of a terror and blind panic and you walk quickly to the library door (ignoring the odd looks that were sent your way), went outside, and turned around the corner by the bushes. Then you released the conjured rat with flourish away from your body before sprinting like the hounds of hell were on your heels back inside the building.
You had been so disturbed by the past hour and a half, that you didn’t reprimand Mukuro for cackling somewhat loudly before giving him a dampened withering look. As if he had no idea the struggles and trials that you had just went through.