Chapter Text
Kishibe looked up at a light fixture as an underpaid faux doorman with a security badge patted down his shoulders, forearms, hips, thighs, calves, and ankles. He wondered how long the fluorescent tube was, if there was just one or if there were multiple small ones bunched together.
"Done yet?"
Kishibe asked through a sigh, looking down at the security guard. He grimaced as he was given a shake of the head, a 'no'.
"Right, my shoes."
He lifted a foot, flicking his heel out of one burgundy leather Oxford lace shoe, doing the same to the other. They were damn expensive and it was a risk to take them on the job, and he wondered for a moment why he didn't stick to the steel-toed work boots he had collecting dust in his shoe rack. A small grin crept its way onto Kishibe's face as he looked down at the security guard holding the shoe, feeling around the inside. It's because there was something about watching a guy who could never in his life think about buying shoes like his handling them for a second like a king watching the lowest peasant admire his lordly regalia.
"Alright, go on ahead. You'll want to go down the left hall there and it'll be the uhh.." The guard stood up, looking at the clipboard he had resting inside his checkpoint booth.
"Third door from the elevator. Yeah, I know." Kishibe slipped his shoes back on and casually walked past the security guard. He'd been in Public Safety's Devil Containment Center about a thousand times before, in the best and worst places of it. Right now, he was in the worst. Typically an armed escort would be warranted, the Devils locked up here being capable of everything from temporal manipulation to seeing the future to turning your blood cells into parasites. But he wasn't here for any of those, he was here for something more vexing to the government and treated with less humanity than all of those Devils combined: a teenage girl with behavioral problems. He turned down the left hallway and carried on past cell door after cell door until he was outside the third from the elevator. A group of researchers, four men and women paid for by Public Safety to specifically analyze and document the developments of the Control Devil greeted Kishibe with hellos and acknowledging nods, but he wasn't listening close enough to tell which voice was saying what. One had a jacket with seven straps on it folded under his arm, another had both her hands on a hand truck meant for moving people. As was protocol, he flashed his badge before pulling it off his neck and using it as a key for the door. It opened slowly, hastened by Kishibe deciding he ought to go in first before the academically gifted vultures. The dark room was illuminated mostly by a television in the corner, a thick thing with clear glass surrounding and covering the screen. It was bolted into the ground, as was a table and its chair that sat in front of it. That's all that was here. Kishibe thought that there used to be a bookshelf filled with VHS tapes and manga that he had bought her in times past. As he was thinking of the possibilities, the cell's sole resident who was watching that television's white static turned to face its guests - its invaders. Makima for a moment was almost unrecognizable with her new bob haircut, with the front being swept up over the top. But her unknowable glare and flat expression that danced between apathetic and plotting gave her away. Kishibe spoke to Makima as the research team pooled in behind him, the straight jacket being opened and prepared for placement, the hand truck coming to a rest and waiting for her. A question: "What'd they do to your movies, kid?"
"Taken when I began to observably care for them. I would think you would understand this process by now." Makima answered with only distant care as if it meant nothing to her. She slowly spread her arms, looking straight forward at Kishibe as her arms were slid into the jacket and crossed against her chest, tied to her back. She didn't walk to the hand track, staying put so that they'd have to come to her. Kishibe asked another question: "How'd you take it?"
As she was loaded onto the hand track, Makima's smile was faint but dripped with its unique wickedness. "Like any man made to part with his only Sayuri Yoshinaga film."
Kishibe chewed on that for a moment, and suddenly things were making a bit more sense, the new haircut especially. She had done it up like Sayuri Yoshinaga in 'Gazing at Love and Death'. There was a habit she had of imitating what was in the movies, but it was never physical. What was it about that film that she felt so strongly about it, he wondered, and he kept wondering as he and the research team walked out of the cell and made way for the elevator. He partly blamed himself for her getting fixated on that particular genre, of romance and death. It all began when he bought a cheap makeup kit as a visiting gift and she wanted to know about the animated woman on the plastic.
He'd never even seen Rose of Versailles. He didn't even know Versailles was pronounced like that until she corrected him later on. But that's where it began, the budding fascination with love and the dying and death that proved it. It would've helped for her to be a bit older before taking all that in, he thought. But maybe that was too human of an exception for a Devil, that it would ever have been possible for her to avoid centering some core part of herself around war, sexuality, and death. If anyone knew, it sure wasn't Kishibe. He didn't even remember for sure what floor button he was supposed to press. "Fifth floor, right?" He sent his question into the wind, received and responded with a, "Nope, it'll be the interrogation room on the second."
The what? Not the exam room? He had already clicked the fifth button having anticipated it, then brought his thumb to the second. "Uh-huh. And what are you jokers gonna be doing, playing good spod bad spod?" he forgot himself for a moment, insulting each of the four openly. The small chuckle from Makima, forced and inauthentic as it was, acted as encouragement enough and he started again with a soon interrupted, "You're all worthless bas-", prevented from its landing by the opening of the elevator on the fifth floor and the joined company of the man who pays Kishibe's checks. The four researchers busted out their, "Commander!" and "Sir!"', and Kishibe gave his own respect to the office. A wordless, two-fingered salute. Makima stared blankly at the back of his head and said nothing.
The Commander got shoulder-to-shoulder with Kishibe, not hitting any button after seeing that the second-floor button was already glowing. Kishibe noticed this but didn't have any time to comment on it before the Commander started at him. "Captain Kishibe, you'll have to explain the why's of me getting three new reports of sexual harassment on my desk. Later. And stop slouching."
Kishibe's ears became a few degrees hotter as he was reprimanded, straightening out his back as ordered. He felt like a failure of a different breed in those seconds as the elevator door closed again. He'd done everything from sweep accusations under the rug before they went up the ladder, pay off accusers, and do just about everything to keep his underling Satsuki from self-sabotaging her career. She was the only one left out of the three trainees Kishibe took under his wing two years ago, with one in the grave and the other taking care of a kid he tried his best to put out of his mind. This wasn't the worst thing though, Public Safety didn't really boast an HR department worth a damn, and there wasn't typically any genuine consequence for that kind of shameful behavior. Still, it gave him a kind of sick feeling that he wasn't able to steer Satsuki away from that inevitably Devil Hunter's face, where they begin to lose essential social graces and understandings that made them competent people.
As if he was a competent person.
The elevator made a stop at the second floor and the doors opened to a hallway that wasn't nearly as dreary as the second-floor basement's. The Commander led the way through the winding halls and plethora of doors, bypassing the security checkpoint that lay before the interrogation rooms. There were two, A and B respectively, their adjacent one-way glass windows stretching far and wide. Kishibe watched as Makima was wheeled into room-B, and felt the Commander's hand on his shoulder, urging him to the door next to the one the researchers were piling into. The observation room was small but offered a far better angle of the room below, a few feet higher than it. The Commander tucked his hands behind his back and looked out into the room as Makima was guided off the hand truck and placed into a seat with the help of two of the four researchers. She was looking straight down at the table as the preliminary questions were asked, things like, "What is your Devil name?" and "Do you know what day of the week is it?"
Kishibe still didn't understand why they weren't using the examination room. None of the four poindexters met the physical markings of a gruff interrogative detective, nor were they even switching up their questions. He obviously didn't get it, something the Commander caught onto.
"The fifth floor is too low security. We've been bringing it here for the safety of all involved."
Kishibe looked over as the Commander gave the beginning explanation to the questions he was asking himself, and he posed one question of his own. "Sure you're not just asserting dominance? Showing the pound's top-bitch who's got the leash?"
The Commander chuckled at that. "I like that. Bitch, female dog - Yeah, that's good. Pound too, because it's a containment site. Yeah, nice. Fuck you. Shut up and take what I say as law, Captain, and stop slouching. I'm gonna brief you on our plan regarding the Control Devil."
That was enough to get Kishibe's attention and obedience both. He stood up straight, cracking out his back as he did so. A plan for the Control Devil? That's new. Before there was no plan, there was just scheming one up.
"So, Captain, there have been abnormalities in the Devil's behavior as it reached a point of physical maturity. It's become prone to bouts of emotional irregularity, periods of fixation on specific concepts and facets of human-to-human interaction, as well as over-concern for its own physical appearance. To this end, we need to prepare for the event that it becomes too unstable, so I'm asking you to put together a specialized team. A taskforce designed to counter the Control Devil." The Commander laid it all on thick, and from the way he was inhaling another breath, it was clear that he wasn't even finished. An anti-Makima squad, and for what, having a celebrity crush and things she likes? He couldn't deny the danger inherent to her existence, but it was a bit stunning that the people in charge of her development didn't consider that if they had done a better job Kishibe wouldn't even be drumming up candidates in his mind right now.
The Commander huffed. "It's began remembering things, things we can't confirm as of now. Things about Hell and prophecy and Devils we weren't even aware of until now. You heard the one about the Chainsaw Man, that if you call him he'll kill any Devil. We don't know enough yet to make the call on whether if it's an urban legend shared by an adolescent brain or something more. I want you to look into it personally."
Kishibe wanted to vocalize some of the questions he was having, at least a few among the many, but he knew the Commander only wanted to hear his own voice right now. Still, he really wanted to know what he was supposed to be looking into. He wasn't some detective prince who could unravel the mysteries of the world, after all.
"As you know, the peak of its ability usage was during the early years. Forcing researchers to cut its sandwiches into triangles, blowing a hole in the television when the hero dies, all of that. The decline was sharp, and we don't know if it was intentional or somehow it became weaker with age. I want you to look out for this too." The Commander went on and on, and now Kishibe was intently curious, what did he mean with that last sentence? Kishibe cracked and spoke out of order. "How am I supposed to look into that? I'm a Devil Hunter, not one of the brainiacs on-site."
Kishibe was given an annoyed look at that.
The Commander turned to face Kishibe entirely. "You have room in your Division. 'Makima' is an official Public Safety employee as of today, and you'll be sending in routine reports of how it handles in the field, and God forgive us, the world."
His eyes went wide, and he looked through the one-way glass at Makima, who was looking straight at Kishibe. They exchanged surprised looks at each other, blinking almost in tandem. He didn't even consider how that was possible, how she could see through the unpiercable and hear through the unparsable. To top it off, they both looked toward the Commander at the same time, who chuckled at Kishibe's shock. "I'm on the phone with the Prime Minister's office every day, Captain, we've been preparing for this for a while now. Don't ask the specifics, you know you're on a need-to-know basis. We've prepared an office in Headquarters and a monitored apartment, and as a show of goodwill moved in all seized possessions."
Bullshit. He had to know why.
"Bullshit. I have to know why."
The Commander didn't answer and turned himself out to face the going on's in the interrogation room, and saw a Makima that didn't seem to be aware in the slightest of what he and Kishibe were discussing. But Kishibe could see it on her face, the subtly in her expression that told him, "I planned all of this."
Kishibe felt his heart twist.
He would begin drafting a list of potential Devil Hunters to be a part of his anti-Makima squad tonight, if not tomorrow.
Time passed for Kishibe in silence as the research team's questions finally concluded and the reality of the situation began to dawn on him like the light of a new day. She'd be in official legal custody of Public Safety, as they couldn't have a Devil living on its own on paper. Makima was taken back to the second-floor basement and to her cell and Kishibe was taken into the record office to sign a fistful-sized amount of documents all full of things he didn't care to acknowledge. He wanted to break the pen, to smear the container of ink all over the documents, and ruin them, and maybe he could even kill the employee in charge of the office just to satisfy his frustration. Everyone had their own part in this mess that they should die for - The Commander for his indifference toward the life that was locked away in the dark and never given a fair shot at a little brightness, every researcher that robotically analyzed and thusly condemned her time and time again, and himself for not putting his hands around her neck while she was young and sparing her the world and the people in it.
Goddamn, these documents were endless.
A whole lot of legality in ownership of a Devil.
If she wasn't a Devil, an inhuman thing not allowed human rights, this might have been a happier today and he'd be in an adoption agency signing custody papers. He could have been a father to Makima. But that's not the way the world works, and he's just signed his name on the dotted line saying that he's the master of another life. A Devil shouldn't make him feel things this mind-clawing, but the opposite is how they got into this situation in the first place. He imagined that he could at least be a mentor of some kind, as she navigated office politics. Something. Anything. Fuck. Goddamn.
The final paper was signed, and this one he had to take home in a 13-inch yellow envelope. He tucked it under an arm and walked outside of the office and into the hall, and sitting waiting for him was Makima. She had just redone her hair and was outfitted in a long coat not dissimilar to the one that he wore. Buttoned up to hide that she was wearing a decrepit gown. He couldn't tell what she was thinking as a Devil, what her greater plans were, and how she'd one day put all of humanity in a vice-grip, but he could make a strong guess as to what she was thinking as a teenager.
"Let's go shopping. Girls your age are all into 'New Tora fashion', read about it in a magazine yesterday."
Makima nodded, sitting up and then standing up, remarking, "I have a lot to catch up on. Can you describe the style?" as she and Kishibe walked.
He took a while to explain it the best he could while sounding like he didn't know a thing about it. The truth was that he didn't learn about it just yesterday, and it was an indulgent pleasure of his to keep up with fashion trends. In a way, it connected him to the people he's oath sworn to protect. But he thought back to the security guard and looked down to his shoes, and intrapersonally admitted that it was far more selfish than that. For a few long seconds, he answered Makima who was looking up at him expectantly. "It's like if you took the clothes of American Hollywood stars and made them cost a few million yen cheaper. Think of it as that, accessible decadent fashion."
Makima smiled as she thought of it. They were walking across the street, ignoring the crosswalk entirely, just expecting the cars to stop as they went. It was the Devil Hunter's prerogative to offend social norms, and Makima seemed to be willing to go along and learn. She asked Kishibe a question. "America..? Do you know any English, Kishibe?"
He gave a firm shake of the head, even if he knew a small bit. He recalled the time an American politician made fun of his English, and ever since then, he's almost resented the language entirely.
"[I can see the President.]"
Makima smiled at Kishibe, tilting her head to see if he understood any of what she said. They stepped onto the sidewalk, scaring a pigeon that flew high into the air, which eventually flew in a small circle and was now hovering over both Makima and Kishibe as they went.
"No shot, kid, didn't catch a thing. Can't speak it either. Couldn't ask for a hamburger with cheese if Reagan McDonald was taking my order." He looked up at where they were walking. It was one of the days where he wasn't covered toe to head in blood, so that meant it was one of the days he could properly hail a cab. He whistled in the direction of one, stopping by the curb as the vehicle came to a stop. Makima walked forward, electing to get in before Kishibe.
The leather seats were a comfort after spending so much of the day just standing in place. Makima watched as he didn't buckle himself into the seat, so she didn't either. Kishibe put his hands behind the back of his head, looking over at the driver's seat. "Nearest Daimaru," he said, resting his eyes as the cab began to move. Even with his eyes closed, he could feel Makima looking at him. She's gotten a lot better at controlling her emotions, obscuring what he knew as a borderline personality, prone to all sorts of fits of rage, paranoia, and even melancholy. That she could keep it all so tightly bound and hidden didn't sit well with him, the ways that she learned to do it and the reasons that she had to in the first place went every which way in his mindscape. In a better world, the transition from child to adult would be seamless and natural. Yes, there's hardly anything natural about a Devil, but dammit if they didn't even try. He listened as Makima asked him, "Is nobody waiting on you? Would they not miss you while you're out with me?"
What a thought. Hell no there isn't.
"No. Nobody's waited on me in years."
"That's a shame."
"How do you figure?"
"I think you would make a good father."
Kishibe closed his eyes just a little bit tighter at that. She had no idea how wrong she was about that, or maybe she did. It was impossible to tell from her tone of voice alone just how much she could parse just by looking at him. What was the extent of her abilities, what could she do with a single look? He filed away the thoughts for later, for a time when they might serve a real purpose. He answered her, sighing, "Maybe. But that's not the life I chose, and it's not what I choose now. Hell.. I don't even know if you like dogs or cats, or what your favorite color is."
Makima chuckled slightly. He still couldn't tell if it was forced or genuine, but he wanted to believe the latter as she said matter-of-factly, "Dogs. Black. Do you know if my apartment allows dogs, Kishibe? I would like to have one."
The cab drove on and on, and it passed by another carrying a woman and a young boy. Asaka found good company with that boy who didn't speak very much, to begin with. With her inability to speak, it was sometimes difficult to relay important information to her charge, but he learned and adapted quickly. Yoshida had decided to grow his hair out, the age of six with something that resembled a Californian surfer's hair. Asaka encouraged it, having had the wildest hair imaginable when she first met him two years ago. Although, these days she combed her hair well each morning and kept it in a box bun. Yoshida fiddled with two small strands of paper; movie theatre tickets for later tonight. Asaka plucked one from his small hands, holding it up in front of her face and then pocketing it, reminding him to keep his own ticket in a safe place. Yoshida followed her instruction, then looked out of the window as the cab went across a bridge and he was able to catch the sight of the ocean. It didn't inspire any wonder in his child's mind, he felt no creative gears spinning. His gaze soon broke as the window sightline was again filled with the gray buildings of the city. Like the ocean, he saw a sort of death in the concrete cityscape. Like a blacksmith, he tempered these thoughts and knew he was limited by his own underdeveloped brain to comprehend them fully. But these thoughts he treasured, so he told himself that he would keep them and carry them into a time where he could reap their wisdom for all its worth.
Asaka looked at him with a somber smile, knowing that he was again caught in his own grim thoughts. She didn't discourage this in him, no, she encouraged it, even. He would excel her in mind and body, she knew. It was the way of the student to overcome his teacher, and Asaka could not be more pleased with her expectation of how astronomically far he would pass her by. He had just begun physical training, agility and speed being the focus until he was physically mature enough for strength. To this end, Asaka would employ the aid of the Octopus Devil, who had taken a liking to the boy, or so she could only garner. Nevertheless, its presence in his training also served to educate him on the matter of Devils, their nature, and what it means to make a contract with one. They were on their way to that training, needing only the most covert and underground spaces for what Asaka intended. Luckily, with the connections she had to Kishibe and even her old friend Satsuki she was able to rent out an entire underground parking lot once every week.
It was the least she could do for Yoshida, in absence of his parents, one living and the other half-living.
Kishibe and Makima were inside an expansive Daimaru department store, and while Kishibe occupied himself looking at leather boots and shoes, Makima was off somewhere on her own. He didn't think to go after her and helicopter over what she was doing. After all, it was just to pick out a few outfits so she could have some dignity and not be reduced to wearing a uniform every day. He ran his hand across the leather of a sleek black dress shoe but frowned at the feeling of faux leather. Whatever. His Oxfords were real, and imports on top of that. He picked the boxed-up equivalent of the display shoes anyway, not wanting to go out every day in what he currently had on his feet and risk the hastened breakdown of the material. He looked around for Makima but didn't move from the shoes, giving a few lazy glances for his effort. Maybe if she showed up he could ask her about her foot size, and get a pair that fits her. To that end, Kishibe began walking through the department store giving sideways glances in his quest to find the trenchcoated teenager, and it didn't take him very long, but it wasn't finding her that caused the look of surprise that broke his neutral expression. It was her company.
Makima was standing with her back turned to a woman who had her arms in front of the Devil, extending the sleeves on a swirl-stripe jumper to match up with Makima's arms. That woman who could have been confused as any number of anemic, silky-faced men if Kishibe didn't know different, was the now professional Devil Hunter Satsuki, bearer of the Wolf Devil contract and a worse alcoholic than himself. Two years ago he had set out to try and find information on her past, and he didn't care to think about what he found out. Kishibe strode forward, wasting no time in trying to firstly assess the situation and shut it down in its infancy. Satsuki caught Kishibe in her peripheral, smirking up at him. "Captain! Come here often?" She asked, bringing the jumper into Makima's hands on her chest and taking a step back as Kishibe firmly planted himself in between Satsuki and Makima. He stuck a finger squarely on Satsuki's forehead and flicked.
"You're back on duty. Get outta here." He ordered with harsh but flat-toned finality. Satsuki was caught off guard enough for Kishibe to be able to figure that she didn't somehow know he was here with someone she's only heard about in the briefest drunk mentions for the purpose of causing him the most irritation possible. He was being unreasonable. As if he never even posed that thought to himself, Makima spoke up behind him to remind him. "Kishibe, is there something wrong with me speaking with a co-worker?" she asked, and he could feel her calm stare burning through the back of his head.
"..Co-worker?" Satsuki asked neither of them particularly, trying to catch up. "Have.. Have we met before? Are you uhh..?"
"No, we haven't met. I will be starting my first day in Public Safety at the beginning of next week. It's good to meet you." Kishibe looked over his shoulder to see that Makima moved her gaze back to Satsuki. Wait, how did she know Satsuki was in Public Safety?
"Hey, how'd--" Kishibe began to ask.
"How could you know I'm a Devil Hunter? And what was your name again?" Satsuki only had the smallest piece of confusion left as she began to naturally put the pieces together whilst she looked from Kishibe to the girl. She asked for total confirmation and was given it.
"That's Makima, and she forgot to mention that she'll be in our Division. It'd be a legal nightmare if she was in the field, so she'll be filling an administrative role for me." Kishibe decided that he hated talking about this, so reached into his pocket and plucked out a cigarette that he placed into his mouth, going for the latter whilst Satsuki asked a question that made him grin.
"You mean.. Do your job for you?"
Kishibe flicked his zippo lighter open, bringing it to bear on the tip of the cigarette.
"While you do what? Kick your feet up?"
He took a short drag and responded, "No. I'm your temp-buddy until better applications hit my - sorry - Makima's desk. You can't handle being on your own, from what I heard." There was a multi-stage feeling he went through while watching Satsuki's shoulders fall. First, it was contempt for her piss-poor behavior, then it was annoyance over how he had to talk to her on his unpaid off-day that he only took because of the Commander's orders. Lastly, presently, it was empathy for someone too good at their job to die long past when they were ready when they actively wanted to. It was something he knew well, all too well. He couldn't let such an understanding parse his expression, however, lest his subordinate notice, lose further heart, and never come past this.
Kishibe looked around and noticed some eyes on him as he smoked inside. At thirty-eight, he felt like modernity was sweeping past him, the most mournful aspect being that there were new expectations of him, that his old habits were suddenly rendered unsavory. He grimaced, now wanting to leave. He looked down to Makima, who folded the jumper in her arm, looking up at Kishibe. Kishibe turned from her back to Satsuki who was looking at Makima. He told both of them whilst only looking at one, "I'm going to the movies tonight after getting work done. You'll come with."
He turned and faced the direction of where he remembered the check-out being. "Fall in, I'll pay." he said expectantly. Only when he was right up to the register did he realize he was going it alone, and he turned his body and head to scan behind and around him for any sight of Makima and Satsuki, and lo, there they were. Going for the front door. Satsuki caught Kishibe's gaze as the pair exited the department store, the only explanation being a slow laugh, doubtlessly for the expression on Kishibe's face. With haste he went after them, still holding the shoe box from earlier in his hands, drawing shouts to halt and stop and "You need to pay for that!" from the employees.
Later, elsewhere, Yoshida was picking out what to wear for this movie venture. He was looking at a zip-up nylon jacket made for enduring the rain. It suitably bore the Kanji for rain, 雨, on its backside. He rejected this, he didn't want anything with any design, art, or wit about it. Instead, he decided on a Zhongshan suit jacket once given to him as a birthday gift by one of his mother's friends. It was hard to recall the friend after so long, but he had originally observed something within her, a want to be closer to his mother in a way not befitting the same sex. Those behaviors he had only understood retrospectively, having glanced the same kind in Aunt Satsuki as she liked to be called, the friend of Asaka. He fit the jacket on best he could despite it being about two sizes too big. The sleeves drooped down at his wrists, and in a moment of uncharacteristic frustration for the placid child, he sought scissors. He cut the sleeves off to the point where his hands could fit through, then folded the cut sleeves and put them on his nightstand. Among other things, Asaka was also keen to teach him more traditionally womanly arts such as sewing, so Yoshida figured that he'd sew the sleeves back on later. Ready as he'd ever be, he exited his room and looked around the living space, seeking Asaka. The mute woman didn't feel like a mother to him and likely never would, Yoshida reflected, but she was there for him for every step of these excruciatingly long years of childhood. One day he would be free of the confinements imposed on him by his age, and he could pay her back in turn for the care she took in guiding him there. In his mind, he was already old enough to survive the world on his own. But the flesh betrays, and he could not reach the cabinet with the spices in it, and in these things, he relied on Asaka heavily. Her inability to talk resonated with him, she did not disparage or fault him for his own difficulties with speaking. He could, of course, but there have been a plethora of times that his mouth would open and the word dissipates on his tongue, and it would have caused him some kind of pain if Asaka was not the way she was. He didn't view her as a mother, not in his heart nor his soul, but she filled the role well.
His inner thoughts were interrupted soon by the visible emergence of Asaka from her own room, dressed in a floral pattern dress, boldly combined with trousers that came down to the same shoes she wore in Public Safety. Her hair was still tied up in the way it was in the cab, although she wore white powder makeup that she wasn't before and crimson red lipstick. The model of an adult woman, Yoshida thought, who still treaded on certain expectations for her station in society. These thoughts were interrupted by her snapping her fingers, and signaling Yoshida to follow her toward the door and the street below, but he faltered in that moment. The growl of his stomach spoke well enough for him, although it was soon aided by the utterance, "..Popcorn..."
At the theater, Kishibe and Makima walk side-by-side in matching dusters. Kishibe couldn't help but notice that she kept trying to walk in front of him, trying to lead. He curbed the attempt by always matching her footfall, not content with giving the Control Devil just that - control. It wasn't his place to tell Satsuki his logic, not yet, but it was disconcerting to him how glibly she followed behind Makima, how she tucked candies in her coat for the movie at Makima's request and earlier shoplifted clothing for her. At first he had thought it was Satsuki that was the mastermind behind that heist. All three stood in line, with Makima gently conceding second place behind Kishibe. Taller than most other people here, Kishibe looked over the heads to see how much farther they had to go in the line, which considering that it was a weekend, it wasn't that far. It was worth noting that he had forgotten which movie they were aiming for here. Makima selected it, her own cinema knowledge exceeding Kishibe's to his surprise, so he turned and muttered to her, "Take my spot. Here's the money." and produced a fistful of Yen that he passed into Makima's hand.
She smiled at this, hiding her eagerness well at being the first of the trio in line. "It's called Silverado," she said it quietly, but couldn't keep the satisfaction from her tone. She knew Kishibe well enough at this point to know that these battles had to be hard fought and harder won, that he would never be the kind to easily cede a superior position. She silently wished that it remained that way for a long time from now, in whatever form it may. Nevertheless, the buzz that came to her from being able to order for people - Kishibe - carried her all the way to the front, where she stood behind a queerly dressed woman and a little black-haired boy.
He was holding up two pre-paid tickets and weakly spoke, "Sil..verado." the man behind the booth understood and gave a bow of his head as he used a hole-puncher to mark them. How odd, she thought. Why would a boy so young have any interest in seeing such a film? At the least, Makima figured that she was eight years his physical elder. She chuckled internally, an audible "Hmpf." being its only evidence, but all internal laughter ceased when he turned around.
This boy...
His blood-scent was exact to Kishibe's.