Work Text:
“Let me get this straight,” says Gintoki flatly, leaning back against the couch “You want us to infiltrate a female slave ring to find your abducted daughter.”
Their client, a dowdy-looking woman wearing an expensive kimono with pearl accessories – Gintoki, while clueless when it comes to fashion, is an expert at assessing material value – nods tearfully.
“Poor Saoko, I just can’t bear to think of her in such a horrible situation. Everyone knows it’s those terrible Amanto, but even the Shinsengumi can’t catch them. Really, what do we pay our taxes for?”
“Maa, I can’t see what the Amanto would want with young high-society girls,” says Gintoki, ignoring the incredulous glances of the others, “but we’ll take the case anyway."
“Thank you, Sakata-san, this –”
“And we’ll need to borrow,” continues Gintoki, staring absently into space with a bored expression, “a high-quality kimono and accessories, preferably in purple, make-up, hair clips and a parasol.”
“But Gin-chan, I already have a parasol,” states Kagura. “Are you going senile? The TV said forgetfulness is the first sign! Shinpachi, we’re going to have to start looking for rest homes! Gin-chan, when can you access your pension?”
Shinpachi drives his elbow down onto the top of her head, effectively silencing her.
“What are you talking about?” asks Gintoki, blinking lazily at his two theoretical employees. Kagura stands, striking a dramatic pose which knocks Shinpachi sideways on the couch.
“I’m going to go undercover to find the slave-traders!”
“Don’t be an idiot,” drawls the white-haired samurai. “Who would mistake you for a high-society lady? We’re sending Zurako.”
***
“While I cannot fault you for wishing to protect Leader from dens of iniquity,” says Katsura, sitting on the couch with his arms crossed and tucked into his sleeves, “I don’t see why I should do your work for you.”
Shinpachi, who spent an entire morning scouring the streets for the Jyoui rebel and is not feeling very sympathetic, slams the tea cup down in front of him. “Because you owe us for making us rescue Elizabeth-san, when it turned out she didn’t even need rescuing?” he suggests, regretting the tea he’s been forced to waste on a man who will only end up costing them more money.
“Because you make a pretty girl?” suggests Kagura, munching a piece of sukonbu. “In this world of depression and despair, even just one more pretty girl lifts everyone’s hearts, Zura.”
“Don’t quote Lady’s Four in ordinary conversations,” snaps Shinpachi.
“It’s not Zura, it’s Katsura,” corrects Katsura, simultaneously.
“Because you’re a freak who nurtured long hair in the middle of a war and is half-way to being a woman anyway?” says Gintoki.
“HOW IS THAT SUPPOSED TO CONVINCE HIM?” shrieks Shinpachi, swinging his tea-tray into the back of Gintoki’s head and knocking him into the pile of accessories and compacts strewn across the table.
“Oh look,” says Gintoki possibly in what he considers to be a tone garnering interest, slightly muffled, rising out of the pile of purple-themed goods. “This one has little ducks on it.”
“It is becoming apparent to me why you have no customers.” Katsura takes a slow sip of his tea.
“At least I don’t spend my days moping with a bunch of gloomy samurai,” says Gintoki blandly.
“At least I don’t spend my days reading children’s manga while sponging off my landlady,” returns Katsura, in the same tone.
“At least I don’t run around with a monster that disgusts even the neighbourhood children.”
“At least I don’t –”
“ENOUGH!” declares Shinpachi, slamming them both into the table. They rise with various accessories adhering to their faces for a few instants before yielding to gravity and dropping back to the table with a clatter. “Katsura-san, the Amanto are running a slave ring victimizing young human women. How does that not concern you?”
“I suppose that is a valid point,” concedes Katsura, nodding.
“THEN WHY DIDN’T YOU AGREE TO IT WHEN I MADE IT TEN MINUTES AGO?”
“You just want to dress up in drag again,” says Gintoki, in a self-satisfied tone.
“Gin-san, is Zura a pervert?” asks Kagura, interestedly.
“Maa, Kagura, when a man’s been through a war one sometimes has to blur the lines of society to accommodate him,” replies the samurai sanctimoniously.
“It’s not Zura, it’s Katsura. And I am not a pervert.”
“IS ANYONE HERE EVEN LISTENING TO ME?”
***
"Oi, Zura, swing those hips more. No one’s going to try to abduct you if you don’t put out some sex appeal.”
“It’s not Zura, it’s Zurako. And I am proceeding with grace and elegance as befits a young lady of high society. If you wanted a cheap hooker, you could have gone yourself, Paako.”
They are walking down the back streets of Ginza, to outwards appearances a wealthy heiress and her retainer engaging in evening shopping. Katsura has his parasol open against the harsh streetlights which negate the softening effects of the make-up he is wearing. He moves surprisingly well in the heavy chrysanthemum-patterned furisode, hardly impeded by the long sleeves or heavier fabric, a fact which Gintoki can only partially attribute to the week of training under Mademoiselle Saigou where furisode were well above the price bracket.
“What are you talking about, Zura? You wouldn’t be able to afford even half of my fees.”
“Not Zura – it’s Zurako.” They round a corner into a new alley lined with more back doors and steaming vents; the Amanto have brought modernization to Ginza, all cold metal and boiling steam. Katsura’s geta are clattering on the pavement, an unnatural noise for both of them. For the purpose of this trap, Gintoki’s bokutou is hidden at a sharp angle beneath his yukata. Katsura tried to bring his own sword along hidden in the sleeve of his kimono, but was denied by the Yorozuya gang. There is plenty of trouble they can run into on the back streets of Ginza other than an alien slave ring, but not much that would pose a serious challenge. “Do you know where we’re going, anyway?”
Gintoki shrugs. “Nowhere. The past three girls were abducted somewhere in these alleys. Two were alone, and one had a retainer who was knocked out. By the time he found someone and came back he couldn’t remember exactly where they’d been.”
“Then they may have merely been taken into one of these buildings,” says Katsura, shuffling over a puddle with a move nearly in the realm of awkwardness.
“What do you take us for? The Shinsengumi investigated them all.”
“Don’t attribute others’ work to yourself.” Behind them something creaks and they both blink without pausing.
“Ah, Zurako-sama, your mother warned us not to take the back streets,” says Gintoki blandly, completely failing to impart any emotion into the role. “All those other high-society girls taken; if only you could be too.” Katsura hits him with his parasol. “Ah, ah, ah, I mean, if only you could be spared,” Gintoki corrects, in the same tone.
Behind them comes the patter of many pairs of feet. Above them the electric safety lights flicker, and die.
“Too late for that,” says a voice from the shadows, the pitch flying all over the register.
“Hear that, Zura? They’re after your virtue.” Gintoki, grinning in the darkness, draws his bokutou and feels Katsura close the parasol and take a step back to clear his path.
“Not Zura, it’s –”
In front of them there’s a crack, and the alley fills with pure, burning white light. Gintoki throws himself backwards, Katsura recoiling behind him. Then there’s a sweet smell like honey and –
– “Zura…ko,” mutters a voice from behind him –
Everything goes black again.
***
Gintoki wakes up with the sun shining in his face. He has a headache that would usually imply a long night of drinking, a crook in his neck, and a twisted spine. This is, he discovers, because he’s lying in a heap in an alley.
A second later, memory kicks in with the force of a professional soccer player, and he scrambles to his feet. “Zura!”
The long alley is empty apart from himself, and something gleaming gold on the pavement. He reaches down and picks it up; it’s a long two-pronged kanzashi, the decorative top in the shape of a chrysanthemum.
“ZURAAA!”
***
“So now the slavery ring has both our client’s daughter and Katsura-san,” says Shinpachi, sitting on the couch. Gintoki, sitting next to him with a cold towel draped over his head, makes an ambiguous sound.
“Poor Zura!” exclaims Kagura, wide-eyed. “All alone in a female slave ring! Just think, he’ll have to pretend to be a woman forever.”
“I don’t think that’s his biggest problem,” points out Shinpachi.
“And put on make-up, and do his hair up, and wear formal kimonos every day.”
“Like I said, I don’t think that’s his biggest problem.”
“And – wait a minute. If Zura is pretending to be a girl, that means he’s with all the other girls.”
“…yes,” agrees Shinpachi, unsure of where this is going.
“Sleeping with them, and bathing with them, and everything!”
Shinpachi doesn’t have time to comment on this, as Kagura rolls right into her next thought:
“That pervert! It must have been his plan all along! Gin-san, we have to find Zura and rescue those girls from him!”
“THAT IS NOT THE BIGGEST PROBLEM HERE!”
“Sadaharu!” Ignoring him completely, Katsura grabs the kanzashi from its place on the table and holds it in front of the dog’s huge nose. “Sniff, Sadaharu, sniff it! We have to find Zura!”
The dog barks, in what may or may not be an affirmative, and turns to head towards the door.
“Come on, Gin-san!” Kagura grabs Gintoki, pulling him up off the couch and dragging him after her. “Good job, Sadaharu! Follow the trail!”
Shinpachi sighs, picks up his shinai, and locks the door after them. “…Why didn’t we just track Saoko-san like this in the first place?” he asks, as he follows them down the stairs and into the streets. No one is listening.
***
Sadaharu leads them to Ginza, the three Yorozuya members following in a decreasing scale of interest. He pauses for a while to nose around in the alley, then backs up and retreats out of it. They follow.
“Just think,” moans Gintoki, the cloth sitting on his head still damp but no longer cool. “Nearly the last thing I ever told him was that he has no sex appeal. Think of all the other, more worthwhile things I could have said.”
“You didn’t know what would happen, Gin-san,” comforts Kagura, unable to pat her mentor with one hand on Sadaharu’s leash and the other on his wrist to see that he doesn’t fall behind.
“How did he not know? He knew entirely. There is almost always a risk of being abducted by a slavery ring when you set out to lure one into attacking you,” mutters Shinpachi to himself, bringing up the rear.
“I may never have the opportunity to tell him that his duck creature is a monstrosity,” laments Gintoki. “Or that he needs to cheer up and get a job.”
“You told him both those things just yesterday,” says Shinpachi.
“Aah, it’s too tragic. Kagura-chan, Shinpachi-kun, you’ll have to avenge Zura for me.” Gintoki is prevented from sinking to the ground by Kagura’s hand, still towing him along.
“You just want to slack off!” accuses Shinpachi.
***
Sadaharu leads them out of Ginza and into Shinbashi by way of the backstreets. It’s late afternoon by the time he finally stops in front of a corrugated tin roll-up door set into a large but otherwise featureless warehouse-style building.
“Is this it, Sadaharu? Is Zura inside?” Kagura kneels down to face the dog head on. He barks, and she throws her arms around him. “Good work Sadaharu!”
“So this is where the slave ring is operating,” says Shinpachi, pushing up his glasses and taking a firmer grip on his shinai.
“This is where Zura is taking advantage of all those women,” agrees Kagura.
“…I already said, that’s not the problem. Gin-san, are you okay?”
Gintoki sighs, picks the by-now-dry cloth off the top of his head, and drops it. Draws his bokutou, and looks at the metal door. “Let’s go,” he says blandly.
“Right!” Kagura, without waiting for further warning, launches herself straight at the door feet-first. It implodes in a thunder-clap of noise and dust and they charge in, taking advantage of the chaos.
And stop, five steps in, to stare.
The large space in the warehouse is taken up by long trestle-tables covered with cloth. Along each sit rows of girls in expensive kimonos stitching with needle and thread. In the background, an alarm is going off, the persistent blaring of a bull-horn.
“…What is this?” asks Gintoki, after a long minute of silence. It seems to be the cue for the shock to break, and the girls drop their sewing almost as one and stand, bursting into desperate speech. They are, it becomes clear as they stand, chained to the tables by their ankles.
“Oi, Gintoki,” says a familiar voice from a corner, the lower register cutting through the higher screams of the women. Gintoki turns, just in time to see Katsura go down under Kagura’s flying kick in a pin-wheel of purple silk.
“YOU PERVERT!” shouts Kagura as she knocks him to the floor. “YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED, TAKING ADVANTAGE OF THESE POOR HELPLESS WOMEN.”
“OI!” screams Shinpachi, fuming.
Gintoki sighs again, and crosses the room to pull her off his former comrade.
“What’s going on here, Zura?”
“How many times do I have to tell you, it’s not Zura, it’s Zurako.” Katsura picks himself up, chain clinking with the movement. “And, as you can see, these girls have been kidnapped to act as unpaid labour.”
“… Someone’s been kidnapping millionaires’ daughters to do their sewing?” Gintoki would like to think that this is strange even for them. Unfortunately, it isn’t.
“There seems to have been a misunderstanding of what the terms ‘high quality’ actually means,” explains Katsura.
“There has been no misunderstanding!” announces a voice behind them. A voice which seems unable to stick to a single pitch. They turn to see a group of Amanto, led by what appears to be a pink octopus. “It is universally acknowledged that the highest class products are produced by the highest, most refined members of society.”
“That’s ridiculous,” says Shinpachi. “If the people at the top of society spent their time doing manual labour, who would run businesses and companies?”
The octopus waves a dismissive tentacle. “That is menial labour. These products are universally acknowledged to be high class.”
“If we disagree, then it isn’t universal,” argues Shinpachi.
“Your opinion does not count.”
“IT DOESN’T WORK THAT WAY.”
“Oi, Zura,” says Gintoki, while Kagura holds back a fuming Shinpachi. “You’ve really been sitting here sewing all day? That’s even lower than your usual activities.”
“And what have you been doing? Reading JUMP? Ah – and it’s not Zura, it’s Zurako.”
“I have been forced despite pain and exhaustion and sugar deprivation, to search for you!” snarls Gintoki, raising his bokutou and slashing through the chain attaching Katsura’s ankle to his bench.
“Just a minute!” cries the Amanto, pulling out a high-power machine gun from behind its back. “You can’t have her! She’s ours!”
“Sorry, ugly hag.” Gintoki’s already moving, charging across the room. “But anything made by him’s not gonna be worth anything by any standards.”
The gun falls in two pieces, followed shortly by the Amanto.
The room fills with cheers, dozens of pieces of fabric being thrown in the air in a multi-coloured silk shower. Shinpachi hurries off to find the keys for the chains; Sadaharu runs around savaging the cloth.
“But if Zura wanted to take advantage of the girls, why was he chained up?” asks Kagura. And then, eyes widening, “It couldn’t be, he’s into BDSM?”
“Young girls shouldn’t talk about BDSM,” says Katsura sententiously. And then, “And it’s not Zura, it’s Katsura. And I’m not a pervert.”
“You see, Kagura-chan,” says Gintoki, dropping an explanatory arm around her shoulders, “when a man has been through certain things, he begins to become warped.”
“I see,” says Kagura, nodding.
“I am not warped!” exclaims Katsura. “I was kidnapped and restrained!”
“Wearing a kimono, and make-up,” says Kagura. “That’s really asking for it, Zura. You are warped.”
“Gintoki, this is all your fault.”
“Don’t worry, Zura. We understand. No one’s judging you.”
“Next time you can sell yourself. And it’s Katsura. Ah, I mean, Zurako.”