Snippet #1863148

All of Nin’s focus, all of her musings and worries and fears, pinpointed on Sachio’s hand on her elbow. Her whole body jerked, mind snapped out of its reverie, and she scowled weakly. “The dragon,” she said shakily, trembling slightly. Trying to pull up some of her usual scorn, her tone sounded forced and thin. “The blue dragon! It is dead!” Her bony finger pointed accusingly at the dark, empty sky. There was no long, twisting tail in the sky, no wings blocking out the light of the moon. “He does not fly tonight; he is dead.” Her voice wavered, perhaps on the verge of tears. Aoi was an old friend of hers; they’d kept company through the long centuries, laughing at the futility of the human race. “This is bad luck. Bad omens,” she said warningly. The balance was off. Everyone noticed the absence of the dragon, and it turned the world onto its side. People were enjoying the festivities, but their eyes searched the sky.

Nin felt weak. She gripped the tanuki’s arm and her tired feet shuffled over to a bench. She planted herself there, face buried in her hands as she felt a migraine of the worst proportions beginning to crash over her mind like a wave. That had been the worst kind of vision; long, full of information, and emotionally painful.

But now she could only wonder. What had killed the Fuku Ryu?

---

A frown worked its way to Tomoe’s lips as his hair was mussed by Isamu’s good-natured hit. His hand froze on its ascent to smooth it down as Isamu commented on his state of dress. Embarrassed, he retorted, “At least I don’t look like I’ve gotten into a fight with a monsoon and lost.” He sniffed daintily, tucking his fox mask away in the folds of his kimono. “I always dress like this. It’s comfortable and it looks nice.” Geisha, his fox-tailed ass.

He watched, amused, as Isamu gave Tsubasa the Glare. It was almost famous in most circles as the most invasive stare that one could be given, even more unsettling than the leer of a pervert or the calculating gaze of a conman. Of all the people he’d met, no one remained calm under that first meeting of eyes. Besides Makoto, of course. But she was different. Even he himself had felt unnerved by this intense glare. However, he felt that Amori probably felt more weirded out by the stare than anything else; he seemed like one that didn’t frighten easily.

But as quickly as it had come, it was gone, replaced by a toothy grin that would make children wet themselves. He made himself imperceptibly taller so the oyabun wouldn’t have to reach so far down to wrap an arm around him. He blushed at the pin-up girl comment, but let it slide. It was an old joke between old friends, and it would never cease to embarrass him.

But then the oyabun’s demeanor seemed to change, and Tomoe stood a little straighter. He knew this look; it was time for business. Things were going to happen. There would be no time for stupid questions, for it was time to move. He sent Amori an apologetic glance, knowing that this wasn’t what the tengu had signed up for when he came to enjoy the festivities, and followed quickly after Isamu.