Hana "Hannah" Sato (night_yen) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2009-04-30 14:01:00 |
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Entry tags: | marijuana, sato |
I cannot name this, I cannot explain this, and I really don't want to so just call me shameless.
Who: Mischa (NPC), Cam (NPC), and Marijuana. And anybody else likely to stumble upon them on MJ's territory.
Where: Marijuana's HQ/"housing"
When: Wednesday, noon.
What: Baku-proofing.Warning: The NPCs are flexing muscle!
It'd been harder task than Mischa first estimated. Oh, finding the supplies was tricky: the right pillows made of the right wood, shaved down to the right size. The right ofuda. Mixing the right varnish. Cross checking and proofreading the idea from every angle to see if it had an actual chance of working.
But that wasn't the hard part. No, the hard was packing up her bag and walking out the door to realize she was going to act against Sato. Even if the act itself weighted relatively minor (and minor was the best that could be said of the wards Mischa had planned) it was still insubordination. It was still going behind her boss' back to aid someone who--well, someone who wasn't very happy with Sato.
But what choice do I have?
She couldn't stop Sato-san. For one thing, Mischa was human. (Admittedly, she fancied she was very good at being human.) The other heavy reason was that Sato-san was....well, she was Sato-san. The woman would claw her way through mountains if she thought there was fun worth having on the other side. Sato-san was stubborn, spontaneous, arrogant, demanding--but she wasn't stupid. She wouldn't offend one of the city's reigning powers for the sake of a snack.
...well, okay, Mischa admitted grudgingly. She wouldn't do it without a really good backup plan. Which, considering Marijuana's reaction and Sato's aftershock, was clearly not present in this case.
Something happened. Something set her off, badly, and made her...made her...her... Mischa quit the thought. The point was that Sato-san had messed up and Mischa was going to fix it. End of story.
And the little voice, the little twelve-year old, knobby kneed, wide eyed scared voice, that was pointing out that she was betraying someone she loved--that skinny fool could just shut the bloody hell up.
Heart set and smile welded in place, Mischa climbed out of the taxi, looking clean and pretty with a packed bag in hand.
"Cam?"