Hana "Hannah" Sato (night_yen) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2009-10-01 10:22:00 |
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Entry tags: | guns, sato |
I'm not ready to make nice // I'm not ready to back down // I'm still mad as hell and...
Who: Sato & Guns
What: Illegal guns, inexorable hates, and an irate god. All in all, there are worse introductions.
Where: Ye Old Unknown Warehouse
When: Thursday night
Why: Sato hates guns. True story.
Sato wasn't a pacific. Or an activist. She didn't lobby, didn't campaign, didn't uphold a steady protest for or against--well, anything, really. She held no swaying, poignant arguments, she embraced no ardent, peaceful beliefs. She was not a member of any fluent, or obscure, organization. She didn't think any human device was inherently evil, or deceitful, or ugly.
She just didn't like guns.
Which, in turn, meant she wasn't especially fond of those who distributed them in her backyard. There was little she could do concerning the properly registered cases. Fortunately, New York offered plenty of illegal examples to vent upon. It was a somewhat comforting thought, no doubt--if Sato had harbored the slightest inclination of guilt towards the matter.
Instead...
Sato idly nudged the man's prone body with her boot. No response. Drat, had she--no, wait, he was breathing. The sound of it was a little ragged, true, but he'd live to see the dawn and be walking again by the week's end. The Baku congratulated her own generosity.
There was probably no chance of saving the arm, though.
Sliding her sword back into its sheath, Sato slowly surveyed her night's work. Five bodies (all in varying states of injury), four crates (none legal) and one Baku (satisfied and only the tiniest bit bloodstained). They hadn't been expecting an ambush and, humility be damned, they'd have had slim hope of stopping her even if they did. Though to be fair, two had made as far as actually firing in her direction...before she cut the guns out of their grip. Casually, Sato unwound the long, black drape from around her face and neck, until it was once againt merely a fashionable accessory draped around her shoulders. Precautions were well and fine, but the damn thing tended to itch.
Plus, there was something terribly cliché about the image. It was so very...Hollywood.
Not a large shipment, Sato decided, but instead maybe only an installment of a grander order. Even by metropolitan standards, it was barely a blip on the radar. She probably never have learned of it if not for the dealer's unlucky choice of bars and pick up targets.
Ah, well. A man's luck was a beast's fortune.
Destroying this particular patch of blight would elevate some stress and, goodness, recent disturbances had injected quite a bit of that into the Baku's daily schedule. Nothing took the edge off, after all, like doing some healthy good in the world.
Now, tsk tsk tsk, where did she put that accelerant...