Hana "Hannah" Sato (night_yen) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2009-10-26 08:32:00 |
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Entry tags: | sato |
If there were no hell to pay // I wonder would you still need a god.
Who: Sato & Ianuarius "January" (NPC)
Where: Masque's cellar.
When: Monday, 12:01 AM
What: They're out...
She woke up, bleeding.
Well, technically. Technically, Sato didn't wake up: waking required sleeping, and sleep required bits and bolts, metaphysical or real, that the Baku simply didn't have--even after centuries of "accessorizing" her faux mortality.
The blood, however, was real.
"You look like crap." Cool, rough hands hauled her up with little care for bruises. "Not so elegant now, are you, Madame?"
"Why do I let you talk?" Sato wondered. She pressed a hand against January's chest--no heartbeat, not in him--to steady herself; the room dipped then, reluctantly, settled. "It can't be for entertainment. I've never been that desperate for a laugh."
"That's because you haven't noticed the shirt yet."
"The shir--k'so." Sato stared down at her, well, at what used to be her 500 dollar silk Richard Nicoll blouse was brutally shred down the front. No tailor would be able to save it.
I'm going to find you, she swore. I'm going to find you and eat you--raw. With salt and a particularly length amount of slow chewing.
"How many?" The Baku looked at her Lar. January tipped his head slowly to and fro, making a show of tallying. Sato's hand whipped out to lock on his jaw. "How. Many."
"A dozen." His grin pushed against her grip. "Give or take."
It'd be give with her luck. Which meant that somewhere out in the torrid gloom of New York a baker's worth of living nightmares was prowling the streets hunting for--well, for the same thing Sato would.
Dinner.
"I hate the holidays," Sato muttered and went to get her sword.