Things were quiet in the base today.
She was no regular here - her presence ebbed and flowed - but she had visited enough times since the recall to learn the names and faces of most.
Though, some, she needn’t learn at all.
Leaving from the employee’s kitchen had her momentarily pause in step, all to allow her heel to catch the door an inch before its closure. Instead, she guided it, allowing the latch to gently slip into place - a whisper few would notice above the usual filtering of environmental stimuli, lest one be so enamored by their own paranoia that they need observe each and every sensory detail to an exhaustive extent. She knew well this life produced such broken souls.
Her attempts at stealth were perhaps in vain however, for as she walked her boots met in audible rhythm with the tiled floor. She mocked herself internally, and almost smiled humorously at her own failed attempts at caution.
But she would not reconsider.
On so few occasions were it convenient to speak with the man whose name she was already familiar with. - The world she lived in permeated the circles of his family’s empire, and he carried their name even if he desired no longer to associate with the reason it was so infamous to her. A fibrous scar he could not disassociate from. It was for these reasons there was caution in her step; for these reasons she did not want witnesses upon the eve of their meet.
She set a cup upon the table at the Shimada’s left side. A hazy, verdant liquid, emanating a steam which carried with it the smell of bitter, leafy tones, reminiscent of green tea. She hoped it at best a peace offering to better placate the man’s opinion of her disturbing his peace.
“You’re the Shimada, aren’t you?”
Spoken softly at least. She knew how coarsely this man could offer his responses, and how cynical he’d grown of the world.
It was simple: your eyes were prone to playing tricks on you.
So, back turned and lids shut, Hanzo sat blind to the motions of the world. But despite all appearances, this calm and vulnerability, Hanzo remained ever vigilante. Wary. Truth was, for men of his ilk – the spurned and the damned – paranoia was a lifeline. And abandoning sight, Hanzo had never been more aware, attuned to the static hum of his surroundings.
From the click of her heels to her wispy exhales, she was never more real.
“You ask as though you don’t already know.”
He remained as still as stone, alone in the wash of the setting sun. Cast in the glow of dusk, the dragon under his skin burned to life, threatening and alive like the wake of a coming storm… This man wasn’t just the Shimada. He was Shimada Hanzo.
“Do not play coy. My name is of no mystery to you.” Bluntly stated, though not hostile, there remained an air of formality in him, something regal in his danger. Sad, really, how he still wore the image of an esteemed heir so well. Old habits, however, were said to die hard. “And neither are the exploits of my clan.”
Lifting his head, Hanzo moved to regard her, a subtle gesture in the slightest turn of his chin. Out of his peripheral, she wandered, eyes catching the cup she had brought with her.
“The same could be said of you. ‘The Viper of Valenti need only strike once’.” With her family’s reputation, how could they not be known in criminal undergrounds the world over?
When he finally met her gaze, the look was cautiously sharp.
“A difficult reputation to keep.”
