“No, please!” Her throat had gone hoarse from screaming as her head was yanked every which way like a ragdoll. She was surprised that her neck hadn’t snapped. The bastard pulling her hair had ceased pummeling her stomach and face and pulled out a knife from his coat. “W-what the hell, please!”
“Now, bitch, tell me why you’re lookin’ for Majima? The Mad Dog’s kinda a big deal in the Tojo Clan, an’ what’s a pretty little thing like you lookin’ fer him for? You his girl?” The thug held the blade up to her neck, a small bead of blood trickling down the shining edge. It stung, and she couldn’t help but whimper. She had been beaten before while looking for him, but here she was, chained up to a filthy steel pillar in a warehouse on the docks, and her panic set in tenfold when the thug released her hair and used the now free hand to unzip his pants.
“Majima gone and got himself a sexy little thing, eh? Guess the bastard likes ‘em young. Betcher pussy’s all nice and tight. You in high school? Shit.” The thug smirked as he dug the knife deeper, streams of blood coating the side of the blade as she wiggled and pleaded. “Boys, you in?” From the shadows emerged more suited goons, members of her assailant’s gang, and they looked hungry. “This’ll piss ‘im off good that we’ll get his attention, eh? And Koji, you might wanna getcher camera ready. Gotta send consolation off to good ol’ Mad Dog for missin’ the party!”
*****
A few days after that incident, the thug who led that pitiful excuse of a gang disappeared and all its members beaten and scattered. She had been unconscious from the blood loss and trauma for a few days in the warehouse, and somehow she found herself in her bed, bandaged up and cleaned a few days after that. Over the years since then, the amount of beatings had decreased and she began fighting back against those who dared during her search. She had known that Majima had found himself back in the good graces of the Tojo Clan and was making his way up to lieutenant (which she was surprised he had given up), and had tried getting in touch with anyone in relation. She’d had to do shady things, the likes of wish she’d never mention, but her results were always the same: “get the hell out.”
Her only option? She had to become yakuza. Yusa fought tooth and nail, used the information she learned from her liaisons with other yakuza families as blackmail. She soon made a reputation for herself as a female boss, members of her gang starting with delinquents from her school and developing themselves into hardened gangsters. She started from the bottom, refusing to join any other clan in order to establish her own.
Twenty years later, here we are.
She had since dyed her hair and gotten her proper tattoos becoming of a yakuza patriarch, and like yakuza do, flaunted her wealth and indulged in expensive luxuries, like import motorcycles from America.
Takenaga Yusa was beyond pissed that her favorite motorcycle, her beloved 2003 Harley-Davidson Touring, was stolen while she was having dinner at Kanrai. It’d been a while since she had a break from blackmailing and beating rival gangs into submission (on top of running a clothing boutique), and there was nothing like a steaming plate of the finest kalbi ribs and a bottle of Rose Champagne to fill her belly after a long workweek. It didn’t take long for her boys to find the perpetrators while she sat sulking in her office, sharpening her twin pair of kodachi and fiddling with the crimson tassels that hung from the kashira. Within moments she was out on the streets of Kamurocho, her kodachi in hand and storming her way to an empty parking lot in the Hotel District.
She didn’t have a break whatsoever. On her way to the parking lot, Yusa and her boys were ambushed by small groups of street thugs, those whom paid Yusa handsome bribes afterwards to keep silent immediately following a beat down single-handedly delivered by Yusa herself. It took several small gangs and a handful of wannabe robbers to finally reach her destination. The parking lot was tucked away behind a shining love hotel, brand new from the looks of it. Despite the building itself being new, no one parked their cars in the dilapidated lot littered with discarded garbage, with its cracked pavement and untamed weeds, choosing to park in the private garage of the love hotel instead. No matter. Sitting in the middle of the crumbling lot was her shining bike, still in pristine condition and her golden braided cord and bell still attached to the handle. The only thing tarnishing it was the goon sitting in the leather seat, his arms crossed and smirking.
“Hey asshole! You mind getting your filthy ass off my bike? I just got her back from maintenance and your grubby cheeks are tainting her.” Keeping her anger to a check, Yusa briskly made her way through the lot and toward the small group of suited thugs standing around her motorcycle. The smiling idiot took one look at her and paled. Yusa smirked when she saw him mouth the words “oh shit” upon her entrance, and to further add to the effect, she slipped out of her amethyst suit coat and rolled up the sleeves of the silk black button-up she wore underneath.
“Y-Yo! You think a little lady like you c-can stop us? Your boys look like they can’t even take us on! Yeah!” The goon sitting atop her bike stammered, trying to hold his composure as Yusa’s steps didn’t falter. “You better get your boys to hold ya back, or me and my boys are—“
“Are gonna what, hm? They look like they’re warming up the bench for you real nice over there,” Yusa grinned as she pointed to the wall behind her target. The poor guy was left all alone, abandoned by his friends who had their backs pressed into the corner like children caught stealing at the candy store. She caught a glimpse of one of the thugs dialing a number and talking to someone on his cell phone. Shit, better make this quick then. Before the thug on her bike could turn around to face her, Yusa had already grabbed him by his coat lapels and hurled him into the ground. The debris from the cracked pavement and shards of broken glass cut into his face, as made evident by the blood that sprinkled Yusa’s heeled boots. “This’ll be over fast, sugar.” She delivered heel kicks until the thug was able to stand, then flurries of punches collided with his face until his mug was nothing more than a bloody mess swaying in the light of a flickering streetlamp. As promised, she ended it quickly. Yusa sidestepped behind the goon and wrapped her arms around his wrists, and finished her assault with a suplex, hearing the satisfying crack of his skull against the pavement. She winced when some of the loose shards of stone and glass dug into her back, but no skin broke, luckily.
Serves you right, ass. Yusa left his unconscious form on the pavement as she lifted herself up, all the while dusting off the stray shards that stuck themselves into the fabric. Her work was done, bike recovered. Before she could ask the remaining gangsters whose clan they hailed from, a voice stopped her dead. That distinct accent…the new voice that filled the air made her spine tingle and mind go numb.
“Hey boys! So whadda we have here? Hm?”
His eyepatch. The proud stagger in his step. That damn smirk. She saw peeks of his white snakes from underneath his open snakeskin shirt. Her eyes filled with forming tears and she grit her teeth. For the first time that night she unsheathed her kodachi. Her heart was bursting; she didn’t know whether to be pissed off, upset, or joyous. The trifecta of emotions that overwhelmed her for twenty-two years overtook her in a matter of seconds as she charged at him in full force.
Also for the first time, in a very long time, she lost her proper Tokyo dialect and broke into her rough, almost cat-like Nagoya dialect. “GORO MAJIMA, YOU FUCKING BASTARD!”
Aymeric briskly walked around the length of his desk, being sure to adjust his belt and sword around his waist as he did so. It would only be so rude and inappropriate to leave Ishgard without his blade, Naegling, and leave the Warrior of Light unprotected, despite the fact that she was the Warrior of Light. Still, it was his duty as a knight to be her shield, and he would gladly pay the price.
“Well, my dear, I do have a mount ready in the stables, and it has been quite some time since he’s gone out for a ride due to Nidhogg’s horde. Altair I’m sure would be thrilled.” Aymeric smiled as he spoke, all the while walking out of his office with Ambrosia in tow and locking the doors behind them. He missed riding Altair, preferring mounts of the equine variety over chocobos. Though war horses were much more difficult to tame and train compared to chocobos, Aymeric chose the wildest of the stock and took upon the challenge. His mount, a large Ishgardian stallion with a shimmering coat the color of night, was his chosen war horse over the stockier Ishgardian chocobos often assigned to the Temple Knights. Many raised a brow at his choice, but soon overlooked it as he proved his prowess as the Lord Commander. Altair was a powerful steed that outran even the speediest of chocobos on the battlefield, yet despite his speed, would never abandon his rider amidst a sea of scales and fire. Aymeric couldn’t have chosen a better mount than Altair.
Without much thought he found himself nearing his home in the Pillars, Borel Manor, not even remembering that he had even left the Congregation and walked through Foundation until he had reached the residential district of the Houses. “Ah, forgive me, my friend, I must have lost myself for the moment.” Aymeric turned to face his Au Ra companion and bowed apologetically as they approached the steps to the front door. He swiftly unlocked the door and ushered Ambrosia inside his home. He sat her down in the living room and called for his butler to bring her a cup of hot cider. “Please, wait a moment while I get Altair ready.”
Aymeric exited through the back door, making his way to his personal stables in the yard of his manor. There Altair stood in his stable, a thick navy blanket draped over his back. Upon seeing his master, Altair snorted happily and stretched his neck in Aymeric’s direction. “Hello, my boy!” Aymeric ran his long fingers through Altair’s raven mane as his steed shoved his snout into his face. “How are you today? It’s been a while, but we’re going for a ride today.” Altair seemed to understand and neighed giddily. Aymeric chuckled in response to his horse’s happiness, patting his neck as he went to go grab his saddle and bridle. “Good boy. I have someone riding with me today, I really hope you like her.”
——
“Ambrosia!” Aymeric called from outside his manor. He had Altair saddled and bridled and led him towards the steps that led up to the front door. Upon seeing her face peek through the door, he held out a gloved hand to her, beckoning her to him. “Come, Ambrosia. You will be riding with me while we travel around the Western Highlands. You don’t mind sitting in front of me, do you? I wouldn’t want to block your view, after all.” His lips curled into a smirk.
"Lord Commander? If I may be so bold-" the Au Ra paused, letting her gaze languidly wander across the surface of his desk as she quirked a shapely brow. "-when was the last time you got some fresh air?" Ambrosia sternly crossed her arms, rocking her head to the side as her milky tail calmly curled about behind her. "And I don't mean simply prying a window open. The blood in your legs will surly turn to jelly if you allow yourself to sit there all day."
Her stern, yet silky voice ceased his nearly mindless scribbling on the curling parchment in front of him. He didn’t mind the interruption, not at all. The Au Ra maiden before him (could she even be given the mere label of “maiden,” after seeing her long list of accomplishments?) was a very special exception indeed, as he’d always spare a moment or three for the Warrior of Light, one of his dearest friends. “Ambrosia,” he started, lowering his quill and replacing the lid on the pot of ink. “It has been many moons since I’ve gotten up out of this stuffy office apart from the workday’s end, and I’ll admit that I haven’t taken time to go on a walk and clear my thoughts.”
Since the end of the Dragonsong War and becoming the head of the House of Lords in Ishgard, Ser Aymeric de Borel had nary a moment outside his office, despite still holding his position as the Lord Commander of the Temple Knights. Paperwork piled high on his desk, grants and some other mix of forms needing his approval replaced the maps and military requests he had grown so used to over the years. How un-soldierlike of him, but could he help it?
“As you say, I fear that my legs may turn, erm, turned to jelly, if they haven’t already.” he chuckled softly as he pushed aside the sheet of parchment that he had previously been working on and was sure to decline anyway. (Honestly? Who asks approval for an apothecary for mamments and a loan to get a broken mammet to “fix”?) “Forgive me for not being as active as I should have been. I do thank you for your concern over my health.”
He did grow tired of endless mountains of paperwork day after day, piles taller than Sohm Al it seemed most days. He knew that the chore, as he felt the need to call it, would eventually befall some poor soul in this time of peace. Unfortunately, by some stroke of ironic luck, that poor soul happened to be him. He wished to step down as interim leader of Ishgard, but he had the burning inkling that somehow he would be elected the city’s current leader, which, after much deliberation, he accepted. Could he be spared even one day’s break away from ink and parchment? Without hesitation, as it were when it came to the Warrior of light, Aymeric lifted himself out of his seat and abandoned his paperwork for the day. He stretched his arms above his head, hearing the satisfying crack from his back and his shoulders, then returned his attention to the Au Ra in front of his desk, her arms crossed and gaze still upon him. “My dear friend,” he smiled, “what say you to a ride through the Western Highlands and then a bite to eat in the Forgotten Knight? I still think a drink between us friends is long overdue.”
"Lord Commander! Anon here, big fan! Hey, I was wondering, if you'd be so kind as to share. Just -how- do you get your hair looking so perfect? Gods be good, it's just so shiny and wavy and frames your face just right. Please do send me a Moogle in reply, that I might know the secrets to perfect hair."
Hello there! I do thank you for your letter, and I’m flattered by the compliment! Truly! Truth be told, I take pride in my appearance, as one is wont to do when meeting with many on a daily basis. I buy a special tonic from a small stall hidden within the Jeweled Crozier that allows me to style and hold my hair in shape once applied. It’s made by a small family-run shop, and their tonics are crafted with special herbs and oils, some infused with floral fragrances.
