Youji's curtains were turning red from the sunrise when he opened his eyes, woken by a weight settling on top of his hips. He blinked his way awake, warm below the waist where the blankets still covered him, cooling above.
Black hair spun down like spider silk, falling from her head to just brush the sheets. He'd always had a thing for women's hair, and Yuki's was no exception. He raised his fingers and combed them through the strands. She smiled and leaned over him, smelling sweetly of honeysuckle, flat stomach nearly concave, high breasts just hand-sized, and laid one finger on his lips. "Shhh," she breathed, then let her lips replace the finger, mouth devouring his even as her body took him deep into itself.
Lady Killer 14 -- Kitaku (Homecoming) 5
by K.Huntsman
released 15 September 2003
The hum of a staff whirling through the air greeted Ran as he opened the door of their training room. He raised an eyebrow as he toed off his shoes. He hadn't been aware that Akayuki had stayed over the night before. As it was, it appeared that she'd borrowed clothing again, wearing a dark green sweatshirt and little else. He leaned against a wall, waiting until she finished her form, assessing her performance.
She was emotionally tied up with something. To his eye, she didn't have the dispassionate pleasure that she usually exhibited when she was training simply for the sake of the motion. It might be the effect of their foreseen meeting with her sister this evening. It wasn't until she turned that his eyes widened, seeing the dark bruise that covered one side of her face.
It suddenly occured to Ran that the sweatshirt Akayuki was wearing was Youji's, not Ken's.
Disquieted, he maintained his silence until she came to a finish.
Akayuki stared into space for a few breaths, then shook her head vehemently and came over to him, throwing her weight almost sullenly against the wall as she leaned next to Ran.
"You're up early," he observed.
"I had a bad night," she replied. "Today doesn't promise to be any better."
"Yeah." He wouldn't ask why she was wearing Youji's clothes. He would either find out sooner or later through the Koneko gossip chain, or it would remain a quiet mystery. "Did you cancel your appointments for tonight?"
"Mm. Some of my patrons may not be happy, but it does count as a 'family emergency'." Akayuki's laugh was a touch bitter; she was clearly on edge. Her bruised cheek was the closer side to Ran. She must have known it was useless to try to hide that from him. He raised his hand, holding it millimeters away from her skin, judging the size.
"This looks like a man's handprint," he gauged. It was as close as he would come to asking. She made a non-commital sound, her eyes not meeting his. "Do you need anyone killed?"
This time the half-laugh that burst from her was genuine. "Only you would make that offer in complete seriousness."
Ran shrugged, unoffended. He didn't know if he had been serious or not, knowing in advance that any such offer would be refused, but he had achieved his goal, breaking her even momentarily out of her mood. "Do you want to spar?" he offered.
Akayuki shook her head. "I should get back to the Yamabuki, tidy up some ends. Get some clean clothes."
"Why don't you move back into your own apartment?" Ran asked. "It's not as though you have to live at the teahouse, is it?"
"No," Magician agreed, pushing away from the wall. "But if I'm not there, my okaasan will be too easy of a target until we get the La Mort situation under control. I'll be back by six." So saying, she headed towards the door, and Ran towards the center of the room, ready to begin his own katas.
Youji woke to the hissing sound of his own shower running. He muttered a curse, reaching for the aspirin bottle on his bedside table. He still wasn't over the beating Yukiko had given him the other day, and thanks to the end of his dream, his throat was throbbing in fresh pain.
He supposed it was wrong to dream about having sex with Ken's girlfriend, but he could blame it on Ken being ten kinds of an idiot and driving Yuki to share his bed overnight. The dream had been so hot to his sex-deprived libido, heart beating fast, heavy breathing, deep kisses, two bodies surging against one another until the very end when he'd lost himself and she'd turned into an image of Neu. He'd started squeezing the life from that bitch who had once been his Asuka, until he'd felt the fingers on his own throat, depriving him of oxygen.
Youji did not want to think of what it meant that he'd come harder than it felt like he ever had before while being throttled to death.
And, ugh, his sheets were wet. He hurridly got up and stripped the bed before Akayuki finished up with her shower and found out what he'd been up to in her absence.
Yuki stood naked before the full-length mirror on the back of Youji's bathroom door. Of all the men she knew, she was sure he had to be the only one who possessed a full-length mirror. She'd wiped it dry of the steam from her shower, using a corner of the towel she'd used to dry herself. She turned her head to one side, looking.
It wasn't pretty, ice pack the night before or no.
Ken had done this to her.
Her stomach twisted.
She'd known he'd been different since he'd come back into her life. He was quieter, more on edge. He moved differently, quicker, more in the shadows. She'd thought it had been a difference born of two years without a stable base. People built things around their homes; take their homes away and psyches crumbled. Perhaps she hadn't been looking hard enough. Perhaps she had acted wrongly somehow. Maybe it was her fault in some way for not loving him enough to come all the way back into Kritiker to be with him.
Her jaw tightened. Maybe it was, but that still didn't change the fact that Ken had actively hurt her.
"I will not devalue myself in my own mind," she said quietly, touching her reflection. It was one of the things her stepmother had repeated to her and Kiko numerous times, always wary of the omnipresent predators in the careers both of her daughters had chosen. "I will not let myself be used, or abused."
She reached for her under-kimono, a deep blue lined piece with waves lapping at the hems and a crane taking flight towards her left hip. Her fingers lingered over the crane briefly, then she pulled on the garment. She had slept with Ken in these clothes. She hadn't even taken them all the way off. He had hit her in these clothes afterward, while she lay on his bed feeling sore and somehow satisfied.
Akayuki's mouth thinned to a line in the mirror. Youji knew. Ran probably knew. By tonight Omi would probably know as well. Yet, despite their knowing Ken longer and more truly, she didn't want any of them to try to fix the problems between Ken and she. Like Kiko, this situation was her problem, and she had to be the one to fix it.
"Ra~an," Aya fussed, "you can't be serious about wearing that out to a club!" She held up her choice of an option, a glittering spiderweb mesh shirt she surely had to have stolen from one of his teammates' closets.
"No," Ran refused. "I am going out for an evening with my friends and coworkers, not for the purpose of looking like... like a male prostitute."
"I'm just thinking of all the young women who'll want to see you on the dance floor!" Aya protested.
"They'll see quite enough of me as it is." His black leather jeans laced up the sides; a long-sleeved silk shirt in dark purple showed a deep "v" of pale skin at the collar and bloused out over his hips. He'd even replaced his usual stud earring with an amethyst. But Ran was resolutely going no further in this charade. As it was, he was thankful his mission coat was stashed in the back of his car. Its skirts were long enough to hide almost his entire outfit. He did not want Schwartz seeing him dressed like this.
Aya pouted at him. "Please?"
"No. This is as dressed up as I am getting." He nodded at the shirt in her hands. "Go put that back in Youji's closet."
"Fine." She turned on her heel and left the room. He sighed. Why did he have a sister who thought "clubbing" meant he should dress like he was looking to get laid?
Aya leaned back around the corner. "By the way. You do look good." She flashed a smile at him, then vanished.
Crawford was waiting for them at the docks, outside warehouse 23, as promised. Skulking in the shadows behind him was Schuldich.
"Oh, no, not you too," Youji groaned as he made out the man's silhouette.
Schuldich spat an uncomplimentary German term at Youji.
"You didn't mention him, Mister Crawford," Omi pointed out, ignoring the two older men growling at each other. Maybe they'd each just go piss on a side of the building to mark their territory or something. No, no, he knew he couldn't be that lucky.
Crawford adjusted his glasses. "Schuldich's abilities will be needed before the end of the night." He raised his voice slightly. "Schuldich, heel."
"I ain't your fucking dog, Crawford," the telepath growled, shifting his ire to his teammate.
"Any dog of mine would be better house-broken," Crawford acerbically returned. Omi almost smiled.
Ran's white Porsche pulled up near them, its engine noise rendered nearly silent by the fine-tuning its mechanics put it through. Akayuki stepped out of the passenger side, wearing a dark-colored kimono. Her hair, though, was pulled back into a simple high ponytail. She wasn't working tonight.
Crawford nodded, almost to himself. Omi wondered if something the precognitive saw in Magician had just matched what he'd seen in his vision. "Miss Shirayuki."
"Mister Crawford," she returned. She glanced up at the warehouse. "What is my sister going to be doing here?"
"You'll have to ask her that yourself. My visions don't include motivations."
Ken arrived last, his motorbike growling to a halt as he parked next to Ran's car. He dismounted, those last two members of Weiss standing next to one another, waiting for Omi's command.
His future flashed before him in an instant, a lifetime in Kritiker, always being the one to lead. It was a daunting task he had set himself, and it would always be his friends, his agents, good people all, that he was putting at risk.
//Persia.//
He didn't know if he was truly up to the task or not. But somehow his father had been, and so he would be as well.
"Shall we go inside?" he asked.
Ken waited in silence in his place in the shadows. This was a trap. He didn't like traps, either being caught in them or setting them himself. They didn't seem fair.
His eyes slid to Akayuki where she waited below, half-shadowed, back against a stack of shipping crates. She hadn't spoken to him, and when she'd looked at him he hadn't been able to read her eyes well.
If she'd hated him, though, she surely would have done something, said something, by now. She couldn't still love him, not after he'd hurt her. Taken her virginity and hit her, all in the same night. The bruise spread across half of her face. There was no missing it. Youji had glared at him earlier, so there was no doubt that Youji knew who'd hurt his "Kitten," but the man hadn't said a word about it.
Maybe she'd gone to Youji. There had always been that something between them.
Ken was unprepared for the surge of jealousy that welled up inside him at the thought. Youji... touching Akayuki.... He swallowed hard, his eyes sliding away until they met Schuldich's. The telepath, obscured in shadows of his own, smirked at Ken as though he knew what Ken was thinking. Which he did, of course.
Ken felt his hatred ooze like a thick, viscous thing.
Crawford watched the other assassin team tense as the far door to the warehouse creaked open, then shut. Soft footsteps crossed from that end towards the arena-like area he had chosen as the sisters' battleground. The time of his vision was drawing near.
Magician's twin rounded a crate and came into view. She wore the black bodysuit of his vision, but her hair was loose. She carried a duffel bag slung over one shoulder.
"Kiko," Magician said, her voice sounding out across the distance, arresting her twin. Yukiko spun to look at her sister where she stood leaning against a shipping crate. They presented a study in contrasts; two identical faces, one dressed in traditional Japanese clothing, the other garbed like a character from a high-tech spy movie. Yukiko dropped her bag and spun two sai out from their black leather holsters on her thighs.
There was a sudden snarl from above and Siberian sprang from his position.
Ken wanted blood, and right now he didn't care whose. But his teammates weren't options, fighting Crawford was useless, and Schuldich had that damn speed... the bitch who had pretended to be Yuki and had hurt Youji was his best option. Maybe if he got rid of her, Yuki might drop him entirely, fall out of love before he hurt her again. If not, maybe she was as twisted as he was and they deserved to burn in hell together. He ran toward Yukiko, who was La Mort, who couldn't be trusted further than he could throw her, like the Schwartz bastards he couldn't touch, claws out. He would get her with his right claw; he was right-handed, that arm was stronger. He could take her out in one move, even with those weapons in her hands. Maybe he'd get lucky and she'd take him out as well. They could go to hell together, and Yuki would be free of any more pain.
It wasn't until he heard the gasp that the blood-haze cleared from his eyes and he realized the fabric his bugnuks had punched through was too thick, was patterned silk, not black spandex. He'd been counting on the fabric's thinness; the layers of kimono and obi had taken some of the depth of his blow.
Yuki had stepped between him and her sister.
His claws... in her....
He released them. They snapped out of her, back into their sheaths. She gasped again, going paler, but her eyes didn't leave his. White arms folded around his neck, kimono sleeves slipping down past her elbows. "Ken," she whispered, and he could hear pain in her voice, but her eyes were clear. He had caused the pain. "You can't have her. Kiko... is mine."
She swayed against him, and he caught her instinctively. Her blood soaked between them.
"Twice... in two days," she mumbled. "You only get three chances, Ken. Hurt me ever again...." She stumbled, and suddenly Youji was there, taking her away from him.
"Yuki--" he protested, reaching for her.
"You've done enough, Ken," Youji spat, his voice laced with spite.
Behind Yuki and Youji, Yukiko was staring, first at her sister, then at Ken. Her blue eyes hardened. He thought that she must hate him, but suddenly it really didn't matter.
She couldn't hate him as much as he hated himself.
Ken's empty hands fell to his sides.
"Yuki-chan!" Omi exclaimed, dropping down from his high position. Ran was already there, silent, as Youji carried Akayuki into the light. So was Crawford.
"You will live," the precognitive assured Akayuki.
"So glad to know I'll be of further use to you," she retorted.
"We need to get your wound cleaned and bound," Omi fussed. He understood now the reason behind Crawford's precise listing of what the medkit they should bring needed to contain. He fumbled it out of his small backpack. Then realized that the wound was in her abdomen and Yuki was wearing kimono. "Umm...."
"I'll do it," Ran said.
"Ran-kun, are you sure?"
"Quit fussing, Omi, he said he is, didn't he?" There was some level of Youji's smirk at Ran that Omi knew he was missing. He filed it away for later consideration as Ran held out his hand for the medkit, then followed Youji around some more crates to give Yuki medical treatment in a more private corner.
A duffel bag unzipped, the sound catching Omi's ear. He turned to look at Yukiko as she pulled something out of her bag. Standing, she walked past Ken, who had collapsed onto the floor, staring in almost catatonic shock at his right glove as he slowly flexed the bloody bugnuk claws in and out of their sheaths. Omi knew he should do something about that, but right now....
Yukiko stopped right before him and offered Omi what she had taken out of her bag. It proved to be fabric... clothing. She nodded her head in the direction of her sister.
Something occured to Omi. "You can't talk, can you?" he asked.
Her face shifted to an expression of old sorrow. One hand drifted almost to her throat as she shook her head. She'd been an opera singer, Omi remembered. What had happened to her voice? When? There were no visible scars.
Yukiko's expression hardened again quickly and she turned on her heel, walking back to where she had come from, having no more words for Omi. He repressed a sigh and went to deliver the gift.
Yukiko ended up leaning nonchalantly against a crate, her head slightly titled as she looked toward the secluded area where Ran was dressing her sister's wound. Youji watched her, trying to find any nuance in her body language that was different from Akayuki's. It was eerie to search so hard and find none.
She must have sensed his gaze, because her eyes suddenly shifted to meet his. Loose black hair draped over her shoulders, spun down past her hips. Yukiko reached her hands back and pulled her hair up into a high ponytail identical to her sister's. She smiled at Youji, seeming innocent.
Her neck was bruised.
Through the smells of iron blood and the salt sea, suddenly the scent of honeysuckle cut home to Youji.
Ken had hurt her. Again. The thought went through Akayuki's mind as Ran cleaned and bound her wound, his touch professional. It hadn't been entirely his fault, he'd been intending to attack her sister, but....
Again, it was her fault. She had been the one to step between an assassin and his target. Why should she be surprised that she'd gotten hurt? Still, he had no right to touch Kiko, to deal with her. Her twin was Akayuki's problem to deal with, one way or another. Ken had no right to try to kill her sister. He had been out of line.
Her words were an ultimatum, one she knew she would have to hold to. That hurt, because Ken would hurt her again, and then she'd have to leave him. She couldn't stay with him, not with someone who would hurt her. She was worth more than that. But she still loved him, so it hurt.
//My love can't fix him. I'm not enough to fix him.//
"You're lucky," Ran said quietly. She looked at him, surprised. "It seems he missed anything vital." His eyes were on hers. "He does care for you." One hand drifted towards her bruised cheek.
"I can't be with someone who will hurt me, Ran. I just can't." She hoped he understood that. "He has one more chance, and that's all I can give him."
He nodded. "I hope he'll take it."
"Ummm...." Omi's voice came from around the corner. "Yuki-chan, these are for you." An arm thrust a bundle into view. Ran went to take it from Omi.
Yuki stood, unrolling the cloth. It proved to be a bodysuit, sister to the one her twin wore. She winced, trying to get it on by herself.
Ran helped her.
Akayuki walked out from behind the crates, favoring her left side as in Crawford's vision. She held a metal staff in one hand, its gleam dull, the holds wrapped in black leather. The other hand held her ruined clothing, which she uncerimoniously dropped on the ground.
Like star performers on a stage, Magician and her twin moved to face each other. Mirror images, they bowed politely to one another as if this was merely a training exercise in a dojo, then took position. Akayuki's staff was before her, a perfect ninety degrees from the floor. Yukiko slid her balance back onto her right leg, one sai held high, the other low. Bradley could appreciate the perfection of their forms. They waited, and so did he.
Yuki attacked first, knowing her sister was not going to move, and wanting the advantage of momentum. Her staff swung high to the right as she ran, aiming for a blow to Kiko's waist. It was only an opening move, and she didn't expect to make contact; Kiko was too good, or at least had been. What she wanted was to learn if her twin had changed--no, she hadn't. Kiko was already high in the air as the staff would have struck, tumbling back down, her feet together and aimed to take out Yuki's left shoulder. Yuki flipped backwards, out of the way. Kiko would take the landing, twist its momentum into a low spin, then carry it forward into a two-handed attack, the blades of her sai flashing silver in the night. So easy to avoid; Yuki did a double block with her staff, then twisted to send the sai flying. Someone less familiar with her style than her twin might have lost the weapons. Kiko yielded like water and followed the motion, spinning. The second move of the staff, though, caught her right foot as it landed, and knocked her off balance. Kiko used that fall to snag Yuki's own feet out from under her. Yuki landed low on two feet and a hand, her left holding her staff level behind her. Kiko faced her, one knee on the floor, the other foot braced to give her a momentary push towards her twin. Her sai were crossed, points downward.
Braced for a second attack, both women glared at one another for a moment, then Yukiko smirked.
"Not bad yourself," Akayuki replied with an identical smirk.
To Omi, it almost seemed as if the sisters were engaged in a conversation he could only hear half of--Akayuki's half.
Yukiko broke form and darted towards Ken, only to be blocked by Akayuki and forced back, "You can't hurt him," Akayuki hissed at her sister. "He's mine."
A few minutes later, when the staff and sai had both once again missed their target by centimeters, she spat, "I never asked for a sister. I never wanted to look like you."
Omi started to wonder if the fight was really so wild as it seemed. The sisters moved almost as if they were choreographed not to hurt one another.
And Akayuki's words sounded more in the tone of an old argument than anything else.
The staff was torn suddenly from Akayuki's hands, Yukiko's whirling deverish momentum spinning the length of metal high into the air. It clanged somewhere as it landed.
/Helpless,/ Yukiko mouthed silently, eyes glittering at having bested her twin. One sai slowly raised towards Akayuki's throat. /I can be myself again./
Without even thinking, Akayuki threw herself into a roll to the right, sprinting to where she had left her kimono. She could hear her twin running after her, breath and footsteps, gaining against the slowed speed of an injured body, her wound biting deep pain into her side. But she dove and rolled one more time, hand reaching--there it was in the folds--grasping--rolling back up--kneeling before her sister, weapon out, movement all unconscious, well-trained, smooth like oiled silk.
"Tessen-jutsu," she said, nodding at the unfurled maiougi-gata fan she held levelly in her hand. She sprang forward from the ball of her right foot, slashing as her twin lept back. "Steel ribs," she continued, spinning into a lower strike that also missed as Yukiko moved back again, "razor edge. You didn't think I'd go into reconnaissance work unarmed, did you, little sister?" And now she was moving again, having the rhythm of it, fan whirling and flashing in her hands, familiar patterns, close-range weapon against close-range weapon.
She was a geisha, dancing.
"I am never helpless," she hissed at her sister.
Yukiko was getting desperate. Her sister blocked her at every turn--first from hurting the man who had hurt her, now from having any victory, any sense of differentiation between them. One had to be better, surely. Either of them. This stalemate of twenty-two years could not be continued.
She spun over her sister's head towards the other one, the one she'd hurt then fucked, needing to know what had sent her sister to his bed. He knew now it had been her, not her sister, she thought. But Yuki blocked her again, kept her from getting close to the man. "You can't have him," she shouted. "You can't have any of them. I finally have something of my own."
Kiko wanted to cry. Only four years of training to keep absolutely everything inside prevented her. Was she never allowed anything? Her voice, her family, her career, all gone, and now that she'd found her sister alive again, even her temporary sense of uniqueness was taken away.
/If you have all of this, then what do I have?/ she screamed with the voice no one could any longer hear, and that finally fumbled Yuki: she fell out of their pattern.
Kiko's blade scored across her sister's cheek for the first time ever.
Her own cheek burned.
Lifting a hand to that pain, she wondered at the red that came away on it.
Then the world came tumbling down around her in blackness.
"Yuki!" several voices yelled almost as one, when both twins suddenly collapsed.
"You have got to be fucking kidding me!" Schuldich snorted, stalking away from the wall. He stopped and spun, glaring at Brad, his gaze annoyed. "Crawford, is this why we're here? They're not worth our time or talent."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Kudou asked from where he knelt near the fallen twins. Brad regarded the Japanese assassin with cool eyes. The man was annoying, overly emotional, inefficient, and vulgar. He supposed he should be used to that by now, but it still irritated him. Too many shades of--
Schuldich growled. "Your precious little Magician--"
"Enough," Bradley said, cutting across Schuldich's voice. The man bristled, then subsided beneath a hard glare. Straightening, Bradley pushed off from the wall he was leaning against and walked over to where the twins lay, unconscious and bleeding, almost in the shape of a yin-yang symbol. "Schuldich, scan," he requested.
"They're both fucking fine," Schuldich snapped. "I did it already."
"Their condition?" Brad specified. He had little patience with Schuldich's temper tantrum right now.
He could feel the baleful glare directed at his back. "They're fine," Schuldich reiterated. "They're inside one another right now."
"What's going on?" Tsukiyono's soft voice, deeper now than when Schwarz had first started clashing with Weiss, held tones of authority and a right to know. Brad didn't deny that, nor could he deny that Weiss would know soon enough anyway.
He stood, tugging at one cuff to straighten it. "Magician and her twin are psis."
"What?" Hidaka asked.
"Specifically a type of psi known as a gestalt. Their minds are linked."
"They're telepaths?" Fujimiya half-questioned, voice as low and smooth as black velvet.
"Only to each other," Schuldich clarified. "What one thinks the other knows. What one feels the other does as well." He suddenly smirked. "Hope this doesn't screw up your love life too much, Siberian," he said. Hidaka paled. "Or yours, Balinese."
Eyes turned to Kudou.
"Later," the man grated at his teammates.
Tsukiyono layed a restraining hand on Hidaka's suddenly tense shoulder. "Later, Ken-kun," he emphasized, eyes sharp all the while on Crawford. "Is that why you're really here?" he asked Brad. "Because they're psychics?"
Schuldich snorted and dropped back against the warehouse wall, his opinion of Weiss' collective intelligence clear. "Their talents aren't worth giving the time of day for."
"Then why are you here?" Omi countered.
"How many of us do you think there are?" the German asked quietly, his irrationality vanishing like morning dew. "One in a hundred? One in a thousand?"
Weiss were obviously confused by this new tactic.
"Psychics, true psychics, are maybe one in a million."
"There were something like three and a half thousand of us on the face of the planet, less than half of us active," Crawford agreed. "After the summoning debacle...." His shrug left it to Weiss to figure out how many fewer psis there might be now.
"The Gifted seek out the Gifted," Schuldich muttered, looking away.
"Why?" Hidaka asked, astonishment plain in his voice. Crawford appreciated Hidaka's straight-forwardness. It made his life much easier.
"Does the term 'witch hunt' mean anything in Japan?" Crawford asked rhetorically.
"How about 'World War Two Nazi experiments,' if you want to bring up more recent history?" Schuldich spat.
"Bullshit," Kudou countered. "SS? The summoning? We were there, assholes. You're not in this for any kind of mutual defense league against us normal people."
//There are psychics and psychos,// Schuldich broadcast irritably. //Sometimes we're the same, sometimes not. This is not a fucking movie, Kudou, this is real life.//
"Is this why you never killed us?" Tsukiyono asked. "Because of Yuki-chan?"
//Oh, what a laugh,// Schuldich muttered. Brad cast him a look. //What do you think the joys of working with a precog are? He fucking saw that you'd wreck the ceremony, saw that you'd have them, saw that their talents are useless... what the fuck do you think?//
"I think," Tsukiyono said, with a small smile, "that you think we're safe."
Schuldich's mental snort was obvious.
Brad drew on his vision of the future. "They'll wake up tomorrow," he said. "We'll be around."
Author's Scribbling: Mucho kudos (the Youji-ish variety as well as the other kind) to N-chan for infinite suggestions and sharing fangirling and fanfics and the like. Also thanks to nekojita, from whose story Revenge I borrowed Aya's leather pants. :9 I originally came across tessen-jutsu in Aishuu Shadowweaver's CCD story The Language of Fans; information on tessen-jutsu may be found here.
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