Corpse March

Chapter 18

“...Heyyyyy, everyone.”

Haru licks her dry lips. Too many eyes on her. Way too many eyes. Doesn’t help that everyone here is crazy powerful. If her history book is to be believed, which has been proven wrong at least fifty times by Tsumugi in the past couple of days, they are the very pinnacle of magic, if not even more powerful than that. 

The area is huge. Almost the entire floor must be taken up by it. Chandeliers, carpeting, tapestries, and stained glass windows depicting what Haru assumes must be historical scenes. One of them looks like it might be an exodus of Papilio, another one seems like a spider catching a butterfly in its web, another is a small arrangement of people gathered around a table. Not dissimilar from the sight that Haru finds herself in front of right now. 

There’s a long table at the very center of the room. Around it sit six people. There seem to be two people missing, judging by the empty chairs at the foot and at the head of the table. She guesses that the one at the foot is for her, and the one at the head must be for someone terribly important. Everyone turns to look at her. 

“And who might you be?”

“I uh…”

The first to catch her eye is the girl sitting closest to the foot of the table. Unlike everyone else’s severe expressions, she seems light, laidback, carefree, almost mocking. Dark red arcane tattoos cover her from head to toe. So plentiful they are that her fair skin almost isn’t visible at all. Haru partially recognizes what those symbols mean. Inscriptions meant to seal something away, to contain, to imprison. Haru tries to trace the sigils further but her advances are halted by a long black cloak that conceals her form from her neck all the way down to her ankles. All the while, her hair flows down her back like it’s made of black feathers, plucked from a crow’s down. And lounging on her nose bridge is a pair of tiny spectacles, the kind that’s only good for reading. When she shifts in her seat, there’s the sound of clinking metal. Armor perhaps? Or something much more sinister? 9/10. Smash. She seems like a saucy person, Haru likes that in a woman. 

“State your name and business, girl.”

‘Girl’ she says. Like she’s one to talk. Haru may only be seventeen but this girl looks to be at least two years younger. She has large brown eyes and brunette hair styled in loose pigtails. Her posture is rigidly straight, like a soldier’s. But unlike a soldier’s, her stare is that of one who has never taken a life. She’s swaddled in white robes that remind Haru of a priest. How she manages to keep it that clean while helping herself to a bowl of white soup is a mystery to her. Overall, 5/10. No strong feelings towards either smash or pass. 

“I’m Haru Hamamoto, Musician Adventurer. I’m here to represent my… wife, Lady Tsumugi in her absence.”

Murmurs resonate. The priestess turns her nose up in indignation while the tattooed girl merely grins to herself as she lies back in her chair. The rest seem curious, but no more than that. 

“I wasn’t aware Lady Tsumugi had a wife.”

One of the councilors speaks up, her voice muffled slightly by the cigar she’s holding between her teeth. She seems a little older than the others, maybe eighteen or nineteen years old. She’s dressed like she’s attending a party, tight-fitting black jeans, a top that shows off her midriff, and pink-tinted sunglasses. Her wavy pink hair is kept in a high ponytail that barely tickles her neck. In her left hand is a half-smoked cigar, and in her right is a half-drunk glass of liquor. Haru knows the smell well. Whiskey, just like mom used to drink. She places her glass on the table and picks up a slice of fruit wrapped in cured meat before taking a large bite out of it. 6/10. She seems like a spicy gal, she could ditch the smoking part though. 

You got a problem with that?!

Haru’s about to open her mouth to speak before she cuts herself off and calms down.

“It was officiated by Lady Kentomi before her death.”

“So it would seem...”

Haru feels the councilor’s glare on her skin. 

“We were not informed of this development.”

The councilor who speaks doesn’t seem angry, just a little hurt. Compared to everyone else at the table, she’s dressed in pretty simple clothing. White sweatpants, a white jacket, a blue t-shirt underneath. Her eyes are light purple gems, kept behind her glasses, thin-rimmed squashed rectangles. Unkempt white hair is split into two, showing off her rather large forehead. 3/10, some folks like the forehead, not Haru. Pass.

“Ah, well, that’s too bad I guess.”

Haru shrugs. 

“That’s all that you have to say?”

Ooh, a Y-chromosome haver, a rarity. A boy this time, maybe around sixteen or seventeen, though his makeup almost makes Haru think he’s older. He wears combat boots, black leather pants, a dark gray dress shirt, and a cloak that’s red like blood drawn from an artery. His eyes have a fierceness to them, like a scarred hunter, they’re fixed forwards, searching for prey quarry. It’s become an increasing rarity to see men in seats of power ever since magic became the deciding denominator of importance but ah, she supposes that exceptions have had to be made. Haru isn’t sure whether that makes this man that much more dangerous, or that much more of a joke. 

“Lady Kentomi dies and suddenly someone claiming to be Lady Tsumugi’s wife just shows up. That sounds awfully convenient for Lady Tsumugi, doesn’t it?”

“What are you trying to say?”

“The circumstances around Lady Kentomi’s death are still cloudy as of the present. The prime suspects as of right now are the people outside of Takakumo as of the time when Lady Kentomi died. Those would be Lady Gleam herself and Lady Tsumugi. I can’t speak for Lady Gleam, but the sole fact that Lady Tsumugi sent an envoy instead of letting herself be questioned feels a little something like an admission of guilt on her part, am I wrong?”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Your tongue, girl. I suggest you keep an eye on it.”

“Don’t you lie to me. I know what the police in Takakumo are like. The crime would just get pinned on Tsumugi regardless–”

That expression that Haru thought was ferocity earlier, it fades, and it gives way to true ferocity. 

“Police? Are you perhaps referring to the disciplinary committee? If so, you just happen to be speaking to its head.”

Oh shit

“If I’m understanding correctly, you seem to be accusing me and the rest of my department of… well, corruption.”

“Uh–, I, um, well…”

Haru shrugs. 

“I guess I am–... Why yes. Yes I am.”

It’s not as though Haru has a death wish. It’s just that the first thing you do in prison is always pick a fight with the biggest guy in the room to establish dominance. While not always applicable on the outside, Haru goes ahead and trusts her gut on this one. The girl with the tattoos suddenly bursts into laughter.

“You’re a sharp one, Hamamoto.”

There’s a certain drawl to her voice that wasn’t there before. She seems… impressed? Apparently? Even though all Haru did was parrot what Tsumugi already told her. 

“Our good friend Florence here lost control of his subordinates a long long time ago.”

“I have everything under control, Tsuki. I just need more time.”

“You’ve somehow managed to turn a police force into a gang. You don’t have control of shit. And yet, we can’t get rid of you. Not until the next election, anyway. Talk about putting us all in a bind, eh?”

Jeez. Judging from the grimaces around the table, it seems that this is something that everyone’s been thinking for a long time. It just so happened that this ‘Tsuki’ ripped off the band-aid. And Haru helped her. Maybe not the smartest thing to do. 

“I am a councilor of Takakumo City! I will not tolerate this slander for a second longer!”

Florence’s knuckles are bone white from rage. 

“Relax. I’m just messing with you.”

Tsuki raises her hands in a farce of an apology. 

“I’m sure everything will turn out just fine since you’re still in control and all.”

“Trust me.”

There’s a clash of wills as Tsuki looks down on Florence and Florence looks back. It lasts no longer than a fraction of a second, and yet, the pressure they exerted was so intense Haru forgot to breathe.

“It will.”

“...”

Silence. Fragile. Too fragile. The girl in plain clothes stands up and sips some of her water. 

“Well, now that that’s over with and it’s starting to get late. Why don’t we all introduce ourselves to Hamamoto before we begin with the meeting?”