What a wonderful day it was. Azusa would've enjoyed the afternoon a lot more if she wasn't being tailed by an unknown hitman. Nevertheless, she decided to get out her guitar and busk on the street to kill some time. It looked a lot less suspicious than sitting in her car until she got a tip from someone. She looked upon the small crowd with a hint of cynicism. [color=8882be][i]'It must be nice being so carefree.'[/i][/color] She thought. But of course, Japan was never the kind of place to be carefree no matter how much you tried to hide it. Money flowed into her guitar case as she masterfully strummed the chords of her acoustic, a wonderfully lively original song. 

Of course, all of this was done without a busking license, not that she'd be around long enough for anyone to stop her. She abruptly stopped playing as her phone began to buzz in her pocket. [color=8882be]"Sorry, I need to take this~"[/color] She stated in a rather cutesy voice. The small crowd that had gathered merely voiced their dismay and gave her a wave goodbye. The young arms dealer looked at her phone. It was her Aunt.

[color=6ecff6]"You're not dead yet?"[/color], the old Aunty asked the moment Azusa answered the call.
[color=8882be]"Miyamoto's are hard to kill."[/color] She responded in a dismissive tone.
[color=6ecff6]"You'll be safer at my place, you know?"[/color], Aunty sighed.
[color=8882be]"I highly doubt that."[/color] Azusa commented plainly before hanging up.

As always, her aunt knew nothing about the Eraser. It was too dangerous to bring more family members into her own problems. Her phone buzzed again. She groaned, assuming it was her aunt again; however it was a text this time. A rather cryptic one at that. The number was unknown to her, but it was a good tip off in her eyes. Whether she could trust the sender was by-to-by, but she had to take her chances. The list attachment showed a few names she could recognize. Kurisawa.. Takumi.. Previous customers if her memory served her right. Not that she expected any of them to remember her at all. People are more likely to remember an Arms Dealer's voice and phone number rather than their appearance, unless it was truly radical and 'out there'.

With haste, she packed away her guitar, throwing it into the boot with as much grace as young foal learning to run. Azusa could feel the tension creeping up on her as she started the engine, shifting the gear into drive as she recklessly pulled out of her parking spot. She turned on the GPS as she drove, letting it guide her to the 'safehouse'. If someone is lying, they're going to get a bullet through their skull.