[IC] •HAGAKURE•

[Little Bill]

There was a saying in Tsukishima -- If you had to look north to see Mount Kaji, your luck had probably gone south. In Endoyuki, this saying rang true. Endoyuki was a quiet, thoroughly unimpressive southern town memorable for its annual dumpling festival and nothing else, and as the festival had gone by months before, nothing else was precisely what was left in the town. The village was encircled in a crumbling burdock-pile wall that had been bleached pale grey by years of exposure to the southern sun, erected nearly a century ago out of fears that the growing Seungyo population in the southeast would bring crime to the sleepy village. In truth, the only crime in Endoyuki was Tsukishima's own Yakuza.

Endoyuki was ruled by the Masu-Kai, a fairly small and benevolent gang that dabbled in prostitution, smuggling, and other low-level forms of organized crime. Their presence kept the town safe from bandits, ronin, and any escapees from the Okinakabe prison, which was only a day's ride away. Endoyuki served as the final rest stop for Imperial Police transporting criminals, who would enter and leave the town on a weekly basis, leaving criminals in the confines of the Endoyuki jailhouse's questionable security for a night at most. That was, except for two prisoners.

Marasaru Hisao and Bokkon Ibiki had been at the Endoyuki jailhouse to see four of its weekly rotations, left to rot for twenty eight days in the dank, stone confines of Cell A. The exact reason why was unknown to them, though through some beurocratic error involving additional charges and the wait for their sentencing, the two had been staying in Endoyuki for longer than Having eaten nothing but rice and pickled vegetables for nearly a month, the two men appeared skinnier than they normally did. Hisao had no problem with the food, though the lack of booze had taken its toll on him, just as much as the lack of baths had effected Ibiki. Ibiki sat on his bunk, cross-legged and with his back to the wall, whereas Hisao hung off of the bar on the farthest right with one hand and both feet. He believed it was weaker than the others, and had spent most of his time for the past four weeks trying to break it. His elevated position allowed him a slight view of the entrance to the jailhouse, which was on their right, though through the darkness of night there was little Hisao could make out.
"Ibiki-Chan, you hear that?"

The swordsman stirred, lifting his head up a bit. Whereas imprisonment filled Hisao with anxious energy, Hisao had been affected with an uncharacteristic lethargy. "Hear what?" Ibiki dryly asked, opening one eye.

Hisao dropped from the bars, and spun on his hands and feet for a moment, a habit the man had when trying to think under pressure. "B and C have those rapist-brothers confined to solitary! I, I think the next shipment's coming in, s-so they can't go in B or C! You think they'll put them in here?"

"Quiet down in there." A voice growled from cell B.

Hisao leapt onto his mat, which was considerably worse for the wear than his cellmate's, pulling up the corner over his chest and gnawing on it nervously, running his free hand through his greasy brown hair. Ibiki sat up further, pulling himself up with a grunt.

Hisao had his eccentricities, especially considering that Ibiki had learned he was an alchoholic before his imprisonment, but his idea wasn't far-fetched. Ibiki put a hand to his chin, rubbing it softly in contemplation. Where he had been smooth-faced and delicately handsome, he was now growing a thin, patchy crop of stubble. He ached to be free.

"They just might."

[Fairess]

“Keep it moving, Gaijin.”

A rough shove from behind sent Xiubao’s arms flailing forward in a huff of flared black silk. As she regained her balance, she groaned and clasped her hands together—pretty white things delicate as a dove and utterly foreign to the mere idea of prison. “Oh, rush, rush it is! All I want is a breath of air before you tie me up in another cesspit.”

The look of her eyes then, so deep and dark and blue with the innocence of a lamb, almost made the guard hesitate. A second later and he corrected himself by giving her a rougher shove than before, nearly taking her to her knees as she skittered forward.

“The humanity!” Xiubao clapped a hand over her nose as the shadow of the prison’s walls fell over her. The dim stoniness of it struck her almost as heavily as the stench did, all the ungodly horrors of rotting men washing over her like a sickly miasma. She felt it as much as smelled it, sweat and B.O. matting over the fine hairs of her scalp and imposing the sense of dread she’d been trying to fend off since being carted away by her glowering guards. She hadn’t fallen from great heights to end up in such a place, but it certainly was a humbling reminder of why she needed to take her work a mite bit more seriously.

Ah, that classic metal creak of a cage opening! She was shoved inside with all the care of a man flicking off a flea, the force of the gesture making her do a full spin as she half-fell backwards. She managed to catch herself at the last moment, fully bent forward with one leg crossed over the other. It was like a ridiculous curtsey, her white hair brushing the filthy floor as she glanced up and realized she wasn’t alone.

She snapped up at once, touching a finger to her bottom lip as she took in the odd fellow eating his mat. The first comparison that came to mind was a slightly less hairy gorilla, what with that thick frame of his body and the wild hair sticking up from his head. There was another figure in the room—something she caught only a periphery glance at before realizing another prisoner was getting jammed in behind her.

[Dead Cruiser]

Matsuzaki Ryotaro

"Ya bastards!" A raucous hollering sounded from the jailhouse entrance, followed by the distinct noise of someone being struck in the face with a baton. "Rrgh! Lemme go an' try that again! I'll rip yer damn head off!"

The stamping of feet, painful grunts, and similar sounds of struggle continued down the hall that led to the cells. As the commotion rounded the corner, it became apparent that its source was no less than three people; a surly-looking young man, and the pair of jailhouse guards manhandling him. The apparent captive fought against his detainers with everything he had, dragging his feet and trying to pull out of their grip with all of his strength. He jerked suddenly, putting his elbow into the gut of the man carrying his left side, who responded by twisting his arm more tightly behind his back.

The trio stopped in front of the already-crowded cell, and the guards that had just placed the woman into it took a moment to look over their newest prisoner. He was tall and strongly-built, with a mean look to him, but the fresh look to his face gave away that he was younger than he seemed. He had apparently been putting up quite a fight, as he sported a variety of bruises across his face and bare chest, some newer than others. Blood ran down his face from where he had been struck across the nose, apparently just a moment before as he was being dragged into the jail.

The guard looked over the young prisoner quite smugly, and took the opportunity to taunt him while he was restrained. "Put up all the fight you want, thief. Won't matter to us. They'll eat you alive in Okinakabe."

The thief replied curtly, "Bite me." He punctuated this by spitting a wad of blood in the guard's face.

This earned him another smack across the face, and a fresh, red bruise on his cheekbone. The guard hastily unlocked the cell, and the two restraining the prisoner tossed him in on his face. The cell was locked again as he scrambled to his feet, and the guards beat a hasty retreat out of the jailhouse. Snatching his cap off the floor where it had fallen, the young man slicked his long hair back, and replaced the cap where it was keeping it out of his face. In a blind rage, he threw himself against the bars, creating a great commotion. He grunted and and yelled in inarticulate fury, continuing to pound on the bars to no avail.

He tired himself out quickly, though, his many beatings apparently sapping his strength at last. Panting from effort and wincing from his many bruises, he paced the edge of the cell like a caged animal. Apparently quite a noisy person, the jailhouse was now filled with the sound of his wooden sandals against the cold floor. He eventually noticed that he was not alone in the cell, and no less than three other persons shared it with him. He had been making quite the show, and had understandably attracted their attention. Not that he was any happier about this for realizing why they were staring at him.

"The hell are you lookin' at?"

[Little Bill]

"Perfect!" Hisao crept out from his mat, hopping towards Ryotaro and Xiubao, eyeing them up and down. Before he had the chance to say anything, the stillness was interrupted by the screech of the guard's wooden stools, as they pulled them further from the cells to discuss their plans, which mostly seemed to involve drinking.

Hisao shifted towards Ryotaro, standing up for a moment, wobbling, before slumping backwards. "Hey boy," Hisao began, looking up at the imposing delinquent as he sat. He and Ibiki were illuminated in the vague moonlight, and their respective emaciated frames and hollowed cheekbones made them seem all the more skeletal in the darkness of the cell. "You seem like a strapping young'n. Wanna help us out with something?" He leaned forward, whispering his last words as if he were about to deliver a punchline. "Me and my associate have been discussing a plan involving three men and a loose metal pole." He paused, rubbing his hands together, before noticing a distinct change in Ryotaro's expression.

"Not like that."

The guards had long since left the jailhouse though they still patrolled the exterior, or at least, attempted to appear so through their drunkenness. They walked leaning on one another, slowly encircling the jailhouse, frequently pausing to laugh or continue a story or drink more, rather than the imperial-mandated figure eight guards were supposed to uphold. Endoyuki was far enough from Imperials that they only ever had to deal with them when they dropped off prisoners, and even they were little more than armed transport rather than guards.

Hisao, Ryotaro, and Ibiki had since begrudgingly tied their shirts together as part of Ibiki's "Plan", though Ibiki suggested they may have only been using three fourths of the needed material. Still, three shirts it was, tied together to form a loop around the bar, long enough to reach the other end of the cramped cell. Satisfied with the craftsmanship of their rope, he took a few steps closer to the bars and turned to give his companions a short rundown. He knew he was capable, and he knew Hisao was at least mostly capable, though the efficiency of a pretty white-haired maiden and a growling thug seemed questionable. He felt tinges of guilt, recalling his training, gulping the knot in his throat.

"Alright, Hisao-san will be the anchor at the back, the rest of us have to pull at the same time so our rope doesn't break, got it?" Ibiki whispered, tightening his hands around the loop of shirts. The darkness hid his skinny frame and shirtlessness, making him sound fairly commanding and experienced for someone so malnourished.

"On the count of three, we pull."

"Whatever you say." One murmured.

"Sounds good!" The other cheered.

_One,
Two,
Three!

[Howler]

Ibiki wasn't really sure what he thought when he heard they were getting a pair of newcomers to the cell. Given the crimes of the others in the prison, he was less than pleased at the thought of sharing a cell with men such as they. Insult to injury somehow--that this was his first immediate concern, rather than (for example) his safety or an attempt at escape, probably said something about his misplaced priorities.

Though not much, considering how immediately he attempted to coerce them into breaking out of an Imperial prison. What could he say--a month without a proper wash made a man desperate.

That four jackets would have been more effective was unfortunate, but even as things were Ibiki could not bring himself to ask the ostentatiously dressed woman in their company for an article of their clothing. Imagine it, yes--he could picture a great many scenarios in which he attempted to solicit her jacket, and in not one of them did he make it past 'excuse me' without growing so red in the face that he wasn't certain he'd be able to stand given his current condition. So while another length to reinforce the 'rope' might have been useful, he was prepared to go without.

The brigand's refusal to lend the group his jacket was similarly disappointing, though as the samurai made an uncharacteristically uncouth sound between his teeth and accepted the proffered belt he realized it for a blessing in disguise. Though it made the tying together a but more tricky, by looping the leather back through the buckle around the rod he was able to achieve a much better grasp on it than he'd hoped. He worked diligently and quickly, his calloused fingers adept and nimble.

Would it have given way without the leather? Without Hisao's month of worrying away at the iron? Who could say. But as as the length of iron broke free from the mortar above and below with a sudden clatter that sent the three men sprawling over the grimy floor and back against stone walls, Ibiki would have given Hisao all the credit in the world for the idea.

He'd probably have taken it, too.

"Quickly," he panted, pushing to his feet and rushing for the sudden gap, "the guards will have heard us and I cannot leave without my effects!" Slight at the best of times and slighter now after his time in confinement, Ibiki was the first through the gap with a swift turn sideways and a ridiculous clasp of his hands in front of him. "Thank you, strangers, I am in your debt!" And with that, he dashed back into the station.

Their escape was not helped by the sudden ruckus raised by the foul brothers occupying Endoyuki's tiny additional cells. At the sudden sound they had both perked up, and seeing Ibiki rushing suddenly past into the station they had begun to holler for their freedom as well. While initially it was a celebration, it quickly turned into the pounding of hands against the bars and walls of their cells and angry swearing as Ibiki bypassed them entirely in lieu of the evidence locker.

"Evidence locker". Please. It was a broom closet, plain and simple--literally, there were actual brooms in it, alongside mops and the facilities other barely-used cleaning implements. It was also where they'd taken the personal effects of the men they'd imprisoned--Ibiki had noticed as such on the first day of their arrival just before he'd been acquainted with his month-long home. Now, however, he was free too...bang on the door.

It was locked, of course, and without the key there was little more for him to do. His jiggling at the knob became more frantic, sharp and jerky as he started to put his weight and desperation behind it. The others may be running, may be finding the approaching guards more important, but to Ibiki there was nothing but the knowledge that his daisho was behind that fucking wooden door probably propped up on a wall next to the same mop that swabbed some drunk's piss off the wall.

Getting them back from such a fate was more important than escaping himself. It was as simple as that.

...though getting them back would also, likely, lead to escape. So it wasn't quite as selfless as he might have intended.

[Fairess]

Well, she hadn't been expecting a friendly reception, but the unfolding of events was equally perplexing. The gorilla man was intent on talking to the raging adolescent behind her (brave, considering the kid might tear out someone's throat be it guard or prison-fellow), so she slid out of the way, hands on her hips. That they seemed eager to escape and even had a plan to do so would have been terribly convenient if she hadn't already had means of her own.

But why interfere? Three bare-chested men in a cage had so much potential—or would have, if their bare skin didn't smell like rotten onions and old cheese. Seriously, the stench was so potent it made her eyes burn. Thank all the stars above she'd wouldn't be there long enough to adjust to it, or worse yet, join in on it.

Xiubao shuddered at the thought, rubbing at her arms as she stood and watched the men. Well, at least two of them were men, as the third had a delicate and finely boned frame that went beyond gauntness brought on by too little food. Without a name provided, she figured she'd go with Mousey. Yes, Mousey at least seemed to have it together more than the others, calm and not entirely insane as he... or she tied the shirts together. It had to be a boy, though, right? She couldn't see a great deal, but that chest sure did seem flat...

Focus, Xiubao. While the men played tug-of-war with the loosened bar of the cell, she stepped closer to the door and kept watch. There wasn't really a need to, given that there weren't any guards about and likely wouldn't be for a while, but the whole business of escaping had her on edge. If the guards were alerted, where could they run? If they made it outside, wouldn't the guards have horses, too? Neglectful as the prison keepers seemed to be, they did have some reason not to worry overly much.

As the bar and mortar gave way, however, the whole stealthy escape thing fell to pieces. She stepped out after the others just as their fellow prisoners started shouting. A thought went through her head; couldn't she just sit back and watch them fight, get beaten, and jailed again? Their chances really didn't seem great, and if she sat it out, she'd at least avoid getting her ass kicked. Then she could make a stealthier escape later—dammit, why hadn't she stopped their little plan earlier?

But it was too late and four pairs of hands were better than three. If they got some weapons, too, it'd raise their fighting chances against a larger group of drunkards. Xiubao figured it was reason enough to help out, which she did by jogging over to Mousey.

“You're kind of cute when you're all worked up.” She canted her head with a smile as she reached behind her ear and plucked out two small hairpins. “What you need, though, is a more delicate touch.”

It didn't take any effort to shoo him off the door, so she got straight to work. It was simpler and yet more complex than it looked, and the fact that there was noise and impending guards didn't help. But! Was she not a professional? Did she not trick dozens of eyes with a few flicks of her fingers? All she needed was focus, the acute kind that steadied her hands and drowned out everything but her object of focus.

The first hairpin she practically bent in half and used to slip into the lock to turn it. The second was bent open, then delicately twisted on one end. What followed was a process of carefully feeling each pin in the lock, finding the most resistant one, pushing it upward to the perfect position, and then torquing the lock so the pin couldn't fall back into place. There were five pins to go and hardly any time to work them...

She did it in less than ten seconds—not that anyone was counting. Standing up from where she'd been kneeling in front of the door, she turned the knob and opened the closet with a little bow. “All yours. And see if you can't find something for the rest of us!”

[Dead Cruiser]

As soon as the bar of the jail cell popped free, sending Ryotaro and the other men that had enlisted his help flying back onto their asses, the young delinquent gave a raucous cheer. He gave no thought to whether that would alert the guards, or even if they had been alerted already; he was simply that pleased by having found a way out of his hellish confinement. When those other two in the cell, the big ape-like man and the more slender, feminine one, had asked him for his shirt to help in their crazy scheme, he had told them to fuck off. No dumbass plan was worth ruining his good coat over. But now that their plan had succeeded, he would have offered them his skin if they had asked for it.

Though it was a bit of a struggle to fit his thick chest through the bars, Ryotaro eventually wiggled free, and joined the others in raiding the closet where their weapons had been tucked away. The woman that had been in the cell with them (whom Ryotaro had barely noticed before), managed to pick the lock, and the skinny man was eagerly retrieving a sword from where it had been stashed. Ryotaro was close behind him, hoping that some scumbag guard hadn't taken his sword for himself. He found a small measure of relief in seeing his sword in the closet, thankfully unstolen and unmolested.

Casually carrying the massive sword over his shoulder, he offered the lock-picking woman a cocky grin. "Thanks for the help, lady. Lot easier to raise some hell with this."

As he said that, though, the guards seemed to have finally mobilized from the noise of their jailbreak. They rounded the corner at the other end of the jailhouse, weapons drawn. Ryotaro was eager for some revenge, particularly if he could find the guard that hit him in the nose earlier. Starting slow, Ryotaro advanced on the enclosing guards, dragging his sword along the bars of the jail cells behind him to make a tremendous noise as he picked up speed and began to run. Finally, he was within striking distance of a guard. As the other man raised his weapon to strike at Ryotaro, the delinquent ducked under his blow, and rammed his meaty shoulder into the guard's gut at full speed. Standing back up, Ryotaro struck the guard's jaw with the top of his head, sending the already-stunned man toppling backwards. The next closest guard was just a few feet from Ryotaro, and had his truncheon poised to strike. Rather than charge him or back away, he gave a great, two-handed swing with his still-sheathed greatsword, nailing the guard in the mouth with its wooden scabbard. Just like that, another guard was dispatched with a spray of blood and teeth.

Smiling like a devil, Ryotaro looked back at the others behind him. "The hell are you waitin' for? Let's blow this shitheap."

[Little Bill]

Hisao made his way out of the cell, triumphant as could be. He had no weapon stowed away in the closet as he lacked any weapon to be confiscated, though he did momentarily stop by the closet for his gourd. Thankfully, the guards had assumed it was water, and hadn't touched it. Hisao crouched down and undid the cork with a hefty hand, raising it momentarily to the white-haired gaijin as he stood up.

"A thousand blessings, truly." With his spare hand he gave the girl a queer, foreign-looking salute, flicking his thumb towards her from his forehead.

As Ryotaro attacked the guards feet away, and Ibiki frantically looked through the closet for his swords, Hisao seemed to have a moment of uninterrupted clarity. He hoisted the heavy gourd's bottom onto his right hand while holding the neck with his left hand, sloshing the contents into his mouth as if he had been stranded at sea all his life. Without making separate gulps, Hisao poured the gourd's contents down his throat for about five seconds, before leaning far back to drink the last few drops of sake. He stayed in this position, bent backwards almost ninety-degrees, letting his hands drift backwards towards the floor. He felt a fire ignite deep within his belly, extending out through his hands and face, loosening each of his muscles almost completely. Quickly, he stood back up like a rake being stepped on, as if remembering where he was.

With Ryotaro having taken care of the guards, Hisao bounded towards the exit, leaping over the two incapacitated guardsmen on the ground and barreling towards freedom like an arrow shot from a bow. He leapt up at the doorframe, grabbing it with both hands and swinging up and out of the door, building momentum even further, before realizing the jailhouse door opened directly towards a wall. With an audible smack, Hisao hit the wall and fell straight onto the ground, grabbing his now bleeding nose in pain.

"Shit! Shit, shit, shit! Shit!"

"Quiet down!" A voice called out. Hisao looked up, still holding his nose, expecting to see the scornful face of backup guards. Instead, he found that the village of Endoyuki's jailhouse actually had two entrances. Hisao stood in an alley, hidden by the shadows, a small shrub in between the jailhouse and another building, and the pitch-black darkness of night. It seemed that the jailhouse was near the marketplace, judging by the smell of roasting meat, though that only helped make him hungrier than it did help him remember his way.

"Ibiki-san!" Hisao hissed, trying to stay quiet, "Did you find your swords? I just got my nose broken out here! Come on!"

[Howler]

His swords.

The rest of the world moved around him as if underwater, the others shouldering their way through the closet to gather their belongings, but for a time the world contracted to the lacquered scabbards that held his life. They lay amid the lank strands of mops and the dusty splinters of a straw broom but nothing could hide the beauty of their craftsmanship, the elegance of their form. Having spent the last month in a shoe-closet with a raving orangutan and a pair of psychopaths for company, without water to bathe or more than bread to eat or a proper shirt on his back, it was the loss of his swords that had weighed on him the most. He had failed them--they were his to own and care for, as he was theirs, and they had been stripped from him and abandoned in a fucking broom closet.

It was fortunate that Ryotaro was dealing so adeptly with the guards of the establishment. Ibiki would likely have been more final.

As he stood with the pair of blades in his grimy hands, his smile softened, his demeanor shifted. He was no longer a caged man kept from freedom by fate--he was a samurai again, as he had begun to fear he never would be. His shoulders softened, his posture straightened, his movement became more fluid. Aside from the stubble on his chin, the exhaustion, the grime of his time in squalor, he looked much better already. He turned, slipping the blades into what was left of his obi, and bowed to the woman who'd so expertly assisted him.

"Thank you." He said softly, his voice still a bit hoarse. He'd managed to forget that, moments ago, she'd said something he should be blushing over. "I am in your debt."

And with that, he turned to leave this awful place. He stepped over the guards on the floor where Ryotaro had knocked them out, a last flash of irritation in his eyes before he decided it was beneath him to worry about them further. Hisao was squealing about something already--how had he managed to injure himself literally a minute after escaping?--but he followed him regardless. He would have liked to have a shirt, but the reassuring weight of steel beneath his hand was too refreshing for him to care overmuch.

"We should go." He agreed, nodding down the alley. "Though we're a bit noticeable like this. I..." he blinked, stopped, realized that in his haste for his swords what he hadn't found was...

"Actually don't have any money." He finished dumbly. Of course they'd taken his stupid coin pouch for themselves. Swords might have been hard to leave off a manifest but coins? What coins?

Assholes.

"We can't stay like this, and we'll only have until someone investigates all the howling before it's clear that we've escaped." The howling, of course, caused by the brothers being left behind who had no interest of missing out on the jail-break quietly. Ibiki, of course, had no intention of releasing them himself--he had been wrongfully convicted. They were a pair of disgusting pigs who thought forcing themselves on a woman was acceptable. Still...

"We need a plan."

[Little Bill]

"We can take you to a safehouse!" One of the brothers shouted out. "Masu-Kai owns it, so nobody will come looking! Real fuckin' safe! Their arms were outstretched through the bars, desperately pawing at the cool night breeze rolling in through the open doorway. "You can't just leave us to rot here! Come on! Come on! We'll take you there!" The other shouted over his brother. "Please!" They shouted in unison. One was shaved bald and muscular with a scar over his nose, and the other was skinnier with a wispy black ponytail tied into a braid. "We'll give you money, too! For your trouble! Just let us out!" Their shouting had now become more noticeable than the escape itself, and was becoming more and more of a risk by the second.

"What the hell are you ass-clowns waiting for?!" Ryotaro shouted at his fellow escapees. "They've got money and a hideout! Where are those stupid keys?" He began to make his way towards the broom closet, rifling through the bits of trash and clutter therein.

"I don't break bread with rapists." Ibiki said firmly. The striking squid was soft in the face, certainly, but he was far from soft-spined. He was a man of principle, and on these principles, he would not be bullied by a street thug or grant two criminals such as these their freedom.

"We don't have any other plan, Ibiki-san," Hisao said, walking through the doorway with a crouch, having wiped the blood off of his nose and onto his pants. "The ends justify the means, eh?" He suggested, grabbing the back of his head in his discomfort at the situation. "I don't like them either, but I don't know anybody in this hick town,"

"Yeah! none of you know anybody here, and the road's ten miles to the next-"

"SHUT IT!" Hisao roared, drunkenly snapping at the two imprisoned men. A silence fell over the room as the three began pondering the morally correct decision. Finally, Ibiki turned to Xiubao.

"You haven't said anything on the matter. What do you think?"

[Fairess]

“I think we earned our escape, so it's time for them to do the same.” Xiubao stood near the unconscious guards, a thin metal band with keys hanging from it linked over the tip of her finger. Nevermind that she'd also taken the opportunity to lighten the other contents of the guards' pockets, which were safely tucked away inside her jacket. When exactly she'd stopped to rob the men was somewhat unclear between the antics of prisoners and former prisoners alike.

With a casual toss, the keys clattered to the ground in front of the brothers' cell. Not right to them, of course, but just out of reach. Her smile was equally teasing. “Another peep from you two and I'm taking those with me. That, or the guards will come running to see what all this fuss is about.”

She turned then, flicking her hair over her left shoulder. “Would you three kindly wait a moment? I promise to impress again, but I can't have anyone running off with swords brandished or getting us out of here is going to be more difficult than I can help you with.” With all the perky hustle of a business woman, she headed back to the cleaning closet and returned with an odd black box in one hand and a silvered cane in the other.

“Just follow after me quietly, yes? We'll take a look at what we're dealing with and I'll show you how the whole covert escape is supposed to go.” Slipping like a shadow through the door, Xiubao made her way down the alley formed form the prison and its neighbor and peeked into the awaiting marketplace. It wasn't a surprise more guards hadn't been alerted from the ruckus—they really were enjoying themselves. She saw pairs and groups scattered around the various stalls, either gorging themselves on wine and booze or trying their luck with whatever unfortunate woman happened to be running errands during their evening revelry.

Easy. Xiubao knelt and settled her case down onto the ground. After opening it up and fiddling with its hidden pockets, she popped a few small, strange cylinders into her hand and tied them together with a straw-like string. Finishing that, she abandoned her case entirely and strode into the marketplace. Her stride was easy but fast as she made her way over to a vatai and his spit.

The fellow was busy haggling with guards, and lucky for her, neither party was particularly happy with the exchange. As anyone could imagine, the guards insisted on a discount for their services and the vendor in turn insisted they were forcing extortion on a man who worked an honest living. Meanwhile, the okonomiyaki cooling on his counter next to the grill was getting cold. She really had to rectify that.

Xiubao pulled out a handkerchief from her sleeve and began stuffing as many of the flat pastries in as she could, always with her eyes on the vendor and the surrounding marketplace. With the cloth still steaming, she tied it up and set it aside—the next task she had in mind was one she wasn't too pleased with. Stealing was fine, but startling the innocent fellow quite as much as she was about to just wasn't nice on top of it.

The strange cylinders from earlier popped out of her hand. She slipped the long string into the crevice of the grill until it caught aflame, then walked away as quickly as she could without actually running. There was merely seconds for her to take cover in a crowd before the powder did its job, each cylinder firing off with a bright trail of blue sparks and whistling loud enough to hurt her ears. All eyes turned toward the food stall, the guards startled from their drunken stupor enough to brandish swords and investigate.

That was her chance. She went to a post where two horses had been tied, their former guards finally gone. It was a cinch to work their reigns loose, and with the same hurried grace of earlier, she made her way back to the alleyway. “Boys! It's now or never!”

[Little Bill]

For a man too poor to have ever bought himself a mule, Hisao jumped at the chance to ride a horse, quite literally. With both feet, he sprung past the horse, hooking himself onto its large neck and swinging up and over, onto its back. His former cellmate leapt onto the horse's side, trailing for a mere second of the stampede before Hisao hoisted him to a proper seat. Hisao blindly steered the horse left, inadvertently leading their wild escape and finding himself on an empty road, sandwiched between rows of storefronts and narrow alleyways. He reflexively pulled the horse to the right, sending the two careening into yet another alleyway, kicking up clouds of dust and grime, all the while forcing a drunk that had been resting to scramble up the alley's narrow walls.

Predictably, Hisao wasn't especially worried about the collateral damage. He leaned to the side, hooking his legs around the galloping horse's chest to scoop up the man's bottle, hoisting himself up by the stallion's mane. Within moments, they burst through the alleyway's end, onto a much wider and less polished looking dirt road, lined with the trackmarks of carts. Hisao, too busy with guzzling the contents of his pilfered sake, leaned back and allowed his more mindful companion in the backseat to take the reigns. Ibiki steered them right, and the two began charging down the road once more, completely oblivious to the fact that they had lost their fellow escapees. As the horse galloped, and the shouts of the men chasing them grew feinter, Ibiki gradually began to slow the horse, turning down the road in sight of a few peasants. He began to grumble to himself about his companion's lack of subtlety and the importance of hiding in plain sight, before catching himself. Lecturing the ape leaning too far back into his chest never worked, and why would it now?

With a deep sigh, Ibiki continued down the road, growing closer to the peasants who had been staring the two down since their turning a corner. They looked suspicious. He knew it. A drunk and a samurai, sharing a horse, out in the middle of the night. For a moment, he feared one of them would take off towards wherever the accursed town kept their soldiers or guards, but the fear passed as he passed the onlooking peasants without a word. Hisao shifted a bit in front of him, pulling himself up by the whinnying horse's ears and surveying their surroundings.

"How much further you think it is 'till we reach this town's borders?"

Ibiki shrugged, reaching a corner once again, and looking around for any sign of a wall. Instead, he found the lack of a wall. To the men's right, as if handed to them in the palm of the Enlightened One, was the town's unmanned, open gate. Ibiki gasped. Hisao laughed. The horse bucked. Their combined weight tumbled to the side and downwards, as if the horse had decided that it had aided their criminality for long enough, and turned to leave them, trotting away at a vigorous pace. The two bounded forward, practically flipping into the cover of the thick forest surrounding the town, laughing with joy.

---

"I wish our horse was still here, Ibiki-san."

"Yes, so do I."

The two had been travelling on foot for hours, though it seemed like days. Originally, they had been sprinting at full force, leaping over roots and stones, occasionally falling forward from the sheer velocity of their sprinting and tumbling to a crashing halt, before jumping up to their feet and doing the same all over again. They ran, rightfully so, like two men who had just broken out of jail, not slowing down for rivers or hills, or pausing to rest or discuss plans.

That lasted for all of thirty minutes before Hisao began to throw up. Now, Ibiki was weighted down by his friend who could barely jog in intervals, leaving the two to spend the majority of their escape hiking through the woods. Somehow, Ibiki found himself not especially concerned about any would-be trackers. The eerie noises of the forest were enough to worry about, after all. Every screeching owl, or howling fox made his unaccustomed ears perk, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. Every twig snapped under his foot was an imperial trap triggering, and every rustle of wind in the trees was a shinobi creeping along a branch. The two were far from any path, foregoing any roads or clearings for fear of discovery, opting instead to creep through bushes and under the cover of low-hanging branches, in no particular direction but forward. Sometimes Hisao lagged behind, and the man was little more than a black shadow a few dozen feet away, and other times he would knuckle-walk in great bounds to catch up, finding himself leading his partner just as often as Ibiki lead him. Eventually, the two came to stop, too tired to walk any further.

Hisao collapsed, turning over onto his back like a child throwing a tantrum, and splaying his arms and legs out. "No further! I'd rather die here."

Normally, Ibiki would have chastised him for his laziness, but now he was too tired to even do that. He took a knee, promising that the two would only rest for a moment, before laying on his side. Within seconds, the two were both fast asleep.