jetsam (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
jetsam) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
almondinflower2012-08-12 04:00 pm
jetsam) wrote in almondinflower2012-08-12 04:00 pm
Entry tags:
Blaze of Glory [KHR; Iemitsu, Reborn]
Title: Blaze of Glory
Fandom: KHR
Word Count: ~1,100
Summary: At dawn, the strongest will depart from the Vongola headquarters and no one knows if they will be seen again. One hitman spends his last few hours wisely, for some sense of the word.
Notes: (If anyone remembers what I originally wrote this for, please let me know? I found it on my beta filter and realised it had never gone up.)
He’d never expected to live to a ripe old age but he’d always expected to go out in a blaze of glory, taking a bullet for the Ninth or in a full-on broadside of bullets as he took down a critical target. Style was important, in matters like that. The suit, the hat... he had an image to maintain.
He had his orders from the Boss, though. ‘Don’t feel obligated, follow your heart’ orders but orders nonetheless. Of course he’d accepted the task. He was the best hitman the Vongola had so of course it would be him leading the mission. The mere thought of leaving it to Viper or to the kid from the Calcassa...
They were scheduled to meet outside the city at sunrise. That gave him five hours before he left. A last walk around the estate, maybe a quick nap and then he’d head out.
“Are you ready?”
He felt rather than saw Iemitsu fall into step behind him. Years ago, he had been the bodyguard assigned to Iemitsu and he took Iemitsu’s continued survival as a personal achievement. That the idiot had since been named the Outside Adviser raised serious doubts as to the Ninth’s common sense but common sense wasn’t always an ideal trait in a mafia boss anyway. Iemitsu did have his moments of genius, they were just rarer than you might hope.
“I’m always ready,” he said, hand brushing the familiar weight of the gun tucked inside his suit. It was early for Iemitsu to be about – he was normally tied up in meetings til the early hours. “The Ninth?”
“Meeting with the Calcassa.” The Calcassa boss who thought Iemitsu was too young for his post.
They walked in silence through into the dining room, past suit-clad men whose names he couldn’t remember and whose conversations stopped as they walked past. He allowed one of them to fetch him a drink: a martini – shaken, not stirred. He approved of minions.
He paused and sipped it. This was the last night of his life and for once he had warning about it. So, what to do?
It took Iemitsu only a moment to down his beer and then he looked at him expectantly. No, this wasn’t the place for two senior members of the Family to be loitering, whatever they ended up doing. He finished his own drink rather faster than normal.
As they left the room, he leaned on the edge of a painting and slipped in the service corridors, surefooted even in the darkness. He knew the passages were no secret to Iemitsu: there was very little that CEDEF weren’t aware of.
Silence as they passed the room where the Ninth was having his meeting. He stopped and bent to peer through the spyhole in the wall. All was as it should be, the young hitman known as Skull poised by the door. He’d have to make sure that one didn’t trip over his own feet in the morning, if he was going to be on duty all night.
After that, they wandered the passages, checking room after room. They were all there: Viper and Skull, the woman from the COMSUBIN and representatives from the various other families. None of them looked like making a run for it, either, which would make his life easier. Sacrificing yourself for the Family looked much better when you weren’t dragging someone else along by the ankle.
They were most of the way back to his room when Iemitsu put a hand on his shoulder and shoved him out of a side door. Lucky he was paying attention – anyone else would have been pinned to the wall with a knife if they tried that, a bullet in the hand if they were unlucky. Idiot.
He took that thought back when Iemitsu stopped in the middle of the lawn and drew a knife of his own. He removed his jacket, folding it carefully and putting it on the bench, putting his hat on top. He could easily have fought with both on but there was no need to risk his favourite hat against an opponent like Iemitsu, who might – might – be good enough to damage it.
He quirked an eyebrow as he turned to see Iemitsu standing where he’d left him. When had Iemitsu started being so polite?
That was all it took, though, and he was whipping his gun out to block Iemitsu’s blade, turning lazily to send him careening past. Iemitsu was grinning, a predatory grin. He restrained a chuckle: did Iemitsu think he could win this? He cracked him sharply on the head on the next pass to remind him who was number one.
Iemitsu snarled and leaped at him.
He danced back and smiled, drawing his knife from its sheath in his boot.
“Now, come at me,” he said and Iemitsu laughed, already losing himself to the pain-induced adrenaline rush as they clashed again.
When the red blotches on their shirts became apparent in the early dawn, he stepped away from Iemitsu and wiped his blade on the grass, returning his gun to his jacket. There wasn’t long now and soon the others would be rising.
Iemitsu walked with him back to his room and they bandaged each others’ wounds, preferring those rough bandages to the dubious methods Dr Shamal favoured. He knotted his tie and turned from the mirror, reaching out to reclaim his hat from Iemitsu.
“Hey,” Iemitsu began. “After this.”
He set the hat at a jaunty angle and straightened the gun holster. He held Iemitsu’s gaze for a moment.
“Family is Family,” he said and opened the door. “If I’m able, I’ll return, so make sure you lock the room behind you. You may as well get that suit dry cleaned too, when you send your own.”
As he turned the corner at the end of the hall, he saw Iemitsu out of the corner of his eye, leaning against the doorframe, the lopsided grin strangely absent.
His own expression was solemn when he met with the others and solemn when he turned to lead them off into the sunrise. For a glorious exit, it was all rather subdued. No crowds, no enemies, just seven of Italy’s most dangerous, all on the same side.
Next time, if he got a next time, he’d have to do better. If nothing else, he’d make sure he was wearing his best suit.
Fandom: KHR
Word Count: ~1,100
Summary: At dawn, the strongest will depart from the Vongola headquarters and no one knows if they will be seen again. One hitman spends his last few hours wisely, for some sense of the word.
Notes: (If anyone remembers what I originally wrote this for, please let me know? I found it on my beta filter and realised it had never gone up.)
He’d never expected to live to a ripe old age but he’d always expected to go out in a blaze of glory, taking a bullet for the Ninth or in a full-on broadside of bullets as he took down a critical target. Style was important, in matters like that. The suit, the hat... he had an image to maintain.
He had his orders from the Boss, though. ‘Don’t feel obligated, follow your heart’ orders but orders nonetheless. Of course he’d accepted the task. He was the best hitman the Vongola had so of course it would be him leading the mission. The mere thought of leaving it to Viper or to the kid from the Calcassa...
They were scheduled to meet outside the city at sunrise. That gave him five hours before he left. A last walk around the estate, maybe a quick nap and then he’d head out.
“Are you ready?”
He felt rather than saw Iemitsu fall into step behind him. Years ago, he had been the bodyguard assigned to Iemitsu and he took Iemitsu’s continued survival as a personal achievement. That the idiot had since been named the Outside Adviser raised serious doubts as to the Ninth’s common sense but common sense wasn’t always an ideal trait in a mafia boss anyway. Iemitsu did have his moments of genius, they were just rarer than you might hope.
“I’m always ready,” he said, hand brushing the familiar weight of the gun tucked inside his suit. It was early for Iemitsu to be about – he was normally tied up in meetings til the early hours. “The Ninth?”
“Meeting with the Calcassa.” The Calcassa boss who thought Iemitsu was too young for his post.
They walked in silence through into the dining room, past suit-clad men whose names he couldn’t remember and whose conversations stopped as they walked past. He allowed one of them to fetch him a drink: a martini – shaken, not stirred. He approved of minions.
He paused and sipped it. This was the last night of his life and for once he had warning about it. So, what to do?
It took Iemitsu only a moment to down his beer and then he looked at him expectantly. No, this wasn’t the place for two senior members of the Family to be loitering, whatever they ended up doing. He finished his own drink rather faster than normal.
As they left the room, he leaned on the edge of a painting and slipped in the service corridors, surefooted even in the darkness. He knew the passages were no secret to Iemitsu: there was very little that CEDEF weren’t aware of.
Silence as they passed the room where the Ninth was having his meeting. He stopped and bent to peer through the spyhole in the wall. All was as it should be, the young hitman known as Skull poised by the door. He’d have to make sure that one didn’t trip over his own feet in the morning, if he was going to be on duty all night.
After that, they wandered the passages, checking room after room. They were all there: Viper and Skull, the woman from the COMSUBIN and representatives from the various other families. None of them looked like making a run for it, either, which would make his life easier. Sacrificing yourself for the Family looked much better when you weren’t dragging someone else along by the ankle.
They were most of the way back to his room when Iemitsu put a hand on his shoulder and shoved him out of a side door. Lucky he was paying attention – anyone else would have been pinned to the wall with a knife if they tried that, a bullet in the hand if they were unlucky. Idiot.
He took that thought back when Iemitsu stopped in the middle of the lawn and drew a knife of his own. He removed his jacket, folding it carefully and putting it on the bench, putting his hat on top. He could easily have fought with both on but there was no need to risk his favourite hat against an opponent like Iemitsu, who might – might – be good enough to damage it.
He quirked an eyebrow as he turned to see Iemitsu standing where he’d left him. When had Iemitsu started being so polite?
That was all it took, though, and he was whipping his gun out to block Iemitsu’s blade, turning lazily to send him careening past. Iemitsu was grinning, a predatory grin. He restrained a chuckle: did Iemitsu think he could win this? He cracked him sharply on the head on the next pass to remind him who was number one.
Iemitsu snarled and leaped at him.
He danced back and smiled, drawing his knife from its sheath in his boot.
“Now, come at me,” he said and Iemitsu laughed, already losing himself to the pain-induced adrenaline rush as they clashed again.
When the red blotches on their shirts became apparent in the early dawn, he stepped away from Iemitsu and wiped his blade on the grass, returning his gun to his jacket. There wasn’t long now and soon the others would be rising.
Iemitsu walked with him back to his room and they bandaged each others’ wounds, preferring those rough bandages to the dubious methods Dr Shamal favoured. He knotted his tie and turned from the mirror, reaching out to reclaim his hat from Iemitsu.
“Hey,” Iemitsu began. “After this.”
He set the hat at a jaunty angle and straightened the gun holster. He held Iemitsu’s gaze for a moment.
“Family is Family,” he said and opened the door. “If I’m able, I’ll return, so make sure you lock the room behind you. You may as well get that suit dry cleaned too, when you send your own.”
As he turned the corner at the end of the hall, he saw Iemitsu out of the corner of his eye, leaning against the doorframe, the lopsided grin strangely absent.
His own expression was solemn when he met with the others and solemn when he turned to lead them off into the sunrise. For a glorious exit, it was all rather subdued. No crowds, no enemies, just seven of Italy’s most dangerous, all on the same side.
Next time, if he got a next time, he’d have to do better. If nothing else, he’d make sure he was wearing his best suit.