03 Fuyukage North High, Courtyard / ... A Van!?

Even in defeat and in pain, he can't help but chuckle.

"… We both know you wouldn't," says Hikage, defiantly, crushed under the sole of Hikari's shoe. "You're not that kind of person, little sister. I know you're not."

To which no direct response is offered.

In place, an exasperated scoff.

Followed incredulously by, "… Does it matter!? Jobbed in the first round. How do you intend on protecting this nobody—your precious little outsider!? Whose name you don't even know? With what strength? For what reason? … Of what absolute point was this pathetic attempt at an interference? … You're borderline senile, Hikage. How much longer do you have? More than that, how desperately are you holding on right now, in this very moment, to your high school body? How much energy are you putting into prolonging the inevitable?"

Cue, on her face, the first signs of the facade cracking. (… Truly cracking, unlike whatever that performative show of laughter was, pre-fight.)

"… You couldn't've come back as an adult, Hikage? You had to come back, three years after, as some neotenously stagnant thorn in my side?"

(Sa-aay, transfer student. That was a mighty long speech she gave just now. Maybe you could've utilized that in some way, while she was distracted by the sound of her own—oh, wait, never mind. There he goes. He got the message.)

But the transfer student does not get far.

She does not let him.

In fact he barely makes it ten steps, ten lousy, ungainly, limping steps, before Hikari eases off her brother's wrist, (though not before picking up his stub blade for herself, and incapacitating him with a light, or perhaps not-so-light, kick to the ribs; after all, we wouldn't want him to do anything foolish now, would we?), and disappears, and then reappears, yes, she flickers back into existence, blades akimbo, before the blue-eyed pip-squeak (hey, her words, not mine), and charges into him, shoulder-first.

Back to the ground he goes, supine. In the same swift motion Himekawa Hikari lowers herself on top of him, straddles the pained and breathless squirming first-year. Her legs pinning him to the ground.

She crosses blade and stub before his neck. The asymmetrical near-V of the not-quite-scissors pinching his skin, until it draws blood.

She breathes in, out. Mirrored doubly now in that metonymous blue. She hinges the blades apart, in preparation for one last decisive snapping-together of its edged jaw …

~

… which execution is thwarted, Bang!!, by a blast of purple, coming in at an angle, from somewhere unseen, that sends the stub blade flying out of Hikari's hand.

"Oh, for the love of—…" Hikari fuming. Guttural revving of her throat. "Can you please," she snarls, "just let me do this one thing—"

The transfer student twists his head, looks to where Hikage is.

But the brother remains prone, where Hikari left him. Still helpless, weaponless. Watching them from a distance.

No. No, it wasn't him.

So then, who—…

A-and from where—…

Bang!

Bang!

Two more bolts, sent Hikari's way.

But the element of surprise is gone now. There's no getting the drop on her again. Hikari rises. With a single hand, blade raised, two quick slices: first down (Whoosh!), then up (Whoosh!); each flippant flick of her wrist, each cavalier rebounding from peak and trough not so much calculated as intuited, her blade meeting both projectiles at the exact zero crossing each time, dispelling, with each cut, whatever energy, or killing intent, if indeed there'd been any at all, they carried.

And by the firing of the fourth bolt (… you are keeping count, aren't you?), Hikari is already closing the distance.

Blinking in and out across the courtyard, away from the transfer student, away from her brother, weaving her way effortlessly through the onslaught of purple blasts (Bang! Bang! Bang-Bang-Bang!) fired now with increasing desperation from the edge of the schoolgrounds, the apparent accuracy of each subsequent projectile sloppier than the last, shakier, less confident, and more nervous, a-and … well, honestly, who wouldn't be, with Himekawa Hikari on the warpath?

So, really, could you blame 'her' for missing each shot?

… Yes, her: the second-year high-schooler clad in a wide-brimmed cowboygirl hat, a matching leather cropped vest, midriff bared, bell-bottom jeans, and boots, you know, the kind with the spurs, the tassels of her outfit trembling with the rest of her, her dual revolvers still raised, the terrified gunslinger standing on the periphery of the courtyard, tucked away in the gloom, wincing now as Hikari draws near, bracing for impact, steeling herself for the pain about to come …

~

But it does not come.

Instead, yet another hindrance. (That makes three, so far. … Again, you are still keeping count, right? … This will be on the test.)

From out of the shadows, behind the gunslinger, the glint of moonlight on steel. Catching not once, but thrice, and then twice that again, on each of the steel wide-flat spikes, three in each hand, grasped between the knuckles; this newest fighter's narrow-straight makeshift claws, intended once for purposes culinarial, carnivorial even, (just lean in close there, old chap, and contemplate the aroma: is that the faint residue of ground beef you smell? of ground lamb? of meat once shaped cylindrically around these flat skewers? … a-and is that the just-as-faint sheen of animal fat, seemingly forever baked into their surfaces that you see??), repurposed now for the sake of Banishment, of Aberrations or otherwise, or in this case the impedance of the threat posed to her comrade, her sister-in-arms; the metal skewers slicing through the air, Hikari dodging back with each swipe (Swoowsh! Swoossh!), this pair of ersatz tekko-kagi seeming almost like extensions of the claw-user herself, who emerges fully now under the moonlight, all of her revealed, the lashes, the colored contacts, the pink acrylic nails with star-shaped gems glittering, the side ponytail tied up in a single magenta scrunchie, a loose cardigan in place of a proper blazer (… hold on, isn't that outfit against regulation at Fuyukage North? Ah, whatever …), her brow furrowed in not only concentration but uncertainty, the expression of one who knows she stands no chance but simply charges into the fray regardless, opposite somebody like Himekawa freakin' Hikari, who—

~

—Alright, you know what!? Stop. Stop!

… Stop.

A breather, please.

Let's all just take a much-needed breath, here.

~

The two opponents, the cowgirl, the gyaru, step back, take the time to refocus themselves. To tune into the other's wavelength. Combat intuitions, synchronized. (They'll need it.)

Hikari, too, jumps back. Adjusts her stance. Swings her sword at the ground, as though clearing it of blood that's not even there.

Then, bored, she looks at her nails, fingers curled into the palm of her hand. (O-okay, maybe this one doesn't need a break, at all.)

"Ho-hoouu … Two on one, is it?" quips Hikari, still engrossed in the checking of her comparatively (or maybe just objectively) plain nails. More inconvenienced than she is threatened, to any meaningful degree. "… I'd say, hmm … Add another eight of you, (plus my brother), and then it'd start to look more like a fair fight. … I said, 'start to'."

The cowgirl, the gyaru steel their faces, their shared resolve.

The former spins her revolvers, then holds them out fist-wise, guard up.

Latter adjusting the grip of her skewers between her knuckles, then crossing her arms in front of her, the resulting claws splayed outward.

And then—

~

—And then the fight is back on. The resumption of a dance that has been ongoing since time immemorial. These latest participants having been sired, whether knowingly or unknowingly, by its mute and invisible orchestration. All their lives, and those who'd come before, in thrall to some dire tempo by which their movements might be choreographed. All a resumption. All a resumption, mere resumption.

And even he hears it too (well, not the orchestration, we established that that's mute; no, I mean the actual physical fight going on now), the transfer student.

He watches amazed at the blurred chaos playing out at the edge of the schoolyard. Sparks flying from the clash of sword on claw. Purple flashes from the cowgirl's revolvers, illuminating for brief instants the surrounding area.

He looks to the gates off to the side, leading to the paved road beyond.

The road out of all this insanity. (Or so he thinks.)

He makes a run for it, while everyone's distracted.

Hoping no one notices him …

~

But he is noticed.

A sudden Vroom! from behind him, and before he knows it he is caught in the beams of a pair of incandescent headlights. His own shadow now, stretched out in front of him starting from his feet.

He turns his head back, at the lights' source.

… Terrible idea, because now he can't see anything.

He turns back around again, his vision now white, and resumes pumping his legs, headed toward the gates, or if not that, then at least where he last remembers the gates being.

The unseen vehicle following behind him.

A revving and a shifting into second gear later, and the vehicle is no longer following, it's now beside him, rolling alongside the transfer student; and as his vision re-adjusts to the dark, he sees it now, emerging from his periphery, growing larger: the white camper van, slowly surpassing him, but not by too much, no, just enough to align him with the open side door of the van, in whose frame stands, just on the edge of the steps, body leaning out into the night, toward him, none other than … the brother … Hikage …

… Oh.

Aw, crap.

At his delayed realization the transfer student is yanked off the ground, forcefully, by the brother, and tossed into the camper van, unceremoniously, like a burlap sack of loose taters.

~

Still hanging out the side of the now-stopped camper, Hikage looses a sharp whistle into the night.

Gunslinger and gyaru retreat. Ongoing battle put on hold. Live to fight another day, ladies.

Dual footfalls, moving in polyrhythm, headed for the camper van. Interspersed with the sound of gunshots, and the zipping of skewers through the air. (The Ping! Ping! of their subsequent deflection …)

… Projectiles launched not in offense, but as suppressive fire. To keep Hikari distracted, to slow her down.

Hikage moves away from the door, over to the girl in the driver's seat of the camper. Pats her shoulder lightly.

The two switch places, and the girl now takes Hikage's former place at the side door. Leaning out into the night. Her full dress revealed. Pleated dark hakama. White kendougi. (No sign yet of a bamboo sword.)

"Make haste!" she yells to the gunslinger, and the gyaru, who are only a few feet away.

Hikari, of course, still giving chase. More amused than anything, at the sight of the van.

The gyaru is ahead. She throws the last of her skewers, like kunai, at Hikari (Ping! Ping!), and then, with a leap, jumps through the camper's side door.

Bang! Bang!

Two last shots, and then the cowgirl jumps in behind her, guns smoking.

"That's it! Let's mosey!" shouts the cowgirl, as she slams the side door shut. "Giddyup!"

Hikage, in the driver's seat, slams on the accelerator.

The three standing girls, jolted in place, scrambling for purchase on one another.

And then they are off.

Headed for the gates.

The transfer student sits up, looks out the back window.

Hikari chasing.

Of course she is.

Did he expect anything else?

~

But her brother came prepared.

Hikage, in one hand, as he drives, holds up something resembling a garage door opener. Watching between the side-view, at his mirrored sister giving chase, and the gates ahead.

"Steady …" he says. "… Hold …"

Nearing the gates now.

"… Hold …"

And just as the van passes the boundary of the schoolgrounds—

"NOW!"

—he presses the button in his hand.

~

Between the ever-closing distance between pursuer and tailgate there suddenly appears now, a blinding kaleidoscope of color. Orange, purple, cerulean, emerald, crimson. Vibrant, rainbow sparks, raining down on the threshold between school and not-school. Violently charring the exact boundary between Fuyukage North High and the rest of town.

Hikari skids to a stop, just before the school's gates, before the dazzling barrier of fireworks screeching before her eyes. Separated from her quarry.

Beyond the wall created by the array of roman candles and sparkler fountains mounted to the wall next to the gates, just hidden from view, the van speeds off.

Hikari stands there for a while, watching the display. Places her free hand on her hip. Grins.

She inhales, tilts her head up to the sky, nearly trembling with laughter.

And then screams out, eyes shut, smiling widely, "… Taaaa-ma-yaaaaaaa!"