Adult Supervision

I was woken for the third time by someone shaking me vigorously, their muffled voice floating to me through cotton and foam. My fingers fumbled their way over the T-shirt I’d wrapped ‘round my head, and pulled them down enough to make out a silhouette backlit by the blinding sun.

“Hol’on,” I murmured, plucking out the backup foam earplugs I always kept in my assault pack.

“Lanz-san,” Aiko said, “it’s time to wake up–”

“veeEEEEEEEE VEEE VEEE VEEE VEEE VEEE VEEE VEEeeeeeee…”

“Yeeeah,” I said. “I noticed.”

“Takeda-san’s on his way,” she told me, “with your boss.”

“Well ain’t that just sw–”

“veeEEEEEEEE VEEE VEEE VEEE VEEE VEEE VEEE VEEeeeeeee…”

“I’ll have breakfast ready in a minute. The bathhouse is just outside your door, here.” She laid a few towels on the tatami mats by my futon. “And here’s a shirt and pants; they’re my husband’s but I think they should fit you fine.”

“Thank yooOOOOUUUU!”
“veeEEEEEEEE VEEE VEEE VEEE VEEE VEEE wrrrrrrrr…”

“Ah, the cicadas are starting a bit early this year,” Aiko said. “Hope it’s not an omen. Hope you like pancakes!” She hustled out.

I opened the paper-panel door and saw the bathhouse sitting just opposite, across a small garden dominated by a large tree with its own shimenawa rope.

“veeeeEEEEEee VEEEE VEEEE VEE VEE VEE VEEee…”

I turned my bleary gaze to the suppressed .458 SOCOM rifle, and back to the verbose black dot on the tree; comfortably bigger than my thumb, but eventually thought better of it and trudged to the bathhouse.

The interior proved luxurious; a raised floor of polished cypress planks emanating a faint lemony scent – but that’s where the upsides stopped. The large square-sided bathing tub was obvious, but instead of shower cubicles there were a few low basins set against the wall with ornate brass faucets above them and a ladle hanging on a hook.

I evaluated the multi-person tub that would take more time to fill than I had, and the miserable little sinks where I’d have to hunch over and ladle water on myself manually, and decided that someone, somewhere in Japan’s illustrious past really had it out for infantry grunts that were still sore from doing infantry grunt shit.

With nobody present to witness my egregious gaijin-ness, I settled for lying under the tub’s faucet and letting it run till yesterday’s aches abated a little, then toweled off. I was happy for the fresh shirt, but the pants were another matter – the lightweight ripstop nylon didn’t wick up sweat like cotton did. A few experimental sniffs later and I decided there was no reason to undo the gun-belt and transfer holster, magazine pouches, and sundry accouterments to a new pair of trousers.

Ablutions complete, I dressed and walked to the nearby outhouse, only to exit again rather promptly.

Aiko waved at me from the kitchen window and beckoned. I walked into the mouth-watering aroma of fresh pancakes.

“Please, sit down!” Aiko said as I began to dig into the plate while standing.

I turned and gave the low living room table an apprehensive look. “… may I use the kitchen table? I’m a bit sore from yesterday’s fight.”

“Of course, we usually eat there too.” With relief I sat at the small table; a proper western-style one with an actual chair, and tried not to wolf my pancakes down too fast.

“Everything okay in the bathhouse? Did you need anything else?”

I looked into her kind warm eyes; her face radiating Pure Mom Energy, and just swallowed. “It was great, I’m all set,” I said, the dry pancakes sticking in my throat.

There was a knock at the door, and soon Aiko was escorting in Kenta, looking fresh and rested as a spring daisy, the son of a bitch. But instead of the expected lecture, he fairly bounced over to me and said “You put Takamodo on her ass!?”

“… uh. Well. It was kind of a mutual on-assening, to be honest–”

“Oh I have been waiting for that stuck-up old-blood harpy to get hers for years,” he said, positively brimming with sunshine and rainbows. “That is absolutely fantastic.”

“What, nobody’s fought her to a draw before?”

“Not many could, honestly.”

“Even you?”

His face clouded, and for a second I saw the shadow of a face straight out of a samurai flick in his square-jawed visage. “Unfortunately, open combat between the government and mage clans is the precise definition of what my agency’s supposed to avoid.” He brightened again. “But then you come in like a cannonball.”

Behind Kenta I saw the figure of Dan – nay, The Dan, all graying stubble and murderous intent, come looming down the breezeway from the shrine.

“I mean, what was I supposed to do about that? I even did my due diligence and put surveillance on you. Arai-san said that was a nice trick with the owl, by the way. He also said you should stuff your head up your rear end and roll your yankee ass down Mt. Fuji. From the top.”

I nodded politely as old instincts took over; my entire body a sonic antenna vibrating on the frequency of “the first sergeant is right behind you shut the fuck up immediately.”

“Oh those stuffed suits will bitch to the clouds and back again but really, what are they gonna–”

“HEY, DAN!” I said loudly, gaze fixed on my boss as every muscle in my body snapped to pseudo-attention, “HOW WAS THE FLIGHT?”

He sauntered up behind Kenta and clapped a hand on his shoulder. He looked a lot like an older, Caucasian version of the clean-cut Japanese agent beside him – if Kenta had been skinned and used as a suit by a roiling, seething thundercloud wishing to walk among the man-things. “Oh no, Kenta, go on, I want to hear this one.”

I inhaled and crossed my arms. “Looks like you’ve heard it already.”

“Which part? The unauthorized jaunt through the Japanese countryside while wearing an arsenal? The knock-down, drag-out fight with a representative of one of the most powerful and politically-connected magi clans in Japan? Or was it the part where you became a new urban legend overnight; the Rolling Koi-Pond KFC Yankee? Great Value Godzilla? Member’s Mark MacArthur?”

“Soooo that’s a yes.”

“Very yes. Because I’ve actually heard some things you haven’t yet!”

I cut my eyes left-right-left, scanning for exits. “… such as?”

“THIS!” a small, high-pitched voice exclaimed, the top of Dan’s chest pocket flying open as a diminutive woman about eight inches tall, wearing a scant outfit and gossamer wings popped out like a jack-in-the-box to hover three inches from my nose.

“… oh, hey Willow.”

She wound up and kicked the tip of my nose hard enough to hurt. “DON’T YOU MEAN TINKERBELL MCTITTIES!?”

“Ogay,” I said, rubbing my nose, “Who watted me oudt?”

“YOU DROVE A HUMVEE THROUGH FAERIE!!”

“… YES!” I roared. “THAT IS WHAT THEY DO! They do not somersault, they do not jog, they do not HOP-SCOTCH, THEY DRIIIVE, with those WHEELS, that go a-rooooound,” I traced circles in the air with a finger. “Let’s go find a playground so the five-year old’s can give you a live demonstration with their Hot Wheels!"

Her shoulder-length blonde hair sparkled in the sunbeams as her entire body quivered, tiny hands reaching out with the irrepressible desire to strangle me.

“Get in line, sweetheart!” I retorted. “Behind HER!” I pointed past them at Mizuki Takamodo, who was glowering her way down the breezeway; hair down and eyes aflame. She paused in the central hallway between breezeway, kitchen and living room; took in the scene – Aiko watching bemused, Kenta staring at Willow in open fascination, Dan looming like a volcanic ash-cloud – and focused on the fairy.

“… some kind of, slutty yōsei!?”

* * *

A meeting of sorts ensued; Willow sitting on Dan’s shoulder with her (relatively) long legs crossed to better display the fashion sense stuffy traditionalists like the Takamodo would never get “like every other mummified hide-bound fool too crippled by the stick up their ass to get out from underill more than once a century.” Ruriko stuck her head in once – now wearing pantyhose and a skirt-suit that’d make her look ten years younger if not for the dark circles beneath her eyes – and promptly retreated to the wooden patio adjoining the koi pond, low heeled shoes doonking on plants as she paced fretfully with a phone glued to her ear.

“–and that’s why the Takamodo refuse to countenance this knuckle-dragging ape running roughshod over our investigation one second longer,” Mizuki was finishing. “If YOU want him in Japan that’s your business, but he won’t be here!”

Dan absorbed the fusillade without a blink, staring her down – then ever-so-slowly slid his gaze to Kenta.

The young man stroked his chin – body language I recognized.

“Your investigation,” he said airily.

“That’s what I said, yes.”

Kenta lifted his gaze to the heavens; searching for esoteric wisdom, and now I was sure Dan had coached him on the drive over. “~Your~ investigation,” he mused.

Takamodo bristled. “As you are well aware–”

“Yes,” Kenta said, “Your river, your valley, your territory, except Ruriko was the first on-scene when the yankee here came crashing in, and I was second. If he hadn’t ridden that bastard’s coat-tails through the portal, Aiko and Himari would’ve had to fight it out alone–”

“–If he beat it handily they would’ve been fine–”

“–as you never fail to remind us, you’re one of the best close-combat fighters in Japan, and I hear he fought you to a draw–”

“–I won’t hear this from a sneaky bastard like you!”

Kenta’s body went stiff and for a second I thought he’d pick up the table and deck her with it, but instead he just said: “That’s Cabinet Office representative Sneaky-Bastard-san to you... second-stringer.”

Mizuki’s eyes flashed with rage and her hand actually twitched for her sword-hilt before Aiko set down her teacup with a crisp but distinct clink! that froze her in place. She picked up her own teacup, seeming to study her reflection in the liquid a moment before sipping.

“… I take it jurisdictional arguments are settled, then?” Dan asked placidly, before taking a loud sip of his coffee. Willow uncrossed her legs and re-crossed them with the other one on top, swinging them rather higher than necessary, and leaned against Dan’s ear with a smug look on her face.

Mizuki didn’t see it; too busy watching her cup as she set it down. With head bowed and face curtained behind bangs, the trembling in her arms seemed less rage and more frustration.

Businesslike low-heels briskly doonk doonked down the breezeway as Ruriko stepped in. “Okay, zip up your pants, girls you’re both pretty,” she said in English. “Time to move – my people found a lead.”