They Are Just the Cleaners

Chapter 1: Enter the Raven
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The last of the pale pink water swirled down the drain slowly and the deep glugging that followed echoed throughout the silent room.

Pale, slightly blood stained hands cupped themselves under the cold liquid, catching some water into his palms. He brought them to his face and splashed quickly. After releasing a soft breath, he repeated the process a few more times before dragging rough calloused palms down his face. Tightly clenching his hands to the edge of the sink, he stared at himself in the mirror. He scrutinized his features for a few minutes as if he were searching for something. The only things he saw were dark grey expressionless eyes and stoic features with no flash of life or interest showing through.

He practiced that look so much he that was even able to fool himself.

Sighing, he turned away from the mirror, walking toward the door and into to the hall while stepping over the body that lay cold and drained on the floor in a pool of blood. The slanted dark eyes were dull and lifeless and the dark brown hair was limp, stuck together in bloodied clumps.

After a few moments, he stepped back into the bathroom with his cell phone gripped firmly in his left hand and stopped in front of the dead man’s face, his shoes making a small squeaking noise. He crouched down, balancing steadily on the balls of his feet, and stared into the blank gaze looking back at him. When he felt a lump clawing up his throat, he reached forward and pulled the tanned lids shut with steady fingers. He stayed in that position for a moment longer before placing his hands on his knees and pushing himself up. He stepped across the body again, making his way to the sink, and flipped open his phone. He dialed a well practiced number and listened for the ringing on the other end. It rang twice before someone picked up.

“Yeah,” the gruff answer came out more as an exasperated sigh.

“This is Crow.”

There a momentary silence before the other spoke.

“What do you need?” the voice tightening as the speaker’s attention was finally captured.

“I need the cleaners.”
There was another pause, the tension pulling tight while simultaneously thickening in the air.

“Where are you?” This time the voice was lower, a grave hint in the tone.

“At home. Upstairs. Master bathroom.”

After that, he was met with the hollow sound of the dial tone.
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6 hours earlier:

She fluffed the couch pillow for about the hundredth time that hour. She was anxious for his return, she had missed him dearly. They had been married for barely a year and he had been away from her most of their time as a married couple.

She sighed.

Her husband’s consistent absence was the precise reason why she was so wary about being in a relationship with one of her father’s business associates. It seems that, just like with her father, business always came first. Always. They didn’t even have a proper honeymoon, or a proper wedding for that matter. It was a small civil ceremony that took place in city hall in front of the justice of the peace. She bit her lip trying to contain the forming frown at that thought. It was a far cry from her dream of a fairytale princess wedding in a church with all of her family and friends present, praising her as the most beautiful bride that had ever graced the earth’s surface. She hoped that they could have her kind of wedding later. Perhaps it would be one of their anniversary celebrations. She was shaken from her thoughts by a deep voice.

“Miss, the flowers are here,” a tall brunet spoke by the open front door.

Elated by what she saw, she quickly rushed over to take the four large bouquets out of the delivery girl’s hands, nodded, and mumbled a small, ‘Thanks’. As she prepared to turn around to make her way toward the interior of the house, when she noticed the delivery woman remained in the doorway, an expectant look on her face.

She stared for a moment before she realized what the woman was waiting for.

“Oh,” she giggled sheepishly, “I’ll be right back.”

She rushed over to the end table in the hall that held her red crocodile clutch. “Uh…” She turned her embarrassed gaze to the silent bodyguard who stood obediently by the door. “Do you mind?” She made a waving gesture with her arms to call attention to the large bundles.

“Not at all, miss,” he smirked as he headed over to relieve her arms of their fragrant load.

She picked up her purse and went back to the door where the woman with deep aquamarine eyes stood patiently. She opened her purse and riffled through her wallet until she found what she was looking for.

“Here you go,” she said, stuffing a fifty dollar bill into the delivery woman’s waiting palm.

The blonde grinned and quickly stuffed the note in her pocket. “Special night?” she questioned with a sly smirk on her face.

“Oh yes,” the young woman bit her lip as a excited smile cracked the bottom half of her face. “Very special…” she trailed off, turning her bright emerald gaze toward the heap of flowers in the man’s hands.
________________________________________

She worried her bottom lip with anticipation about the upcoming evening.

'Tonight is the night,' she thought to herself as a small smile crept upon her lips. She was slightly embarrassed about her excitement, she felt like a school girl. But why wouldn’t she be excited? Tonight was the night they were going to finally consummate their marriage. She would be absolutely mortified if any of her friends ever found out that she had been married for nearly a year and hadn’t… well, made it “official”. But it was not for a lack of trying.

When they started dating she found herself ready after their first date, actually she was ready when she first laid eyes on him. The problem was that he was nothing but a courteous gentleman. He was so considerate of her virtuous reputation that he said he wouldn’t mind if they waited… much to her disappointment. She agreed with his chivalrous action. How would she look if she insisted that they do it right then and there, after they had only just met? All her life she was deemed a “good girl” and it was automatic that she would want to keep up her image. Her will to keep a stronghold on her reputation was harder to keep. Her defenses would weaken every time she was around him, as a small voice in her head would grow stronger with their every encounter. It was constantly prodding at her and telling her that she wanted to be bad.

What frustrated her more was how he had always been so controlled with her. Never once had he let his hormones overtake him and never had he tried to take advantage of her. Not even the slightest misplaced caress and she was more than willing to let him, though she would put up a small resistance to keep up a front. He never even initiated their kisses without her dropping hints, to which he would only give her small pecks on the lips or on her cheeks.

She knew he thought that she was waiting for marriage because, of course, that’s what good girls did. But after four years of waiting for him to muster up the courage to propose, she finally popped the question herself and he accepted. It wasn’t the unabashed ‘yes’ she often fantasized about, it was more of a solid ‘hn’. But she knew it was a yes ‘hn’.

Her mounting desire for him was the reason she so easily gave up on her dream of a fairytale wedding in favor of a quick civil ceremony. She no longer had the patience. Getting married in city hall didn’t take months of planning and it would ensure her wedding night would come that much quicker. Little did she know that something would come up on their wedding night and take him away for three weeks. When he returned, he was so tired that he slept for five days straight. Every attempt she made afterwards was thwarted because he was either too busy or too tired. Determination glinted in her clear green eyes.

But nothing was going to stop them tonight. 'Tonight I will not take 'no' for an answer.'

After one last tug on their bed sheet, she took a step back to admire her work. Their bedroom was like a scene from a romance novel. She should know, she read enough of them in order to satisfy her… needs, since her husband was unable to. The room was enveloped in a warm orange glow provided by the various candles peppered throughout. The scents of lavender and vanilla mixed and mingled in the air. Those smells were supposed to enhance the male libido. She read it somewhere on the internet as part of her research to ensure that her night would go off without a hitch.

Carefully manicured fingers delicately plucked the bud off the last rose and gently crushed the petals, sprinkling them on the floor. The entire room and bed were littered with petals. She made her way to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress near their night stand. She sprinkled some petals around the sterling silver bucket filled with ice, very expensive champagne, and two etched crystal champagne flutes. Next to the ice bucket was a small bowl of plump red strawberries. She stood up again, smoothing out the red silk sheets, and made her way across the room to check herself in the mirror.

She ran her fingers through her softly curled pink hair, fluffing up the ends, and puckered her perfectly glossed lips. She reached for her eyeliner and mascara to do little touch ups on her eyes, enhancing the brilliant green. She put the makeup down and studied her face. The smile that spread widely across her lips indicated that she indeed was happy with her appearance. She ran her hands down her sides and up to her breast, pushing them upward so they were perched high in her lace green teddy. Oh yes, tonight was the night.

In the distance, she heard the rev of an engine and glanced out the window. She saw a black Aston Martin speed up the driveway and immediately her nerves took over. He’s here. She quickly rushed to the bedroom door, plucking her robe off the armchair, and threw it on. She rushed down the spiral staircase and past the approaching bodyguard.

“I'll get the door!” she screeched quickly, effectively stopping the advancing man in his tracks. She stood by the window next to the front door and peered out eagerly. When he approached she would fling the door open and jump into his arms. She waited for another minute and furrowed her brow. 'What’s taking him so long?' She immediately began to panic as she remembered one time he came home from one of his trips inexplicably bruised and battered. Well, it was explained, but she chose not to believe the excuse. But she also chose not to dwell on the reasons either.

'Oh, god! He could be hurt! He could be passed out in the driver’s seat! He could be-'

“Sakura, what are you doing?” came his cool deep voice which always sent shivers up her spine.

She gave a startled yelp and jumped nearly two feet in the air. She turned around quickly, clutching the lapels of her rope together in a tight, white knuckled fist. She was prepared to yell at her husband for scaring her like that but her scolding words died in her throat once she fully took in his appearance.

His tall lean frame was wrapped in all black. His black slacks fit him perfectly, emphasizing his long legs and slim hips. His black silk button down shirt was close to his body, not tight, but one was able to make out the lines of his toned athletic frame and broad shoulders. She could see the smooth outlines of his biceps and his pecs from the flexing due to his crossed arms. The top two buttons were undone, exposing the pale flesh and the dip in the middle of his collarbone. Her eyes traveled up the long creamy neck to his unblemished face. His face… was perfect. Full, pale pink lips were slightly pursed in askance and thick dark lashes framed his endlessly dark, blank eyes. And at the top of his head was fluid black silk, which was spiked up in the back, held with the smallest dab of gel so his hair still remained soft. Long straight bangs hung in the front, the longest pieces framing either side of his face. 'Perfect,' she thought beaming broadly.

“Well?” he questioned calmly.

Totally bypassing his question, she asked one of her own, “How did you get in here?”

“Garage.”

She cursed herself inwardly, 'Of course, the garage! Why would he come through the front door? He’s not a delivery man! Come on, Sakura, sometimes you can be so-'

“-mimaro?”

“What?” she asked, blinking dumbly.

He gave an exasperated sigh, he hated repeating himself. “I said, ‘Where is Kimimaro?’” He accentuated his point by eyeing the bodyguard that stood in the door frame of the living room.

“Oh, him… that’s Baiu,” she said, waving a dismissing hand at the buff man with the beady, slightly slanted, dark brown eyes and shaggy, dark brown hair. Baiu turned toward the pale new arrival and bowed slightly. With that Sakura continued, “Kimimaro hasn’t been here for a few days. Baiu is his replacement.”

She walked seductively over to her husband and snaked her hands around his neck. He stiffened slightly in her grasp, but reluctantly relaxed, his eyes never leaving the bodyguard. She brought her hand to his face and cupped his cheek lightly, turning his calculating gaze to her lustful half lidded one.

“But who cares about that?” she murmured softly, “I missed you, Sasuke. Didn’t you miss me, too?” she purred, leaning into his ear, lightly nipping and licking at the shell.

Sasuke quickly whipped his head back around and gave the body guard a mistrustful glare. He brought his hands up and lightly gripped Sakura’s upper arms and pushed her away gently. He walked over to the bodyguard who stood solidly in the doorframe, arms crossed in an almost challenging way. Sasuke continued looking him over, as if giving him a silent interrogation.

The taller man finally answered one of Sasuke’s unasked questions.

“Kabuto sent me,” he stated dryly.

The shorter of the two cocked a thin dark eyebrow. “I don’t recall him informing me of your presence.”

At this, Baiu smirked. “He said you wouldn’t mind.”

Sasuke responded with a smirk of his own and a curt “Hn.” That sounded like Kabuto. He hated Sasuke and Sasuke knew it. But it didn’t matter much to him since the feeling was mutual. Sasuke knew that Kabuto’s hatred toward him was deeply rooted in jealousy. Sasuke’s rise to the top of the organization was quick and he was immensely favored by their boss and their follow associates. Part of this was because of his brother’s legacy. Itachi is… was one of the most ruthless, precise killers that ever graced the association. His death was still a mystery surrounded by various rumors. Only few knew the truth, and it was a truth they dare not tell.

The two never really spoke unless it was about new orders or assignments and even those small exchanges would be strained. The white haired man knew Sasuke only trusted Kimimaro and he also knew Sasuke hated change unless he was expressly informed beforehand. But sounding like something Kabuto would do was nothing concrete for the skeptical young man. With that thought in mind, he pinned the bodyguard with an impassive gaze and deftly pulled his phone out of his pocket. Keeping his eyes on the man in front of him, he flipped the device open, dialed a number, and put the phone to his ear. He was silent for a moment before someone spoke.

"What?" snapped the already agitated voice.

“Where is Kimimaro?”

“He was needed somewhere,” came the indistinct reply.

The ambiguous answer infuriated him. Just like Kabuto knew it would.

“He was needed here,” he clipped.

“Well, Baiu’s there now,” was Kabuto’s slightly amused answer.

Sasuke fought a scowl and promptly snapped the phone shut. Turning on his heel, he walked smoothly past a confused Sakura, who quickly snapped out of her stupor, and followed him up the winding staircase.

When they arrived at the top level, Sakura reached out her hands to grab her husband’s arms and steer him toward their bedroom. But her fingers barely brushed his shirt before he branched off and headed toward his office.

“Sasuke…” she nearly whined.

He turned to face her while fishing a key out of his pocket and slipping it into the silver doorknob of the heavy cherry oak office door. His face was cold, betraying nothing. She took this as a sign to continue.

“Um,” she fought to reign in the butterflies flying wild in her stomach. Finding her resolve, she lowered her voice and continued seductively, “I thought we could give each other a proper welcome home.” She bit her lip suggestively and let her robe fall from her slender shoulders. She took a few steps back, reached out her pale right arm, hand gripping the wood of the doorframe and leaned. A small high heeled foot nudged the door behind her open, revealing the candlelit room. She brought her left hand up and curled her pointer finger, gesturing for him to follow.

The soft click of the lock seemed loud in the hallway and disappointment was already crawling up her spine.

With the knob unlocked, Sasuke pushed open his office door, inexpressive eyes never leaving his wife’s “erotic” display across the hall.

“Sakura,” he began softly, “I have some work to do, maybe some other night.”

Her arm dropped from the door and dangled at her side while she straightened up. She shoved back the tears that threatened to well up and shook her head defiantly, “No, Sasuke, tonight. I want to do this tonight-”

“Sakura…”

“No!” her voice rose steadily, “We have been married for almost a year! A year!”

“Sakura…”

“I am a fucking twenty-four year old woman! We’re young! We should be doing this all the time! Fucking each other should be one of the only things on our minds! I am a newlywed!” she began, saying anything and everything that came to her mind that bubbled up from her frustration.

“Sakura…”

“And I have needs, Sasuke. Needs! Needs that I want- no, need-you to fulfill…as MY. FUCKING. HUSBAND!”

“Sakura!” his voice was barely louder but the command in it was definite.

With a small ‘eep!’ Sakura clamped her mouth shut and stared across the hall.

He sighed before he continued through clenched teeth, “Let me finish a few things and I will come in, ok? Tonight.” He tacked on the last word with a resigned reassurance.

She stood still for a moment, her gaze assessing, before she nodded her head slowly. Regaining some of her excitement, she winked at him as she blew him a kiss and then slipped into the open room behind her.

Sasuke glared at the empty doorway before turning in to his dark office. He flicked on his light and made his way to the desk, flopping down in the large, black leather chair. He propped his elbows on to his desk and placed his head in his hands. He brought the heels of his palms to rest on his eyes while his fingertips made their way into his silky black locks and massaged his scalp. He then slid his hands down his face and rested them on the sides of his neck feeling the warmth and the steady beat of his pulse. He closed his eyes for several minutes and sat in silence.

After a few precious moments, his hands slid to the desk and he pushed himself up. He walked toward the urn that sat unsteadily on the delicate antique table next to the door. He ran his fingers down the fragile china to the base. Pushing it to the side, he revealed a small key that was concealed under the large container. Picking up the key, he made his way back to the desk and unlocked the bottom drawer, pulling it open. Lifting out the false bottom, he began punching a code into the key pad that was underneath. After hearing a small click, he replaced the false bottom and closed the drawer. Then he put the key back in its hiding place under the urn. He made his way to the far left corner of the room, crouched down and lifted up the corner of the carpet to expose the hardwood floor. Fishing a small pocket knife out of his pants, he flicked open the knife, dug the blade into one of the cracks, and pried a floor panel up from its resting place. He then pulled up two more, uncovering a safe door. He expediently turned the combination lock and pulled the door open. Inside were several folders filled with information about his enemies, and their organizations, which included information that would be used for blackmail, profiles on his future assignments, several highly sensitive financial statements, secrets about his own organization, and, underneath the pile of folders, a small silver picture frame. He pulled the frame out of the safe and sat ungracefully on the floor.

A plethora of emotions flashed across his face as he looked at the picture in the frame. There was a tall broad shouldered man with dark brown hair and stern eyes with his arms possessively wrapped around a small woman with long black hair and large, dark sympathetic eyes. Her hand was placed on the shoulder of a teenage boy in front of her who was almost as tall as she was. The teen had long black hair tied into a ponytail that sat at the base of his neck. Long bangs framed his face, a few strands falling into the almost menacingly dark eyes. The flash from the camera that reflected in his eyes gave off a red tint. His pale arm was outstretched, his hand landing on the back of a small boy with large, round, innocent dark grey eyes. He had spiky black hair, the sunlight tinting it a bluish black, with long bangs falling over his forehead and down the sides of his chubby face. Sasuke brought a fingertip to the glass and traced the faces of everyone in the picture, starting from the strict man to the severe teenager. He brought his lower lip into his mouth and his wistful gaze to the ceiling. After a few contemplative minutes, his eyes returned to the picture, colder than before. He hastily returned the picture, and any other contents that might have escaped, back into the safe. Replacing the floorboards and the carpeting, he stood up and walked back to his desk, slumping back into the black chair.
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She glared at the evil red numbers, which burned her retinas out, on the mocking digital clock, which laughed in her face. It had been two and a half hours since she left Sasuke standing in front of his office door. Fucking two and a half hours! She seethed bitterly. She gritted her teeth as she eyed all her preparation that was going to waste. Her gaze ran along the dripping wax pools, which were once candles that littered her room, and stopped when she reached the large picture frame that sat atop the dresser. It held their wedding photo. In the picture, the bride was clinging tightly to her new husband’s arm, smiling up happily at his face. The groom, on the other hand, stood straight, staring into the camera with cold eyes.

Something cold pulled then dropped in her stomach as oncoming thoughts whispered in her head, fighting to be heard. She quickly shook them away before she could remember them and renewed her determination. Pushing herself up with a huff, she made her way out into the hall and toward her husband’s office. Opting to forego knocking loudly, she gradually opened the door and peeked inside.

Sasuke was sitting in his office chair, head down on his desk, and eyes closed peacefully. All her anger immediately ebbed away as she crept toward his sleeping form. She smiled gently at his serene face. He seemed so innocent, so pure. She pushed away the few strands of black silk that fell over his eyes, stifling the chuckle that threatened to bubble up when he frowned at her touch. He looked like a cute, angry child who was pouting in his sleep. She bent down and kissed his cheek tenderly, smiling in victory as his frown faded away.

“Goodnight,” she whispered as she made her way out the door, closing it quietly behind her.

After the small click of the closed door sounded, dark eyes popped open.
________________________________________

He sat silently at his computer, typing, when he felt his phone vibrating on his thigh. He grimaced when he recognized the number on the caller ID. Glowering, he opened the phone and put it to his ear.

“Hn.”

“Baiu’s body was found.” The other stated in a mostly indifferent tone, though there was a faint undercurrent of urgency.

'What the hell is he talking about?' “He’s downst- ” his statement died in his throat as he put the pieces together quickly. He knew his gut was right.

“Take care of it,” was the aloof command.

“Hn.” He snapped the phone shut, pulled out his desk drawer, and took out the heavy steel from inside.
________________________________________

The silencer was attached with a small ‘click’ and he swiftly slid the gun under a hand towel. He told the new bodyguard to meet him upstairs in the master bathroom because it was the only soundproof room in the house where they would be able to discuss business freely. The man’s eagerness must’ve clouded his judgment as he readily accepted the offer.

'Who is this guy?' Sasuke thought as he waited calmly. All he knew was that the mystery man was not Baiu. He had to be someone from a rival organization or a government agent trying to collect information while staying right there in his home. He was uneasy at his recollection of Sakura’s words.

“Kimimaro hasn’t been here for a few days. Baiu is his replacement.”

That man, whoever he is, had been there for a couple of days. He quickly thought of any information that would be stored in his house and where, in his house, it would be stored. After mentally assessing every possibility, he came to the conclusion that the only place that would be of any value to the impostor would be his safe. He smirked. There is no way he got in there. It would take longer than a couple of days to find that. Either way, the man did not belong in his home and it was now Sasuke’s duty to make sure he disappeared.

After making sure the tranquilizers that he slipped into Sakura’s, who was now loudly snoring, champagne took affect--he made an appearance in their bedroom and insisted on tasting the champagne before they did anything--he promptly invited the man up for their little “business meeting”. 'He should be here any-'

The staccato of the sharp knocks at the door called Sasuke to attention.

“Come in,” he commanded, hand resting on the counter near the slightly tented hand towel.

The burly 'bodyguard' opened the door cautiously and stalked in, closing the door softly behind him. He regarded the pale man standing next to the sink with a small nod. They stood there in silence for a moment before Sasuke noticed a look of realization dawn on the broader man’s face. He smirked. The man was pretty quick after all. He was just not quick enough.

“Hey…” the man began tentatively, “I thought you said this room was sound proof.”

“I lied.”

While the beady eyed man reached for his hip, Sasuke gripped the handle of his waiting gun, and whipped it up. With the towel still draped over the barrel, he aimed for the man’s head and pulled the trigger, the bullet piercing right between small, dark eyes with precision. There was a crimson spray, which was littered with small chunks of flesh that soon decorated the stark white walls of the large bathroom. The man, ‘Baiu’, took a few wobbly steps forward, while Sasuke took a few graceful steps back, and collapsed face forward with harsh smack on the tiled floor.

‘Fuck,’ Sasuke cursed inwardly, taking in the mess in front of him, ‘I should have used the .22.’

He made his way toward the rapidly cooling body, knelt down and began patting it down, searching for something that could tell him who this man actually was. He started from the man’s shoulders and methodically made his way down.

‘Damn it!’ He let out a frustrated sigh and scowled at the corpse.

‘Who are you?’ He looked up and down the body, examining it carefully. His eyes landed on the large, shiny, black patent leather shoes on the man’s feet. He extended his graceful hands, slowly slipped off the left shoe, and looked inside. Nothing. He repeated the action with the right foot. Only this time he noticed a small glimmer in the toe of the shoe and reached inside.

He pulled out the laminated ID card.

Suna, Kankuro. Special Agent, N.S.B. F.B.I.
________________________________________

“Who the fuck was this fucker?” the fiery redhead ground out while kicking the corpse roughly.

“Tayuya, could you at least pretend to be a girl?” the other sighed while slowly entering the bathroom behind her carrying a large satchel. Sasuke was close behind, shutting the door softly.

“Shut the fuck up, fat ass.”

“He was an FBI agent,” Sasuke interjected dryly, throwing the ID card to the bathroom counter, as the other two entered into a glaring contest.

Both gazes snapped on to the hit man at this new information.

“What the fuckin’ hell?!?” Tayuya began, picking up the laminated card. “FBI?! Shit! They’re getting closer and closer!!”

“Tayuya,” Sasuke hissed lowly, “Shut the hell up or you going to wake Sakura up.”

“Didn’t you knock her out?”

“Yeah, but-”

“Yeah, well, fuck that bitch. She ain’t gonna wake up no time soon!!”

“Such a fuckin’ lady,” Jiroubou mumbled under his breath as he carefully stepped over the body, placing the large bag near the sink on the countertop.

“Either way, just shut the hell up and get to work.” Sasuke seethed, his steady tone threatening to become an impatient one.

“Fuck you, Uchiha!” Tayuya countered as her gloved hands turned the body over so that the dead agent was lying on his back. She looked around the room taking in the red that speckled the walls. “Fuck, Uchiha, you were so god damned messy.”

Ignoring his partners rants, Jiroubou opened up the giant bag and called over his shoulder, “What kind of pipes do you have in this place?”

“They replaced all the pipes with some kind of titanium alloy for … just in case.”

“Good,” he stated while he began pulling out small jars of clear liquid. After he sat a few on the countertop, he pulled out two piles of clothing and tossed one to Tayuya. He pulled on the plastic overcoat and pants and secured a shower cap atop his head with Tayuya mirroring his actions. Then he pulled out two small hand-held power saws and two pairs of goggles and then turned toward Sasuke. “You got another bathroom in this joint?”

Sasuke rolled his eyes and snorted as if to say ‘Of course, I have another bathroom, moron, this is a damn mansion.’

Jiroubou ignored Sasuke’s rude behavior, being used to it since they often worked together.

“Yeah, well, you should go clean up or something and go back to bed with that pretty wife of yours,” he advised as he strapped a surgical mask over lower half of his face.

“Yeah, you look like shit,” Tayuya muffled through her own mask while she snapped on her goggles.

“Hn,” was his only reply as he headed toward the door.

“Oh, dumb-fuck,” Tayuya sing-songed, “You need to leave your clothes.”

“Anything to see me naked, huh, Tayuya?” he asked with a slightly amused smirk.

“Tch, you wish, pretty boy…Fuck!” the last word was muffled as she was hit in the face with a black shirt, black pants, and a pair of black silk boxers. She wrenched the clothing from her face and shouted at the retreating back, “What, are you in fucking perpetual mourning?!”

The only response she received was a small shrug of the shoulders.

“Asshole,” she mumbled as she began slicing off a hand while Jiroubou made his way toward the tub and turned on the water.

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