Namesake

While Neirah stepped across the quiet street without a care to the flames licking the night at her back, she was alerted to the sound steel lowly rattling to one side of her. She hummed softly and turned her head to the sight of Ōta Jūrō, raising the metal shutter from his storefront to peek beneath it.

"Ah, Tsukiyo-san. I thought that was you makin' a fuss out here." His smile broadened over his round features as he straightened to his full eighty inches and thrust the shade into its sheath. "It's those shoes of yours," he sang in a low rumble. "You write a real pretty song when you're on the prowl around these parts."

With a delicate coo, Neirah tipped her cheery smile to one side to mark her friendly acceptance of his interruption. "Good evening, Ōta-san. I hope I didn't wake you just now. My new friends weren't very cooperative, so I decided I wouldn't play with them anymore."

A devilish snigger filled Jūrō's broad chest as he peeked towards the smoke on the horizon. "Nah, you know me, miss. I got appointments comin' and goin' at all hours, and then I still gotta eat before I can get any sleep." He threw his thumb over his shoulder to encourage her gaze to linger on his blackened shop. "I know it's late n' all, but do ya think the boys'd mind if you came up for a bite? I feel like I owe ya somethin' for lookin' into all that noise across the street, and I just put on a pot of tonkotsu ramen." His smile broadened over his sunny expression as he watched her consider the invitation eagerly. "I know it's your favourite, and I've even got a couple 'a real tender pork cuts that I could bread for ya if you wanted."

Neirah groaned softly and clutched her grumbling midriff. "Hah, nobody makes pork ramen the way you do." It wasn't going to be easy turning down the culinary master's dishes, especially on an empty stomach.

"Well, we'll see how long that lasts," he teased with a roaring wave of laughter. "Kamamoto's been chewin' up a good chunk of my free time, so I can teach him the tricks of the trade."

With a blissful sigh, Neirah flopped her head to one side with a coy smile. "You truly are a master artist of any calibre," she praised genuinely. She was partially relieved that Rikio was taking notes so that she didn't have to wander all the way downtown to have a taste of the most exquisite food in Shizume, in her opinion. "But I have to pass." She raised an almost rueful smile his way to cushion her denial of his kind offer. "It's very late, and Tat-chan expects me home for tea and crackers. He's recently figured out how to make senbei."

"Now there's a boy after my own heart," Jūrō fussed fondly. He raised his thick arm, catching his elbow with his inked knuckles as bulky muscles flexed beneath tribal sleeves. "You and Kamamoto 've really got to bring him by sometime so we can swap recipes."

Watching Jūrō speak about cooking, a passionate hobby of his, always caused a fond wave of laughter to wash over Neirah. He was a thick man of hefty stature who surrounded himself with burly gang members daily. As a tattooist, he had a beautiful mind that filled with creativity that Neirah often enjoyed exploiting on paper. She could watch him create for hours and even requested pieces from him on occasion when she visited. He loved company, and to watch his eyes sparkle over the thought of baking rice crackers warmed her heart. It reminded her of her friends at HOMRA. Everyone had a story, even the roughest of sorts. Jūrō was just a lonely middle-aged man trying his best to get by, but he wasn't very approachable. It made finding company difficult, but Neirah never minded in the least.

After a moment of thought, Jūrō gave his ashy beard a scratch before titling his attention towards the dainty woman. "Anyways, you know my door's always open," he serenaded. "We'll do lunch the next time you and Kamamoto are out this way. Until then, just keep in mind that your next job's on the house." He smiled from his eyes as he captured her hand and drew it to his lips for an amicable kiss. "So, the next time you're ready to paint this pretty canvas, you come see ol' Ōta, and he'll treat you right."

With a sly little grin, Neirah reached out and tugged on the braid Jūrō kept twirled in his facial hair just beneath his chin. In her opinion, he looked more like a Viking than a Japanese tattoo artist. "You always treat me right," she reassured him fondly. "Don't think anything of it. This is me repaying you for your kindness." She retracted her hand and gave him a stern pat on his chest. "Besides, King-sama was getting impatient with all the noise these kids were making in his territory. It's best to go for the source, no?"

"Ah, yes," Jūrō hummed thoughtfully. "You've sort of made it your job to prowl these streets for that lazy ol' boy of yours, haven't you?"

She wrinkled her nose with a delicate snort. "He's not lazy, Ōta-san. He's just a master of delegation."

Jūrō had to clutch his round belly with delight as he shook the quiet sidewalk with the booming wave of laughter to rumble from deep within his chest. "Well, I'd bet my bacon that if he had to pick a favourite, it would be you, Tsukiyo-san. The way you talk about that boy is somethin' else entirely. I can tell you love him to bits."

"King-sama deserves the utmost respect," she murmured proudly. "And anyone who would dare to dispute his rule must be reminded that his hunter will not tolerate their insolence." A gentle tut sounded in her throat as she tilted her unsuspecting gaze towards the dead weight of Jūrō's massive palm resting against the top of her head.

"You sure do take after your namesake, don't ya, Little Lion?"

Neirah could feel her face flushing with the kind sentiment as she applied a mild smile to her full lips. "Kusanagi-san calls me that too," she whispered.

"I reckon that makes you feel all tingly inside, doesn't it?" He ruffled up her roots a bit before dropping his palm and giving her chin a delicate flick with the side of his index finger. "Y' know, I ink a lotta slimeballs in my chair down here, and I'll be sure to tell everyone of 'em that our little red lioness was here. It's the very least I can do for the efforts of our queen."

Neirah's smile curled up into a wavy pout as she tried to contain her pride. "I think Kamamoto-kun gets some of his charms from Ōta-san too," she teased. "But, truly, there is nothing royal about me. I'm just the hunter."

"Aye," he whispered fondly. "And a real majestic beast, ta boot."

When he noticed the girl getting sentimental about the situation, he decided he would reflect on her developments over the past year over a hot bowl of ramen instead of pestering her any further. "You'd better be off now, miss. Totsuka's gonna wonder about where you're at if you miss teatime. Get off back to your place now."

Neirah bowed her head, trapped in humble thought. "My place…" She startled to the sound of Jūrō straightening to grab the metal sheet along the roof of the parlour that rested on the ground level of his apartment.

"You and Kamamoto are gonna visit real soon, right?"

Her expression brightened gleefully in acceptance of the invitation. "Of course~!"

"Right-o! I'll make sure I have somethin' extra special on the go for you two by then," he assured her kindly. "Until then, keep out of trouble, Little Lion."

"Oh Ōta-san," she drawled slyly. As she finished responding to his parting wave with one of her own, she dropped her hand to her hip and turned to watch the smoke blacken the lights of the metropolis from where she stood. "How could I ever do anything but?"