taileaten

[taileaten]

"i'll let them know you'll be making it." also a statement, not a question. there was nothing more important than being able to speak plainly, which he will refuse to here and now. this, if nothing else, has proven the need for secrecy. their enemy has the upper hand, the element of surprise—a delightful beginning to a growing game of cat and rat. the rat bites, the cat comes in to sweep it up. the trouble lies in how best to play with its food—all the quick kills have never bored him more. efficiency lives little in the way of fulfilment. katashi draws in a breath through his nose. he shouldn't be thinking like this at all, least of all in the midst of a crisis. still, that voice calls, an unwinding deep within, nothing wrong with thinking. how could anyone argue with that? they would never even know. he drops back into where his feet are stood, the topic of dinner. "as soon as you finish. i'll be heading over now. i think it's best we stick together for the next few nights, fumiko." as close as he can get to sounding concerned without breaking his mask of calm. "call me when you get done, will you? i'll want to know when you're on your way." translation: he wants to make sure she'll be safe. he doesn't, wouldn't, say that.

She has grown used to this—the way conversations with her brother feel like trying to grasp smoke. Even now, as an adult, she finds herself falling into old patterns. Studying his face for the slightest reaction, weighing each word before speaking. The news of the Premier’s assassination hangs in the air between them, demanding acknowledgment while simultaneously highlighting their different stations. Her fingers unconsciously smooth an already pristine sleeve. “Dinner.” A statement, not a question. She won’t insult either of them by pretending she has other engagements to cancel. “Of course.” She turns back to the television, spine straightening imperceptibly. The chaos on screen plays out with a familiar rhythm. Timing. Execution. Stage management. Her earlier concerns about the executive disappearances suddenly click into sharp focus. The same crude signatures—all leading to this precise moment. She reaches for her leather-bound planner, fountain pen already uncapped. Names and dates need to be cross-referenced. Someone has left a trail of breadcrumbs, and she intends to follow them back to their source. “I’ll need time to review the morning broadcast archives.” Translation: she needs to check her network of informants. “And our regular patrons will require…” She glances at her brother. ”…special consideration.” “What time should I arrive?”

[taileaten]

"yes, it's because of the dog." dryly sarcastic, katashi is still only mostly joking. "and because you don't see your family." not sarcastic, bordering on cruel. it's not intended to be a kidney shot, but the words are out of his mouth almost as if by the will of another. normally, he would only have thought of these social offenses, rather than share them with their conjurer. his face remains passive. "traditions aren't kept alive alone. those are just habits."

"Why? Because my parents are dead or my kid isn't here in Coronado?" He didn't answer the question, though Katashi's tone betrayed a sort of careless neutrality that Dimitri's learned not to take personally. He wonders if the siblings were going to be juggling family expectations, though that would be more of a minefield to ask than Katashi's pointed comment. "I didn't know you thought of me like that, Katashi," he replies, the corner of his mouth turning upwards. "Is it because of the dog?"

[taileaten]

a prickle of irritation started against his temple and katashi took great care in following it all the way down his chest and into his stomach, where it twisted itself into a gnarled knot. he knew what she wanted him to say—to take her comment seriously, put some effort into making up the difference. it wasn't even a bad idea. she was correct that he wasn't currently on assignment and there was no doubt in his mind that he had the best chance of working out the details. and he would. had already started, in fact. nobody liked to be told to do something they were about to do anyway—but it wasn't petulance that touched a nerve, but duty. it was his duty to figure out what was going on and put an end to it, for the sake of his family and the kingdom they had built. he just didn't want to. soon, he would. he would do what honor dictated and seek out the devils in their nest, sever the head of whatever serpent speared their cause. but not yet. was it really so wrong to want more of a challenge? he was a perfect predator... and also a caged one. nothing of the sort would ever come out of his mouth, but katashi didn't even have the chance to bluster through a defense. or an agreement, for that matter. the television drowned out her voice, drew his eyes like a siren's song. dead. shot. in the middle of everything. dark eyes locked to the screen, fumiko's presence faded entirely into the background. this wasn't the work of some mob. there was something practiced here. even... elegant. his focus broke the moment fumiko crossed over the screen to lower the volume. straightening his back, he said, "cancel your other plans for tonight." graciously, he allowed her the lie that she had made any to begin with. "i want you to come to dinner. we'll have more time to talk there."

They were never taught this—what ‘normal’ people considered small talk. Not when they were alone, anyway. All their lives, Fumiko’s interactions with her brother had been nothing but her being an audience of one at an endless show, witnessing his prowess. How he was marvelous at everything he did. Katashi’s existence in her orbit was less of him being a brother, and more of a living, breathing reminder of destiny. How juvenile to think of it now. But there are more pressing things to discuss. Like how executives have been disappearing without their father’s hand-stamped mark. No proper contracts. Methodical disappearances, at that. In her eyes, they were a crude imagining of how the marked should be dispatched. Found strangled. Found lying in their own vomit. Missing, but their home’s been set ablaze. This was important. “Katashi—” she begins, not quite sure how to formulate just how peculiar these events have been, “—this needs our attention.” Fumiko needs his backing is more of the truth—she can only imagine how raising this concern to her parents at her current rank will make her look. “These disappearances are of note.” She wants to say more and lay out her theories, but she struggles. Perhaps she shouldn’t have led their conversation to this point—without dossiers or the conviction she needs. “You’ve no current missions; it’d be best if—” “We’re interrupting our regular Coronado Day programming with breaking news. I repeat, breaking news.” Her television. “Premier Ignacio Santos has been shot. I’m getting initial reports from the Festival Grounds—the Premier was delivering his annual address when shots rang out. Repeat: Premier Santos has been shot during his Coronado Day speech.” Fumiko turns her attention to the screen, passing her brother a perturbed glance. “Witnesses report the Premier was struck while at the podium. I stress, these are early reports. We are working to confirm—” “Katashi—” “I’m now being told… yes, confirmed. Premier Santos has been shot. The shooting occurred precisely at noon during the national address. We are switching to live feed from the Festival Grounds. Stay tuned to Coronado News Network as we…” She lowers the volume and turns back to her brother, expression now troubled.

[taileaten]

katashi thought about all the inconsistencies he could have pointed out, but there was no importance in that action. what did it matter? people were strange creatures, it was true—katashi himself had long since stopped trying to understand them. there was only himself; that would have to be enough. "it's traditional that i visit." no mention of suffering. "i wouldn't expect you to understand."

"It's a morning walk. It's something you do with dogs." He says it to Katashi, as if the man's never seen any media with dogs before. Knowing him, though, it'd be right on the money. Dimitri wonders if the man actually does anything that's for entertainment. Other than his taxes, and the traditional Shibata fare, of course. Banking. Killing. Being near a Del Bosque. "Cute. But no, I already brought mine in earlier this morning," Dimitri says, "You look like a man about to sit and suffer—visiting the parents on your agenda?"

[taileaten]

TASK 001: HOME

from the outside, ALCAZAR TOWNHOME 468 looks like every other, somewhere between distinguishably modest and just shy of luxurious. the interior is dark and austere, with a few gasping flickers of light thrown in the mix. katashi keeps it at a(n) (un)comfortable 26 degrees celsius at all times, even in the heat of the summer. do not mess with the thermostat, you will die.

[taileaten]

for a moment, centuries long, katashi said nothing at all. between the start and stop of wingbeats, he counted three heartbeats. his footsteps mirrored each one on his slinking trail back toward the counter. slithering snakelike, his hands found their way back around the cup he had been presented with. "a few more minutes, then," he mumbled, barely audible. his voice was a tail between his legs, a child stuck in the corner—he should have known better than to make his escape without manners in tact. reminded of the tight walls around him, he stared deep into his tea without so much as a singular sip. "that was kind of them," he said, finally lifting his cup to his lips. it was cooler than he would have liked. his own fault, he knew better than to voice his complaints. "you'll have to remind me to lay some of my own. i've been busy, lately."

Her eyes drift to the window. Beyond the gauzy curtain, a bird lands on her balcony railing, then takes flight. “You haven’t touched your tea.” Each word falls with the weight of a blade. “The broadcast format changes next month. Earlier slot.” A fractional shift in her posture. “4 AM to noon. Prime listening hours for certain demographics.” The cup sits between them like a border. Her jaw tightens, barely perceptible. “Two more executives received flowers this morning.” She speaks as if commenting on the weather. “White orchids. Not from our usual florist.” The words hang in the air: these aren’t Shibata warnings. This isn’t their protocol. Something moves beneath the surface of their city, and for once, they didn’t put it there.

[taileaten]

"why bring the dog, then?" it's almost too easy to poke holes in every odd thing that dmitri says. easier to leave them alone, to shrug his shoulders and let the old man do what he pleases. he can even hear his own voice chastising him. to what end? "you look like a man fetching the newspaper." he avoids both compliments and direct insults.

Looking at his get-up, a shirt and some jeans, he humphs and shakes his head. Far be it for him to look like a fashion reject in front of Katashi—or at least a man out walking his dog. "I'm going to change inside my house," he says dryly, raising an eyebrow. "Why? What kind of man do I look like? An old one? Handsome? There's a couple adjectives you could throw on there that won't hurt my feelings."

[taileaten]

katashi's nose wrinkled just enough to show his disgust. "no thank you." he didn't enjoy much warm-blooded company, but dogs and cats in particular turned his nose up. he didn't appreciate the smell. "i was only making conversation. you don't look like a man on his way to the office."

Dimitri raises an eyebrow as the man swings from compliment to mild irritation at his pet, who was summarily looking up at Katashi with big puppydog eyes. Taking another bite of his danish, Dimitri shrugs. "I was going to give him to the dogsitter for today—had to pay them extra for it," he says, gesturing with his half-eaten pastry. "If you're asking questions, maybe you want to take care of him. Fiften sellos for the four hours I'll be in the office."

[taileaten]

katashi had known about the disappearances, of course. it was impossible to miss things like that in his line of work. or so he would say, like he wasn't poring over clippings, half steeped in obsession. it had taken him years to grow to fit that shape. for a long time, he had felt like he was stuck waiting inside of a chrysalis, unfinished sludge. he was still waiting, but now he pressed against the walls of his delicate prison, soon to emerge. here, enclosed in a room of soft lies and minced words, he felt that shift acutely. she was right, numbers did tell a story—bits and pieces of them. katashi knew silently, as she did, what those numbers meant, what that interference meant, what was going to happen because of it; fate would choose the final chapter. in the meantime, they knew better than to speak plainly. he was surprised that she had brought it up at all. "i'll let them know you won't be coming," he said, politely. katashi shifted his weight twice more before he spoke again, "i should go. i only meant to stop in for a moment."

Her fingers trace the rim of her teacup. The motion stops at exactly the point where it began. “Numbers tell interesting stories.” A pause, measured like everything else. “Three executives vanished last month. Not ours.” The implications hang in the air with the steam. She reaches for her cup but doesn’t lift it. “Our signal coverage extends through parts of Row’s End now. The transmitter upgrades.” Her eyes stay fixed on a point just past Katashi’s shoulder. “Static comes through sometimes. Words I didn’t broadcast.” The fabric of her sleeve falls in perfect lines as she finally raises the cup. “The property values caught my attention after the third disappearance. All within eight blocks of each other.” She takes a sip, sets the cup down with surgical care. “Someone’s building something there.” A slight adjustment of her posture—unnecessary, given its existing perfection. “I should check our equipment again. Radio waves can be… unpredictable.” The lie tastes bitter, like over-steeped tea. She knows exactly what the interference means. “The Chancellor interview might run late. Tell mother I’ll try for the next dinner.” Another lie, offered like currency. Both of them trade in different kinds of falsehoods now.

[taileaten]

katashi's eyes started at the far end of the room, slowly tracing over the distinctions in his background. he was thinking carefully. it was difficult to discuss business casually, without involvement—but it was necessary small talk. he was never certain that the places they lived and breathed were perfectly private, regardless as to who might have been listening. better to assume sabotage than to be caught unawares. "i haven't been keeping up with the prices. i look at enough numbers as it is. at this rate, my eyes might cross." it didn't please him to know about the media coverage there. in fact, it had already begun to interfere with his work. "why were you interested? looking for a second property?" he doesn't ask what he's really thinking—moving away? he wouldn't insult her with his tendency to assume the worst in everyone. but the patterns remained. she mentioned dinner, offhandedly. like she had forgotten. "do you want me to let them know you're coming?" he asked, politely, as he always did. katashi knew that she would decline, just in case, and that he would not see her face at the table that evening. they never did, anymore.

The corners of her mouth lift—not quite a smile. “Your creatures have good taste in radio.” A beat. Her hand smooths the tablecloth, though it’s already perfect. “Had an interesting conversation with one of our banking clients yesterday.” She tests each word like a step on thin ice. “Real estate in Row’s End. Property values… shifting.” Her teacup sits untouched, perfectly aligned with its saucer. “The Du Bois media coverage has been rather attentive to that area lately.” Steam rises from her tea in perfect spirals, like calligraphy in the air. “I should come to dinner.” The words feel foreign on her tongue. “Next week, perhaps. After the Chancellor interview.” They both know she won’t. But the lie is part of their choreography, like the pearls and the gift and the radio that plays for snakes. “Unless something comes up.” Something always does.

[taileaten]

that kind of devotion to reputation sent a prickle of irritation through him, if only because it was exactly the kind of thing he would have said in the same position. katashi had never much found value in others, only in their ideals—or on the lowest rung, their uses. "you're efficient." it wasn't a compliment, stated as a fact. "i didn't realize your office allowed pets." less of a compliment, even.

Touchy, touchy. It was a little sad that slinging snippy barbs at each other was the big social interaction of the day, aside from talking to a service worker and petting his dog, but Dimitri takes what he can get. He reads Katashi loud and clear, but still persists, taking a pointed bite of the danish in front of him. "No, but I handle minor corporations too, and some third party consulting," he says, shrugging. "Reputation's everything, and I keep my books nice, as your sterling reports might know."

[taileaten]

"she already knows." katashi rarely passed on messages in a verbal sense. there was a nod here, a curt smile there. grandmother knew all of his gestures as intimately as only she could. he'd been convinced for many years that there was something supernatural about her sense, but it died in the back of his mind. a life long skeptic, even his own experience faltered upon inspection. "but i'll make sure i do. i got my old radio working." a model from years ago, months ago, days ago... with a knob and static-filled voices, it was the best device he'd ever owned. "i swear they enjoy it." his snakes. his spiders. his scorpions. he didn't mention the likelihood that it was his own enjoyment he'd been projecting onto his beasts—he'd already been through those lines of thought, himself. it didn't matter. "they keep asking me about when you'll be around for dinner." there was another meaning in the statement. what should i tell them this time?

She doesn’t reach for the box. Not yet. Instead, her fingers trace the rim of her teacup, a practiced motion that fills the silence. The fasting. Of course. Some habits never change, even when paths diverge. “I’ll listen for the bells,” she says, meaning she’ll tune in when his work is done—a courtesy that feels more like surveillance. “Tell Grandmother I appreciated the gesture.” Past tense. Already consumed. Already filed away with all their other prescribed interactions. The gift on the table remains untouched, a lead weight in their carefully balanced morning. Her fingers find her collar, adjusting a pin that isn’t crooked. “I’m interviewing the Culture & Heritage Chancellor next week.” A pause, calculated. “About the Coronado Day ceremonies.” The ones their family has orchestrated for generations, though never openly. Her morning show ratings always spike when she covers tradition. Old money loves hearing about itself. “You should tune in. If you have the time.” Time is something he never has, and they both know it. But the invitation hangs there like the pearls between them—an offering neither of them can quite reach for.

[taileaten]

"i don't make a habit of wearing my schedule on my sleeve, either." it was more a polite reminder to stay out of his business than he thought dmitri deserved. the fact that the older man brings his dog around is another insult to injury—katashi doesn't deal with anything furry. sparsely haired is as close as he gets. "what do you have to do that can't wait until tomorrow? i can't imagine many people are rushing to get their papers in."

"No streamers, eh? I thought you'd at least celebrate with the rest of your family or something," he admits, though the thought of family is simply confined to him, his dog and possibly the dogwalker on some odd days. He puts the hand with the leash and the pastries up. "I've got to go to work, and I've gotta at least celebrate something or it's gonna be sad this year. Take a danish or something. Doesn't taste half bad too."

[taileaten]

they were the same words he heard every year, spat out in the same way his own were. mechanical, dutiful—it was a sentiment the two insisted upon. katashi's eyes found the pearls, but he didn't move to take one. he was fasting, today. it would give him the focus to get through the day and the stomach for later's many-coursed meal. there was a thought of a statement. really, working today? he could hear something snide in his tone, already. what, and he wasn't? holidays were a luxury people with real responsibilities were left unable to enjoy. it was no surprise to anyone they were related. "i have to get back, too. it's feeding day." it was and it wasn't. some of them needed tending, but his ultimate goal was to spend as much of the day with himself as he could. company suffocated him, even among the few he cared for. "i just wanted to make sure i dropped that off." casually, like it meant nothing. it meant everything.

“You shouldn’t have.” The words left her lips almost mechanically. She wasn’t a woman devoid of gratitude. Far from it. But this—gift-giving—was an act founded on affection, thoughtfulness, and intention. It wasn’t on her battery. Nothing about her sunlight-touched life was. Even her own brother’s proximity. Especially her own brother’s proximity. But she wasn’t without manners. Simultaneously, she pushed her box of Tsukihana Pearls in his direction, “I’m heading to the station after breakfast. Sonata and Vanguard are broadcasting the Premier’s speech and have commentators.” That, and her job doesn’t truly have days off. That, and she doesn’t know how else to react to this grotesque enmeshment with her brother. “I have to update the ledgers, too.”

[taileaten]

"not everyone wears their heart on their sleeve." something biting inside wanted to defend by offense, insult the man for commenting at all. he knew better than to waste his breath. "i visited my sister, we exchanged gifts." sort of. "as far as i'm concerned, i've celebrated."

for @taileaten—

"You look like you're in a chipper mood," he says, eyeing his dour neighbor up and down, holding his dog's leash and a pastry in one hand, and a half-drained re-re-re-refilled coffee cup from the shop down the block. "It's a holiday. Aren't you supposed to be at least unwound or something during a holiday?"

[taileaten]

"she gets me the same thing every year," he said, voice soft but curt. as per usual, his face was pulled tight into a frown. god forbid a shibata show anything but disdain for their surroundings. "it always goes to waste. i keep thinking i should tell her not to bother." but he wouldn't, and never would. that would have gone against tradition. katashi turned just enough to peer at her from the corner of his eye. for a long moment, he hung himself in silence. finally, "i brought you something, too." it was barely above a whisper, a secret to be buried. slowly, he drew a small box out of his pocket and slid it onto the table. "don't make a big deal out of it." it was his way of telling her that it was expensive.

TITLE: A Most Blessed and Auspicious Occasion LOCATION: 482 Alcazar Townhomes, Solana Court TIME & DATE: TBA, January 25 PARTNER: @taileaten

“Grandmother sent me a box of Tsukihana Pearls. You?” They were Fumiko’s favorite. A cherished Shibata delicacy their grandmother always made by hand. Though they were made in batches of twelve, you could only eat two after a meal—her first lesson on discipline. She finished her seaweed salad breakfast and popped a spherical confection in her mouth, tasting berries and nectar encased in a translucent sweet dough. It was Coronado Day. Only on a day like this would Fumiko receive anything resembling a gift. There was only one thing to do today: celebrate. This was their family’s way of doing so.

[taileaten]

Katashi Shibata, 34, has called Coronado home for all their life. As an assassin, their world is steeped in vials of venom, snakescale leather, and the soft glow of lights on the highway. Often found tending to their snakes, they move through life with Fighter by The Score in their ear.

GENERAL

character name: katashi shibata

alias (es): kt

face claim: andrew koji

birthday: april 7th

sexuality: gay (but only fumiko knows) (dmitri dni)

moral alignment: lawful evil

occupation: assassin of the kagehito

affiliation: the shibata family

3 positive traits: obedient, good under pressure, reliable

3 negative traits: stubborn, vengeful, impatient

character summary:

a loyal servant and heir of the shibata empire ( and most importantly, older brother to fumiko shibata) katashi shibata reconciles his own personal missions (secret) and the duty he has to the kagehito and his family's fortune.

QUICK FACTS

his first love is snakes and everything else comes secondary. yes, seriously. he spends most hours of the day tending to them even outside of harvesting and making use of their venom. (they are all venomous species that have NOT been defanged or deglanded.)

on paper he is an employee of one of the family banks and doesn't care about any implications of that. call him a nepotism baby to his face, i dare you. he has WORKED for his position! ...in the kagehito.

his vehicle of choice is a motorbike that he takes care of almost as much as his snakes. because of this, he has a layman's understanding of bike mechanics.

POSSIBLE CONNECTIONS

others in the kagehito: katashi is not very much for friendships, but his fellow assassins are about as close as he can get. they would naturally know more about him than most people since they were all raised and trained together... for better or for worse. usually for worse. there's a lot of potential here i think! secret lovers, rivals, etc. all of it is ofc secondary to his duty but let's talk about it!

clients: especially involved in the other crime families, especially del bosques! or at least aligned with them! he is one of the best in his field (not that all the kagehito aren't... they are... except fumi sorry girl) and has a lot of confirmed (/unconfirmed... except to who matters) kills.

idk: idk. lets just plot stuff out let's vibe.