Chapter Text
A brunette and a ginger walk into a bar. Both antsy, and both with weapons hidden under their clothing. The ginger, Chuuya, has had her eyes trained on the brunette since the moment her heeled shoe stepped foot into this establishment. The Old World, it was called, and Chuuya was mournfully familiar with it. The pool table, which she had once loudly crowded around, the barstools, at which she had sat with her good friends, yelling and gossiping. Her shoulders drooped, burdened with the knowledge that those times would never be repeated. She then strode smoothly towards the bar, sat down, and ordered a drink. Today, Chuuya was here for a date. Dressed in her finest, a white silk shirt with the neckline draped down far enough to be flirty, if not overly suggestive, as well as a black pencil skirt that enunciated the curve of her waist.
The woman’s breathing quickened in anticipation as a brunette took the seat next to her, and ordered a neat whiskey. Though the bar was comfortably heated, the woman next to Chuuya had an aura somehow just as frigid as the biting winter air outside. Chuuya watched, not speaking a word, as the brunette smoothed the wrinkles in her skirt, draped her coat over the back of the chair, and finally turned to her with a smile that resembled the empty expression on a doll’s face.
“Good evening, Chuuya.” The woman spoke, leaning herself close to Chuuya, and resting her elbow on the greasy bartop.
“A-ah. Yes… Good evening to you as well. You’re Osamu, right?”
“Oh, I go by my surname. Dazai, if you will.” Chuuya smothered a scowl from her face, it really was a shame that her date turned out to be this much of a pretentious little freak. Thankfully, she was able to hide such an expression as the bartender handed Chuuya her drink, a red wine which she immediately took a large gulp of. Dazai sparked even more annoyance in Chuuya, by somehow keeping a straight face as she sipped on her absolutely disgusting drink. As the brunette raised her drink in hand, Chuuya’s gaze immediately snapped to the disfiguration on her digits. The space where her left ring finger would reside was replaced with ragged scar tissue, and she was missing half of her left middle finger as well. Looking to the woman’s right hand, Chuuya’s eyes widened to notice the missing pinky, looking as if it had been torn off. ‘Well… I suppose that guy was right, she does seem to have been affiliated with the mafia.”
“So, Chuuya, tell me about yourself~” Chuuya quickly swallowed her mouthful of wine, and had to bite back a swear as the cheap drink burned her throat. Mentally scolding herself for nearly forgetting the purpose of this date, Chuuya turned to Dazai and began to speak.
Even as she attempted to surprise the brunette with interesting facts about her experiences and hobbies, Dazai kept the same blankly polite expression on her face. It was the type of face one would wear as an old lady explained her recipe for oatmeal, or when a small child went on a rambling speech about seeing a squirrel outside. ‘Is she bored? What a bitch!” Chuuya thought, ending her rant with a flushed face, and slightly higher blood pressure.
“What about you, then, Dazai? What do you like to do?” Chuuya was sure that such an irritating person would have an equally irritating life, complete with boring experiences and nonexistent friends. Dazai’s face lit up, though her eyes maintained a cloudy, distant quality.
“I’m so glad you asked, Chibi! Well, my hobby is to find interesting ways in which to off myself, and my goal is to commit double suicide with a beautiful lady!” Chuuya’s jaw dropped.
“...What the fuck? AND HEY, DON’T CALL ME CHIBI!” Chuuya already loathed this woman, though she knew that there was no option to leave the date. After all, this was the only chance she would get to enact her revenge on this elusive woman.
“Well, you see, you really are a Chibi! On your profile, your height is listed as 5’5, but it’s clear to me that your heels give you a little boost! In fact, you’re likely only 5’3…” Chuuya was positively fuming, how dare this obnoxious brat insult her about her height, it’s a fucking date for goodness sake! ‘Though…’ she reminds herself ‘you are planning to do something much worse, so perhaps it balances out.’
“I can’t believe I’m stuck with a suicidal maniac, I’m never doing online dating ever again, after this!”
“How forward of you, Chibbiko! You can already look ahead to our future together, so sweet!” As Dazai smiled when saying this, Chuuya caught another glimpse behind the mask that the woman wore. She herself was concealing her intentions and emotions, after all, it’s likely to scare someone off once they know you’re plotting to kill them.
~Dazai POV~
From the moment she had stepped into the bar, Dazai’s dark eyes had been set on her target. Though she was dressed in a fur coat, lined with smooth satin, the woman could never afford such a thing. It had been stolen from another one of her targets, a posh old lady, who had somehow pissed off someone temperamental enough to want her dead, and rich enough to pay Dazai to finish the job. For this mission, as for any, Dazai was unaware of the identity of the person who had employed her. Half of the total payment –the sum of which was a quarter of a million dollars– had been delivered to her upfront. However, after subtracting the travel expenses, the cost of hiring several underground investigators to track down her target, a large sum of money dedicated to supporting her brother, and the price of the tailored ruby-red dress she fit her plump ass into, Dazai isn’t left with much money to waste freely.
After all, killing people for money was an incredibly risky business, and it was her only form of income. Dazai’s funds were supposed to last her as long as possible; she was once even able to live in a house and have a stable food supply for an entire year, off the profits of one job, though the water was never any warmer than tepid, and the insulation did nothing to shield her from bone-chilling cold. Then again, Dazai didn’t believe herself worthy of warmth. ‘Humans deserve warmth,’ the woman would think, ‘but I am exempt from that, as I do not fit within the category of human.’
Dazai sat down next to her target, ordering her favorite drink, a neat whiskey. Though she could never describe the flavor as anything other than horrendous, at least the burn let her feel something. Her date was exactly as beautiful as the pictures Dazai had seen of her, and it really was a shame that she’d be killing such a magnificent creature on this eve, as that bright ginger hair would look wonderful splayed across the expensive pillow of her hotel room bed.
After having to somehow sit still for the ginger’s introduction –though Dazai found many of the experiences interesting, she had memorized and tracked this woman’s every move so thoroughly, it had become painfully boring– Dazai was able to introduce herself and describe her passions, which disturbed the ginger dreadfully. Despite Dazai’s talk of suicide, she was not able to end herself just yet, as her brother, Oda, still needed her. Though the man had instructed Dazai to save up to continue her college education (Dazai had been studying medicine before she dropped out), instead of ‘wasting her money’ on his treatment, Dazai’s seemingly bottomless wallet had continued to fund Oda’s chemotherapy. She knows that her brother cares about her, but she honestly believes that he should stop caring for such a monster undeserving of kindness or love.
Dazai’s gun was growing rather heavy in her pocket, and she could feel Chuuya’s eyes burning on her missing fingers. Perhaps she, as many of Dazai’s targets do, suspects mafia affiliation. In that case, though Dazai hated to disappoint such a stunning lady, she would be wrong. The brunette wanted absolutely nothing to do with the mafia, though they seemed to want everything to do with her. Moving from place to place was a normality, and would have been easy with someone as cunning as Osamu Dazai, but money, or rather the lack of it, weighed her down like shackles.
The silence stretched on after Chuuya’s more recent outburst, and Dazai grew more antsy, increasingly aware of the weapon that she carried, and the task at hand. ‘I should get her outside, to an alleyway, perhaps, seeing as a second date would likely not be an option.’ Dazai dumped the rest of her drink down her throat, then coughed slightly, and turned to her target.
“Say, Chibi, it’s gotten rather late and I think it might be time for me to head home! Would you be so gracious as to accompany me outside to call a taxi? It’s unsafe for a lady to go alone, you know~” Chuuya snapped herself out of her thoughts, and hastily agreed, paying for their drinks with a scowl on her face, and adjusting the silk shirt. In Dazai’s opinion, that smooth shirt would look much better dyed crimson.
The pair walked outside, Dazai bundled up in stolen property and blood money, and Chuuya shivering slightly for her lack of proper attire. Chuuya nervously shifted from foot to foot, shuddering with each gust of wind that whipped her face.
“Say, Chuu, wanna get out of this wind? That alley could shield us from the cold~” Dazai began walking briskly towards the secluded area, while Chuuya trailed behind rather slowly.
“So slow! What, are you a slug? Ah, slug! That’s your new name!” Chuuya’s heeled shoes clicked angrily against the bumpy cement, and her nose wrinkled as a nearly overwhelming stench emanating from the alleyway hit her. Her heterochromatic eyes squeezed shut, and she staggered slightly.
“Eugh! It smells like something pissed itself and then died back here-” Chuuya’s breath was knocked out of her, as Dazai shoved her further back into the alley, and pinned her against the wall. Her left palm slapped over the ginger’s mouth, and her right was pressing the cool muzzle of a gun against the woman’s temple. Dazai dropped all masks she had been keeping up, revealing a cruel and cold countenance, her lipstick-rimmed mouth an unmerciful line on the face of a person who could not possibly be considered a human being.
~5 weeks before the date~
It was crazy to believe that several weeks ago, Chuuya had been in the Old World with her friends. Piano Man, Lippmann, Albatross, Doc, and Iceman had played pool with her, drank and celebrated with her, and supported her both emotionally and, sometimes, financially. The laughs of that group still lingered in the corners of the bar, merry smiles of ghosts still reflected in the tabletops. In an unexpected and tragic turn of events, Chuuya’s group of friends had been found just outside the Old World, each with a shattered jaw oozing saliva and blood, and three bullet wounds in the chest, a ring of ruby-red surrounding each corpse.
Chuuya had been absolutely distraught, and she still very much was. Immediately, her mind went to revenge. Though her friends had desperately urged the ginger not to pursue a life of crime, not to throw her soul away to the ruthless hounds of the mafia, Chuuya felt that it was justified, this once. The flames of vengeance burned hot and bright in her chest, leading Chuuya to track down a semi-reliable informant. She stood at a dimly lit bus stop, under a dark sky and a flickering streetlamp, which cast an eerie greenish-yellow glow over the pavement. After some time passed, the woman was beginning to think that the person had abandoned their meet-time, when a figure emerged from the shadows.
“Oi, who are you?” Chuuya gruffly called out, and the man’s gate was slightly wobbly as he approached her. He was not much older than her, though his hair was unkempt and ratty.
“Sean, ma-ma’am. And I pre-presume you are Chuuya?” His stutter matched the man’s overall rodent-like nature, and his left eye twitched when he spoke.
“You’d be right. Now, tell me who killed these people.” Chuuya barely suppressed a wince as she handed the man several pictures of the crime scene, including the condition of the bodies. Her eyes remained steadily trained on the man, attempting to translate each one of his facial movements and twitches, as if it were a code that would tell her who killed her friends. Sean eventually glanced back up to her, his pale eyes wide and afraid.
“Thi-this matches the style of execu-cution that the Port Ma-mafia uses, exactly.” Chuuya’s face twisted in annoyance.
“Well, did they fuckin’ do it? Tell me!”
“Ye-yes! In all likelyhoo-hood, the Po-port Mafia killed the-them!”
Chuuya, enraged that such scum as the Port Mafia had taken her friend’s beautiful lives from this world, took a step forwards to shout her next words into the man’s face.
“Who?! I need names, at least one! Tell me who killed my fucking friends!” Sean cowered, then bit his lip anxiously, as if debating something in his head. The yellowed teeth chewed at his lower lip, which had clearly been used as a nervous fidget before, and began to bleed slightly. The man, as if sparked into action by the tang of iron on his tongue, shouted a name.
“O-Osamu Dazai! She’s a hi-hitman! Her pri-prices are high, so whoever hired h-her is we-wealthy!!”
Chuuya had walked away from that meeting with the full name of the murderer, which was significantly more than she could have hoped for. Sean had walked away feeling relieved for having guaranteed his own safety, yet with a weight of guilt in his chest for lying to the girl. For the next week and a half, the ginger had researched anything that had to do with one ‘Osamu Dazai’, met only with dead ends, misinformation, and dangerous close calls in empty parking garages, one of which ended with Chuuya’s socks speckled with blood that was not her own. Day after day, she lost hope, as Osamu Dazai was an endlessly elusive woman.
Eventually, a week and a half ago, Chuuya had collapsed onto her mattress, tears wetting the pillow once again. ‘Why can’t I even do this one fucking thing, why am I so useless I let them die… How could I fail to avenge them, it isn’t fair… it isn’t fair…’ She had thought, heaving with silent sobs. The next morning, she had woken up in her clothes from the day before, without even having bothered to remove her makeup last night. She had lifted her lead-like limbs up from where they rested on the bed, and ran herself a steaming shower.
Afterwards, she had dressed herself in sweatpants and a T-shirt, thoroughly scrubbed her face clean of all traces of makeup, and thrown herself back onto the bed. Twisting herself back into the sheets, Chuuya contemplated her loneliness. After all, she didn’t have her friends to hang out with anymore, so she had barely had any human interactions recently, and those that she did engage in were strictly business. Sighing, and hoping she won’t regret it, Chuuya opens her phone and downloads a dating app.
The first few swipes get her nowhere, but the ginger eventually begins swiping right on some beautiful and interesting ladies. Then, out of nowhere, a name and profile pops up onscreen. ‘Osamu Dazai, 25’, it reads, complete with a photograph of a woman with dark eyes, layered brunette waves, and bright red blood that Chuuya has a visceral urge to see spilled.
~Back in the alley~
Chuuya’s fist came swinging towards Dazai’s hand, knocking the gun from her grip. The metal clanged to the cobbled ground, as the ginger darted under Dazai’s flailing arms, shoving her to the ground. The brunette’s head made a painful crack against the stone, if it were anyone else, Chuuya would be worried about a severe concussion risk. Instead, she drew her knife that had been strapped to her thigh, and straddled Dazai’s waist in order to keep her down.
“Don’t fucking yell, or I’ll make this more painful than it needs to be.” Chuuya growled into Dazai’s ear. The brunette was stunned, her heart beating out of her chest, never before had she even been suspected, much less overpowered by her target! The weight of Chuuya’s lean thighs around her midriff was nearly enough to wind Dazai, but that also may have been the overwhelming panic she felt.
“Oi, idiot. Do you remember their faces? Did you look them in the eyes as you fucking killed them?!” Dazai’s breathing quickened, as rage built up in her very veins. ‘How dare this random woman pin me down? How could she know? How the fuck did she know-I covered my tracks!... only fitting, that I’m taken out because of some slip-up. From her words, she’s the family member or friend of someone I’ve killed. If someone as stupid as her was able to track me down, it was only a matter of time until others joined her.’
WHAP
Dazai’s face was whipped to the side by an unforgiving slap, and winced once more as Chuuya shouted into her ear.
“FUCKIN’ ANSWER ME, DAMMIT!”
“Who the hell are you even talking about? I’ve killed a whole fucking load of people!” Chuuya’s eyes narrowed, disgust evident on her face.
“You’re awful. Taking the life of another person, how could you? Just for the money? Gross, fucking gross… I’m talking about my friends, I’m sure you’ll remember them, with your pretty little fucked-up head. Lippmann, Albatross, Piano Man, Iceman, Doc? Those names ring a bell? DO THEY?” Dazai winced once more, getting increasingly fed-up with this pretentious brat. ‘How hypocritical, to pin me down with a knife, the intent of killing her clear, and yet criticize me for doing the same thing! Between money and revenge, only one is a necessity for living, therefore the murder done in pursuit of that is more morally correct! Between us, this idiot shorty is in the wrong! In fact, I didn’t even kill those guys, so what the fuck?’
“... I have killed many people, but none by those names.” Dazai said, her voice shaking slightly as a tsunami of anger rattled her to the core. Her face burned and stung, and her gun was far out of reach.
“...What?” Chuuya paused, the knife pressed to Dazai’s neck lessening in force. Though the brunette had clearly been hiding most of her intentions under various masks throughout the night, Chuuya somehow sensed honesty from that statement. ‘Could it be possible? No, this is Dazai Osamu, she’s admitted to killing people in pursuit of money, and she’s missing fingers, just as if she had mafia involvement.’
RING
RING
RING
Both women’s trains of thought were cut short by an annoying ringtone, the sound blasting from Dazai’s coat pocket. The woman was able to breathe easier, without the sharp blade against her throught. She glanced up to Chuuya’s eyes, still visible even in the narrow space lit only by a streetlamp several yards away. The brunette’s hand slithered into her coat pocket, withdrawing the phone with a smirk on her face. Chuuya’s right eye, which was an amber sort of brown, twitched in annoyance. This spurred Dazai on further, and she pressed the answer button, speaking in a sing-song tone.
“Hello~ Osamu Dazai speaking~” She stifled a cough, as Chuuya shifted her weight onto Dazai’s abdomen, rather than her hips.
“Dazai… It’s me, Ango… I-it’s Oda, he’s…” Dazai’s face dropped, a pit in her stomach sucking any hint of a smirk from her face, and doing away with any sort of tension between herself and Chuuya that should not have been present in an interaction between an assassin and her target.
“What? Speak up, Ango, what about Oda?”
“...He was found outside, on the sidewalk… his jaw was a-all broken, and they… they fucking shot him, the Port Mafia did… I’m so sorry…” Dazai gasped, and dropped the phone. Her hands went limp by her sides, and her thoughts spiraled out of control. ‘The Port Mafia? Why? Why him, why Oda, he was getting better, I was helping, I… It’s my fault, fuck! It’s my fucking fault that he’s gone, the Port Mafia wants me dead, if only he had thrown me away, he would be alright! Poor Oda, always so disgustingly kind, if only he had been a fraction as heartless as I, he would still be here!’
Chuuya, who had heard Ango’s words, removed the knife from its threatening position immediately, and rolled off of Dazai. The brunette’s eyes were glassy, thoughts riccocheing inside her head, as her heart raced and breathing quickened. Chuuya sat back on her heels, realizing what the call meant. ‘The Port Mafia killed someone important to her… So, she surely didn’t work for them in order to kill my friends… But, the fingers, and the informant, what the hell is going on here?’