The Disgraced Blossom- A Hakuouki Fan Fiction

13

Shuntarô scurries on the streets gaggle with common people, the man heaves sparse yet laboured insufflate; he wore a full-length cloak to protect his identity. He dodders like a bat out of hell even though crippling torment shot through both mangle limbs. A small number of wayfarer jostle Shuntarô's sweat-stained frame whenever he collides against them.

Not discouraged by the current quest, the once influential mortal pressed on to make a sudden turn into a wide passageway. Business boomed as a swarm of addictive gamblers scrooch down; the racket of squawks from humans as well as dice contained in a cup before flung on the dirt floor.

The nightfall oppressive heat just as acute pungent of unwashed figure meander inside his nostrils, however, Shuntarô's brain was in a chaotic mess. Added voices in between of belly laughter incorporated with blue cusses.

Women wore resplendent kimono; their countenance composes of pasty powder. Bow-shaped lips in the shade of vermilion curled at the corners and intricate wigs balance atop their head.  Ornamental hairpins gleam under bright lamps. 

By comparison to a raging storm, Shuntarô literally cannonades through the entrance, his wide eyes frantically cast about for a singular being when he scoured him out. An elderly male indulges exorbitant sake imported from Korea whereas as a young geisha dwell beside him. A chonmage hairstyle whilst a salt-pepper-shade ponytail draped over a bare shoulder.

"W-Watanabe-sama," Shuntarô's tongue prattle off a hasty greet. 

"Ho, is it Shuntarô?" a gravelly tone acknowledged the hooded figure.

"M-Mayusa.. is the name.." nervous gaze wandered around the familiar faces. "Someone might know me."

The gangster tilted his head sideways whilst slanted eyes glance at the encircle section. In retaliation, Watanabe stares at Shuntarô whom apprehensively tugged at the hood and swallowed.

"Do you see anyone here?" Watanabe challenged him.

"I'm sorry," Shuntarô bowed mid waist. "In regards to my presence, I bear news from the streets that your men are in the custody of Shinsengumi."

"Your living nightmare," the other maliciously grinned.

Although Shuntarô unperturbed by the cruel taunt behind closed doors, he suffered from hellish nightmares of the vice-commander who tortured him mercilessly. The bastard who had permanently scarred his body. 

From the experience, Shuntarô ever since harboured a grudge against the group of officers whenever the male spied someone in beryl-shade attire unimaginable rage instantaneously swallow his heart whole. He abhorred that specific colour.

"They will hunt us down," Shuntarô quakes from fear. "They are a bunch of wild dogs! I am living proof of their-"

"Shut the fuck up, you yellow liver son of a whore," Watanabe drawled whilst he took a sip of the branded liquor. "A waste of human breath, this one."

His lackeys displayed disrespectful as they chuckle at Shuntarô's plight, their sharp eyes trained upon the "informer" alike to hungry vultures. Both Shuntarô and Watanabe got in contact when one of the man's righthand goon lead him to the said person. He had revenge inside his brain.

"How do we stop them from coming here?" Shuntarô clenched both fists.

"Why don't you stop them?" Watanabe waved two fingers toward the geisha.

The expressionless woman sat beside him when an arm draped across slender shoulders before the same hand dove into the front lapels, shamelessly he fondled her perky breast.