Exactly 2,000 words. Rating R. Previous parts are HERE.
Dojo Hard Part 7
Gradually the numbness that had filled Buffy, as she watched the building burning to the ground with Chopstick inside, faded. She put aside her qualms about Angel’s gloating and reminded herself that Chopstick had been a deadly enemy, however entertaining and charismatic he might have been, and Angel had every right to celebrate his death. By the time they got back to the castle she had shrugged the feelings off and was happy again, giggling under the influence of the gin, and content to walk hand in hand with the Lord High Executioner.
“We must tell the Shogun the good news,” Angel said. “The death of Chopstick will bring him much happiness and he will no doubt shower favors upon me. Uh, that is, on us.”
“We didn’t actually see him die,” Buffy pointed out. “Maybe we should kinda hold back on the announcement thing?”
“He couldn’t have survived, so he is as good as dead,” Angel declared. “Practically, he is dead. And if he is dead, why not say so?”
Buffy’s brow furrowed. There was a flaw in that logic somewhere but she was too drunk to see it. “I guess so. Okay, let’s go see the Shogun.”
Chamberlain Snyder blocked their path. “No visitors for the Shogun,” he told them. “He is in a meeting.”
“Defer to the Lord High Executioner,” Angel commanded.
Snyder sniffed. “Huh. Why should I defer to you? A street thug taken from the County Jail by a set of curious chances. Liberated then on bail, on your own recognizances, and contracted into the Shogun’s service against my advice. It’s not like your career has been all that glittering. You didn’t even succeed in destroying the Dread Judge like you claimed you had. I’m going to recommend that the Shogun strip you of your Lord High Executioner post as you got it under false pretences.”
“The Dread Judge has now been destroyed once and for all,” Angel announced. “Is that not so, Buffy-chan?”
Buffy frowned. “I guess so,” she confirmed. “Only, she was a nice girl and on our side, so that’s not really of the good.”
“The point is that she is gone,” Angel said. “More to the point our most feared enemy, the villainous Chopstick, has also perished. The Shogun must hear this news.”
“I’ll let him know,” Snyder said.
“Hey, we killed him, we get to tell Giles-sama,” Buffy protested. “He’ll want to know right away.”
“Out of the way, Chamberlain, or I shall sentence you to death for obstruction,” Angel commanded, his hand going to the hilt of his mighty Ôdachi.
Snyder glared at him but moved aside.
Angel strode on into the castle, pulling a slightly wobbly Buffy along behind him, and entered the Shogun’s apartments.
Giles had a guest. He was sharing tea with a beautiful woman. Jenny Calendar, who taught the use of the abacus, and who was also Willow’s instructor in the Shugenza magic arts. He tore his gaze away from the neckline of Jenny’s kimono and frowned at the intruders. “This had better be important or I’m going to get rather cross with you.”
“Good news, oh Shogun,” Angel announced. “Chopstick is dead.”
“Ah, yes, that is rather pleasant news,” Giles agreed. “Your intrusion is forgiven. Did you slay him personally?”
“I oversaw his death,” Angel claimed.
Buffy frowned. “Hey! What about me throwing him onto the zither? You were all, like, tied up at the time. And it was Drusilla who set the place on fire.”
“Buffy played a part in it too,” Angel conceded. “I baited the trap and Chopstick fell into it. Now he is dead.”
“You’ve all done very well,” Giles beamed. “It’s pleasant to receive such good news. It makes up for the large disappointment that I’ve just suffered.”
“Miss Calendar not putting out for you, huh?” Buffy muttered under her breath.
“I’ve had a communication from the organizing committee of the Kanamara penis festival,” Giles went on. “They don’t want me to be one of the judges this year.”
“No penises? That sucks,” Buffy said. “Uh, I mean that must be quite a blow.”
“Yes,” said Giles, “I’ve been dismissed from the Council of Wankers.”
Drusilla laid Chopstick down on a futon. “Rest, Chopstick-san,” she bade him. “You will feel better again in time.”
“Not if my sodding back’s broken, Dru-chan,” Chopstick pointed out. “Get me a doctor, love.”
“Later,” Drusilla promised. “There’s something more important that I have to do first.”
“More important?” Chopstick echoed unbelievingly. “More important than fixing my back?”
“Oh, yes, Chopstick-san,” Dru said. “Now is the time to strike. To run and catch while the lamb is caught in the blackberry patch. Time to bring our Sensei back to us.”
Chopstick’s brow furrowed. “What, you’re going to use his blood to fix me up?”
“Of course not, silly,” Drusilla smiled. She leaned over him and for a moment he thought that she was going to drop a kiss on his forehead but instead she just wrinkled her nose. “All broken. No use to me any more. All you can do is think up stupid haiku. Bye bye.” Drusilla walked away leaving Chopstick staring after her in bewilderment.
“Dru-chan! Come back!” Chopstick called. Drusilla opened the door, walked out, and slammed the door shut behind her. He raised himself up onto his elbows and shouted. “Dru-chan! You can’t just leave me like this! At least send Dalton to me.” Chopstick called again and again but there was no response. Eventually Chopstick accepted that he had been abandoned and sank back onto the futon. “What the hell is she up to?” he wailed. “I looked after her for bloody years and she’s just tossed me aside? I don’t get it.”
“Hey, man, keep the noise down.” A small man with tousled reddish hair padded into the room on bare feet. “Some of us are trying to sleep, okay?”
“Sorry. My broken back is nothing compared to you getting woken up,” Chopstick snarked.
“Chill out, dude,” the small man said. “It’s just happened, right? In which case it’s not broken or you wouldn’t be able to holler so much.”
“Can’t move my legs. No feeling in them. If it’s not broken, then what?”
“Bruised nerves, could be? Cracked vertebrae? Hey, I’m no doctor. I could fetch one for you, dude?”
“Ta, mate, that would be bloody brilliant,” Chopstick said. His eyebrow quirked upwards as he recognized the man. “Hey, you’re that fox spirit, the one who’s sweet on that Willow bird, right? They say you play a mean Biwa.”
“I try, dude. Name’s Oz. Only I’m not a fox spirit. They’re all chicks. I’m a wolf spirit.”
“Pleased to meet you, Oz-san. They call me Chopstick.”
“Hey, I’ve heard of you. You play the Biwa too, right? Maybe we could jam sometime, after we get you fixed up. I’ll go get a doc,” Oz offered. “I’ll just put some sandals on.”
“Sandals,” Chopstick breathed. “That’s what Dru’s up to. She’s off to trick Angel into losing his soles.”
“It’s a shame Giles is missing out on the Penis Festival,” Buffy remarked. “I know he enjoys it.”
“Don’t worry, I’m sure that Jenny will take him to see the Monster Fucks,” Angel said. He had consumed a hefty bowl of celebratory sake before leaving the Shogun’s apartments and his voice was slightly slurred. “Hey, want to pop into my place for one more drink before you go?” He gestured along the narrow street towards the nearby door of his home.
Cold eyes watched from a window high above. Dainty yet strong hands raised a brimming bucket and tilted it.
“I don’t know,” Buffy mused. “I have to get – oh!”
Ice-cold water poured down upon her and drenched her to the skin. Her kimono clung to her slim body. Her nipples hardened and their outlines showed up clearly through the silk.
“Hey!” Angel shouted. “You be more careful, whoever you are, or I’ll have you beheaded! You nearly hit me with that!” He turned to Buffy. “You okay? Wow, you’re soaked. You’d better come in and get dried off.”
Buffy allowed him to lead her inside. He produced a towel, poured her out a bowl of sake, and turned his back while she slipped off the kimono and dried herself. He found himself staring into a mirror and his brow furrowed in puzzlement. It was unfamiliar, a new addition to the room, and he was suspicious for a moment. Probably just a gift from some townsperson, a tribute to the new Lord High Executioner, but… Then the image of Buffy’s unclad form drove all other thoughts from his mind.
“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed reverently. “Oh, Buffy-chan!”
“Eep!” Buffy squealed. “You can see me!” She hastily covered herself with the towel and blushed.
“I’m sorry,” Angel said. “I didn’t mean to look. You are just so special.”
“Uh, that’s nice,” Buffy said. She felt acutely nervous and gulped down the sake to give herself back some composure. The sake kicked the gin into renewed action and she giggled. “You’re pretty special yourself, Angel-kun.”
Angel turned to face her. “Should I help you towel dry? I’ve seen you anyway now.”
Buffy blushed deeper. “I guess.” Angel took hold of the towel and began to rub. Buffy squirmed. “Hey, tickles.” She giggled again as the alcohol took effect. “Makes me kinda tingly. Oops! You can see my boobies. No fair. You’ve seen me and I haven’t seen you.”
Buffy’s enticing presence was overcoming Angel’s alcohol-weakened self-restraint. “Maybe I could put that right?”
“Yeah,” Buffy breathed. Her fingers went to the fastenings of his robe. Her face lifted towards him, he brought his lips down to her, and they kissed.
Drusilla rappelled down from the window from which she had poured the iced water, scuttled across the street, and scaled the wall of Angel’s house. She hooked a grapnel onto the crown of the roof and lowered herself on a rope, hanging head first, and peered in through the window.
A frown of jealousy and a smile of satisfaction warred for supremacy on her face. Angel was naked and between Buffy’s legs. He had broken one of the clauses in the contract binding him to the service of the Shogun. His sandals lay discarded on the floor. Drusilla flicked her hand and sent a dart flying across the room to embed itself into one of the sandals. A thin thread trailed out behind the dart. She tugged on in gently and the sandal slid across the floor. She brought it up to the wall below the window and gave a sharp jerk. The dart came free. She wound in the thread and flicked the dart out again to impale the second sandal. “I love it when a plan comes together,” she whispered to herself. Across the room Angel grunted and cried out in orgasmic pleasure. Buffy didn’t. Drusilla’s smile achieved decisive victory over her frown. “And I love it when my darling and his mistress don’t.”
“Hey,” Oz greeted Chopstick. “I’ve brought you a doc, man. The greatest ninja doctor there is.”
“So where is he?” Chopstick wondered.
A throwing knife whistled in through the window, curved in an arc around the room, and plunged into the floor. A second followed, then a third, and a fourth, marking out a square. A smoke bomb landed in the centre of the square and a cloud of vapor blinded Oz and Chopstick for a moment. When it cleared a man stood between the knives. A tall man with a chin covered in untidy stubble that was in marked contrast to the elegance of his grey silk robes. He bent to retrieve his knives, supporting himself with a polished stick decorated with a band of silver, and then limped towards Chopstick. He turned piercing grey eyes on the ninja minstrel, sizing him up, and then spoke.
“You would be my patient, I believe? I’m pleased to meet you. I am House of Flying Daggers, MD.”