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No Need for Masculinity	By : Richard_Priapi Category: +S to Z > Tenchi Muyo Views: 501 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the various Tenchi Muyo properties, nor any of the characters herein who may be found within that canon. Originally posted to AO3, I'll be posting more proofread/edited versions of the chapters here.

Chapter List
- 11
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- 13
The office Kiyone entered was of spartan furnishment; maybe forty years ago it could have been upscale, but years of daily use left its desks, chair, and shelves dingy and drab. If you were willing to look further, it oozed luxury. A display case small enough to house a flute protected a number of teeth, each pair collected from a different endangered apex predator of a dozen worlds, ready to set in jewelry and priced to move- only a million per set. A set of chrome disks in a ceramic chassis contained an archive of cult classic films from a planet long-since swallowed by a supernova. And hung behind the desk so that it framed the face of the man beneath it like a halo was a golden record: one of only two known capsules sent into space by a primitive race of bipedal apes in an equally primitive probe into the stellar community.
If the office was decadence in decay, the man at the desk was garbage ascendent. His suit was bespoke Arcturan silk in a cherry-red brocade. Despite the dim light he wore mirrored sunglasses- stylistic affectation or augmented reality HUD? He waved her to a seat, propping a scuffed pair of ankle-high boots onto the desk.
“Tochi leads me to believe you have a nose for fine spirits.”
She let herself sink lightly into the offered seat, fully aware of the probability of a loaded gun aimed at her torso through the thin wood veneer.
She kept her voice barely above a whisper- frustration tugged at his smile as he leaned forward a few inches to hear. All the better to slow any quick moves.
“That’s right. My employer is looking to acquire something to keep on hand for special occasions. If what I tasted is what I think it is, I’m about to bring him the best drink of his life.”
The man snorted.
“When’d you learn manners? Tochi said you were a real brass bitch to him. Was going to kick you out empty-handed.”
“You don’t get far in a man’s world with only one face. I cater my speech to my audience.”
His facial expression upgraded to a grimace.
“Something the matter?”
“I don’t like two-faced broads. Neither does the boss- and he has the final say-so on where the Shinju goes.”
So know your place was implied. Kiyone’s body buzzed- failing to contain its energy, she chose to vent it through strategic bouncing of her leg. She clasped her hands in front of her with a bowed neck.
“I’m sorry for my offense, but please remember I am not the client. My boss is.”
“And who is that, exactly?”
Kiyone tossed her hair in mock annoyance.
“He prefers to remain anonymous in… business like this, but I’m allowed to share that he’s an art dealer.”
The man’s eyebrow twitched at her.
“Must be good business in art if he’s after Shinju sake. Normally I’d say we can’t waste our time with small orders, but since my cut on one lousy bottle is enough for lesser men to retire on…”
The criminal gestured freely at the room around him. The detective straightened her skirt and tented her fingers. When she responded it hurt to keep her voice so bland and polite.
“So we’re agreed I can buy- now it’s just time to talk price?” Kiyone licked her lips. He might think she was just thinking of the sake, its taste fresh on her tongue, and not the jaws of the GXP snapping shut on Masanosuke’s operation. For selling Shinju, there could be dozens of potential charges: tax evasion, smuggling, money laundering, all before dredging up matters related to a new attempt at taking over the Jurai throne…
“On one condition, sugar.” The man rolled his hips, boots settling back on the ground as he rummaged around in his desk.
Kiyone’s back went ramrod straight, eyes fixed on his in case a twitch could betray his next move. He brought out a small tray, lined in gold and bearing meticulous lines of a lavender colored powder.
“In our line of work, you never know who to trust. So we can haggle all you want, but until you and I do a line together, no sales are finalized.”
Kiyone’s mouth went dry. She decided her natural reaction would not be out of character.
“What?”
“This here’s a custom blend of some of the finest narcotics money can buy. All guaranteed safe, of course.”
Also so illegal that one pinch in your pocket would get you life without parole in a rim-world labor camp.
Kiyone tried to swallow, but her dry throat seized against itself. Her companion smiled like the cat that caught the canary, his knee doubtless raising to slam into a silent alarm. A cop would never jeopardize a mission by imbibing even one of these drugs, let alone a cocktail of uppers, downers, hallucinogens, muscle relaxers, and veterinary multivitamins in proportion known only to the man wagging a straw at her. He whipped his glasses off and placed them on the desk.
“Make a choice, missy. Meeting with the boss soon and I am fresh out of time to waste.”
The boss was here? Her career had languished so long under Mihoshi’s curse. If she could get to Masanosuke, forget promotions- they’d be making movies about her for decades. She was moving while thinking- dreadful, dangerous idea. And then the straw was in her nose and she was playing a fierce game of chicken as she and the slime ball in red silk inched their faces towards each other along a long, thin line of fire that burnt through her mucous membranes, sizzled her blood and made her consciousness scream at the nerve one puny flesh body had to try to hold all its glory inside. The air was thick with raspy sound like a distant sawmill, reverberating irritatingly in her ears until she realized it was her own gasping breath as she reacclimated to simple, gaseous air. The man’s eyes- at least she hoped those were still his eyes- stretched and wobbled and changed color, but still they exuded satisfaction.
“Now how much is your employer willing to part with?”
--
Mihoshi’s words babbled like a brook, and had a similarly soothing effect on her new friend’s entourage. As they approached the back entrance of a seedy strip mall, a refrigerator-shaped man held out a hand to stop them. He greeted them jovially, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“Whoah, Broon, you finally get yourself a lady? Some of the fellas and I were starting to wonder if you were a whoopsey.”
Broon, brow-beaten and bearing a half-dozen bags of baked treats, lacked the energy to do more than scowl.
“Lay off Mihoshi. She’s a good kid. She’ll make a fine traditional wife- for someone, he added, giving her a cautious sidelong glance as she cheerfully tossed a golden-brown dumpling into her mouth, chewing with puffed-out cheeks and sparkling eyes.
The big man’s smile now almost turned genuine.
“Look, I appreciate you bringing along a future missus for the cause, but you know I can’t let you in with all those bags.”
Broon winced as he Mihoshi’s eeys welled with fat tears.
“Oh please, mister, I made him buy all these for me- you see I was hungry, but I couldn’t decide what I wanted and he just was so kind and bought me everything I asked for and nobody has done that for me before- don’t make him throw it all away, it’s so much food can I interest you in a sticky bun you look hungry, It’s important to eat when you’re on a long job, even if you’re standing still, you know?”
The whole time she spoke those tears shimmered in her eyes and slipped down her cheeks. The hulking freezer stood aghast. He thought of the little sister he never had, the cutesy niece who had stopped talking to him right around the time he found his new family. Even though he knew he should be irritated, his heart melted. He laid on an extra-thick scowl to hide any evidence of going soft.
“All right, all right, enough with the waterworks. You can go in- just try and deal with those snacks. The boys see a pretty lady like you bringing baked goods through the center and you’ll be stopping every ten feet for a marriage proposal.”
As they let her through the door, her heart soared. She was really policing! Think what Kiyone would say. As she hummed a cheerful ditty, she mentally reviewed her assets: badge and gun, flex-cuffs, laser yoyo, emergency landing beacon for her ship... Yes, she was ready. Her partner was going to be so proud!
--
Mihoshi and her new friends rounded a corner as the came up a stairwell- tucked into an alcove with a good vantage, a wary man with a long gun tucked under his longer coat paused, catching the flash of silver tucked into the small of Mihoshi’s back. Fingers curling into the trigger guard of his weapon he prowled forwards, so intent on making a big damn scene he didn’t see Mihoshi drop a large jelly tart on the ground at his feet. His boot caught the treat at the wrong angle, sliding out from under him with alarming speed. He tumbled back into the stairs, the sharp corner of each step and the cold steel of his gun turning his ribs to mush by the time he whumfed into the bottom landing. Mihoshi paused in her storytelling.
“Did you fellas hear something just now?”
Her nose wrinkled and her eyes narrowed. Tochi and the others drank in her face- so cute when she was thinking- no matter how much pain it seemed to cause her to try.
“No, doll, I didn’t hear a thing. These old stations make a lot of noise though. Probably just a pipe rattling.”
“Are you sure? For a moment I was scared it might be some kind of bad guy.”
“Well if you’re scared, honey, why don’t you come stand by me? I’ll keep you safe,” one of Tochi’s friends crooned. Tochi, still stuck with three bags of snacks, spluttered in protest. Maybe this ditz wasn’t wife material, but he wasn’t going to have put up with her exhausting habits for nothing. The argument continued all down the hall, broken only by the merry sounds of Mihoshi’s giggling laughter at their expense.
--
Kiyone edged her way into the improvised auditorium, the sheer number of skinheaded acolytes in the crowd giving her a momentary weakness in the knees. She tried to remember how she got there- her memory was pink and fuzzy after that nice weirdo had given her the line of drugs. She frowned- wait, what had happened to him, anyway? As the thought proved too large for her to carry, she occupied herself by rubbing the smooth wood used to panel the hall. Should she try to elbow forward for a better view? Her stomach twisted, felt like it was trying to teleport through her sides. Maybe staying by the exit was in her best interest. As the lights dimmed, the sheen of the polished wooden walls fell away to inky, spacelike darkness. A spotlight flared onto a former access catwalk, now a well-appointed balcony stage sheathed in white titanium. The crowd hollered, the ecstatic din of a devoted audience falling quickly into a rhythmic chorus of guttural, chest-thumping grunts. Kiyone’s eyes narrowed to slits, focusing on the target as he emerged into the light. He was unmistakable- not the least because of the way that the crowd fell reverently silent when he raised his arm for quiet.
“Good evening, gentlemen and ladies. It is truly a delight and a privilege to have the honor of addressing you here tonight.”
The genteel tone stood in sharp contrast to the towering man on the platform. The traditional Juraiian court dress he wore did little to hide his bulky, musclebound frame. A long, aquiline nose jutted proudly from his square jaw. His eyes, though dark, burnt brightly in his skull like flaming coals, and the brows over them were a rich black. Kiyone noted that he too sported a polished bald scalp- but unlike so many in the audience, his was natural in origin. She tapped a button on her shirt- live footage streamed from the miniscule camera to the Yagami’s computer.
“Among you I see some familiar faces- wise old heads who stood against the tyranny of the Juraiian family’s kowtowing to flights of modern fancy and placing heirless, unwed women in charge of the Royal throne. Together we empowered Kagato, peer of the legendary Yosho, to take the throne by the divine truth of his celestial might.”
Murmurs of agreement and scattered cheering rippled through the audience.
“Did he do well by our faith?”
The room reverberated with a thunderous “NO.”
“Indeed. Bested by some half-breed rimworlder, Kagato- though as dear an ally to our cause as could be asked for- left open a yawning void oh so easily filled by cowards, returning their errant princess to the throne. Did we deserve it?”
Kiyone fought her own scowl, forcing herself to mouth along with a NO that roared in her ear like cannon fire.
Masanosuke raised his arms to the sky, beseechingly.
“I say we did.”
Someone near Kiyone shouted something not very polite- she swallowed a laugh as two men grabbed him by the arms and dragged him out past her, his eyes bugging wide as a hand covered his foul mouth. The crowd graciously ignored him; traitors could not be tolerated. Masanosuke continued.
“It was our good faith in the common sense of our species and the free expression of thought that allowed a degenerate minority to muzzle the unspoken truths holding together our society. As their corruptive influence left our empire unmoored and weak, it was our reluctance to show our strength, our numbers, and our conviction in the broad light of day that led us to scatter into obscurity upon his ignominious defeat.”
Throughout the room shoulders tensed, heads hung, and faces reddened. Kiyone tried to make out some of the murmurs that ran through the audience, but small sounds echoed uncomfortably in her bubbly brain, so she focused instead on the perp she needed to stake out.
“And once restored to power, what did our beloved princess do with that advantage? Why, she vanished once again to play house with her savior- leaving the effete, unenlightened class of book-saturated bureaucrats to have their way on the management of our lives, our purpose, and our wills.”
He paced the pulpit now, sharp gaze penetrating the core of any lucky- or foolish- enough to hold it.
“Hope may spring once more for us, my brethren. You ask why I called you to this desolate rock in some castaway corner of empty space?”
The fire in his eyes would not look out of place behind a beam rifle’s sights.
“I have found our wayward princess and the merry band of misfits responsible for our late unpleasantness. I have measured their might and found them able architects of their own downfall. If we have but the will to reach, we can take the princesses, and the stars that we circle will rise tomorrow over a new Jurai, ruled by wise men, by mighty men: a machine oiled by the work of our women restored to their rightful places, unencumbered by the duties of politics and labor. And who do you want to lead this new world?”
The crowd spoke as one- “MASANOSUKE.”
Kiyone had to take her eyes off the pulpit. Hell, if she had a cleaner shot she’d shoot him for that. If she were just a little closer… set her gun to stun… As her eyes skittered over the audience, they froze on a bobbing blonde do, tied up in a blue ribbon. It couldn’t be. There, so close to the front- nestled right behind a group of jackbooted thugs who had to be Masanosuke’s security detail.
“Mihoshi!” She growled. The room went silent- how loud had she been? The blonde turned, one hand rubbing at the nape of her neck, the other creeping towards the pistol in the small of her back.
“Oh hi, Kiyone. Funny running into you-“
“How in the wide world did you get to the bottom of this before I did?”
Mihoshi’s skinhead posse- none other than Masanosuke’s personal guard- shot each other dark looks. Tochi put a hand on Mihoshi’s shoulder-
“Friend of yours?”
“Well yeah- I mean no, sure we go way back, but she shouldn’t be here.”
Tochi’s hand squeezed, and Mihoshi squirmed, trying to get out of his grip. A silvery cylinder fell out of her pocket to the floor, the impact deploying its screen. Her uniformed face stared coolly out of her official GXP badge. She cleared her throat, straightening her back into Tochi’s restraint.
“Masanosuke, you and your accomplices are under arrest. Please surrender peacefully or we will have to take you by force.”
Kiyone let out a groan that wouldn't have been out of place coming from a sick elephant.
Masanosuke grunted, leaning over the catwalk. He shot a baleful glance at his shamefaced security team. Then he smiled cordially at the Mihoshi and Kiyone, keeping his voice dry as he greeted them.
“Ah, the galaxy’s finest. Welcome, detectives.” He snapped his fingers. “Bring them to me.”
- 11
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- 13
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No Need for Masculinity