"I really don't understand what all this fuss is about. This seriously can't be the worse shape you've ever seen me in."

"I really don't understand why you're so thickheaded. Goddamit, woman, there were EIGHT of them!"

"Oh, this coming from the man who decided that he would venture into a place aptly named IceHell soon after recovering from extensive injuries that had him bedridden for how long? The pot called, Mister Vice-Head. It wants you to dye your shitty suit black because so you can MATCH."

"Clever," he deadpanned with an eye roll. "I'm the fucking Second of a global criminal syndicate. It's part of the goddamn job to go after Gourmet ingredients. You are one woman with a SOUP KITCHEN facing off with eight men who deal in human trafficking," Match growled as he stalked along, his shoulders raised with how tense he was. "You are fucking overestimating yourself, that's what you're doing."

"Excuse YOU! I sure as hell didn't hear what I thought I heard come out of your mouth!" Kira bit out, narrowing her eyes in annoyance as she continued to stomp through the ramshackle bazaar. Her current, half-way crazed appearance was fairly intimidating (and it certainly sent some of the people in their immediate vicinity scrambling), but Match merely sneered back at her. Despite their bickering, Match's hand immediately moved to steady the wooden frame strapped to her back when Kira turned a corner. "I will shove my fucking boot up your cracked ass! I was FINE. I AM fine. It was eight guys, and I'm no monster Bishokuya, but I sure as hell dealt with worse! Was I supposed to just LET them take Mayor and Makino? So the fight was tighter and downright more down and dirty than usual. I dealt with it no problem, so where'd you get off questioning my ability, you shitty Jigsaw?!"

Match's eye twitched in annoyance at the nickname, one reserved to when she was really seemed to want to agitate him and usually when her cool and cultured speech started slipping. It'd be funny if he wasn't so pissed. "Woman, look at you! Half of your face is swollen," he waved an exasperated hand. "You can't open one eye or raise your right arm past your shoulder. I've seen you fight and you're good, but you don't have any business getting into brawls all over the damn place. So far you've been lucky in that you've been flying under people's radar, and here you are throwing yourself head-on onto the knife! It was cocky andstupid and reckless! They bounced you around like a piece of Tomyum Pork Chop gone under a mallet!"

"They did before I starting breaking jaws," Kira shot back.

Even now as she was visibly laboring under the weight of her cargo, Kira determinedly plodded on; a whole team of mules in stubborn strength, exhausted sweat, and her own unique mix of pride and force of will. Visibly bruised, she had on swathes of old bandages, a black eye that had swollen her eye shut and distorted that part of her face. Her normally swept back hair was messy and strands stuck wetly to her face. Yet Kira still carried the air of someone who would coldly go for your throat with bared teeth if it was the last thing she did. Albeit, with an edge of almost desperate wildness that bordered on insanity. Both she and Match were dangerously pushing the borders of their cool, each riling the other up even further.

"I don't need ya shitty approval to do JACK!" Kira hissed back and dodged around another group. All the while maneuvering her carrying pole so not to hit somebody with the cargo at the ends or give someone the chance to get at the boxes. "Ya said you're here to help! So help and stop nagging me already! You've been on this shit for the past fuckin' hour! This is a dangerous city. Did ya expect me to not EVER get hurt?"

"I expect you to not go out of your way looking for fights!" Match griped. "I expect you not to act like a hero, or stand there like an idiot and let them come at you!"

"Rich, coming from the guy who lead himself and three minions onto a suicide mission," she snarled, stomping on one step in rage. "Only took nearly getting all of ya nearly getting killed AFTER having EVERY BONE in your collective bodies broken and Shin getting his eye ripped out to get ya to finally admit you were out of YOUR damn league!" She stomped in emphasis to her last words.

Match inhaled sharply as Kira's eyes widened, both of them missing a step and a slap-in-the-face silence falling between the two of them. The tall Yakuza stared resolutely ahead with a stiff expression as they continued to walk. To his side, Kira her jaw working

"That crossed a line," Match informed her quietly, an edge of tightness in his voice.

"…Yeah," Kira grumbled. "I'm sorry, and you're...right." She admitted as if it hurt. "I'm…not very good at fighting head-on. Sneaking, one-on-one, trucks? Sure thing. Regular thugs aren't a problem. But numbers are a bit of a headache and...yea. But if you think I wouldn't do it again then you're kidding yourself."

Match opened his mouth to continue arguing, but instead let out a sharp, angry exhalation and a loud click his teeth as he shifted the worn bags hooked into the crook of one burdened elbow. Both of their tempers were flaring, and while it was vaguely fun to see Kira frizzled and composure mostly lost, he had enough of feeling like he was bashing his head against a cement wall. Additionally, they were sending the surrounding marketplace and locals into a frightened tizzy. And why were they currently storming through one Nerg's bigger marketplaces, sending people scrambling out of the way from shear intimidation, and attracting attention by sniping scathingly sarcastic comments, liberally peppered by obscenities, at each other?

Because screw the fact that she was black, purple, blue, yellow, limping, and couldn't see out of one eye. No, she needed to go grocery shopping, so she was god damn well going grocery shopping. Unfortunately, as her 'clientele' grew, so did the amount of food she had to acquire. Which led to their current expedition. This was their 3rd and final trip of the day.

The stubborn woman was carrying a heavy, wooden, box-like frame strapped to her back. She had unearthed the wooden boards and debris from somewhere to wrestle and tie into the current rough but usable shape it was in a while back, and boy did it see use. Currently, it was loaded with burlap bags piled and stacked on top of one another like worn books. Of course, the resulting weight had her hunching forward under the weight. On top of that, she had a long carrying pole over one shoulder which was forced into a matching curve under the weight of the baskets at each end. Apparently unlike her usual method of laying the pole across both shoulders to keep an eye on both out of her peripheries (and screw people who didn't get out of her way), her recent injuries (one heavily bruised shoulder) resulted in her having to support the weight on one shoulder with one basket in front of her and one behind her. So reluctantly she had accepted Match's offer as an escort for the day, because even if Match thought she may have wrenched something there, like hell she was going to admit it. Results were: Match silently celebrating his win and then worryingly follow Kira as she lumbered along in a decidedly ungraceful—but nevertheless doggedly determined—and plodding pace.

Match swore that the more this woman needed help, the more she struggled to accept any.

It wasn't the first time he'd accompany her to the marketplace (she wasn't shy of using Match's intimidating company to get a better price when shopping). But it said something that this was the first time that Kira had accepted help when he accompanied her, conceding the bags of groceries he had hook onto one arm and letting him keep an eye on the basket in the back she couldn't see. So that was why he now had a sack of grain over one shoulder and the bag straps dug viciously into his elbow. The other arm, the one opposite to the hip his sword was attached to, he kept free.

"You could have gotten some of us for backup," he muttered rebelliously Infuriating woman heard him anyways.

"There wasn't exactly a lot of time," she snapped back testily, because fuck it all, she just has to have the last word. "What, should I've sat back and waited for help and let those fuckers do whatever the hell they wanted to my people. I AM the help!" She paused, and in a quieter tone mumbled, "And I am not part of the Gourmet Yakuza, Match. Even I know that I cannot so easily call for backup as if I were."

Match didn't answer. He already knew everything she'd just snap at him, and she knew that he knew. Of course he knew she wasn't part of the Yakuza, however closely she worked with them as time went on. It wasn't something he forgot. But it was something he could easily push to the back of his mind when chatting with her about business or the recent movements of the city, when she visited for tea, and when she rough-housed with his men while nagging them in equal parts, putting them in line alongside her own wards. He'd never felt resentment for her freedom to do what she will, and in fact supported it and defended her freedom of movement to others. But currently, he was feeling something close. This wasn't her first fight, nor her first injuries. But it was Match's first time seeing such extensive damage, the first time he'd seen the results of her squaring off with trouble big, strong and violent enough that she couldn't just brush off. Her scars spoke of more extensive and deeper wounds, of bigger troubles and fiercer enemies, but Match never could stand seeing any of his people hurt.

"No, you aren't," and he admitted, and hell, he felt like he was pulling out his own fingernails. "But we're friends. So I damn well care even if you're utterly infuriating. Which, with your recent stunts, makes me think we ought to put you in a nice padded room with some of our more muscular guys to make sure you don't hurt yourself."

"And you're extremely vexing. Of which you need to be reminded of as often as possible to keep your pretty, blonde head from growing too big, and you end up doing something that will make me eviscerate you," Kira swiped, though there was a lot less heat in it now. Exhaling through her nose, Kira huffed upwards, trying to blow a sweaty strand of hair out from her face. Noting that her free, injured arm was probably making bending her arm up a sore experience, he absentmindedly flicked the hair out of her face for her and raising an eyebrow to invite her to continue. Nodding briskly in thanks, she huffed, "Okay, truce. I've had enough fighting. We're burying the hatchet in the middle of the dessert, of which we will never find the exact spot again. Let's talk about something else."

"Like what?" Match obliged dryly.

"Well, since we don't seem to be giving a fuck about pleasantries or sensitivities today," she observed neutrally, the swear hinting at how a looseness that comes with the harsh simmerings of after a fight. "Childhoods. How'd you come to be in the Gourmet Yakuza?"

It was something that was bound to come up sooner or later, and with how reckless they both were with adrenaline in their systems, Match couldn't say he didn't see this coming. He mused offhandedly, sighing in relief with the rough, block-cement shack that was the Kitchen came into view. They were finally done with the day's shopping. Hopefully none of Kira's people had gone in and raided the groceries already there. For all the bickering, all their trips had been relatively quick.

He shrugged his broad shoulders the best he could and grunted, "Not much to tell. Born in this city, abandoned early on not to remember who left me but old enough claw out survival. Ran with the other street rats, was picked up by Boss Ryuu. He taught me what it means to be a human and then a man, rather than a beast," He moved ahead and opened the door for Kira to lug her load through before following after. Surveying the shed, Match saw that only some of the root vegetables had been disturbed. His appearance for the day had probably scared off all but the most desperate, and those that did appear took ingredients that didn't need preparation. In this Gourmet Age, Kira's Old Age ingredients were too foreign for most to know what to do with.

Piling the grain bag on top of the others in the corner, he nonchalantly hummed on even as he placed the bags in his elbow onto the counter before rubbing his arms to get the circulation going. "Actually, I tried stealing his lunch." He chuckled at the way Kira's eyebrows shot up in a rare expression of unbidden shock. Leaning against one of the blocks of concrete she used as a counter, Match mused. "Believe it or not. Boss was this big guy and we all knew of him. He was one of the big shots of the criminals who pushed us around. Ran the business, had the money, and had all the food. We use to talk about just what exactly we thought people like him had for lunch or dinner or any snack in between. And then…," Match's half-smile dropped as he stared hard into the gray unmoving stone of the opposite wall. Not even noticing Kira moving closer, he took a quiet, fortifying breathe, a little bit lost in a memory from far back. "There was a bad dry spell, even worse than the one we had a few months ago. Supplies in general ran low, everybody tightened up, IGO supplies didn't come, and everything cost more or just wasn't there. A lot of us kids died. The rest of us were just…feral. And then Boss came to, brought supplies over to distribute to the families and kids. He was sitting there, taking a break with a boxed lunch and he was eating so slowly. And I just hated him so, so much in that moment," he confessed with a huff, a humorless quirk of lip. Because honestly, the dregs of adrenaline and relief combined with a small, enclosed space that was safe was making him spill and share things he normally kept close to the chest. And as lighthearted as he was trying to make it sound, there really wasn't anything easy or funny about it at all.

He continued.

"Whenever we had food, we had to eat it quick, ya know? Even when we had the time, we grew up with the fear that the food we were holding could be taken away or disappear any seconds. Needed to eat, but it made you a target to someone equally as desperate. And here's this guy sitting out in the open, eating the most delicious and elaborate boxed lunch any of us had ever seen easy as you please. No worries someone would take it away. No worries that someone would attack him for it. And I was starving and pissed off as hell. So," the quirk of his lips became a bit more noticeable, "when his back was turned, I snuck up and tried to take it. Before I even knew what happened, I was on my back with Boss' foot on my chest," Match finally turned to look towards Kira, just enough to tap the spot of his chest just below his neck. "Fought like a little monster, and he said as much. Practically suffocated myself to death. But…when I calmed down. He gave me his lunch. Wouldn't leave me alone after that. Just kept finding me somehow, giving me food, and made me eat it in front of him as he talked me back to being a person. And the rest is history," the blonde shrugged, his hid slightly bowed with a satisfied smile and closed eyes of a good memory. "Boss saved me and the kids still surviving. Bought me into the Group, inspired me to become something. He made me want to make a name for myself. And because of him I even became enough of a person to make some friends here and there. Gave me the opportunity to travel the world and see some damn amazing things. So I want to do him proud, maybe try to help kids who use to be in the same situation I was. Try to give them what Boss Ryuu gave me."

Kira huffed quietly in amusement, looking at Match with a fond look and leaned against him, pressing their shoulders together. It was a strange combination of amusement, apology, and an offer of comfort. "And what exactly did Boss Ryuu give you?"

"My humanity," he shrugged, pressing back minutely in acknowledgement. "A purpose. I was a wild, feral little beast that resented the world and everyone and thing in it. And suddenly, it was like I was suddenly conscious of other things, other aspects, of me besides the gnawing hunger. He taught me there are good things and people in the world, and that I—of all people, right?—could help make it better. Me as a person and not just some starved scrap of barely living life that barely even wanted to live."

That last admittance caused a heaviness in the small closed space between them. The dark-haired woman pressed closer with a shuttered look on her face and Match let her. Match himself felt a bit numb, blinking unseeingly towards nothing as he rolled those words back and forth in his head. That…wasn't something he had ever consciously acknowledged before. And it was suddenly (falling into ice-cold water suddenly) embarrassing.

Match cleared his throat, suddenly feeling uncomfortable, "What about you? You have a story."

Her posture didn't change nor did she stiffen, but he sensed a sudden line of tension that wasn't there before. She moved away from him and he turned to watch her start to put away the ingredients into the multitude of hidey holes and spaces throughout the seemingly bare room. He waited patiently. Because he knew better than anyone that the people who inhabited Nerg didn't have easy stories.

"I was a chef," she finally replies in a flat dead way that admits to more than it doesn't. There was a note of resignation in her words and neutrality that was more reminiscent of their earlier days of acquaintanceship. "I never had much actual training, but I've been cooking for as long as I remember. Then I learned some more as I traveled around as a small-time Bishokuya."

"You were an officiated Bishokuya?" Match interrupted, as it was his turn to have one questioning eyebrow raised. "I figured the chef part, but…"

"You think? What gave it away, the knives?" Kira sniped back dryly and flashed him an amused smirk. "You said it yourself, I'm crazy for opening a charity work here. But that crazy isn't too different from the insanity of a Bishokuya constantly going out to wrestle with the newest creature feature they're hunting for the week." She sombered up. "You know how it's. With chefs, there's three main routes. You either get formal training at a school, find a mentor, or you go out and get your hands dirty. I was from a group home where I cooked for all the other kids, made their box lunches, and did side-jobs at restaurants just to help keep the place going. There just…how could I afford going to school? Where did I even have the time? " Glancing at him over her shoulder, her tone became dry again. "To be fair, I can hold my own in the Human World, sure. But mostly I had to partner with larger groups of more experienced Bishokuya to help me get around. I was always good at going unnoticed, sneaking around and soaring under the radar. But that does not work so well when you need to take down a high-class ingredient." Kira studied him curiously, cocking her head in thought. "You don't seem that surprised."

"Last time I checked," Match smirked back. "Cooks and housewives didn't tend to have as much muscle as you do. Not saying you're a beefcake, but you're obviously use to heavy menial work," he nodded towards the groceries and the distinct muscle tone obvious on a woman who only ever seem to wear tube tops, shorts, and dusty boots. "They also don't tend to know how to survive on a bare minimum of supplies or fight. And I've never met a cook or housewife with moving, shifting tattoos. But to be fair, I've never met anyone with moving shifting tattoos."

"You noticed?" she asked in the dry, sarcastic manner that spoke volumes about her opinions of him. "What took you so long?"

"I thought I was hallucinating at first," he grunted before pushing away from where he was leaning to help put away the ingredients, tired of watching her putter around with the heavier packages. "And afterwards, I thought you'd elaborate when you felt like it. You've been here long enough, Kira. You know people around here don't ask unnecessary questions."

The stubborn women hummed in agreement as she messed around with one of the roughly made cabinets, "I've told you that this was an Ashera cat. I lied," she announced bluntly, turning back towards him and waving a hand at the cat tattoo staring back at Match. "Hername is Ashera, a K'rimi'ten Savannah Cat. Or more commonly known as a medium breed of the Vampire Cats that usually keep to parts of the Gourmet World. "

Match began to ask a question before pausing, starting again he made a questioning sound. Kira chuckled as he heaved a sigh and pinched the bridged of his nose in exasperation, "I don't even know which part of that statement I want to ask about first."

Kira smirked back in reply, "Like a lot of the higher-ranking Gourmet creatures, they're pretty intelligent even in the human sense. They look like one of the Old Age cat species, and their diet is relatively standard too for a feline. I've only gone into the Gourmet World a total of three times. It's…wondrous and terrible all at once, and there are things there that you can never unsee. At the same time, it makes you feel so very small and insignificant. It was a typical girl-and-her-cat story. She was about to be eaten and I stole her before the Megadong Ape could," her lips twisted in a grimace at some private thought. "I guess that meeting was lucky. I raised and trained her, and thanks to her abilities I can now claim to survive when others have died."

"Abilities?" he questioned, now genuinely curious. Because the tattoo was an actual beast; an animal and artifact from the Gourmet World. Ever since he started to take trips and expeditions in the name of the Gourmet Yakuza, Match had the growing urge to explore. However, Boss had made it clear that the Gourmet World was off-limits to any of his sons unless they had his express permission; something granted only after he had judged that they were strong enough to survive there.

Kira smiled, seeing the gleam in his narrow eyes. "Vampire Cats have pretty high capture levels due to how hard it's to track and capture them. I had to sort through a lot of sources before I was able to find a credible source." She hummed thoughtfully, brows furrowing in remembrance. "Technically, they are parasites. Hence, the name. Honestly though, through training, the bond I share with Ashera leans more towards being symbiotic. I am not a physicist by any stretch of imagination, so the best way I can describe it's that they can that can move between dimensions? That is how they hunt, feed, and hide. Normally they would look like any large, wild Old Age feline. But when they have found a new host or need to hide, they…sink? That is a good description for it. They sink into flat surfaces to avoid confrontation. Rocks, trees, walls…"

"Skin," Match finished, eyeing the cat tattoo.

Kira nodded, "There are limitations to what kind of surface they can sink into or travel through. Though as you can imagine, it's an effective way to carry out a sneaky killing blow when it works. It usually works out better for them if they just remain in the host's skin, where they can absorb the nutrients and avoid predators. Though with the nutrient absorption it works in reverse as well, a failsafe for when the Cat wants to keep its host alive."

"Useful," Match grunted, studying the twisting feline in trepidation. Kira seemed fine, but parasite had bad connotations. "Is this why I barely ever see you eat anything other than greens, water and tea unless you come over? And what kind of limitations are you talking about here?"

"When you're running as threadbare of a charity, it's useful to be able to live off of less. Have some vegetables and liquids and you have pretty much covered all major nutrient bases," she shrugged. "And well, has to be a big enough, mostly unbroken surface for one thing. Anything completely covered in scales is off-limits; trying to travel over each individual is too difficult it seems. Hair and fur does not seem to pose a problem though. It's just that they cannot shrink, so they need the room to move around and the space to…peel themselves off where ever. There is a reason I dress like a streetwalker and it's certainly not so I could get eyed up by every jumped up dickhead who thinks he is tough shit."

To demonstrate, she visibly rolled her shoulders; muscles shifting in a smooth, coordinated movement. And in that movement, it looked like she shifted her entire tattoo; the animal moving along with the motion of her muscles as if she were guiding it. That was how smooth their coordination was. Match suppressed a shudder at how unnerving it was to watch something that looked like ink smoothly shift across her skin like a ghost.

"What about those others?" he nodded towards the other tattoos-probably-not-tattoos. Bats on her shoulders, lizards and mean looking rats piled on top of and over each other up both legs. They had always been realistic looking, but now he wondered if he would be able to feel fur and lizard skin if he touched.

"Another of the Vampire Cat's abilities," she confirmed. "They have a venom that, through bites, they can control smaller, less intelligent prey. Nothing too complicated, and not that different than how certain types of fungi control insects. Usually, it's a matter of getting the prey to stop running or to keep their prey with them to eat later, hence an easy way to bring food back to feed offspring. I…have found other uses. In dangerous environments, they certainly make good sacrificial scouts." She must have seen something in his face because she snorted in amusement and tossed her head. "Yeah, my brother found it pretty unnerving as well."

"You're certainly feeling talkative. This is the most I've learned about you in the entirety of our acquaintance and I'm certainly learning all sorts of new things today. It certainly explains some things though," Match muses as he thought back to how she handled children and his subordinates. "You have a brother."

"Younger and not by blood. We just came from the same group home." Kira shrugged, a wistful smile drew itself across her face. "But he was always following me around and helping me in the kitchen, preparing lunches and meals for the others. From the start, he was so sweet and showed so much potential. Did you know, he got himself an almost full scholarship to the second biggest branch of IGO's Cooking Academy? By that point I was earning an actual income, and he only needed money for living expenses and certain school supplies. He got work at a five-star restaurant almost right after graduating.

"You have a life then," Match concluded quietly. "In an IGO designated country. A comfortable life with family."

"Had," she shrugged. "I had a life. Most people don't realize it, but even in cooking, there are certainly places you just don't go. Not even by accident." There was a stillness to her as she paused. "There was…an incident," she admitted blandly, waving a hand as if to say 'what can you do'. "Some complications. I thought…my pride got the better of me. It still does. In the end, IGO decided let my off the hook and I…worked for them, for a while. But you can guess how somethings don't just stop haunting you. I needed to get out." Another one-shoulder shrug as she continued organizing ingredients with her back to Match. "In the end, I decided to return to my roots. Base, cheaper ingredients and cooking for those who actually have a need."

Neither said anything for a while, Match thinking while Kira turned away and started prepping.

"What kind of complications?" Match asked neutrally after a bit of contemplative silence on his part.

"Complications."

"Are there people after you?"

"My own demons, certainly," she chuffed amusedly. "But other people, probably. So yes to your implications, you infuriating man. Me being here is partially me blending in and hiding."

"These guys that are after you," he edged exasperatedly. His was a straightforward world where you answered the implications and the unsaid questions. "Are they the reason why you can't go home?"

"…In part."

"Oh?"

"Dooooon't even think about,"

"What?"

Kira rolled her eyes at his try at what could be a Match-version of innocence. "You're thinking about knocking heads and slicing people up. Which is normally none of my business; except in this, it is."

"Fine. I'll avoid knocking heads and slicing then," he scoffed. "You wanna tell me who exactly is after you now?"

"I'm not stupid—"

"Recent events say otherwise."

"I've seen you casually disarm a man with a broken sake bottle and make him piss himself like a broken hose," she replied sharply with an extra thunk of her kitchen knife against the countertop, determined to bring the focus back on the subject she wanted. "I am perfectly aware you know, what, a thousand other ways to incapacitate someone beside knocking heads and slicing limbs off."

"I'm sure I can come up with a thousand and eight if I really tried," he hummed offhandedly.

"Infuriating man," she grumbled without heat, visibly shrugging the conversation off. She was so done with the subject.

He stood close. It was threatening, just a physical gesture that he really wanted her to listen for a goddamn moment.

"I'm serious, Kira," Match growled. "You have a home, family, access to normal utilities, food, and a better environment. That's not something everybody is blessed with. Those aren't things everybody gets. If IGO itself isn't keeping you from that, then others sure as hell aren't allowed to." He rubbed a hand over his face, absentmindedly rubbing at the scars that covered his face as he exhaled hotly. "You've done plenty for the people here and you have friends and allies in Boss Ryuu and the Gourmet Yakuza." In me, he almost wanted to say. But why would he, it was already implied. Instead, he continued in the ominous, deadly flat tone he usually reserved for special 'business', "If someone is threatening you…"

There would be blood and piss in the streets. Her hands were not clean but neither was his. But oh, did he know the longing hinted in her wistful smiles when she talked about her brother. The way she handled ingredients so carefully and her lingering touches on Gourmet ingredients.

The people he was responsible owed her. He owed her for the time she spent at his bedside; the period they really bonded through his questioning his own strength and her nagging. Match may not understand what she had done, but he had seen enough of his own people missing family that was no longer there to not feel the same stirring of protectiveness. When he finally focused on the other person in the room again he blinked at the small, bemused smile on her face as she studied him.

"You really are very sweet," her laid-back tone was a warming combination of contemplative and fond. "People don't usually see that, but I knew that from the beginning that you were squishy on the inside. Still…," she mockingly patted his scarred cheek and shook her head. "I reiterate. You are an infuriating man. You don't need to—"

"I want to," and there was some anticipatory, sadistic relish that darkened his face.

"And I don't want you to," she interrupted blandly. "I'm serious, Match. Don't butt in. My problems are something I need to deal with myself. It's not just other people. I need to make my own atonements." Turning away, she shrugged and continued in a neutral manner that betrayed just how grudging and reluctant her next words were. "But if you must, then as long as I stay in Nerg, I'll come to you about anybody I can't handle on my own from now on. Alright?"

Match perked up at this. "So you'll finally accepting help?"

If that eye roll was any more prominent, her eye balls were going to roll right out of her head.

"I already accepted that stupid mark on my door to ward off the less most looters," she reminded him. It had been a begrudging thing based on her preference to work in relative peace. "If you're able to accept help finding a cat, I guess I can accept your help to fend off an exceptional dickhead or two."

"I thought we agreed to never mention the incident with that fat bastard!"

"Noooo," she drew out the sound carefully as if speaking to a child. Though the hint of amusedpure evil in her words clearly hinted that she was enjoying his suffering. "You said that we should never say anything about it again. I never agreed."

Match blinked, clearly recalling whether this was true or not. His scowling was pretty definitive. "I hate you so much sometimes."

Another bout of light, cackling laughter at his expense reminded the Vice-Boss why that may be a lie. Heaving a breath, she quickly stopped her laughter and started rearranging her short hair in a loose braid that tied into itself, preparing to really start cooking. Her movement drew Match's gaze to the Ashera Cat tattoo (that, wow, not actually a tattoo) as it almost seem to slide across her skin in tandem with her movement. The jerky movements that resulted from her less than okay arm had him moving her to help her with the braiding and tucking. It wasn't as tight or neat as it usually was, but at least it was out of the way.

"If I'm being honest, it isn't something that's actually ended yet," Kira directed a rather confusing half-smile at him. "Maybe I'll go home someday," she commented offhandedly with a bare trace of wistfulness and an impression that it was what it was, no point in grieving about it.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, Match genuinely wanted this stubborn as a Stub Donkey woman to make her home here.

Cruel indeed.