Chapter Text

Reimu Hakurei was not the type of person you could call well-off.

Sure, the occasional stray donation kept her from starving, and she certainly was never one to reject gifts, scant few as they were. But they were never anything of particular value. It was always just too little, too late for the shrine maiden to build up any stable amount of savings. Not to mention the endless stream of 'guests' and 'visitors' she has to placate with offerings of sake, snacks and tea. That Magician alone already absconds with most of her pantry on a daily basis.

Reimu made a mental note to scrounge up whatever few coins ended up in the offertory box, and to see what amount she could haggle the poor grocer- gods bless his soul -down to the next time she visited him. Also important was to bring up this whole 'eating up her entire food supply' issue to Marisa the next time she came around to visit again, though Reimu doubted she'd actually stay long enough to hear her out on anything.

Also not helping things was that Reimu wasn't exactly the most money-smart of people, and her supposedly 'thrifty' ways of spending had more often than not led her to the precipice of financial ruin- which in many ways wasn't all that much worse than her current unfortunate situation -for her on more than one occasion. The few times that she miraculously happened across a notably large sum of money, typically obtained from the coinpurse of a careless noble who didn't know they were helping, it always mysteriously disappeared soon afterwards; in its place sat an expensive bottle of premium sake, or a box of the finest gourmet sweets from the Human Village.

And of course, nary a yen of her mostly ill-gotten-gains would see itself being invested towards bettering Hakurei shrine, which had more or less remained in the same sorry state it had been for the better part of two decades. The wood comprising its sacred torii was left to fend for itself against the elements, having accumulated many years of compounding wear, tear and rot, much of which was not-exactly-proudly put on display to all who passed by.

The shrine building proper, refurbished countless times and rebuilt in its entirety once before (thanks to that rotten celestial), still didn't fare much better. Every section of the shrine is was at least in some state of neglect, some parts more advanced than others, ranging from relatively minor to worryingly severe. These issues could have, on paper, been fixed easily whilst still in their infancy had its owner and proprietor taken the initiative.

Unfortunately, the duty of properly maintaining its hallowed walls and roof tiles fell to the laziest miko on the more pleasant side of the Sanzu. So of course, this meant that the myriad holes and scratches and punctures had long since been placed in an indefinite and unique form of limbo known only as, 'I'll get around to it eventually. Maybe. Possibly. In the Near Future'.

Still, not everything could be pinned on Reimu and her admittedly poor financial decisionmaking. The life of a miko was always bound to be a humble one, a given when your profession relies solely on the generosity of strangers. And when said generosity ran dry or simply found itself wanting, one is forced into decidedly more... unorthodox avenues of approach. The first alternative method that pops up in the mind of many a starving shrine maiden was always the five-finger discount, but to commit theft was considered blaspheme in the eyes of an equal amount of shrine deities.

So when even one's gods abandon them to a miserly fate of starvation, what can you do?

Foraging wasn't the most dignified of options avaliable to her, but it could always be worse. From her predecessor to now and almost certainly to whatever poor soul unfortunate enough to take up her post after her, living off of nature's bounty was not just a given, but a bothersome necessity. Fortunately, the verdant woods and rolling hills surrounding the Hakurei Shrine usually offered a yield bountiful enough to live off of by its lonesome. Though the selection on offer veered more towards 'hardy root vegetable' than 'exotic fruit'.

This, along with the occasional fishing trip with Marisa (and Koishi at times, though when and why she decides to make her presence known remains a mystery to Reimu), usually provided her with more than enough food to last her throughout spring and summer. The real trouble arose during the leaner months of the year: when the ground froze solid, forest critters either retreating into caves and hollowed-out trees to hibernate through the winter, or packing up and migrating to greener (and warmer) pastures. And pivotally, when the trees and bushes lost their brilliant green leaves, precluding the growth of anything that could be picked.

Then again, that was what the offertory box was for, despite however meagre the offerings Reimu finds made in there. It really wasn't all that fair; for despite the fair Hakurei miko's honourable duty as the average Gensokyo resident's go-to protector from and exterminator of youkai, very few people went out of their way to make the nearly hour-long trek from the village proper to the shrine, battling fatigue, the elements, and the meddlesome doubting voice in the back of their head telling them that it's not worth it.

And all of that, just to offer perhaps a couple hundred yen to a distant shrine maiden whose supposed god, should the rumours be true, is probably not even there anymore, essentially rendering Reimu's position as shrine maiden a moot point. Joy.

Letting loose a rather un-maidenlike yawn, Reimu rolled herself out of the snug, comfortable futon she had been holed up in all this time, her movements sluggish and delayed whilst picking away at further thoughts and ideas that came to her. She managed to get at least half-way out before a splitting headache jolted her to a stop, and her limbs refused to listen to any further commands.

Maybe she ought to take it easy for the next few days. She had just finished resolving an incident the day prior, and her body was evidently not willing to perform anything beyond the lightest of excertions. Muttering a few choice profanities under her breath, Reimu could only hope that nobody was present to bear witness to that less-than-graceful display of dexterity as she dusted herself off for a third attempt, her face flushed, heart racing and sweat beats beginning to form on her neck. Embarrassing, but she had been through worse.

Now standing upright, Reimu slowly stumbled her way, her balance off-kilter, as she clumsily transferred pressure from one foot to the other. Uncaring that she was still in her smallclothes, she made her way towards the kitchen, itself cluttered to the brim with weird, esoteric gadgets and doothingies from the Outside. In fact, the size of the area that constituted 'the kitchen'- that is, an area separate in thinking but not by a wall from the main lounge -had grown considerably in the intervening months, necessitated by the ever-increasing piles of unusable junk that just kept taking up more and more and more room.

Reimu hadn't a clue how to actually work the damn things, but they made her shrine looked fancy and modern and 'hip'. So she graciously accepted them from Nitori, hoping they would be something of worth. After all, she justified to herself, it was merely a long overdue payment for her assistance in that whole 'Mountain of Faith' debacle.

Whatever they were, Reimu could at least attest that the new Kappa machines served as a huge improvement over the old 'set fire to sticks or random pieces of charcoal to heat the stove' method that had reigned supreme for the shrine's old, blackened brick oven for a little under two centuries now. Cooking her meals, or what passed as meals for her, with far greater ease than any previous Hakurei shrine maiden and indeed, anyone in the entirety of Gensokyo, had ever done before.

Well, maybe Sanae and her wretched snake and frog-folks had it ever so slightly better than her on the matter, but she'd see to that unfortunate reality eventually. Inevitably.

Now, simply because Hakurei shrine maidens are all but sworn to lives of frugality, does not mean that they are forbidden from splurging every once in a while, and this mantra Reimu certainly took to heart, constantly 'splurging' perhaps a bit more than what would be traditionally expected from a lady of her delicate financial situation. Perhaps all this reckless spending shall one day come back to bite Reimu in the rear, but for now, she'll spend as much money as her coin purse had in it.

Which was, now that she thought about it, not a whole lot.

Pressing at the dull, throbbing pain somewhere on the side of her head, Reimu dumped a generous amount of cooking oil onto a skillet, one of the few pantry items that she was in no short supply of. Then twisting one of two knobs attached to a control panel-type contraption, a majestic blue flame sprung out in an arch, forming a claw-like grip underneath the skillet, dancing precariously upon its surface. Her eyes glazed over staring at the intricate display, trailing the occasional orange-yellow flicker that erupted from the blanket of blue to lick at the rapidly heating metal.

It had always escaped Reimu just how this whole system worked, and what enigmatic fuel powered the thing, leading it to burn this brilliant azure colour; a colour never seen anywhere else by her, at least not burning naturally. Orange, yellow, and even the occasional crimson fires she had already seen before, roaring in the uncomfortably warm depths of Former Hell. Once, she had even witnessed a turquoise-coloured wisp trailing behind the danmaku pellets of a particularly stubborn youkai. 

Sufficed to say, Reimu had little experience with the more obscure colours of fire unless it was being hurled at speed towards her face. Of which simply made Reimu, and especially Marisa on the occasions that she decided to invite herself inside, eager to find out just what was powering the strange new contraption.

Was it a product of outside-world technology, centuries beyond the capacity even Gensokyo's finest (non-lunar) minds? Or was it maybe the brainchild of an ingenious native inventor, and meaning that Reimu had perhaps given that kappa far less credit than she really had ought to owe her?

Or maybe it was powered not by processes belonging to hard science, but rather a mythical hakkero, born from Taoist mythology— one not much more different than the miniature, pocket-sized offshoot that Marisa carries with her?

Reimu snapped out of the trance she had suddenly found herself in and refocused her attention on the skillet, now with wisps of acrid smoke being emitted from it. Turning to face a rectangular metal box that easily rivalled her in size, she opened one of the double doors to be greeted with what little perishables she had remaining; various root vegetables and other fruits of yesterday's foray. Fighting off the desire to ponder on how this contraption- which in many ways was analogous to her old icebox- worked, Reimu gently balanced a plate of tofu, her most prized foodstuff, onto the counter.

Forming a closed claw grip with her left hand, and placing it upon the block of firm tofu to stabilize it, Reimu began slicing the tofu into palm-sized pieces with a blade dulled from many years of use. Whilst cutting, Reimu let her mind wonder once more towards the matters she'd have to attend to today; she was already in a considerable amount of debt to... every merchant in the Human Village, and reliance on their generosity was the only thing that had gotten her through recent months, given an unusual drought in donations recently. She'd have to repay all of them at some point, Reimu knew that much, but just how and when would be a problem that'd be more likely than not to give her a few headaches in the coming weeks.

Her train of thought was only broken after noticing a sharp, but fortunately fleeting pain on the knuckle of her left hand, indicating she had let her knife hand slip just a mite too far.

Grimacing, Reimu inspected her hand for any injury, only for relief to wash over her when she realised that no open wound was visible and that, indeed, no blood had been drawn. Of all the grievances that Reimu had with her poor excuse for a cutting knife, she had to admit that the comically blunt edge came in handy in times like this. Sucking at the wound, Reimu hurried to slice the remaining tofu with just the one hand, then haphazardly tossed the pieces onto the ripping hot surface of her pan, producing a pleasant but all too loud sizziling noise.

Satisfied with the now rapidly cooking tofu, she began putting to cup of white rice, pre-washed and already prepared by last night Reimu. Turning again towards the tofu, Reimu noticed a browning sear beginning to form on the surface, prompting her to grab a nearby bottle of soy sauce, the one sold to her by a sympathetic merchant at a great discount a couple of months back, and was coming precariously close to running dry, but it'd do for now.

Reimu poured in a precisely-calculated amount of soy sauce, trying not to waste anymore than she had to of the modest amount of liquid gold she had left, then reached for the comparatively more well-filled bottle containing mirin. Twisting the little knob once more to reduce the heat, a procedure she was still fascinated as to how it worked, Reimu tipped some mirin into the soy sauce, along with a splash of water, allowing the two to mix with the now simmering soy sauce broth, its flavours melding gently with the seared tofu.

Satisfied with her handiwork, Reimu placed a piece of cloth over the skillet and left it there to stew as she moved to attend to more menial tasks, like cleaning up the sorry state of her room and bothering to patch up the hole in the roof that leaked piecemeal whenever there was rain.

Tch-yeah. As if.

What Reimu actually did was set herself up in the slept-in futon, lay down upon it, and let the pleasant aroma of the cooking tofu waft into her nose. Repairs and housework could wait. After all, she had already exerted all the energy she was willing to spend fulfilling a basic life necessity.

Reimu waited for around twenty or so minutes, ignoring the protests being made by her ravenous stomach, and staving off the desire to fall asleep, laying there in silent anticipation. After what she assumed to be an adequate amount of time had passed, she arose from her futon and moved to secure the fruits of her labour. Turning the knob for a third and final time to turn off the flame, Reimu lifted the now very much damp piece of cloth off the skillet.

What greeted her was a beautiful stew of browned pieces of seared tofu, sitting within a well of light brown broth. The smell (and heat) hit Reimu almost immediately, consisting of a sweet yet savoury scent, alongside a waft that vaguely resembled warmed amazake, indicative of the added mirin. snatching up a pair of chopsticks, well worn from many years of use, Reimu carefully picked the pieces of tofu onto a nearby plate, making sure to let the broth drip off of the pieces of cooked tofu before moving them first.

It was simple and rustic, sure, but it was one of the few luxuries that Reimu could treat herself to without sacrificing the majority of her savings. Meat was expensive and reserved for special occasions, while vegetables and rice she already had in great abundance, perhaps too much, now that she thought about it. Meanwhile, tofu was relatively cheap, filling, versatile and kept well, coincidentally also providing a convenient source of much-needed protein to the meat-starved shrine maiden. Most important of all, however, was that it could be used to cook a hot meal to warm one's body up on a freezing winter day, you couldn't really ask for more than that.

Setting the heaping plate aside, Reimu went to check up on the rice, only to find a sizable opening suspended mid-air, with eyes staring back at her from a dark void.

Along with a noticeable portion of her cooked rice missing.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Reimu drew in a long breath, and let out a mighty cry at the top of her lungs,

"YUKARI!"

A voice, one all too familiar to Reimu, suddenly appeared from behind her as she whirled around to come face-to-face with the Youkai of Boundaries.

"Hm? I do believe that's no way to treat one's guests, Reimu." Yukari chided, her eyes constantly drifting, darting to and fro different parts of Reimu's body.

Glancing down at herself, only now did Reimu realise that she was in a considerable state of undress. Flushed, she quickly teetered off towards a vacant room, away from prying eyes, to put on some clothes for the day.

"My, I figured you look presentable enough in your smallclothes, dear!" she heard Yukari call after her, whose advice Reimu promptly ignored in favour of wearing something more decent for the unwelcome guest that had intruded upon her (ostensibly, today had been the only day in a long while where Reimu had the entire shrine to herself for once) private domicile.

Moments later, she emerged from the impromptu changing room wearing her usual shrine maiden uniform, though perhaps a bit more sloppily put on than normal. As to why exactly the sleeves were shoulderless, as to force its wearer to put on two additional articles of clothing separately (as well as inadvertently emphasizing the wearer's armpits), remained a mystery to Reimu.

Her mood now considerably dampened, Reimu raised her head to glance at the interloper, who was wearing her usual frilled dress drenched in regal purple, complemented with a pair of white silk elbow gloves, donning a mobcap with a curious thin red ribbon tied to the front upon her head.

And who was also eating from a bowl filled with the missing rice.

Reimu narrowed her eyes and shot the gap youkai an accusatory gaze. "Why are you here, eating my food, and what do you want from me this time?"

"My, you certainly are energetic all of a sudden." Yukari began, dodging the question. "Far more energetic than you initially were, struggling to get out of bed and all..."

Realising that someone had indeed witnessed her pathetic display a scant hour or so before, Reimu's face erupted into an embarrassed blush, before regaining her composure to cast a glance at quite possibly the last person she'd want gaining new blackmail material. "Just tell me what it is you want right now Yukari, or will I have to beat it out of you through a spell card battle?"

If Yukari was offended by the sudden (but not entirely unjustified) curtness, then her face certainly didn't show it, her emotions as unfettered as ever.

Nonetheless, Yukari put down the bowl of rice, gracefully wiping off a few loose grains that had stuck to her cheeks. "Well~," she cooed, "I was merely thinking that I should visit you personally to send my condolences to my favourite starving shrine maiden, that's all."

Yukari hid her face behind that insufferably ornate hand fan of hers, and despite that, Reimu could clearly see Yukari making a face of mock despair.

"Very funny." she deadpanned, "but I'm doing just fine for myself, and certainly not 'starving' in any sense of the word."

"Is that so?"

Yukari's infuriatingly smug grin had faded, instead morphing into something of a more neutral, worried expression. Confused, Reimu just stared at her, awaiting Yukari to continue speaking her piece.

In lieu, however, Yukari instead simply opened up one of her gaps and allowed a rolled-up newspaper to tumble through onto the soft tatami floor.

Crouching down to pick it up, Reimu heard Yukari pipe up once more, with none of her previously playful attitude present in her voice. "If you ever find yourself in serious need of sustenance, then simply seek out either Ran or I for assistance." As she continued, Reimu could hear Yukari's smug intonation return once more. "After all, it'd be a shame for the mighty Hakurei miko to drop dead from mere starvation."

Reimu unfurled the newspaper and narrowed her eyes at the wall of text, hoping that it would provide something in the form of an answer. "You're seriously weirding me out old lady, just what has gotten into you as of lat—"

Whatever accusation Reimu had wanted to throw at Yukari died in her throat as she read on, her face blanched.

Peeling her eyes off of the article, Reimu's eyes darted towards Yukari, scanning her face for any sign that would betray the fact that this was all a prank, one big joke that was being played on her.

But it never came. And Yukari remained as stoic as ever, letting not a trace of emotion break onto her face. Stunned, Reimu was unable to spit out anything more than the occasional sputter, all she did was stand there, mortified, and stared blankly at the newspaper, a mixture of confusion and horror smeared onto her face.

And then, anger.

A fit of anger so evident, so raw and born from anguish, that even Yukari considered cringing away. As if to shield herself from the shrine maiden's inevitable righteous fury.

Scrunching up the newspaper into a ball, a heavy silence fell between the two, lasting for a good minute or before Yukari finally spoke up. "You see, the news has already spread rather quickly, I have personally seen to that." Yukari folded her hand fan up, lowering it to hold it in front of her waist. "As such, it would do you well for you to clean up your act before anyone begins to question the Hakurei miko's capacit-"

Yukari was cut off by Reimu suddenly storming off into the changing room in the middle of her recommendation. Yukari couldn't see much of Reimu's face, given that her back was turned to Yukari, but she could still ascertain Reimu's palpable displeasure by paying attention to the far heavier than usual footsteps, stomping in anger.

A moment later, Reimu returned. This time, however, her yin-yang orbs hovered in orbit of her, with stacks of ofuda and her trusty gohei in hand.

Her face contorted in muted rage, Reimu finally spoke again, this time in a far more cold and distant tone. "I'll be gone for a while. And I expect that my shrine will be looked after and be roughly the same once I return, understand?"

Now, Yukari knew that an immature and fledgling youngling such as Reimu was in no position to be making demands of her; a thousand-year-old youkai. Despite this, however, Yukari knew all too well what the young shrine maiden could be like once she was truly dedicated to caving someone's face in, and so elected not to intervene in Reimu's roaring rampage of revenge. Instead, all Yukari did was solemnly nod in agreement to Reimu's sudden diktat.

"Good. Now, if you'll excuse me."

Reimu marched towards the exit, and towards the shrine veranda, brushing Yukari aside. Not entirely forcefully, for she was not the (main) target of Reimu's tranquil fury, but with just enough force to establish that, in case Yukari did decide to intervene, Reimu wouldn't hesitate to blast her out of the sky.

As Reimu stormed towards the outside, however, Yukari felt a need to warn her about the freezing temperatures outside bubbling up inside of her. So, gathering together all the acting talent she had accumulated over the many millennia she had spent feigning innocence and/or ignorance, Yukari put on the most faux-sweet tone she could muster and called out after the raging miko.

"Reimu dear, you would not want to die from the cold, would you? Make sure not to forget to put on a nice, warm scarf before you head out, now!"

There, that will get the message across— without having to sound too overly worried about Reimu's health and wellbeing, that is.

Yukari watched as Reimu turned her head back around to stare daggers at her, slammed the shoji doors open, and then crouched down to slip on a pair of cross-laced leather boots, far removed from her usual distinctive black Mary Janes. Glancing behind her to look at Yukari one last time, her breath condensing into vapour in the icy air, Reimu took off into the sky, off towards where Yukari assumed would be Youkai Mountain.

After Reimu flew into the clouds, far past the horizon, she turned back towards the shrine, taking a seat next to an uncovered kotatsu. Noticing a plate of cooked tofu, undoubtedly what was to be Reimu's breakfast this morning sitting on a nearby counter, she balanced it onto the kotatsu table, grappling a pair of chopsticks to take a small bite.

It was soft and springy, tasting overwhelmingly of savoury and sweet soy—was that alcohol she detected? Regardless, it possessed none of the subdued flavours and refined elegance that her beloved shikigami had always presented their meals with. In spite, however, Yukari admitted that it had a simple charm to it, a meal meant to fill one's stomach, not to impress. Perhaps she would have to ask Reimu upon her return for the recipe so that Ran could replicate it for their evening dinners with Chen.

Speaking of Reimu, Yukari still had a duty to uphold. So there she sat, though very reluctantly, awaiting Reimu's return, remaining so in silent vigil.

And so she waited.

And waited,

and waited.

......

.....

.......

The tofu was getting cold.

A Few Hours Earlier...

Marisa Kirisame was also not the type of person you'd call well off.

But hey, she was still a helluva lot better off than Reimu, that's for sure!

Hmph.

Now that she thought about it, that wasn't a very high bar to clear.

Shrugging it off, Marisa rolled out of her bed with all the grace reserved for her Master Spark— and of course, she never made the bed in the morning. She still wore her distinctive white puffy shirt, enclosed within a black vest studded by golden buttons, apparently having never bothered to change before nodding off yesterday. The nominally brilliant white apron was stained by soots and burns and gods-know-what-else from last night's, and nearly a decade's worth of, experiments.

Really, the state of Marisa's clothing could quite succinctly be applied to a description of her entire house. A pervasive dust comprised of gods-know-what floated stagnantly, mixing itself in the air. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't the dust made up of dead skin and lint you sometimes see dancing about in the rays of the early-morning sun. Cobwebs and all manners of animals lived within damp, darkened corners of her rooms. Some resided on the roof, while others preferred to make their home inbetween the squeaky, poorly-maintained floorboards.

It is also, to an outside observer, perhaps the most claustrophobic living arrangement possibly ever devised by a sapient being— with human-sized stacks of unused spellbooks, potions and other magical trinkets forming faux maze walls, obscuring one's vision to what is strictly in front and off towards to the side of their person. How a normal human being could possibly live like this, and not go insane from the dysfunction almost immediately, is a headscratcher to say the least.

Then again, Marisa was most certainly no normal human. She was a student and practitioner of the dark arts, possessing skills and abilities that allowed her to go toe-to-toe with even the most powerful of youkai, inspiring awe and fear in her erstwhile (could she really still call herself one of them?) fellow villagers. She'd also (probably) accidentally kill herself by attempting even the most minor of cleanups, whether from some stray lethal potion being knocked off the shelves or from falling victim to the myriad of other bodily harms that awaited her in this house. So there was that too.

Trotting down the staircase, each step released dissonant creaks that reverberated throughout the thin, flimsy walls. Marisa walked up to a tilting clothes hook, and snatched up her wide-brimmed witch hat, fitting it onto her head with a slight tilt, as she always has done. Perhaps the only clean part of her clothing, her hat was Marisa's pride and joy - right beside her mini-hakkero. Without it, not only did she feel as if a vital part of her were missing, but it also made her practically unrecognizable (well, maybe not as much as Reimu without her hair bow), just another golden-haired loner amongst a veritable sea of them.

A new white bow would need to be found for it unfortunately, since the last one had somehow loosened itself from her hat, and took off into the wind whilst Marisa was out flying sometime yesterday.

Carefully tiptoeing past a particularly tall and unstable stack of grimoires, Marisa began making a mental list of the things she'd also need to get done before the day was out. First, she'd need to hand back a recipe book that Alice was very insistent that Marisa returned to her, this time before the Ordinary Magician's untimely demise. That's going to be a pain to do since said book is likely hidden within one of the multiple other untidy stacks, similar to the one Marisa had just maneuvered past.

Second off, she would have to find a replacement for the lost spellbook. The Scarlet Devil Mansion and its vast, grand library were off the table, since Marisa was really not looking forward to fighting Patchy for the second time this week, likely just for some ancient occult text that would take Marisa weeks, if not months, to decipher.

Then again, there was always the option of visiting Suzunaan. Though, Marisa wasn't exactly excited about the prospect of having to explain to Kosuzu that, yes, the precious books that she'd lent Marisa a couple of months ago had, indeed, been burnt to crisps in a particularly fiery explosion (completely on accident, she swears!), and were now very much un-returnable.

And then finally last, but not least,

She'd need to find a way to spend some time with Reimu again.

Sure, Marisa had already hung out with her every day for the past week or so, but it had been different then; surrounded by friends and associates who, though their presence wasn't all that annoying, still got in the way of Reimu and her having some true offtime for just the two of them— sipping green tea on the shrine veranda, eyes closed as they feel a gentle breeze brush their legs, seeing if the two of them could tinker with those weird kappa machines without blowing themselves up halfway to Hakugyokurou.

Ah, that'd be the life. Honestly, Marisa was half-tempted to just mosey on over to the Hakurei Shrine right here, right now to demand Reimu that she let Marisa move in with her.

Obviously, Marisa would never actually do something like this - she'd rather not leave with nothing but a broken nose and a miffed shrine maiden to show for it- not anytime in the near future, that is. 'Sides, the Forest of Magic was her home, whether she liked it or not; filled to the brim with weird and esoteric flora, fauna and anomalies that Marisa would never be able to fully catalogue nor comprehend within her limited human lifespan.

So, setting those thoughts aside, Marisa began seeing to her first task, scrounging through the delicate pile of half-read grimoires, when she heard a loud 'thump!' on her door. It wasn't a knock, that was for sure; it sounded far too shallow and lacked the distinctive repeated rapping of knuckles on wood that would usually follow if no response was given, which was Marisa's default greeting, given her busy scheduling.

In fact, it almost sounded as if something had been thrown at her door, possibly a rock from a mischievous fairy or whatnot.

Placing a hastily scrounged-up book as gently as she could back down onto the counter, so as to not disturb quite possibly the crappiest game of rock balancing she had ever played, Marisa made her way towards the front door, a look of annoyance strewn across her face from having to be disturbed in the middle of her processions.

What awaited Marisa however, was something she thought she'd never see in her lifetime.

A rolled-up newspaper, likely delivered as part of some subscription service, lay there on Marisa's doorstep.

The problem was, Marisa never recalled subscribing to a paper— too much work, she reckoned, why read some mass-produced garbage when you could be immersing yourself with the knowledge found in an ancient, potentially life-changing (in more ways than one) tome?

It's nothing but a waste of time and money, and Marisa was more than happy to stay inside her cottage - willfully ignorant about the going-ons of the outside, her face firmly planted within yellowed pages - if she could avoid forking over a few hundred yen a week for something she'll inevitably come to regret purchasing. Also, the only folk around publishing newspapers were the Tengu, and after one too many bad encounters with them, Marisa didn't exactly feel the greatest need to provide their ilk with the means to improve themselves— as petty as it sounded, it all added up in the end.

Well, it sounded reasonable to Marisa at least, confident that she'd gotten this whole 'mathematics' thing down pat.

Eyeing the roll of newspaper with suspicion, Marisa shuffled towards it with a deliberate movement in her steps to pick it up. Holding onto the paper as it were a dirty, wet rag, Marisa unfolded the roll and began to read.

And oh boy, was Marisa glad that she read it.

Sure, it was filled with the type of poisonous, propaganda-filled prose that tengu publishers liked to inject within their works, but so long as one could glaze their eyes over the obvious bias, the Bunbunmaru proved to be a surprisingly accurate source on the happenings of wider Gensokyo. In addition to that, this edition in particular provided Marisa with the kindling to (hopefully) knock her third problem of the day out of the park.

"Malnourished Miko Relishing in Rabbit Food?" it posited, and Marisa knew just what to do with this information.

Stifling a chuckle, as if to not offend the exactly zero people in her immediate vicinity (well, perhaps aside from a few stray youkai), Marisa abandoned whatever ideas were currently on her mind and set off deeper into the Forest as fast as her legs could carry her, newspaper in hand, each one of her steps carving an indent into the snow. By now, the only thing on her mind was an intent to capitalize on the shrine maiden's plight as much as she could.

A thousand other thoughts also raced through Marisa's head at the same time, with her two main concerns as thus; Number one, about the amount of favour she'd curry with Reimu if the plan she was concocting were to all go swimmingly. Number two, coercing recruiting the right people for the job.

And who better else to ask, than the Seven-Coloured Puppeteer?

Slipping away (hopefully) unseen, a young ice fairy treks through the snow-covered floor of the Forest of Magic, icicle wings flapping excitedly in what would be for most the chill morning air.

Coming to a stop up near a conspicuously hollowed-out husk of a tree, the fairy began to relay what she had just done to the tree, explaining how she had successfully delivered all the newspapers as promised, and how she had just finished sending the last one. Once finished, the tiny fairy stood as still as the old growth before her, awaiting a response.

She never did get one, but what she heard instead was a soft 'thump!' on a snow-covered patch of land beside her. It was an pretentiously elaborate wooden box, with intricate engravings carved onto its surface, indicative that it was of artisanal craft. Inside there was a note, congratulating the fairy on a job well done, and of how proud the mysterious benefactor was of her.

Of course, that was what the fairy thought it said. She tried her hardest to make out and piece together the individual letters into legible words but ended up drawing blanks regardless. Evidently, not enough attention was being given whilst attending Miss Kamishirasawa's lessons.

Lifting up the note and tossing it carelessly behind her, as if were some random piece of debris, the fairy was greeted with a smörgåsbord of different candies and sweets. All of them likely originated from the finest sweet shops in the Human Village, and perhaps even beyond.

As tempting it was to keep the treasure trove of sugar all to her own, the little fairy thought better of herself. So, with great effort, she heaved the box of sweets along with her towards the Misty Lake, planning to share her hard-earned spoils with Dai. Oh, and the other minor fairies, she supposed.

Soon after the little fairy trotted out of viewing distance, a tall figure, dressed in a fine purple dress completely unfitting of the weather surrounding her, slipped out from behind one of the other surrounding trees, and walked over to pick up the discarded note.

All it said was: "Good Job", in an admittedly misguided attempt in order to display gratitude towards a being whose kind were not exactly known for being literate.

Casting aside the shadows of self-doubt forming within her mind, Yukari grinned.

Next stop, Hakurei Shrine.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

"Alice! Hey yo, Alice!"

Alice Margatroid did not appreciate being woken up - so abruptly she might add - this early in the morning.

Then again, no one truly did, and any man who attempts to argue otherwise is either a fool or a cheat.

Rubbing her groggy eyes perhaps a bit harder than what should've been necessary, Alice willed a group of nearby Shanghai dolls, who had just finished cleaning her room, to bring over something other than the small clothes she was currently wearing. Anything presentable would do, the dolls were told, though she knew that it would be the same blue-white-frilled dress with a white caplet that Alice frequented every single day.

Tying up the last of the many laces on her boots, and planting a red, frilled hairband onto her head, Alice directed the dolls to tidy up the sorry state of her bed and moved to intercept the troublesome Magician before she inevitably began trying to force herself into Alice's humble abode.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

"Alllliiiiice, ya in there?" came yet another cry.

"I'm coming, Marisa, calm yourself," responded Alice, an annoyed tone apparent in her voice. "And stop banging on that godsdamned door, you're going to knock its hinges off!"

"Oooookaaaaaayyyyy, but ya best be quick, 'else I might jus-"

Marisa shut up when the door in front of her swung open, nearly hitting her square in the face, and revealing an unexpectedly dishevelled and understandably angry Alice.

Now, she may have not possessed the usual assembly of mean-looking dolls arranged in combat formation that Marisa frequently faced down when 'loaning' a book, but one good look at Alice's face could tell her that - were it not for her having just woken up - the Dollmaker would be more than willing to kick her ass at the slightest inference of a slight, with or without her only means of defence.

As such Marisa, in a very un-Marisa-like move, thought it best to think first before she spoke.

"Hey, Alice! Uh, listen, I've got a problem that needs... resolving, so could ya lend a hand to 'lil 'ol me?"

Alice merely narrowed her eyes in response and proceeded to ignore the request. "Where's that textbook that I lent you, Marisa?"

"Oh, uhh, y'know."

"No, I really don't."

Marisa opened her mouth to voice an objection, but soon closed it in favour of an annoyed pout. One beleagured sigh later, she acceded to Alice's demands. "Look, I'll get it back to you as soon as possible, okay?"

"Then come back here with it, and then we'll talk."

Alice moved to shut the door, before realising that Marisa had jammed her foot in the way.

"Gods Marisa, I just want my tome back, is it really that hard to understand?"

Marisa's face had morphed into one of annoyance, not much unlike the one Alice was wearing. "That there's the problem, Alice, I'm still searching for it!"

"Then search harder!"

Marisa was now becoming visibly irritated, no doubt due to Alice's uncooperative nature. "Just friggin' listen okay? I've got some explaining to do, and your interjections ain't helpin'!"

"...Okay."

With Alice's tacit approval gained, Marisa calmed herself. "Now, I'll return ya precious thing right back to ya the moment I get the chance, but for now, I need you do something for me."

"And what would that be?" Alice inquired, her eyes once again narrowing in suspicion.

Marisa grinned, and in response to Alice's question, she plopped the newspaper she was carrying with her onto the soft entry mat.

Alice bent over to pick it up and whilst doing that, she heard Marisa speak up.

"How would ya like ta' cook with me?"

Chapter Text

An excerpt from the Grimoire of Marisa, 2nd Edition. Published Year 187, 3rd of Satsuki, by Suzunaan Publishing House.

Marisa's Marvelous Mushroom Remedy!

Note from the Author:

I know, I know. You're probably already asking, what the hell's a food recipe doing here? Well, how about ya just sit down and listen up for a hot minute, 'cause who knows, perhaps this lil' recipe'll do just as much good for you as it did for me.

Now, let's get started, shall we?

Ingredients:

1 kilogramme of mushrooms. Preferably foraged, but you do you. (just avoid the red-capped ones!)
Around a 1/2 cup of cooking oil. Any'll do, just make sure it's for cooking.
1 large onion, diced.
4 small tomatoes, sliced, diced and seeded.
A spoon's worth of thickener. Don't matter what kind, wheat or barley flour will do.
1/4 stick of butter.
3 cloves of garlic, minced.
Half a litre, or two cups of stock. Mushroom if possible, but any generic stock also suffices.
Thyme, rosemary and parsley. If you got some.
ground salt & peppercorns.
(Optional) A few slices of bread. Again, if ya got any.

Preparation:

Prep-time: 1 Hour

Step 1: Wash your mushrooms, rinsing off all the dirt and grime and other nasty stuff, and trim off the tough stems (don't wanna eat them!). Slice 'em to about the thickness of your lil' pinkie.

Step 2: Heat up your skillet to medium-high, and dump half your 1/2 cup of oil into the pan. Throw in your onions and garlic, seasoning with salt & pepper, and cook whilst stirring, until the onion's softened and browned. All this should last around 10 minutes or so, so after then, remove your onions onto a seperate plate and set it aside.

Step 3: Add the rest of your cooking oil into the pan, and turn up the heat to high. Add in your mushrooms, season 'em lightly and stir-fry 'til lightly coloured, for about 3 minutes. Lower the heat to medium, add in your aromatics (if ya got them) and your tomatoes. Stir well, and cook for a minute more, seasoning with salt & pepper. Toss in your thickener of choice, stir to incorporate and cook for 1 minute more. Stir in your previously cooked onions.

Step 4: Add in half of your stock, and stir until thickened, around 1 minute. Gradually add in the remaining stock and cook for two more minutes. Sauce oughta have a thin gravy-like consistency; adjust with more thickener and seasoning as necessary.

Step 5: Now this bit's real important, make sure to concentrate your mind, and mutter the name of the person who ya cooking for. Trust me, makes all the difference in the world.

Step 6: Serve it up in a nice, warm bowl, and you're done!  

And there ya have it, my signature dish when I'm feeling down, cold, or anything in between! Serves as a fantastic lady killer as well; that, I can personally attest to.

Alice was not having the greatest of days.

First off, she had been - rudely - awoken at, what was to her, the most unsociable hours of the day. Her clothes, put on in a hurry and clearly chosen from the unwashed pile, did not exactly present her figure in the best of lights, with the various creases and folds obtained from years of use still readily apparent to the casual observer. Underneath all of that, there were cuts and bruises from her own clumsy manoeuvres dispersed across her arms and legs.

The outside was colder than the biting winds of Hakugyokurou, which only made Alice crave the temperate warmth of her small cottage more. The cold was already starting to have its effect on her body, with the extremities already threatening to freeze up. At least the snow had recently begun to subside, thawing in anticipation of the upcoming warmer seasons.

All of this, and not even mentioning her hair, which could be more accurately described as a tangled mess of a wild berry bush— complete with blonde thistles sticking out of her disaster in hairstyling.

Worst yet; the entire reason she was here outside in the first place, and not inside her warm and cosy cottage, was because she was 'convinced' to assist Marisa in her inane plot to garner favour with Reimu.

Alice had to stop herself from chuckling at just how ironic this entire situation was. Here she was, with one of her only friends in tow, scavenging for food in order to feed yet another one of her friends -well, an associate would be more apt - in response to said associate doing the exact same thing a scant few days ago.

Oh, and her book was still 'missing'. Great.

Heaving a dry sigh, Alice turned towards Marisa, who was perhaps currently the most focused that Alice had ever seen Marisa be in her entire life. In both their arms were foraging baskets containing motley assortments of wild mushrooms, all of them (hopefully) edible, and all for a stew that Marisa had (purportedly) conjured up in her head whilst on her way to Alice's house.

Could you believe that Marisa wanted to include, once this whole terrible mess was over, of course, this theoretical recipe in the next edition of her blasted grimoire?

Tossing yet another mushroom into her wicker-hewn basket - a good, strong basket that had served her well over the decades - Alice scanned her immediate surroundings for any nearby pickings, only to find the ground distinctly devoid of any remaining mushrooms.

Now, she absolutely could have soldiered on, wandering further and further into the depths of the Forest of Magic. Although suddenly becoming acutely aware of her lack of defensive measures against any stray youkai, combined with, quite frankly, a lack of motivation to go on, Alice thought better of it and sought after Marisa for further guidance.

It didn't take long for Alice to stumble upon the object of interest, who was still crouched, unusually concentrated on sectioning out the edible from inedible from a group of foraged mushrooms.

"Gensokyo to Marisa, are you there?"

That had gotten her attention, as Marisa whipped around to face Alice, ears perked up and an embarrassed flush forming from being caught unaware. "Oh, hey Alice! Whatcha up to?"

Alice's expression softened, and she felt a small smile forming on her face. Marisa may be an insufferable lout at times (okay, most of the time), but whenever she actually put her mind to something and became truly dedicated to a task, she really let it show. Alice considered it all to be rather adorable in its own weird, convoluted sort of way.

For what it's worth, it at least reminds Alice of why she ever bothered to interact - let alone form a somewhat tenuous friendship - with her kleptomaniacal human neighbour to begin with.

"Not much, Mari, I'm just here to tell you that my basket's full."

Still half-concentrated on sorting the pile of wild mushrooms, Marisa gave an affirmative nod in acknowledgement.

Before realising what Alice had just called her.

With a grin akin to a Chesire cat, Marisa dropped what she was doing, and turned her full attention towards Alice, who was still clueless as to what she had done to warrant her wrath this time around.

"Well now, ain't you happy all of a sudden, Alliiii~."

Confusion wracked Alice's face for a split second, before finally realising the implications of calling her friend "Mari". Feeling a strange warmth rapidly ascending up her neck, before settling on her cheeks, Alice covered her now scarlet-coated face with her hands, if only to shield herself from bearing witness to Marisa's rapidly widening grin.

"Sooooo, does this mean I'm forgiven for the book, or-"

"Shut up! Just, shut it, okay?" Came a belated cry, from a very much humiliated Alice.

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry 'kay? I didn't mean nothin' by it!"

However much Marisa protested her (supposed) innocence, it didn't seem to convince the now incensed Alice, who stomped off back towards her home in a rage. "Pick your own damned mushrooms, Marisa!" Of whom also managed to hear Alice mutter something under her breath soon after. "Gods, the moment I try to be nice towards you..."

A rare sense of guilt overcame her, and Marisa raced over to cut off Alice, picking up both baskets filled with this afternoon's spoils in tow. "Look, Alice, I am actually real sorry! Couldn't ya just forgive me just this once, pretty please?"

Alice stopped in her tracks and took her hands off her face. Success! Marisa thought to herself.

Before Alice squatted down to pick up a piece of roadside gravel, which she promptly hurled at Marisa's face.

It didn't take much effort to dodge it - Marisa's dodged worse - but it was the glare that Alice gave her afterwards that really did it in, informing Marisa that, if were not for the fact that she was currently without her dolls, the two of would've already long since begun flinging magic bullets and what-not at each other.

Turning to face her would-be-assaulter, Marisa slowly made her way towards Alice, making sure to remain aware of any more opportunistic stray pieces of rock being thrown at speed towards her. It didn't last for all too long before she was forced to stop in her tracks, as Alice suddenly began approaching Marisa as well, her emotions seemingly subsided.

Though her expression was still clearly one of hurt, Marisa nonetheless considered it a step, however small, in the right direction. Before she could open her mouth to voice one of her many already memorized apologies, however, Alice managed to beat her to the punch.

"If you've ever wondered why I tend to act cold towards you, Marisa." Alice began, a slight tremble underlining her words. "This is precisely the reason why."

The accusation hit Marisa hard, whose eyes suddenly found the ground very enticing. "Yeah, I know, I understand ya Alice."

"I'm just... so tired, Marisa. You wake me up well before my biological clock did, and then you all but force me to participate in this little scheme of yours in the freezing cold! I'm not going to claim that you should also be asleep at this time, just, can't you be considerate about other people's schedules for once?"

Marisa said nothing, determining her best course of action was to stay silent.

"Not to mention the fact that I'm still a sleepy, bed-hair-ridden mess, who's currently coated in all the unpleasantries that nature has to offer! And don't you understand that your apologies mean nothing if you're never going to actually change something about yourself? I mean, gods, Marisa, it's starting to feel like we have an argument like this every week now!"

Alice's face was aflush a fiery crimson colour, half from anger, the other from sheer exertion. Bringing her rant to a close, she saw Marisa rapidly approach her and became expectant of a response, hopefully, a heartfelt apology for once.

"Well? Do you have anything to say-"

In lieu of an apology, a doubling-down, or Alice's favourite; a convenient excuse for her lousy actions, Marisa simply grappled Alice and dragged her into a deep hug. The two stood like that for a good minute, simply content to warm each other up in the winter cold.

"It, uh, really does feel like that sometimes, don't it?" Marisa finally admitted, noticing her puffy shoulder sleeves becoming increasingly damp. "I don't really know how exactly I can..." Marisa paused for a second. "...express my remorse in a way t' ya that sounds somewhat half-way genuine, but I hope ya understand that I'm trying my best 'ere, okay?"

Marisa heard the source of her wettened shoulder stifle a small sniffle, which prompted her to give a strong, hearty pat on the back in response.

"Look, I know I ain't exactly been the best friend, so if ya ever find me too insufferable, don't be 'fraid to let it all out on me, got it?" Marisa chuckled to herself. "Gods know that I can take a scolding, heh."

Alice raised her face, slowly, to meet Marisa's gaze. It was an awful thing, her face, all puffed up and red around her yet-to-dry eyes; honestly, it was kind of ugly if Marisa had to admit, though it certainly provided a nice juxtaposition to the Puppeteer's usual unamused and quiet expression. Most of all, however, Marisa found it to be endearingly dopey.

In the moment, however, the two of them noticed that they had been staring holes into each other's eyes the entire time. Alice quickly zoomed her pair away from the impromptu staring contest, her entire face flushing a shade of red so deep, that Marisa thought it impossible to do so (perhaps youkai are just different in that way?). To her credit, Marisa did the exact opposite and doubled down; beaming a radiant smile at Alice all the while.

"So, guessin' this is me finally forgiven, right?"

Alice pondered the question for a second. "...I'll still need that spellbook back, though."

Now it was Marisa's turn to act indignant, making a face of faux despair. "Aahhhh... Woe is me, 'spose I got no other choice, then..."

"Heh, you know, you can be quite the child at times."

"Says you! 'Sides, it's called 'acting', 'sis."

"Well then if I must admit; it was, frankly, quite terrible."

"Shaddup! As if you could do any better..."

Alice giggled, bathing in the glory of her newly-acquired victory, and began squeezing the pouting magician even tighter. In contrast, Marisa was now hampering to escape Alice’s tightening hug, her joints protesting the sudden pressure being applied to them.

"Ack! Alright, alright, I get it!" Marisa cried out, face contorted in pain. "Could ya let me go already? I know it sounds kinda scummy, but this is really startin' to hurt!"

Grinning triumphantly, Alice loosened her vice-like grip on Marisa, who proceeded to gracelessly collapse onto the snow-covered ground, gasping for air.

"Damn youkai... seems like I need ta' stop underestimatin' your strength, huh? Argh..."

Alice merely crouched down and drew her index and thumb to flick Marisa's forehead, who let out a yelp in surprise. "Was that yet another insult I heard, Little Miss Magician?"

"Ah, uh, no! No, no it weren't, ehehe..." Marisa whimpered, gently massaging the afflicted area on her head.

"Good. Now, let's head back to put these mushrooms to use, shall we?" Alice offered Marisa her hand, faded scars scattered around her knuckles and fingertips. Marisa raised her own to take it, similarly scarred and calloused from gods-know how many experiments.

Alice noticed this near-instantly, though it was Marisa who commented on it first. "Y'know, we're kinda like kindred spirits, if ya really stop t' think about it."

Furrowing her brow in confusion, Alice cast her doubts on Marisa's assessment. "I know we're friends and all, but I don't think our interests are that similar."

"No, really, think about it! We're both massive nerds, hyper-fixated on a specific craft; Ya like dolls, and I like blowin' stuff up!" Marisa excitedly explained.

She could've stopped Marisa's aside at any time, but Alice opted instead to just listen intently to what her friend had to say.

"You and I, we like t' pretend we're real smart folk, right? But when get down to it, we're both just massive dolts who just so happen to have powerful attacks and spells that neither of us should reasonably be trusted with!"

"Call yourself a dolt all you like, but I like to think that I'm far more responsible than you are when it comes to controlling one's abilities."

"That's nonsense! I'm real careful with my powers!"

"Master Spark."

"Okay, okay, 'haps not that careful, but that's 'sides the point. I sure as hell know that, if it were up t' me, I wouldn't trust you with those drilled-up dolls of yours for a second!"

Alice should have been offended by Marisa's assertion, and indeed felt a slight indignation bubble up inside of her, but instead found herself smiling warmly yet again at Marisa's enthusiastic ramblings. Lifting up their hands so that both could see clearly the scars littered around, Alice made her own observations. "Well then, I suppose our hands are evidence of this 'kindred spiritship', correct?"

Marisa returned Alice's smile with one of her own. "Yeah, I 'spose so."

Both now back on their own two feet, the pair made their way back toward Marisa's cottage, carrying mellowed smiles—and baskets filled to the brim with wild mushrooms— all the way back.

Soaring through greyed-out skies, high above the clouds; a lone red figure carves her own path towards Youkai Mountain.

Flying at an altitude wholly unsuited to those not jammed inside a pressurised metal tube, the figure's body shudders at every stray occasional gust, each one planting the chill of winter air firmly within her bones.

If the figure were anyone - youkai or not - with even half a mind for self-preservation, they would have already tapered off, whatever was driving them to pursue such a foolish act instead of being overridden by their body's innate aversion towards hypothermia.

However, for a certain human Miko; the desire for revenge raging inside of her far outweighed any primal impulse for comfort, keeping her body feeling well-warmed in spite of the chilled air, and the frost that was beginning to form on the edges of her clothes.

Reimu peered downwards in an attempt to take in the beauty of Gensokyo, in all its glory, below her. Unfortunately, all she was greeted with was the sight of greyish-white clouds of an indeterminable shape; a depressing sight, if there were any.

Denied her view of the place she called home, and of which she was sworn to protect, Reimu grew ever more resentful, then allowing that resentment to bubble over into a melancholic fury, directed solely at the dammable reporter.

It was quite the silly, inconsequential thing to get all worked up over, yes; After all, even Reimu, her judgement clouded by an unquenchable thirst to cave a deserving crow's head in, could hardly find a reason to blame that blasted tengu for the shoddy weather she was currently experiencing. Emotions tend to care little for such niceties such as 'sound reasoning' however, so in its stead, anger took the lead.

She could see it now, though the thick fog obscured her vision to barely a building's length in front of her, the unnaturally sharp cut-off that marked the boundary between the Mountain and the rest of Gensokyo was unmistakable. A curious thing it was, to Reimu; almost certainly not a landmass not shaped and moulded by nature over many millennia, but instead the work of a god, whose very word - so long as they possessed an adequate amount of faith among their followers - could will the very earth to form whatever they pleased.

It was disgusting. An artificial pox-shaped scar on the otherwise flat, verdant fields of the Land of Illusions.

Ridding her mind of the unusually dark thoughts that had taken shape, she turned them towards more mundane ponderings; such as those of nearby Moriya Shrine, and of the status of its (relatively) newly inaugurated shrine maiden. Thinking back on it, Reimu hadn't been seeing Sanae much recently, even the short visits she would occasionally pay had become less and less common, only for them to completely cease sometime this winter season.

Perhaps Kanako, spineless snake (heh.) that she was, had entrapped the poor new-blooded miko in yet another conspiracy, one that Reimu did not look forward to resolving anytime soon.

Returning to her present obligations, Reimu refocused her gaze to decide on her next course of action. Obviously, she knew that flying straight into Tengu Village was a death sentence; the experience of the wolf tengu patrols may vary wildly between individuals, but all had excellent hearing, and would no doubt notice her before even coming into viewing distance. So, spotting a convenient outcropping of rock on a nearby ridge, the floating Miko set her feet onto the solid ground once more.

Fearing the region she had just landed in was likely to be a grey zone, an area straddling the line that demarcated the borders between Moriya Shrine and the Tengus, Reimu stuck to the shadows, hoping to use the deafening roar of the perilous mountain wind and thick fog to her advantage.

It was never meant to last however, for Reimu had - through lack of knowledge and experience - made the rather unwise decision to walk in a direction downstream to where the wind was blowing, thus resulting in her presence being carried far and wide to be detected by anyone ahead of her. As fate, ever uncaring and impartial, would have it, Reimu's distinct scent had hitched a ride onto a particularly violent gust of wind, travelling all the way into the nose of a wolf tengu already far too familiar with the aroma of subtle unwashedness and cheap sake.

Momiji Inubashiri arched her head upwards, trying to discern the origin of the scent, and followed a perilously steep and narrow trail to intercept the potential intruder.

Hearing rapid footsteps up ahead of her, Reimu knew that her cover was blown, and began frantically sprinting in the opposite direction. Now, Reimu was not afraid of a fight per se, but instead wary of her actions being discovered, and she much rather preferred slamming her yin-yang orb into a very much unaware Shameimaru. It would make her inevitable revenge all the sweeter, after all.

Despite her ability to defy gravity, Reimu's body - her brain in particular - still vehemently protested running across such a narrow and untrodden road; tapping into a primitive, innate fear for one's continued existence. Shaking off her unsteady nerves as best she could, Reimu ran unsteadily as fast as adrenaline could push her legs, attempting to evade the wrath (likely more akin to a scolding, now that she thought about it) of the only wolf tengu whom Reimu knew was daring enough to tread this far into Moriya Shrine territory.

A sudden flash of light zooming past her, however, indicative of the gloves now very much coming off, soon convinced Reimu to cease her admittedly futile endeavour.

Stopping in her tracks and turning around to face her pursuer, face flushed and fighting for gasps of air in the thin alpine atmosphere, Reimu came face to face with a very much unamused and comparatively unwinded Momiji.

Momiji spoke up first, her tone as stilted and professional as ever. "Would you mind telling me what business you have here, Miss Hakurei?"

Grasping her gohei tighter to the point of her knuckles going white, and bringing her ofuda to bear, Reimu responded with a snarl. "Nothing concerning you, tengu. Out of my way."

"I am afraid I cannot do that," Momiji started, causing Reimu's frown to crease further. "But, perhaps I could do you a favour."

Reimu's eyes widened, unbelieving of the usually upstanding patrol guard's offer of a quid pro quo; a traitorous action, that if discovered would surely lead to her exile, if not death. "...And in return for what, Momiji?"

"It depends. What is it that you seek on this pilgrimage of yours?"

"Have you read the news? Not that I'm particularly comfortable with people witnessing my reputation be torn to shreds, but I digress." Reimu understated.

"I see, then I surmise that the root of your problem is one Aya Shameimaru?"

"You've hit the nail on the head, Momiji. Now out of my way, I don't care to hear out your protes-"

"I can help you deal with that."

Reimu stared blankly at Momiji as if she had gone crazed; precisely who this mania affected was still not clear to Reimu, was it she that had gone mad, and she merely imagined Momiji's keen acceptance? Or had the wolf tengu truly lost it, completely willing to betray her own kind for the whims of some impoverished shrine maiden?

Finding great amusement in Reimu's flabbergasted expression, Momiji was first to speak up, breaking up the awkward silence between the two. "You appear to have seen a ghost, Miss Hakurei. Is there anything you wish to ask me?"

Reimu lurched out of her trance, evidently more than ready to offload the myriad of questions that she had. "Several. First off, why so-"

"-eager?" Momiji finished for Reimu. "Well, is it really that hard to imagine a mutual animosity between wolf and crow tengu, Miss Hakurei?"

Reimu was getting awfully irritated about Momiji's constant interruptions but thought herself better than to get worked up by such minor peeves. "Okay, perhaps that may be true, but I had thought the two of you to be steadfast friends; or at the very least, associates?"

"Hah! That damned reporter wishes!" Momiji loudly proclaimed, stupefying Reimu at her sudden break from formality. "If could personally lead that crow to a thousand deaths, I would gladly do so. But alas, us wolf tengu are bound to a code of honour."

"Wh-" Reimu was about to question perhaps one of her greatest misconceptions being shattered right before her eyes but decided to allow Momiji to continue her rant.

Regaining her professional tone, Momiji continued explaining. "Thus, the most I can do is guide you to her print shop, and to not raise an alarm about it."

Understandably, Reimu was somewhat apprehensive about this seemingly far too good-to-be-true offer being made to her; after all, it could always be nothing but an elaborate plot, a sting to gauge and further indict the miko in her true intentions. The worst part was that she would not put of any the previous to be past the purview of Momiji. "You seem awfully nonchalant about all of this, how can I trust you to uphold your word?"

In response, Momiji merely shot Reimu a cold glance, which suddenly reminded her body of the freezing cold currently surrounding it, and of her distinct lack of clothing to combat it. Releasing an involuntary shudder, and cursing her past self for not wearing a warm coat before heading out, Reimu raised her head up to meet Momiji's gaze.

Fortunately, it seemed as if the gaze was not directed at Reimu, for it was only a moment later that Momiji spoke again. "It just so happens that I have a bone to pick with Miss Shameimaru."

Fighting off the desire to snicker at Momiji's accidental pun— the poor girl was never the most tactful with her words, Reimu took the sudden use of metaphors as a sign of trustworthiness. "Well, you make a compelling case, Momiji. Looks like I'll be in your care from here on out."

Momiji flashed a grin that only a predator could give. "Of course, Miss Hakurei, you will not come to regret it."

Reimu doubted Momiji's assertion but thought better than to question the hand that she had been dealt. Marching together in file formation, so as to mind the narrow pathways of the mountain ridge, she suddenly thought to correct the wolf tengu on one account.

"Also, it's 'Reimu' from now on, Momiji."

Momiji stopped for a second, her face betraying signs of internal conflict, before finally settling on a response.

"As you wish, Reimu."

"Once again, Kirisame, I am impressed by your ability to survive in absolute filth."

Marisa could sense yet another argument, and invariably yet another headache, brewing.

"I mean, just look at all these books! No wonder it's taken this long to find my spellbook, if you've even attempted to do so at all!"

That was fair.

"...Sorry."

"All of this dust as well! Patchouli wouldn't survive a damned day in here!"

Okay, less fair.

"Well, I ain't anything like that asthmatic shut-in, but whatevs'."

"And gods, the sheer amount of fragile objects just dangling from your windowsills and shelves is giving me grief! How could you possibly justify living in such squalor?"

That did it.

"Because it's my own house, damnit!" Marisa snapped back, startling Alice. "And I don't need some know-it-all cleanliness freak t' lecture me 'bout it!"

An uncomfortable silence draped over the two yet again; unwilling to let all the progress made in the past hour be in vain, however, Marisa let loose an exasperated sigh.

"Geez, I'm real sorry 'bout that outburst, but ya just haveta realise not everyone's gotta conform to your standards a' living, got it?"

It seemed as if Alice was preparing for yet another verbal fight that never materialised, since her body, previously tense, relaxed at Marisa's unexpected concession. "...I understand. Apologies, Mari."

"Yer forgiven, Ali."

The crisis now firmly averted, Marisa refocused her attention towards more pertinent matters. Alice followed along carefully in tow, making sure not to accidentally step on some stray gadget that was more than likely to be strewn carelessly around somewhere.

As stuck up as Alice was about her living arrangement, Marisa couldn't but help but agree slightly - and silently, of course - with her comparatively far more organised friend. To her, everything in Alice's house screamed 'organized chaos'; everywhere she looked, there'd always be a half-complete doll sitting silently on a shelf, or some important (and high value!) magical item laying neatly on an invariably polished and kept surface.

To an outside observer, it was a hoarder's paradise— though Marisa knew that it was so much more than that. Every 'class' of item was neatly sectioned off into its own special area, separate from other groups. Alice herself seemed to intrinsically know - likely via memory - where everything was, with her dolls doing most of the heavy lifting by transporting these items when required. This also made stealing borrowing anything and everything far harder for Marisa, but hey, that also made pulling off successful heists just that much sweeter.

All of this, in contrast to Marisa's house, which was dirty, unkempt and on occasion disastrously labyrinthine. In fact, so crowded were the hallways, and cluttered were the floors, that Marisa oft preferred to simply float a chair's height above when traversing the minefield (sometimes quite literally) that was her living room.

Carefully guiding the both of them through the aforementioned minefield, Marisa held Alice's hand, so as to more carefully advise her on where and where not to step. This, of course, elicited annoyed grumbles from the puppeteer.

"I'm not a child, you know?" Alice complained, arms crossed. "I can walk just fine on my own."

Turning her eyes away from scanning the ground for any dangers, Marisa raised a brow. "I'd rather not get my house blown up today, thanks, but not thanks."

"Then why not just organize your horrific mess of a living room?"

"Same reason I mentioned before."

Alice paused for a second, racking her mind to find a correlation between the two statements, before finally connecting the dots together. Puffing her cheeks up into a pout, one could obviously tell that Alice did not appreciate being shown up in the slightest, and yet pursued no further retaliations, preferring instead to continue following Marisa's instructions on how to traverse the living room killing grounds.

Before long, however, the pair could finally rest easy, as they soon reached the only room in the entirety of Marisa's little maze-disguised-as-a-house that could perhaps be called somewhat orderly and well-kept. Not out of any virtuous intent or a sudden and inexplicable need to keep this specific slice of her property comparatively immaculate, but rather out of sheer necessity.

The Kirisame Magic Shop's very own kitchen— is an absolute marvel in engineering and technology; a slice of the outside world, enclosed within a bubble that is maintained by perhaps the least trustworthy person for the job. Truly, it's a miracle that Marisa hasn't yet blown herself up to face the Yama's judgement, and has encountered (relatively) few issues when operating the mystical contraptions she was told were called an 'oven'.

It sure didn't look anything of the sort, that was for certain. Ovens are meant to be, based on what few specimens Marisa had seen before, gigantic in size, easily able to dwarf even some of the taller youkai she'd met before. They were fashioned from stone and clay, housing a sizeable opening to deposit food inside, alongside a fire that sat a fair distance away from one's food, cooking it without burning it.

This, in contrast, was somewhat smaller, reaching up only to about Marisa's navel. It possessed weird knobs that she could only guess controlled the temperature of this advanced 'oven'; this was both handy and fancy, sure, but also had the unfortunate side effect of making the ever-curious magician ravenous for any and all information on the thing.

On top was situated a device that Marisa was far more familiar with; though far removed from her old Daruma stove of old, at least it didn't spew any nasty smoke that would always inevitably fill the room with noxious fumes.

However, the most exceptional feature of the little modern stove that could, was its ability to spew out a strange blue fire. Marisa didn't particularly care for the fancy light show per se, but what she did care for was the adorable fascination with which Reimu always regarded the esoterically coloured flame; her stoic demeanour, cast aside in favour of an unusually obsessive passion for the outside world technology.

Truth be told, there were probably a billion other gadgets in Kourindou that were infinitely more interesting than some lame cooking fire, at least to Marisa. Though, if that was what she liked if it meant actually seeing Reimu smile for once— and a warm, genuine smile at that, not the unnerving, 'I'm pissed' smile that Marisa was regrettably far too accustomed to, it'll be worth all the uninteresting tinkering sessions in the world.

It should also be mentioned that, unlike Reimu, Marisa actually knew how the stove worked— of course, not the entirety of it; the oven bit was still very much a mystery to her, but it seems that ol' Kourin's knowledge pool could do more than hilariously misjudge the utility of an outside world curiosity if Yukari and Sumireko were to be trusted, that is.

If you think about it, it's kind of all Reimu's fault for not asking him for advice; not that Marisa was complaining or anything, it just meant she'd get to spend more time getting all nice n' cuddly with her- not much else she could really ask for, really.

Oh, and it granted her the opportunity to steal Reimu's food. Marisa was running dangerously low on stuff to eat.

"Something wrong?"

Right, she still had a recipe to experiment with.

"Nah, nothin' much. Just daydreaming, as usual, ya' know?"

Alice nodded silently, and turned towards the oven/stove hybrid in confusion. "Is... this part of our plans?"

"Oh, right." Marisa bashfully rubbed the back of her head, embarrassed at the prospect of having left out such an important component. "Come 'ere, I'll explain it t' ya!"

Alice clamoured over to Marisa, carefully avoiding a stray miniature portal situated on the ground; likely a part of what remained of a particularly ill-advised experiment, she reckoned.

"First, we gotta turn what we've foraged and whatever I've got left in the pantry into something halfway edible."

"Mhm."

"Then, we start searching for your book, since you want it back so much, ya bleedin' heart."

"Mm-hmm."

Marisa started to become unsettled by Alice's seemingly non-committal responses but soldiered on regardless. "... Finally, we gotta somehow rope Reimu n' some other poor unfortunate sucker into taste testing the result alongside us, got it?"

"Yup."

Marisa pouted and crossed her arms in irritation. "Alright, that does it. I gotta ask, is there some damned slight that I've accidentally n' unknowingly committed against ya? Again, that is?" Marisa grumbled, previously mild annoyance now boiling over into exasperation.

"Hmm? Uh-" Alice sputtered. "Apologies, I was zoned in whilst listening to you."

"Really? Then what did I tell ya?"

"Cooking, the rightful return of my spellbook, and roping more people into helping us."

"Alright, that's— uh, that is correct, congrats."

Marisa's face warmed in a mix of indignation and sheer embarrassment at having been proven wrong, and over such a simple misunderstanding as well. "There really no other questions ya wanna ask? I mean, we ain't exactly in a rush, sooo..."

"No need, I think I've already got a solid enough grasp on how we will proceed." Alice stated rather matter-of-factly, a far removal from her previous inelegant bawling and uncooperative attitude. Perhaps she was just like this when getting to work?

"Wait, even on how my oven-stove thingamajig works?" Marisa questioned.

"Um, n-no. But, we'll get there once we get there."

"Riiiiight, sure, ok."

It was now rather obvious that Alice was trying her damndest to act her usual composed and know-it-all self, compensating for her free display of emotion a moment before; of course, Marisa didn't exactly share Alice's near-suicidal confidence in her own ability and felt something compel her to try and convince otherwise.

However, a tempting alternative would be to simply step aside, and watch as Alice likely inflicts nasty burns on herself in an attempt to figure out how to operate the contraption on her own.

Marisa shrugged off such thoughts as, quite frankly, asinine and straight cruel, reserved for those with slackened moral compasses; Alice was her friend, after all! Besides, Marisa liked to think that she was somewhat upstanding enough to be judged as being entitled to at least half a compass.

Also, Marisa preferred not to witness her house go up in flames. She'd already had to learn the hard one once and was not willing to do so again.

"Hellooo? Are you there?" Came an interloping voice; a familiar one, at that.

Damnit, she'd been daydreaming again.

"Oh, huh? Yeah, sorry." Marisa blubbered out, snapping once again out of a trance.

Gods, for a supposedly genius and frighteningly adaptable magician, Marisa was perhaps the most airheaded person Alice had ever met; just how the fool hasn't blown herself up already in some freak accident, she perhaps never may know.

Well, Alice hopes that she never has to know.

"Anyway, I'm kinda sorry t' say this, but I don't trust a lick a' what you said about havin' a "solid-enough grasp". I'll still need ta train ya on how to work this thing, ya hear?"

Alice sighed, it seemed as if her masterful plan of subterfuge had not gone as planned after all.

"Fine, lead the way." She relented.

Marisa grinned. "Ya won't regret it, Ali."

Gently stroking the brilliant, violet hair of a slumbering inchling princess, nestled gently within her lap; the Youkai of Boundaries looks on from beyond the veil, peering into a familiar tear in the fabric of our reality.

From this portal, out flew words that, when assembled together, roughly formed themselves into another pointless, petty argument about how to properly handle cooking appliances streamed from the gap. A staple for Kirisame & Co, that, at least, was for certain.

Yukari sighed and willed the gap shut, reclining without any of the grace usually expected from a person of her refined stature onto the tatami floor. A sudden surge of shock panged throughout her body at the realisation of the still resting Shinmyoumaru nestled in between her legs, but a quick inspection thankfully showed the inchling princess to still be sound asleep.

On the subject of the shrine's various other inhabitants, she had expected to see that freeloading, rambunctious oni stumbling around drunk out of her mind yet again, but was pleasantly surprised with the lack of both stray, half-empty sake bottles strewn across the floor and of the presence of the drunkard herself. Likewise, Reimu's resident komainu was also nowhere to be seen, despite ordinarily being perched outside on the veranda, astutely guarding the shrine against any and all threats whilst her erstwhile master was out incident-solving.

In other words, aside from one dormant inchling who, let's be honest, is at this moment probably only worth an eighth of a regular-sized person, Yukari was well and truly alone.

It was not all doom and gloom though; however much this process admittedly bored Yukari out of her mind— a rare achievement, when taking into consideration her substantial age- so long as all the pieces continued falling in her favour, she would play the part of the fool for as long as it took, in spite of how embarrassing it is to be subjected to the abrupt, emotion-driven whims of the current Hakurei Shrine Maiden.

She drooped her head in shame. Reimu may be a handful at times (an understatement, if there were ever any), but she was useful and generally tolerant of Yukari's antics. The true problem lay within the Moriya Shrine Maiden; not in any way caused by the sweet, amiable outsider girl of course, but rather the unknowable deigns bestowed upon her by her guardians.

A closer eye would definitely need to be kept on that dreadful and frustratingly sly wind god, that was for sure. But when faced with just how she was to do that, Yukari drew blanks. Obviously, more planning was definitely in order, and what better time to start than now?

And, as if to perfectly punctuate her thoughts, Yukari heard faint rustling originating from outside the shrine. Now, this sound could've been made by anyone, not to mention anything. But, taking into account the time of day, it might just have been made by the person whom she was waiting for.

She'll just have to wait and see.

Chapter Text

Acquired from repatriation operation on the Kirisame Household on the Year of Our Grace 187, 4th of Satsuki, with assent from the Her Lady, Patchouli Knowledge.

Sanae's Super Omurice!

Note to Self: Serves four people, and remember that Lady Kanako doesn't like onions, and Lady Suwako often eats double portions! (~_~;)

Ingredients

For Fried Rice
1 onion
2 whole skinless, boneless chicken thighs
cooking oil
a cup of assorted veggies, any'll do
cooking salt
4 cups of rice (don't forget to use day old rice from last night!)
soy sauce
ketchup (dunno how to find a consistent source of this, but try anyways!)
salt & pepper

For the Omelettes
4 eggs (as large as possible!)
4 tablespoons of milk
3/4 cup of cheese (shredded, very important!)

Method

Fried Rice
Step 1: Mince onion finely; Dice chicken into cubes the width of your thumb.
Step 2: Heat cooking oil in skillet over medium heat; sauté onions until tender.
Step 3: Add in chicken & cook until no longer pink; add in vegetables and season with salt and pepper.
Step 4: Add in 1 tablespoon of ketchup, 1 teaspoon of soy sauce, stir to combine.
Step 5:Transfer fried rice to a plate, and clean pan for omelettes.

Omurice Proper
Step 1: Making the omurice one at a time. Whisk 1 egg and a tablespoon of milk in a bowl.
Step 2: Coat pan in oil over medium-high heat.
Step 3: Once pan is hot, pour in the egg mixture and tilt the pan to coat the entire surface with the egg. Cook until the bottom has set, but top is still liquid and soft. Lower heat to medium-low.
Step 4: Sprinkle a fistful of cheese on top, then add a quarter (1/4) of the ketchup fried rice across the middle of the omelette.
Step 5: Use whatever cooking instrument you're using (likely a spatula), carefully fold both sides of the omelette over the middle, where the fried rice and cheese. Carefully move the omurice to the edge of the pan.
Step 6: Holding a plate with one hand and the pan in the other, flip the pan to transfer the omurice opening side down, onto the plate.
Step 7: Cover the omurice with a towel (paper is also fine) and form it with your hands into an long oval shape.
Step 8: Repeat until enough omurice have been made.

To Serve
Drizzle additional ketchup onto omurice as desired, and enjoy!

Sanae awoke in a daze.

Her eyes, frenzied and unusually responsive for someone who had just woken up, darted from side to side, trying to make sense of her surroundings.

The sudden loss of sight, in a situation where one would very much expect to be able to see, frightened Sanae. In a desperate attempt to regain her vision, she scrunched up her two hands into fists, rubbing her eyes, hoping that it would provide some relief, however temporary.

Well, she would've done that, were it not for the fact that her hands were stubbornly refusing to heed her commands. Not to mention, she was also lacking any sort of feeling in them.

In fact, this lack of any sensation - as Sanae would soon find out - had also spread to the rest of her person, as if her entire nervous system had decided to pack it up and leave all of a sudden. Panicking, Sanae could feel her heartbeat (good, she still had one) rising to a crescendo, along with complementary sweat beads beginning to form on her neck.

Fortuitously, however, her sense of touch and feel slowly began to return to her. Sanae breathed in deeply, savouring the reassuringly consistent crisp mountain air, and let out a huge sigh of relief.

Opening her eyes, light finally spilt into her pupils, temporarily blinding her.

And inflicting upon Sanae a splitting headache. 

Strange, Déjà vu.

Letting out a pained yelp— or at least, what she thought was a yelp, her ears registered something more akin to a hoarse rasp emerging from her throat, Sanae slammed shut her eyelids as fast as she had opened them. It didn't help alleviate the rapidly-onsetting migraine of course, but it made her feel better regardless.

Planting both of her palms onto her forehead, Sanae emitted something akin to a droning groan, all whilst slowly twisting and turning her body left and right, her legs rising to tent the sheets of her futon.

It was quite the sorry display, of the sort that was quite alien to Sanae, since she had never been the kind to drink herself into such a state, especially well into the next morn. Perhaps she had eaten something bad last night? Or perhaps she had been poisoned! Now that would be something to write about— if she survived, that is.

Such delusions melted away when Sanae felt a cold gust of wind brush her fevered face, cooling it down to a more tolerable temperature. After all, there was only one person she knew who possessed both the ability to manipulate wind and who cared for her enough to perform such an act.

Flopping her fatigue-stricken body towards the direction from which the passing wind originated, Sanae glanced up to see the visage of Kanako Yasaka staring down at her, concern and pity evident in her expression.

"Sanae, are you alright?" Kanako inquired in a worried tone, crouching down to place her hand on Sanae's forehead, which was positively sizzling.

"Hnnrngghh... I'm fiiiiine, Lady Kanako..." Sanae drawled, her fingers pressed on what was presumably the source of her pain.

Kanako grimaced; it was one thing to be dedicated towards one's duties, and another thing entirely to be willfully negligent towards one's personal welfare. "Well, evidently, you're not." Kanako insisted, crossing her arms. "Now, you stay in bed for now, and I'll soon return with some water and breakfast, is that okay?"

Sanae desperately yearned to protest the God towards whom she was beholden to - well, one of them, at least - performing menial tasks for her benefit, every fibre of her shrine maiden training screaming out to graciously decline the offer.

Before having her memory promptly clear up, and recalling how she had to clean up last night's sake-fueled debacle; the most likely cause of her current incapacitated state.

"Mmmmh... yeah sure, go ahead."

Satisfied with Sanae's tacit approval, Kanako sauntered off towards the kitchen to begin cooking breakfast, walking out of the miko's view. Suddenly remembering her manners, Sanae called out after Kanako.

"By the waaay, thaaanks Laady Kanaakoooo!"

Kanako smiled slightly to herself; she certainly did appreciate the girl working herself hard, often precariously so, in service of the Moriya Shrine. Although, it was always moments like these, coddling the outside world guardian of her shrine, that the wind god felt most joyous.

Not that she'd ever admit that towards Sanae's face— or, her forbid, Suwako'sface, of course.

Violently shaking her head to rid her face of, in Kanako's mind, the sickly sweet grin that had formed on her face, she turned back towards Sanae to face her with a far more mellowed, motherly smile; a visage more befitting a god.

She did so in vain, however, for Kanako saw that Sanae had already fallen fast asleep in the short time that she was turned away, likely ruminating on past memories, giving the wind god a slight pause - and motherly smile.

Smiling warmly at the slumbering Sanae, Kanako turned back around to return to more present matters, such as deciding on what to cook for breakfast.

And therein, unfortunately, lay the problem.

What to cook, exactly?

As embarrassing as it might be to admit, Kanako (and by extension Suwako) had little experience in the kitchen to speak of, not to mention the modern gadgets that Sanae insisted be imported in from the outside world.

Cooking, and other traditionally menial chores, were always left to the designs of the incumbent Moriya shrine maiden, neither gods had given much thought towards cooking for themselves in the centuries- if not millennia spent on this mortal coil.

All of this left Kanako in quite the conundrum, when realising that she could hardly boil an egg— even the process of which had to be explained, in agonizing detail, to her by Sanae, to serve as an introductory course to the intricacies of the newly-imported outside world technology, of which both gods found to be progressing far too quickly in recent decades for their static tastes.

Not all was as dire as it seems however, for Kanako, genius god that she is, was not one to ignore and shun the potential boons of outside technology— regardless of the massive social upheaval it would, admittedly, invariably create for the poor, backwards inhabitants of Gensokyo. Anything and everything for the future prosperity of the Moriya Shrine, after all, even if the situation has been put on... temporary hiatus by the actions of the damnable scarlet-clad miko.

The Crimson Slasher could claim and excuse her actions as "In the interests of the balance and safety of the Barrier" and "To stop you from inadvertently killing everyone again, damnit!" all she wants- it will never avail her, Kanako would see to that personally.

For now, however, Kanako's task was to make breakfast for her poor, tuckered-out shrine maiden. And by her, it will be done.

She came to a stop when she reached the kitchen, and stood silently, yet proudly, in the very middle. Basking in the glory of Moriya Shrine, Kanako feasted her eyes on the immaculate modern kitchenware and appliances that littered the area, imported from beyond the border.

There wasn't a whole lot that she wasn't proud of when it came to her and Suwako's shrine, given the oft-dire state of the Hakurei Shrine, both in donations and in the state. But, if she were ever forced to pick but one thing from her long, long of things she'd gladly consecrate if it were not for the fact that it would be a senseless waste of faith, it would have to be the kitchen, in all its glory.

Kanako's spirit was slightly dampened upon hearing of similar advances in cooking technology being made elsewhere, though she never let the... unexpected developments crush her resolve to be the best, even after hearing news proclaiming that much of the same was happening over in the domain of the Hakurei Miko. It simply meant she'd have to purchase and import in newer and fresher tech to leave her competition in the dust.

Akin to a one-god arms race, Kanako had invested who knows how much (not even her!) of her finances into revamping and modernising her kitchen. Sure, perhaps not everyone had gotten the message that such a race was occurring, which also meant that soon, she had far-outpaced her contemporaries. 

A victory, yes, but a surprisingly hollow one. What joy was there to be found in competing with oneself? If at least one other contestant had thrown in one of their incomprehensibly elaborate and often abstract hats, then it would have been a victory worth fighting for. But that never happened, and by the end of it, Kanako just felt like all her effort had just gone to waste in a foolishly petty conflict, orchestrated and attended by her alone.

But enough mulling over lost and potentially undeserved victories, there was a morning meal awaiting to be made, and Kanako's own mouth was beginning to water incessantly in a rather un-godly manner that was very much unbecoming of her.

And because in the middle of her meditations, Suwako had entered the kitchen alongside her, and was currently wearing perhaps the most smug grin Kanako had ever seen her flash.

"Yer sulkin' over something again, dear?" 

The 'eyelids' of the 'eyes' situated on her 'hat' was half-drooped, mimicking the mirthful expression of its wearer. Kanako had half a mind to take on an irritated scowl, and immediately scold her partner for perceived transgressions. Thought it would be a truly hopeless endeavour; the wretched mountain goddess had long ago, already come up with a myriad of snarky, snappy responses to anything she could throw at her.

Sighing as to make her frustrations clear, though to also communicate that there was no malice intended in her actions, Kanako spoke up. "It's nothing, Moriya."

Suwako's face visibly fell, her self-satisfied grin contorting into an adorable pout. "Whaddya call me?"

"Moriya," Kanako stated, afraid that she had a good idea of where this conversation was going.

"Hmmm..." Suwako mused, cupping her right hand on her chin, and eyes glued shut as if in deep thought. "Nah uh, way too formal. Yer gunna hafta call me by somethin' else, dear."

Damn it by her, it looks like the situation has taken a turn for Kanako's worst fears.

"Fine then, Suwako. There, happy now?" she said, exasperated.

"Happy? Sure thing. Satisfied? Not in the slightest." Suwako said, regaining her smug demeanour.

That, at least, gave Kanako the proper justification (in her mind) to glower menacingly at the vertically-challenged deity— though obviously, she would never dare introduce her as such, lest she gave cause for Suwako to tease her for the rest of her long, long life.

"C'mon, I know ya wanna say it..." Suwako cooed, now grinding up against Kanako's side.

Kanako's scowl only creased further at the feel of her touch, but it came accompanied by a fierce flush emerging from her cheeks. "Godsdamnit, Suwa..."

Her face lit up. "There we go! Weren't so hard now, was it?"

And there it was. Kanako despaired, crestfallen, and reluctantly admitted her defeat. How she possibly put up with Suwa's antics up until now had always eluded her, and does not seem to be willing to give out an answer anytime soon. At the same time, she does not feel as if she had been defeated, per se, but rather, that she had just finished performing an elaborate routine with her partner.

In a way, she supposed that was true. Kanako had endured the arduous trials of marriage for this long, going along with the flow of many similar presentations that had come before, this was no different. 

Sighing, Kanako moved to separate herself from Suwako's hold, only to find the glorified frog goddess holding on tighter than she had expected, and being awfully clingy; far more than usual, that is. Twisting and turning her entire body, the pint-sized god still diligently held on, seemingly determined to glue herself to Kanako's body.

It was seriously starting to get on her nerves. "Suwa, could you please let go of me?"

Suwako had smushed her face into Kanako's upper thigh by now, both obscuring her current expression and quietly sending Kanako's heart aflutter with feelings she could absolutely do without right now, for fear that her reprehensible little frog gremlin thing might potentially cause her to experience an emotion. A rather uncouth emotion as well, one born from the depths of one's hypothalamus, threatening to manipulate Kanako into performing actions she believes herself to be above.

Like breaking out into one big, gentle, warm smile. And completely forgetting why she was angry at Suwako in the first place.

Perhaps this is how the two have stayed together this long without attempting to tear out one another's throat at least once. Whatever this 'love' thing was, it certainly had little place in the analytical and scheming folds of Kanako's mind. She simply cannot fathom how such an errant little thought could have possibly developed into a such heart-rending longing— for her (ex)-greatest rival, even!

Yet, this is how things turned out, one wrench after another in Kanako's immaculate machinations. Still, the ability to adapt was never lost on her, and while not everything went her way at first, she got used to it, and eventually, even grew to love it.

"Mmmrgghh..."

Oh, right. Suwako was still faceplanted onto Kanako's side, despite her clear objections towards it. Though, she found the sensation to be not all too objectionable. A warmth that she found to be so very much attractive, both emanating from her body and the one currently glued to her like a Siamese twin.

She would tolerate it. For now, at least.

Finally understanding that Suwako wasn't going to be letting go of her any time soon, Kanako relented and turned her body towards her partner.

Kanako could not have possibly known just what Suwako's face looked like when she returned her embrace, but judging from the sudden shudder given off by her beloved's body, she concluded that it could've been one of immense embarrassment. Victory, one however small, at long last. Though, there would always be a time in the future to celebrate. Right now, the only thing on Kanako's mind was to simply stand there, and bathe in each other's glow.

After a period of time that none of the two bothered to measure had passed, Suwako was first to speak up, her voice muffled by cloth obstructing her mouth. "Ya need help in cookin' up something, dear?"

Kanako responded in kind, though her speech was slightly slurred. From last night's residue alcohol in her system, or from side effects of this morning's intimate interactions, she did not know. "Do you mean a plan, or...?"

"Both. I'm always by yer side if ya need me."

That reassurance, however vague, still managed to kindle a sudden warmth in her chest. "Thank you for your generosity. I think I'll just need some help in the kitchen today." 

Suwako suddenly separated from her impromptu hugging cushion and stood up straight as if awaiting orders, the eyes on her hat-thing opening up again to give off the feeling of alertness.

"I'm right beside ya! Eggs, rice, that weird red sauce stuff that tastes awesome, if ya need it, then jus' gimme a call!" she proudly proclaimed, hands on hips in a display that Kanako found to be absolutely adorable, given her short stature.

"Of course, Suwa."

"An'?" Suwako teased, once again gaining a grin a mile wide.

Kanako sighed. Never mind whatever she said previously, this pint-sized goddess was going to kill her someday. "Suwa, dear."

Suwako's grin mellowed out immensely. "Now, I heard ya were itchin' t'cook some a' that Omurice, ain't I right?"

But she loved her all the same.

”Omurice? Yes, that sounds lovely, dear.”

Marisa was not having a good day. In fact, it was going so badly, that she would almost wager that whatever Reimu is going through right now, is probably a whole lot more pleasant than the stuff she's had to bear witness to over the past few hours.

And it's such a shame too, because everything had been going just so damn well!

Of course, not too well; but hey, who's counting, right? And in the end, that's all that really matters. Besides, this whole horrid business; comparing who drew the shortest stick and who got dealt a crappy hand, it's all subjective anyways. And like any other game deriving its entire meaning from nothing but flimsy, malleable, and unreliable human emotions, it wasn't one worth playing.

Needless to say, Marisa was definitely not interested in pursuing the world's worst match of misery poker with herself.

She felt the need to drown her sorrows in the nice, piping-hot bowl of mushroom stew that she and Alice had just (barely) managed to coax the modern stove thing to create, before remembering that it was, in fact, poisonous. 

Yup! All those hours of rummaging through the damn cold, rising up early in the morn' to perform a tedious task that even Marisa herself never quite got accustomed to, when she could've been using that time to experiment and study— though, she'd never actually say that out loud, unless she wanted her illusive status as a mushroom-munching cute witch girl to be shattered into a million different pieces.

Alice may have constantly whined and moaned about being dragged outside to reluctantly go along with her bidding— not that she blamed Alice or anything, honestly, it's kinda understandable, how angry she got, that is- but it's not as if Marisa was always rearing to go in the morning, a spunky genki girl to her dying days. It was difficult for her as well to get up and roll out of bed in the morning, she was just better at hiding it, and not grouching on and on about it every chance she got.

Marisa wasn't even angry- how could she be, considering that all of the poison shrooms came from her basket? But she'd be damned if she weren't just a little bit irritated at the whole situation, and just about ready to pack it all up and call it a day here and now.

But if she was going to do that, Marisa figured that she'd at least needed to apologise to Alice for what had happened today. She felt annoyed and betrayed enough by whatever guardian deity that just so happened to be looking over them at this moment, that she wanted someone - hell, anyone - to give an apology to her, of all people.

Desperate as she may be, however, Marisa wasn't about to go out to try and beseech some stuck-up god's blessing. Not like she was going to get one anyways- she already beat up half the gods her mind could immediately conjure up, and she'd rather die than be caught offering prayers to the other half she could think of. So, who better else to pay recompense, than Marisa herself?

Sitting up from the chair in which she had been sulking for the past few minutes, Marisa made her way across the veritable minefield that had become her kitchen floor— a shame, she had prided herself on this room being on the cleanest in the entire cottage- and into the living room, where Alice was sprawled out on a couch, engaged in a blank thousand-yard-stare with the wall, the stare that someone gave when they're either brooding about something, really mad, or both.

Gods willing that it's the former. But Marisa wouldn't want to bet anything on it.

Marisa was surprised at how Alice had managed to traverse the deadly obstacle course that was the living room carpet, before realising that she probably had simply glided above it. Not that Marisa couldn't float, she just didn't like expending the necessary energy for such a (to her) minute task. Despite this, it would be extraordinarily awkward for her to be witnessed by Alice clumsily maneuvering past objects that would spell certain doom if stepped on the wrong way, if at all.

So in lieu, Marisa instead decided to apologise from a distance, despite it potentially being perceived as 'less sincere'. Before she could open her mouth to speak, however, Alice beat her to the chase.

"Marisa," she stated curtly, face still holding a moribund and empty expression.

This was it. Now Marisa would have to stand here, for hours on end, listening to Alice rant on and on about her grievances with her. All while maintaining the facade that she was at least somewhat attentive unless she wanted a doll to smack her in the face. Perhaps she should actually listen to her one day, and learn from her hubris and mistakes.

Nah, that'd actually require some effort on her part. Why fix something that's not broken, right?

"I'm starved."

That managed to catch Marisa off guard, who arched her left eyebrow upwards, more bemused than she had ever been in recent memory. "That's what yer worried about, Alice? And not worried in the slightest bit about ou- ahem- my mistake in the kitchen today?"

Alice turned her eyes towards Marisa, now a considerably paler shade of blue, but made no effort to shift the rest of her body. "...'ve got no energy to be mad at you."

Marisa relented, sighing in resignation. "Fine, I'll getcha somethin' t'eat."

Swivelling back around in place and moving to return to the kitchen, Marisa heard Alice's voice echoing from behind her, as soft as can be. "Something edible this time, please."

Marisa smirked in response, though with her face turned from Alice. "Got it, Ali."

The Seven-Coloured Puppeteer always did have quite the voracious appetite, one which did not immediately become apparent to the casual observer, nor seem befitting a lady of her relatively diminutive stature. Alice wasn't necessarily any shorter than Marisa, but she certainly boasted a thinner frame than most, likely from all the time spent shutting herself off from the outside world in her house, Marisa reckoned.

Whatever the reason, she had gotten used to whipping up simple, yet incredibly filling foodstuff for Alice to gorge herself on. In fact, the promise of a warm, hearty meal at the end of it was probably what mainly drove Alice to agree with Marisa's request in the first place. There was, of course, always the issue of running out of food herself, but whenever Marisa thought her pantry to be far too barren, it was off towards the Hakurei Shrine.

It was both an excuse to stay with Reimu and steal borrow for life her provisions— not that there were usually much of, but that was to be expected from the impoverished shrine maiden. Marisa would feel bad for stealing borrowing, but she figured that Reimu getting to spend some time with her super ultra mega best friend was payment enough- hopefully.

Speaking of stealing (ok, now she wasn't even going to bother with sugarcoating it), Marisa scoured her kitchen drawers for some ingredients to cook something with but came up empty-handed. Well, empty-handed as in only managing to find a loaf of stale, mouldy bread and two equally suspicious-looking mushrooms; considering Marisa's current disagreements with fungi, she thought it wise not to tempt fate just yet.

It's settled then, she's going to have to pay a visit to Reimu soon.

Channelling her powers to gently lift herself off the ground, Marisa carefully navigated her cottage's floor towards the exit, not even bothering to follow the overly elaborate and labyrinthine path set out in her mind.

Apparently, she made enough noise to wake Alice, who opened her eyes from a light slumber, still splayed awkwardly on the couch. "...Going somewhere?"

"Yeah, but it'll be quick, trust. Jus' headed out t'buy some groceries."

Alice raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "By 'buy', you mean..."

Marisa laughed, then shrugged it off. "Ya know damn well what I mean by now, Ali."

That got a chuckle from her, at least. "Heh, of course. Just make sure not to piss off Reimu too much this time around, okay?" she closed her eyes as if to drift off again, but opened them whilst halfway through doing so. "Oh, and before you or I forget."

Marisa turned around, only to barely catch her thrown broom in time without it hitting her smack in the middle of her face.

"Make it back in one piece, please."

Smirking confidently yet again, Marisa provided her response.

"Ya have my word."

Opening the door with her witch broom in hand and stepping out onto the veranda, Marisa closed it behind her and took a deep breath in. 

And leapt up into the air, headed for the Hakurei Shrine.

"You have got to be kidding me."

Momiji, for her part, was most definitely not. "I can foresee no drawbacks with my plan."

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Reimu let out an exasperated sigh. "It's not that I don't think your little plan won't work, it's that—"

That got Momiji's attention. Perking up, she began marching onwards without Reimu. "I am glad that you have no objections. Now, if you would please."

If it weren't obvious enough to her already, Reimu could certainly now see why wolf tengu were relegated to the more menial tasks, as compared to their crow tengu 'peers'. Guard duty, patrolling the mountain ridges, providing the few needs for manual labour that even advanced tengu technology cannot compensate for.

It's no wonder only crows are able to achieve higher-ranking positions, given the wolf tengu's propensity to lack even the most minute grasp of social tact.

The few times that Reimu had the unfortunate opportunity to meet the daitengu who ran the whole show, she found them to be disagreeable stuck-up creeps at best, and at worst, verifiable threats to the stability and wellbeing of Gensokyo. But even then, she couldn't fault them for silently nudging Momiji and her peers towards less... intellectually demanding tasks. Not for their lack of intelligence or cunning, for they were always invariably well-spoken, but simply impossible to deal with without feeling some form of animosity towards them.

Balking at Momiji's, quite depressingly, expected impertinence, Reimu interjected before the guard tengu could move on forward without her. "But, uh, I do have one!"

Twirling around, Momiji craned her neck sideways in confusion, her snow-white ears drooping in an admittedly endearing manner, not too unlike a common mutt. "Then please, speak your mind."

Reimu crossed her arms. "I think it's already quite obvious enough, Momiji."

Momiji scanned her eyes, first on Reimu's person, and then around it. "I do not see anything too objectionable on or around you, Miss Hakurei."

Narrowing her eyes in frustration, Reimu pointed towards the ridiculous tokin hat on her head that Momiji had made her wear. "This, damnit!"

The wolf tengu remained mostly unfazed, aside from a slight twitch of her eyebrows. "I see, you wish to voice a concern about that state of the tokin I have given you?"

"More about having to wear it in the first place, but your thought process is in the right place." Reimu sighed.

"I see little reason as to why this would be of such distress to you, Miss Hakurei." Momiji mused. "Perhaps it is because of your animosity towards Tengu, no? And as such, you do not wish to associate yourself with them?"

Reimu recoiled as if to take offence to that last statement, but found worryingly, found herself mostly in agreement with what Momiji had said. "It's just that I like my hair bow, and I'd like to keep it the way it is." Idly twisting and turning on one of her legs, she moved her arms as if to shield the crimson hair tie on her head from attack. "This sort of stuff takes forever to tie, and I don't wanna have to redo it all over just for some stupid errand."

"Even if it means having to fight through the entirety of Tengu Village?" Momiji helpfully reminded.

She had a good point there, as loath as Reimu was to admit it. Seeing the Hakurei Shrine Maiden suddenly rock up to your doorstep, itching for a fight with one of your most famous subordinates, wasn't a good look. And although Reimu cared little for the PR nightmare it would bring for the daitengu, she did care for the measures they'd likely take to both stop her and Momiji to save face.

Reimu sighed for the third and (hopefully) final time, hands moving to untie her overly elaborate headwear. "Fine, but this had better be worth it..."

Momiji smiled, whether for professionalism's sake or relishing in achieving yet another verbal victory over her, Reimu did not know. "I assure you it will, Miss Hakurei. I would not subject you through it otherwise."

The last of her knots and cloth becoming undone, Reimu smoothed out her hair with her hands, making sure to narrowly avoid knocking off her tokin hat off the side of the mountain ridge. "There, happy?"

"My, in such a state, you truly do look a dead ringer for that illustrious moon princess. Lady Kaguya, was it not?"  Momiji smirked.

"Oh please, I've gotten that sort of aside plenty of times already. If you think you're the first one to make a comparison with me and that errant shut-in, then you'd be sorely mistaken." Reimu flipped her now long and waving hair, making sure to shake loose her bangs so her style does not become too similar to the hime cut that Kaguya boasts. "Besides, I personally think that I'm far prettier than her."

Momiji didn't look convinced, but she had the grace to not let her true opinions become known. Instead, she did the proper thing, and let Reimu infer through a pained, albeit professional smile.

"Tch, figures."

"Regardless, we would do well to make haste," Momiji said, turning back around to continue their trek across the mountain ridgeline.

"Mhm, of course," Reimu responded, before realising that the hairbow she had just taken off and was supposed to be sitting snugly in her hands, was gone.

"Wha—"

For the slimmest of moments, a signature gap in the air hung open, before immediately closing shut once Reimu laid eyes on it.

At first, she was mad; mad enough to fly back home right this moment and sock Yukari in the face for stealing her one defining trait. Though soon after, Reimu realised something yet again, that her dress possessed no pockets.

Then, it became an internal conflict on whether she should begrudgingly thank Yukari for her forward-thinking, chastise her for apparently spying on Reimu while she was out, or returning back to sock her in the face anyways, just because she could. Ultimately, the decision was made to just do nothing about it, and get this whole charade over with.

"Is yet again something the matter, Miss Hakurei?" she heard Momiji yell from afar, indicating that she should probably make a move on.

"No, nothing! Just caught up on something, promise!" Reimu yelled back.

Dashing forward to meet up with Momiji, narrowly avoiding slipping on the ice several times, Reimu figured that there'd be a time and place for everything eventually.

Whether or not Yukari would get either her comeuppance or receive a reluctant gesture of gratitude would be decided by how today went. If all should go well, and Shameimaru lay in a tussle of her own raven black feathers, out cold, then Reimu would consider thanking the gap hag.

If not, well, she'll deal with it when the time comes.

However, for now, at least, she had a reporter that needs silencing.

"SHRINE MAIDEN  IN PERIL—RUMOURS OF STARVATION ABOUND—FAMINE IMMINENT?"

—And other such similar ridiculous, alarmist headlines adorned the title of every paper worth their salt in the Human Village.

Truly, even the most minute, inconsequential of happenings could be blown well out of proportion, and catapulted into sensationalism, should there be enough bending of efforts from any one particularly enthusiastic publisher and/or reporter. 

Such stories are a depressingly frequent resident of every newsstand in the village, but it was not always like this. The age of what outsiders might call 'tabloid' or 'yellow' journalism is a relatively new fad, brought on by the poisonous influence of the dastardly tengu reporters, and their desperate human counterpoints attempting, at first in vain, to imitate their style.

This means, that for a while this sort of reporting did not catch on. But as more and more publishers began including big, bold fonts on their front pages, and filled the latter pages with meaningless refuse, the inhabitants of the Human Village had little other option than to read the now newly printed slop. Focusing less on honest, reliable reporting and far more on daily mundanities that were given far too much precedence, these new newspapers became the new norm and were now here to stay.

There hadn't been a single day in recent memory, where a local paper did not proclaim there to be "BREAKING, EXTRAORDINARY NEWS!", only for it to turn out to be incoherent hogwash, inflated to some modicum of importance with flowery prose by an overpaid literate apprentice. Yet, since people keep reading, the presses will keep printing.

Even the circumstances of how printing presses became available to the myriad, disparate human publishers are shrouded in mysteries. An easy explanation would be that it was the influence of the ever-scheming tengu, watching as the various newsvendors tore each other apart in petty squabbles. Though, another would be to simply say that it was the work of foreign forces from the equally mysterious outside world, watching from beyond the borders of Gensokyo.

Youmu could continue recalling the various conspiracies and inane theories that her (half) fellow mortals of conjured up for a very long time indeed, but right now, what she needed to be doing was pulling her wheel cart along, various foodstuffs piled into a tower as tall as some shops and buildings.

It was hard work at first— the cart most definitely weighed far more than it would initially let on- but she managed, and eventually, learned to embrace the bi-monthly errands to and from the Human Village.

She liked to believe herself ingratiated with the Human community, but her steadfast loyalty to, and belief in the superiority of the Netherworld lent her no such luck with developing a relationship with the local population. Her hanrei did her no favours towards this end as well, as much as both she and the occasional small child alike were fascinated by her ghost-half's willowy whispers and mystical origins.

Though, for herself, it was much less fascination and more of a deep-seated uneasiness. This, obviously, raised an issue; if Youmu were to be deathly afraid of ghosts, does this mean that she also, simultaneously, hated herself as well? Well, at least half of her own person, that is.

Youmu shook her head in order to ground her thoughts. There was a time and place for such philosophical questioning of one's lifestyle, and now was certainly not either of those. Lady Yuyuko may not be a harsh mistress by any means— if anything, she was far too lenient, and that came from herself- but Youmu hated both disappointing her master and seeing her master disappointed, so a quick march it would have to be.

Still tugging along at her cart with the comically tall pile of groceries on top, Youmu caught a glimpse, for a short second, of a black streak flying across the rapidly clearing grey sky, patches of blue now intersecting the clouds.

Something was afoot yet again, Youmu could sense it. And if that witch Marisa was involved, then it might perhaps be something of great importance after all. Youmu scoffed to herself; the papers may be unintelligible rubbish, but it seems the old proverb was true— a broken clock is right twice a day.

It'll have to wait, however. For matters more pertinent to her current situation awaited, and Youmu was not intent on keeping her mistress waiting for much longer.

......

She probably should also stop thinking in purple prose. It didn't really suit her.

Chapter Text

Reacquired and graciously accepted from a representative of the Scarlet Devil Mansion on the 5th of Satsuki, Year 187.

Entry #44: Specialty Hand-pulled 'Lamian'

Personal Note: This one's a tough and peculiar one to crack; originated in lands further east and certainly outside the auspices of the Grand Hakurei Border. Formula was obtained from Scarlet Devil Mansion Gatekeeper, Lady Meiling, who hails from her native 'China'. Dish harbours many similarities to our native ramen, though both process and result possess dissimilarities. More research is warranted. Serves two people.

Ingredients

For the broth, you'll need:
600 grams, give or take of beef and/or pork bones.
450 grams, give or take of meat. Any kind will do, though beef shank is the preferred option.
3 and 1/3 cups of water.
1 and 1/3 cups of chicken stock.
Salt, about a tablespoon.
Four slices of daikon (Chinese radish, according to Lady Meiling).
(Optional) Scallions, to taste and chopped.
(Optional) Cilantro, to taste and chopped.

For the spice mix, you'll need:
2 pieces of star anise.
4 cloves.
A third of a cinnamon stick.
2 bay leaves.
2 large slices of 'sand ginger'.
Half a teaspoon of fennel seed.
A third teaspoon of cumin seed.
A two-thirds teaspoon of 'Sichuan pepper'.
Half a teaspoon of white peppercorn.
1 piece of dried orange peel.
A third of black cardamom.

For the noodles, you'll need:
500 grams of flour (preferably around 12% gluten, i.e. 12 grams of gluten per 100 grams of flour. Lower gluten levels result in mushy noodles, and higher gluten levels are harder to stretch, pull, and work with in general).
250 grams water.
5 grams salt.
One teaspoon of sodium bicarbonate (baking soda), dissolved in a teaspoon of water.
Grit.

Method

Noodle Broth
Step 1: Rinse the soup bones and pat dry. Roast them on a baking tray at 400 degrees for 45 minutes. Bring a large pot of water to a boil, and add your chosen meat to the pot. Bring everything to a boil again. Once boiling, remove the meat, discard the water, and clean the pot.
Step 2: Put the meat back into the pot along with the roasted bones, pour in the 3 and 1/3 of water, and the 1 and 1/3 cups of chicken stock. Make the spice mix by combining all ingredients and tying them tightly in cheesecloth with a bit of kitchen string. Add this to the pot as well and season with salt. Bring everything to a boil.
Step 3: Once boiling, turn down the heat to low and let everything simmer for about 2 hours. After 2 hours have elapsed, remove the meat and set aside. Add the sliced daikon (radish) and continue simmering for another hour. After that, use tongs to pick out and discard the spice pouch and soup bones. Taste the broth for salt and adjust the seasoning if needed. The soup base is now ready.

Noodles Proper
Step 1: Make a smooth, firm ball of dough using your flour, water, and salt. Whilst kneading and forming the dough, don't be afraid to rough with it.
Step 2: Divide into two smaller balls, these will be your two servings. Take a ball, flatten it, work in your dissolved baking soda, and knead again. You should notice some resistance at first but feel it fade away as the baking soda works its magic. Repeat for the second ball. Once complete, work the two balls into square log pieces, cover and let them rest for a few minutes.
Step 3: Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Take one log and pull. Bring the two ends of the pulled dough together, and pull again. Repeat the process however many times you'd like; the more pulls, the thinner the noodles. Once done, place your strip of noodles into the boiling pot of water, and repeat the entire process with the second log. Let each serving cook for approximately 2 minutes, then strain of water.

To Serve
Step 1: Place cooked noodles into a decently sized serving bowl. Slice the now-cooled beef shank into thin slices, and fan them out over the top of the bowl.
Step 2: Pour a big ladle of the pre-prepared broth and daikon slices, preferably to the brim.
Step 3: Serve with sprinkled scallions and cilantro, if desired.

A notoriously difficult recipe. Rare and exotic ingredients coupled with a required skill that, in and of itself, necessitates years upon years of mastery and experience. Though, it should be no match for the determination and abilities of a scion of the Konpaku Clan.

T'was a long, tedious trek back towards the lands of Hakugyokurou, as it always had and shall continue to be, but it was nothing compared to what Youmu had endured before. Although, it was not a journey entirely free from hardship.

Her regrettable shortcomings in magical prowess may have been made up handily by her expertise and natural talent with the blade. But alas, the ability to cut a worthless scoundrel from 10 paces away in a mere blink of the eye, was no use whilst bearing a weight comparable to Atlas's burden.

Heh, she was proud of herself for that analogy. Youmu had been told by her master of many myths and legends in the infrequent moments of downtime they had together, contained within many of these sessions were fascinating tales of men and women, gods and mortals hailing from a land far beyond the veil. So, to have the privilege of being able to not only hear these magnificent stories but also imbed their messages and lessons seamlessly within a conversation, were moments of great pride for the half-ghost gardener.

She did not know from where exactly Madam Yuyuko had heard these tales before. Was it perhaps from the vampire sisters of the Scarlet Devil Mansion, in possession of mystifyingly abnormal traditions and shrouded in secrecy? Or were they sourced from her many social calls with Lady Yakumo, the equally enigmatic Youkai of Boundaries, and one of three sages sworn to oversee Gensokyo?

To whomever they belonged to, there was no doubt in Youmu's mind that they were most certainly not authored by anyone even remotely hailing from the Land of Illusions. The sheer, unbridled hypocrisy that would arise from scribing these texts, then immediately proceeding to ignore any of said text's subtext and sophisticated nuance which they would have written; well, she simply found it impossible for any intelligent being to fall victim to such logical dissonance.

Perhaps one day she'll have the privilege of meeting the august minds behind such wonderous tales, however far-fetched an aspiration it seemed. A servant could dream, after all.

Academic and literary interests aside, the cargo she was hauling still weighed like a ton of bricks— probably more, and no amount of philosophical thinking would alleviate that. So best to keep on her mind on track, and focused on the task at hand.

Whilst self-absorbed in her thoughts, a swarm of Hakugyokurou's resident spirits had begun to assemble around her, no doubt intrigued by the sudden arrival of Youmu and her curious shipment. It was a surprise to be sure, but not an entirely unexpected one, considering that there was very little much else for them to do in the barren outskirts of Hakugyokurou. The banalities of spiritual limbo were rather boring, to say the least, so she could not blame them for desperately grasping onto whatever little entertainment they could get their ghostly gripping appendages on.

Though they could be quite the annoying pest at times. It will have to be seen just how long Youmu will be able to stay her sword hand.

Wisps of translucent clouds danced around her— some more opaque than others- as if trying to corral her. Ethereal tails left ghostly trails in their wake, dyed in a mixture of blue and pink. Most had the good sense to draw the line there, but a few dared to try and pass through her person, and although the souls inhabiting them knew very well of Roukanken's potential, showed little fear in their attempts.

The sensation was like no other, the best way to describe it would be as if something solid were to suddenly lodge itself in your body, but not quite, if that made any sense at all. A cold sensation fills your body, and a sinking feeling rises from the pits of your stomach, which soon dissipates as quickly as it arrives. It was a nuisance that anyone else would find bothersome and extremely uncomfortable, but for Youmu, was little more than another part of the job that she had long gotten used to.

A few had hitched a ride on the cart Youmu was dragging along, seated neatly quite nicely on top and in between the cracks of wooden crates and burlap sacks filled to the brim with vegetables and fruits of all sorts. Of course, there was no real reason to be doing such a thing; for them, there was no comfort to be found in lazing about, given their immaterial status. Still, it was charming in a sense to see the recently deceased trying to maintain a sliver of attachment to their previous mortal coil.

It might seem ironic, given her phobia, but Youmu found the presence of the spirits to be comforting. They could not speak and given their current predisposition, could not communicate through body language, but still managed to find their ways to express emotion and meaning regardless. What they lacked in methods of communication, they made up for in wit and dance. Waltzing, zooming, and suspended in the delicate Netherworld air.

The hitodama were the only apparitions whose presence she could withstand, and even then, her heart rate always spiked to dangerously high levels whenever a particularly sly spirit manages to get the better of her. One day, she'll manage to work up the courage to able to look one in the eye and stand her ground— without buckling her knees, that is. But for now, the company of the recently departed will have to do as an acceptable substitute.

If anything, Youmu was thankful that they were there to light up the depressingly dark and gloomy atmosphere, an unfortunate result of the constant, unending night that Hakugyokurou was subject to. Soft, otherwordly phantom glows illuminated her path forward, granting her just enough sight to not trip and fall on the many steps of the long-winded entrance.

As she approached the final few flights, the spirits intensified in their playfulness, performing increasingly elaborate tricks and dances to attract her attention. Youmu, the half-human, would not give them the time of day. The same could not be said for Youmu, the half-ghost.

Her hanrei threatened to take leave and join up with the now sizeable crowd of spirits that had gathered. Her ghostly apparition stretched its tail out like an elastic rope, as if being held back by some unknown force, a visual representation of the half-phantom and half-human's conflict of interests. Ultimately, it was the human half that eventually gave, allowing the other half of her being to participate in ghostly song and dance.

Youmu worried that the others might take it the wrong way— a sign that the stoic and calm facade of the vaunted Hakugyokurou gardener had finally cracked. Fortunately, none seemed to care all too much, despite her ghost-half's blindingly obvious differences compared to the rest of the flock. Whilst the others were more akin to faint orbs of blue and/or pink flame, her spirit was more akin to a cloud that had escaped the confines of its heavenly containment.

It was a sight to behold seeing all the different spirits, all of them varying wildly in shape and form, but always draped in the same mystic blue and pink flame. Contrasted by her spirit half, an indistinct milky white blob bumbling about in the dark, blind as a bat, but still going strong regardless. Outstretching her hand towards a nearby spirit, Youmu gently stroked the ethereal being, remarking at the slightly warm, fuzzy feeling of the thing.

Likely sensing the new development, her spirit half twirled over to see what was going on, making circles around the pair as if trying to get the best angle for a photo. It was a curious occasion, seeing what was technically half of her own being acting as if it had a mind of its own. Then again, perhaps her spirit half was not heeding her conscious feelings, but rather taking orders from her subconscious.

The ancient, hallowed trees that had flanked Youmu's approach began to disappear as she finished her ascent. Dragging her cargo past the entrance walls, she crossed one of the myriad bridges across the miniature moat, finally entering the inner compound. It was rather humble for a supposed castle, with various buildings strewn about, all interconnected and coming together to form a sort of ring around the main mansion, the architecture reminiscent of the homes found in the affluent districts of the Human Village.

Settling down the loaded cart in an empty patch of land, all that was left for Youmu to do was to deposit her haul somewhere secure, preferably somewhere Madam Yuyuko would never dare tread, lest she was to prematurely eat up their entire food supply— again, that is.

So naturally, Youmu dragged her cart over to and dumped its extravagant contents into the now rarely-used dojo building. She would have the time to mourn the temporary loss of a place most sacred to her later, for now, all that mattered was making sure her recently acquired ingredients were safe, and not liable to have entire sections suddenly and randomly 'disappear' over a few days.

Foodstuffs of all kinds rolled out onto the soft tatami mats, kicking up dust gathered from years of disuse. It was a shame that it wasn't visited more often, though she supposed that both she and Madam Yuyuko had little use for it nowadays. Her skills in swordsmanship, while it could always improve, wouldn't see much in the way of advancements in practising half-hearted swings with a bokken. Yuyuko herself abhorred the idea of ever having to participate in a physically strenuous activity of any kind, so she rarely paid any mind to the old building.

What a failure of an instructor she was. If only Grandpa were still here, then maybe he'd be able to do a better job at...

Youmu sighed and meandered out of the dojo, head hung low, to see to the rest of her tasks for the day.

"Lady Saigyouji, are you there?" 

Silence.

"I have some snacks laid out on the table here!"

No response.

"I am thinking of skipping lunch today, what about you?"

Still no response. Strange, that usually worked.

It was obvious to her now that Madam Yuyuko had taken leave of both Hakugyokurou and of her senses yet again. She could never quite predict where exactly her mistress was headed, though Youmu mentally braced herself for either a stern talking to by the Enma in the future, or an angry missive from the Hakurei miko if she ever bothered to actually write one.

Although, with all her chores now complete and no one to take orders from, the young Konpaku found herself in an impasse. She couldn't just sit down, take a nap, and wait for Madam Yuyuko to return, but she also had nothing to do. She took immense pride in her thorough and often expedient work, but it also meant that this sort of situation tended to rear its ugly head quite often. A good servant would find something to do, and take initiative, both surprising and charming their master(s).

But as loath as she was to admit it, Youmu was not a very good servant. A professional gardener, accomplished cook, and professional swordswoman she most certainly was. All were titles that she would gladly pin to her lapel and show off for the world to see, the only thing stopping her from doing so was a mixture of both shame and an intrinsic want for humility that her master had long since instil within her.

But most of all, seeing Lady Izayoi and Lady Kaenbyou serve their masters with dexterity and grace that Youmu would never be able to match in a thousand years, certainly put a dampener on her spirit, both emotionally and on the physical manifestation of it. It was an unwelcome wart, burrowing itself deep within the back of her mind, constantly reminding Youmu of her inadequacy in the face of better, far more skilled servants than herself.

Of course, she couldn't have been all bad, considering that Madam Yuyuko was still perfectly willing to keep her as both bodyguard and pleasant company, so she must be doing something right. Otherwise, she would've been cast out long ago, replaced by someone far more experienced in the art of domestic servitude than she.

Then Youmu came to a realisation— an epiphany if you would. Perhaps Sakuya was more diligent and hardworking, and Rin more organised, but she sure as hell knew how to cook. It was a revelation that Youmu berated herself for not having thought about it sooner. Obviously, Madam Yuyuko would employ someone who was a good cook to be her servant, and that someone was her.

It was settled then, instead of pruning yet more flowers that definitely didn't need the amount of care she gave them, or dilly-dallying around and twiddling her thumbs until her mistress returned, Youmu would spend that time preparing a dish so intricate, flavourful and exotic, that it would make the heavens themselves tremble in anticipation.

Making her way towards the main residence, the pitter-patter of her footsteps resounded in the empty lots in between secondary buildings, attracting some of the stray spirits floating around. Their presence calmed Youmu, knowing that she technically wasn't alone in her endeavour. Sliding open the shoji doors, Youmu took a cautious step inside, entering in a way that would allow for her Roukanken to be drawn at a moment's notice.

Her eyes scanned the room for anything out of the ordinary, but her posture relaxed upon nothing drawing her attention on the second sweep. Making her way towards her own quarters, Youmu slid open yet another set of shoji doors to reveal her bedroom, as dull and featureless as always. There was a pristinely made futon lying neatly on the tatami floor, a set of polished night drawers, and an empty cutout in her wall that would usually house her koshirae.

And hidden away, nestled snugly in a far corner of the room, was a small crate, and inside it contained what she was looking for. Walking over and opening the lid, Youmu carefully withdrew from it a compact, yet thick journal, pages yellowed and scrunched from years of usage. Gently blowing off some dust that had already begun accumulating on the top, she opened it and began flipping through the pages for a recipe that caught her eye.

Usually, it'd just be placed beside her pillow, but after a particularly nasty run-in with Lady Kirisame, Youmu thought it best to secure her tomes in a more secure environment. Spotting what she thought to be an adequate recipe, Youmu squinted her eyes, trying to get a clearer picture, and read out the title in her head.

"Entry Number 44: Specialty Hand-pulled 'Lamian'."

Now this, she remembers. Painstakingly copied (and with ascent) from the Gatekeeper of the Scarlet Devil Mansion over the course of several eventful days, this recipe was... rather difficult for Youmu to get her hands on; evidently, she was no Lady Kirisame, and did not possess quite the same level of skill when it came to the art of intrusion. The numerous faint knife scars on her back could definitely attest to that.

Youmu made a mental note to thank Lady Meiling sometime in the near future and set upon the messy, near illegible handwriting that covered the entirety of two pages. Dried crimson-coloured stains were interspersed by slapdash, hastily scribbled lines, comprising what Youmu thought to be the ingredients list.

There was nothing that was particularly of note that the list asked for— nothing that she hadn't already bought or had purchased before, that is- and barring a few missing spices, everything seemed to be in order. Then it was settled, this would be the one recipe Youmu would redeem herself with, and forevermore earn the praise and admiration she so wanted from her mistress. Not that she didn't already get any of it, of course, just that it would (in Youmu's eyes) give Madam Yuyuko cause to act the way she does.

Quickly scanning the recipe again to fully memorize it, Youmu shut the book with a thump and quietly placed her journal back inside the chest, the lid making an awful creaking noise when being closed. She stood back up and headed back to the dojo, putting back on the shoes she had left outside on the veranda. 

Reaching the entrance of the dilapidated building, Youmu entered to be greeted with a familiar and veritable mountain of foodstuffs, some she had just recently dumped onto the pile, and others had been sitting there for quite some time. One would think that it'd be more efficient to organise everything, cordoning off individual sections to allow for ease of access and easing of headaches. But the unfortunate truth was if Youmu were to attempt to sort out even a small portion of the heap, she'd take so long that a new shipment would've already been added to it, rendering her efforts moot.

Besides, every minute wasted on not cooking a scrumptious meal was another minute Madam Yuyuko spent contemplating eating that poor Night Sparrow— again, that is.

Gathering the required ingredients, Youmu plopped the bunch onto her spirit half and made her way back towards the main residence. She didn't give much thought as to how it was possible for something technically immaterial to carry on its back such a heavy load, but she had slept on it just fine on scorching hot summer days, so she supposed that would have to suffice as an explanation enough.

Repeating the process with the shoji doors once more, Youmu turned in a different direction than she had last time to happen upon the main kitchen. A masterpiece in craftsmanship, a sizeable portion of the building had been sectioned off, dedicated solely to the placement of an absurdly large and well-furnished cookhouse. It didn't possess any fancy outside-world technologies, a fact that Youmu would frequently lament. But now thinking about it, perhaps it's for the best that Youmu doesn't have access to the conveniences of the modern world— gods know how she'd manage to mess up tremendously.

Following along with the traditional style of her kitchen, there were really only two types of cooking surfaces to choose from; several wood-fired ovens were interwoven between blank counters and several more wood-fired stovetops. Smoke canopies were situated above every cooktop, eliminating any worry of accidental smoke inhalation, though where the smoke went was still a subject of mystery to Youmu, as she had never seen any of Hakugyokurou's many buildings sport a chimney, let alone have toxic fumes spew forth from them.

Perhaps some things are better left unquestioned. Regardless, given that she was the only (material) soul in the entirety of Hakugyokurou, Youmu wasn't going to let an opportunity like this— a rare moment of serenity, of peace and quiet- pass her by, improbable ventilation system be damned.

Youmu unloaded the ingredients one by one onto the rough wooden countertop, the surface carrying scars of frequent usage and of its advanced age. With every item removed, she felt as if a metaphorical weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Or was it literal? Considering the circumstances, it was probably the latter. A moment later, almost everything had been neatly piled onto the countertop, barring the gunny sack filled to the brim with wheat flour.

It was surprisingly difficult to find a reliable and proven supplier of the stuff. Then again, perhaps it shouldn't have come as too big of a shock, given the Human Village's strange attachment towards rice and rice-derivative products. Personally, she actually preferred rice, so they weren't going to hear any complaints from her. It simply vexed Youmu as to why the humble farmer peasant, who spent his days breaking his back, knee-deep in rice paddies, would not instead opt for a far more economical crop, already adopted by a few of his peers and in no short demand.

Maybe tradition is just that hard to let go of, who knows? Whatever the reason, it really mattered little to her; the recipe had asked for wheat flour noodles, so wheat flour it shall have. Speaking of, might as well get started on the dough first.

Drawing her Hakurouken, Youmu sliced open the burlap fabric that made up the sack and scooped out a few handfuls with her palms, dumping the contents onto the counter, forming a small heap of flour. Not the most conventional use for her wakizashi, admittedly, but it did the job all the same. Rolling up her sleeves, she moved the rest of the required ingredients closer to her workbench and got to work.

A cup of water, a pinch of salt, and a teaspoon's worth of baking soda. Mixing the dough was easy, pinching clumps of not-yet-mixed-in flour into the rest of the dough and forming into one big ball. Kneading it would be the hard part; Youmu could already feel the ball of dough offering some pushback and resistance as it acquired its shape. No matter, she'll just have to put more of her back into it, nothing special.

Taking a step back, Youmu fashioned her powder-coated arms and hands into a sort of elaborate choreography, attempting to replicate and reminiscent of the movements performed in those outside-world martial art 'films' Madam Yuyuko had so insisted on her and Youmu watching. Channelling her qi, kinetic energy, or whatever sensation she felt coursing through her body at this very instant, Youmu outstretched her palm into a knife hand, and let out a furious battle cry as slammed her right hand downwards into the dough.

At first, there was no (visible) effect whatsoever, and it would seem as if the little display that Youmu had just put on was not only for naught but also fiercely embarrassing had anyone been present to act as a witness. Disheartened, Youmu lifted her striking hand, only to see that the ball of dough had been sliced cleanly in half. Perhaps it was not so much kneading per se, but it was something, and that fact filled her with a familiar sense of swelling pride, one similar to the kind she felt whenever her mistress would praise her for a job well done.

Maybe she could take on martial arts alongside the study and application of the blade? Grandpa may not have had the time nor drive to teach her while he was still... corporeal, and perhaps the ancient Konpaku Clan techniques (if they existed) were to be lost to her forever, but Youmu was confident that she had the strength and perseverance to see it through; even mastering and creating her own techniques!

Then, a sickening crack reverberated through the formerly quiet halls of the main castle, as a humongous rupture split the wooden countertop into two halves cleanly down the middle, conveniently in the position where Youmu had struck with her knife-hand.

Well, there's always tomorrow. Perhaps she'll have to give this whole 'martial arts training' shtick another go later.

Marisa had expected that she'd have to sneak around, infiltrating the Hakurei Shrine silently. Real shinobi style, you know?

But as she crouch-walked across the wooden floors of the veranda, looking like an ass but admittedly very quiet with her footsteps, Marisa realised something. As sly and cunning as she was, being able to wriggle her way into the Scarlet Devil Mansion's grand library time after time again, she was still no match for the obfuscating airheadedness of the shrine maiden, frighteningly relentless in her defence of what few foodstuffs she has lying around.

So that's why, upon not having a very irritated Reimu walk up behind her and putting a firm hand on her shoulder, Marisa figured that she must be out and about, certainly not anywhere near the Shrine that is.

Heh, score!

Standing back up, Marisa broke into a sprint, racing towards the living room. Slowing down near the shoji doors, she slid them open expecting to find an empty room and a pantry full of perishables, just waiting to be plundered.

What she instead found was the Youkai of Boundaries, elegantly sitting in a seiza, looking very much displeased.

Yet at the same time, looking very much relieved. "You know, I was wondering when you would stop with the ridiculous ninja act and start running like the wild hyena you are."

Calling her super silent sneaking skills 'ridiculous' was one thing, but to say that she looked like some common mutt— at least, that's what she thought a 'hyena' was- whilst running was a whole 'nother thing entirely. Marisa couldn't— no, wouldn't- put up with that sort of smack, especially not from the likes of that uppity gap hag.

"Who ya callin' a dog‽ I'll have ya know that I'm perfectly capable of runnin' all normal like!" she proudly proclaimed, placing a hand palm side down onto her chest.

"That is an awfully low bar you're setting for yourself there."

Yeesh, tough crowd.

"Sure it ain't. Not like I'm lookin' to set any world records or anythin'. Agh, whatsit matter to you, anyways?" 

Yukari took a sip from the yunomi she had been holding and placed it back on the table. "I would like to raise to you, a proposition."

"A propa-wha?"

"An offer, Ms. Kirisame."

"Oh." Marisa made sure to note down the word 'proposition' in her mind to sound more fancy and sophisticated in the future. "Sure, whaddya want from me?"

Yukari didn't respond and instead opted to stare at Marisa weirdly. Whatever she said had quite evidently dumbfounded the usually composed sage.

"Just like that?" Yukari said, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. "No apprehension, no pushback, no attempt at negotiation, not even any inquiries about why I'm here, inside Ms Hakurei's abode in the first place?" 

Marisa shrugged. "Eh, figured that if you're here without Reimu bein' here as well, somethin' real important must be goin' on," she said, walking across to the other end of the table where Yukari was sitting at.

Taking a seat, she grabbed a nearby pillow to cushion her underside. "Unlike some people, I'm usually more than happy t'help out others. Don't matter what their problem is, ya can always count on me t'lend a helping hand. Well, as long as it don't cross a line or somethin' to that effect, ya know?"

Yukari's expression softened, if only ever so slightly, at Marisa's outspoken commitment towards helping others. 

"How fantastically naïve."

Raising her hand to silence Marisa before she would invariably begin voicing her protests, Yukari elaborated further. "Yet, such an enviable state of mind to possess."

Marisa stared blankly, gobsmacked. "Huh? So are ya talkin' baloney about me or what?"

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks. Is it really that hard to believe that someone can provide both harsh criticism of their character, whilst also begrudgingly admitting where one has gone right?"

"Yer big words are makin' my head spin, lady. I can read 'em just fine in a book, just don' expect me t'understand your flowery ass spoken prose." Marisa griped, taking off the hand on her chest to cross her arms. "Can'tcha jus' speak like a normal person for once?"

Yukari, for her part, looked intensely unamused. "Well, you're certainly one to talk. Beyond that, I do, in fact, speak normally. It is simply because I just so happen to possess a far more verbose vocabulary than you, Ms. Kirisame."

Marisa opened her mouth to protest yet again, but found her mind drawing blanks in regard to an adequate comeback; she's got her beat there. Damnit, it stung like hell and back to get outplayed like that.

"Whatever..." she murmured in lieu of a proper comeback. "Anyways, just spit it out whatever ya havin' me do."

Yukari regained a soft, composed smile on her face. "A fast recovery, how admirable," she said, causing Marisa to cringe a little at the probably backhanded compliment. "But first, I must ask that you sit in a proper, more formal posture, instead of whatever position you're currently sitting in."

Marisa raised an eyebrow at that, before realising her legs were, indeed, sprawled out like some zonked-out house cat. Quickly moving to seat her legs in a seiza, one much like the one Yukari was sitting in, Marisa tried her best to regain some semblance of her previous decorum. "There, ya happy?

Yukari's smile grew wider. "Very much so." 

Brushing the air with her right hand, as if summoning a servant, Yukari opened up a huge gap floating in mid-air, about the size of her, and beckoned Marisa to draw closer.

Though apprehensive, and not fully trusting that Yukari wouldn't just grab her by the hem of her clothes and then proceed to just toss her into the gap, potentially throwing her straight into a situation she has no reason nor drive for her being there. Regardless, she got on her hands and knees and crawled closer towards Yukari and the gap portal, tilting her head slightly to get a better picture.

"My, how unsightly." Yukari teased, seeing Marisa on all fours.

Scowling but going no further to display her displeasure towards Yukari, Marisa settled right next to the gap, so close that she could reach and put her hand through it. Though, it was probably in her best interests to refrain from doing so. Craning her neck to see what was going on the other side, Marisa got a birds-eye view of none other, than...

...Reimu and that wolf tengu guard girl— what was her name? Momiji?- prowling the late afternoon-early evening streets of the Tengu village, as if in search of someone. What few inhabitants were still out on the street during this time, and not either at home or already in an izakaya drinking their sorrows and stresses for the day away, looked at the pair funny, but otherwise paid them little mind. What really got Marisa rolling was seeing the stupid little tokin hat that Reimu was wearing on her head, no doubt the misguided brainchild of her white-haired partner trotting alongside.

"Holy hell!" Marisa exclaimed in astonishment. "What the hell're they doin' there, sneakin' around Tengu town for?"

Yukari turned towards Marisa, face still calmly neutral as ever. "Have you read the newspaper recently? You know, that rag published by the nosy tengu reporter girl?"

"Which one?"

"The one with the normal-looking skirt."

"Oh! Shameimaru?" Marisa said, turning away from the gap. "Yeah, I know her. What about her— oooooh."

Thinking back to the headline of that copy of the Bunbunmaru that Marisa had gotten mysteriously delivered by some unknown benefactor, Marisa could now definitely see why Reimu would be doing such a thing, in such a place, and at such a time. She just hoped that Aya would walk out somewhat not dead after the whole debacle. Hopefully.

"Heh, alright, go Reimu!" Marisa cheered. "But uh, what's this gotta do with us? I mean, jus' let 'em fight it out amongst themselves, right? Been a while since I've had a chance to witness a good one-on-one fight, and not being the one fighting."

"And that," Yukari said, suddenly getting up from the floor. "-is the reason why we must stop Reimu and her... accomplice before they do anything too rash. For example, beating the ever living hell out of Ms Shameimaru."

Marisa followed suit, standing up rapidly. "Wha? Why the hell do we gotta stop 'em?"

Yukari narrowed her eyes. "I remember you saying that you'll help anyone out, no questions asked. Or at least, something along those lines."

Averting Yukari's gaze, Marisa murmured an objection. "Within reason, ya pedantic ass..."

"Apologies, I didn't quite hear what you just said. Could you repeat it for me?"

"Um, uh, heh. It was- uh, nothing."

Yukari nodded. "Very well. Then I see very little reason for any more delay." she reached out her hand, inviting Marisa to grasp it. "Shall we?"

Marisa reached out her own hand, linking with Yukari. "Yeah, let's."

Yukari moved to walk into the gap, seemingly intent on dragging Marisa along with her. But just as she reached the precipice, she suddenly halted and turned around to face Marisa. 

She had a smile plastered on her face that Marisa found rather odd. It was that sort of smile, the calming and reassuring and almost motherly sort of smile that, if anything, didn't really fit Yukari all too well, considering her usual disposition. Noticing Marisa staring at her, Yukari spoke up. "Don't worry. We're only doing this to protect Reimu."

Suddenly, her face morphed into the familiar smug, pompous look that she so liked to wear. "Besides, I've seen how you stare longingly at her sometimes. Gods know that you'd do anything to protect her, and would absolutely relish in doing so." 

Marisa's eyes widened spectacularly, and her face immediately flushed a half dozen shades redder at Yukari's teasing, which to her credit, was somewhat grounded in reality... 

Her obvious irritation only served to drive Yukari's antics further. "Now, whether 'tis for your own ego or perhaps something deeper..." she soliloquized, starting to move closer and closer to the gap again.

"...Well, we shall certainly see, shan't we?"

Marisa couldn't just take the implications behind that statement lying down. Exploding out in a furious tirade, she inched closer to Yukari, and inadvertently, the gap.

"Wha—Now, you listen here, ya lil'..."

But before she could go much further, and probably say some things she'd really regret; Yukari pulled on her arm and fell gracefully forward into the gap, dragging the Ordinary Magician along with her.

Chapter Text

When she had first left for Youkai Mountain, Reimu's will to keep going was fueled solely by the desire to sock Aya in her stupid, nosy, bird-brained face.

But now, after having to tread through at least a mile of treacherous mountain slopes, she was beginning to have second thoughts about this whole thing. That initial adrenaline high was seriously starting to wear off.

It didn't help that every sensible part of her brain- some nonsensical parts at that -were all chanting, in unison, for her to get off of this damn mountain sooner than later because this was no hill to die on. That didn't mean Reimu listened to them— after all, when if ever did common sense get anyone anywhere in Gensokyo? But if she was to be perfectly honest, this whole 'incident solving' schtick was starting to get real old, real fast.

Not that it was any fault of hers. Really, there are others you could blame, like—

"Miss Hakurei! Has your mind perhaps wandered off to places unknown again?"

Momiji's was turned around, staring at Reimu with those furrowed, fluffy brows of hers. "Please. Save your daydreaming for at least until we enter the village."

"I thought I'd told to just call me Reimu."

Momiji grimaced. "My apologies, Reimu. It will not happen again."

"Mhm hmm." Reimu smirked to herself. Though, where she expected Momiji to glare at her for obvious reasons, she instead simply nodded and returned to the task at hand. How unflappable.

She can't lie, Reimu was enjoying this immensely. Rarely did she get the privilege of getting to just flippantly order around her erstwhile peers like servants, and rarer still did she get to do so without having to first beat them up in a match of danmaku.

Well, there was this one time. She had just caught Marisa sneaking around her shrine- again, that is -and no doubt intent on robbing Reimu blind— again. Normally she would just show her to Fantasy Nature, and that would usually be the end of it. But that one time, a new opportunity for punishment had presented itself to her. A brand new, expertly-tailored maid dress, courtesy of, of all people, that Flandre girl. Reimu had just assumed that it was a maid dress since it seemed eerily similar to the one Sakuya wore, only with a red and white colour scheme, much like her Miko uniform.

Not that Reimu had ever really seen a maid before, much less had one take care of housekeeping for her. And that's where little thief Marisa came in.

Reimu still has fond memories of seeing Marisa chafe and glare at her with malice comparable to the amount that she felt for Aya at the beginning of all of this. A feisty, tomboyish magician girl on her knees, dressed in a maid uniform doing her housework and cooking her meals every single day? It was humiliating!

Well, at least it'd be so for Marisa. Ah, to have a cute, blonde witch girl to do her bidding every day, all while she sits back and finally gets to do nothing but laze around all day long— that'll be the life for her.

Wait, did she just call her cu-

"Miss. Reimu."

"Ah-" Reimu stood at attention and levelled her gaze forward, only to see no one there until a forceful tap on one of her shoulders damn near gave her a heart attack. Turning around, she saw Momiji at her side, about as unamused as one could be.

"You know, you ought to thankful that your reflexes are still as sharp as ever. I shudder to think what horrid fate might've befallen you if it were not for your subconscious driving you along."

Looking around, it would seem as if what Momiji said was true. Reimu's surroundings had indeed changed quite drastically. 

'Actually, about that whole 'being discovered' thing..."

"What of it?" Momiji tilted her head to one side, her ears following in fashion. "Wait! You do not mean to say that-"

Reimu waved her hand. "No, no-one's on to us yet, which is what I've been meaning to ask you about."

"Then say your piece, I'm listening."

"First," Reimu gestured to their surroundings, chiefly rows upon rows of intertwining buildings and residences intersected by stone-paved roads. "This is a Tengu village, right?"

"The Tengu Village, there are none other that I know of." Momiji corrected. "But yes, you are right."

"And only tengus are allowed in the Tengu Village?

"Correct."

"And, should a non-tengu want to enter, then they would have to disguise themselves in order to gain entry, right?"

"Where are you going with this, Miss Reimu?" 

"Where I'm going with this—" she waved her hands around her person. "—is that I look nothing like a tengu."

Momiji didn't say much of anything, opting instead to just stare at Reimu intensely. She didn't quite understand just what exactly Momiji was trying to achieve, but if she wasn't saying anything witty or inappropriately serious given the situation, then she must've been stumped on something.

After a decent chunk of time had passed, time Momiji spent ogling Reimu as if she were assessing her on something, she gave her response.

"No."

How straightforward. It was about what Reimu had expected from someone like Momiji.

"What do you mean, 'no'?"

Momiji broke her stare and began moving forward without another world, prompting Reimu to follow alongside her.

"What I mean," Momiji began to explain once Reimu had caught up. "Is that you could, in fact, reasonably pass for a tengu."

Reimu balked at Momiji, who didn't so much as flinch. If anything, she looked slightly offended at the mere suggestion that her 'genius' disguise could possibly be dissatisfactory for their purposes.

Before she could speak, Momiji raised a single finger to silence Reimu.

"Think about it, have you been called out yet?"

"Uh, I don't think that I have."

"Exactly."

"Wha- uh..." Reimu picked up her speed to a light jog, overtaking Momiji and facing her. "No! Not 'exactly', because that doesn't make any damn sense!"

Momiji came to a halt, accentuating the final step of her march with a loud thud. She slowly turned a perfect 180 degrees in a singular, smooth action, as if she had performed that exact same maneuver many times before.

She sighed, with a frown somehow deeper than the one she usually wore. "Think about it, we have already encountered some dozen or so odd tengu residents, without incident, may I add."

Well, she wasn't exactly wrong there; the few tengu that they've encountered didn't so much as raise an eyebrow at either Momiji's or Reimu's presence. Granted, they also didn't look like the brightest of the bunch, but perhaps that was just Reimu's bias showing.

"So having established this, would it then not be obvious that your disguise is working as I intended?"

Reimu, for once, agreed with Momiji. She would've preferred that she take on a less prideful tone, but there wasn't a single false statement made in her explanation. Damnit, she let, of all people, some half-witted wolf tengu get the better of her. 

Hah, whatever. That tonkin hat's still stupid anyway.

"Alright, alright, you've got me. Now, let's get a move on."

"That's what I've been trying to do for the past several minutes." Momiji was still standing there, looking very much unamused.

"Well, uh- fine, I'm sorry, okay?" Reimu fidgeted on the spot. "Is that what you wanted from me?"

Rather than some smug, self-satisfied affirmation from Momiji, she outstretched a singular finger and pointed upwards.

"Look up."

"I don't understand, is there somethin-"

THUD!

In an instant, Reimu's world was turned upside down, both figuratively and literally, on account of her spine being pressed on in all sorts of unpleasant ways by some mysterious dead weight pinning her body to the ground. Everything hurt.

Well, except for her legs, she couldn't feel those right now— that wasn't exactly a good thing, was it?

Ah, never mind, she could feel them again. Didn't precisely relieve her of any pain, if anything it just magnified it, but at least Reimu could rest easy in the knowledge that she'll at least be able to walk once she gets back up to beat the ever-living hell out of the poor sod unfortunate enough to land on her.

And she knew it was a person, on account of the golden strands of hair glistening in the corner of her faded vision— last time she checked, rocks and boulders didn't have hair.

Well, not the ones she's ever seen at least. Then again, this was Gensokyo; anything could happen.

At least it smelt nice though— if you ignored the unmistakable stench of unwashedness and slick oil that is. Chestnuts, grass, the scent of a thousand different types of flowers, it was hard to describe what exactly comprised the pleasant aroma wafting through Reimu's nose other than 'outdoors', but it was familiar, to say the least.

Her suspicions were confirmed when the very much human, and non-boulder-like object, emitted a low groan of discomfort— a bit rude and inconsiderate, mainly because whoever was doing the moaning was also currently turning Reimu's spine into bonemeal, so they weren't exactly one to complain.

On that subject, Reimu hoped with all her willpower that the person sprawled out on top of her wasn't someone she knew. Hell, she'd prefer being pinned by some irate wolf tengu guard, more than eager to take advantage of this situation to slit Reimu's throat right here and now. It'd be a quick and pleasant mercy compared to the ridicule she'd inevitably face from just about everyone after the fact.

Reimu drew what little energy remained in her to try and get up off the ground. Still, as expected, she lay very much pinned, probably by another person, and said person also sported golden blonde hair, far removed from the snowy white of wolf tengu fur/hair.

Just as she finished connecting the dots, Reimu's worst fears were confirmed when the person pinning her managed to consolidate their low moans of pain into something a little more coherent.

"Ugghhh, 'that you, Reimu?"

Well, at least Marisa she could trust to keep this little rendezvous a secret from the rest, though no doubt she'd pay it back twofold by endlessly teasing her about it for weeks to come; you win some, you lose some, she supposed.

"My, I would have never imagined you two to be so... blasé about intimacy in front of others."

Ah.

Well, it's not like the saying didn't still hold water, it was just that Reimu was losing a lot more than she was winning right now.

Having to deal with both Yukari and Marisa was not going to be an enjoyable experience— not like this whole journey had been very enjoyable from the start, but the inclusion of those two was only going to make things even worse. Hopefully, Reimu could count on Momiji to at least try and keep them in check, but she didn't hold out too much hope.

A few minutes passed, the majority of which both Reimu and Marisa spent trying to get off of one another, their uncoordinated movements not helping in the slightest. Eventually, though, they succeded, and after the usual fanfare of dusting themselves off and levelling slight glares at one another, it was Yukari who first broke the uneasy silence.

"Though I too share an appreciation for petty disputes," Yukari moved to be in between the two and gave a gentle push to close the gap, "It is about time that we start to compose ourselves, ladies."

Momiji chimed in also. "I agree, we've wasted far too much time already..." she darted her eyes around her surroundings, scanning the area, "...and I'm afraid that we might have attracted the attention of some unwanted company."

Reimu was the first to break off from her impromptu staring contest with Marisa and turned to see a pair of vague, fuzzy dots in the distance; dots which were also rapidly getting closer and less fuzzy by the second.

"Ah."

Marisa, too, noticed the imminent danger the group was in— which she then responded by lambasting Reimu.

"Are ya kiddin' me? The hell're we doing in Tengu territory?"

Now, the responsible thing to do would've been to simply ignore the inane whingeing moan of her fair-haired counterpart. To just focus on either making a tactical withdrawal or maybe even to try and stand their ground, should Momiji be comfortable with confronting her kin.

But her pride would have never allowed for that. Besides, her ego had been damaged enough already today, and Reimu was not keen on letting either sink further.

"I would ask if you've read the newspaper, but I figure that's too refined of an activity for you to be doing, isn't it?" Reimu mocked, placing her hands on her hips but still firmly gripping her gohei.

That really set Marisa off. "Oh, ya just had to go and assume the worst, didn'tcha?" she pointed the handle end of her broom at Reimu. "'Cause that's all ya do, ain't it? Just going 'round, beating people up who dare to say one nasty word about ya."

"It wasn't just a 'nasty word', it was an entire gods-damned article filled with nothing but lies!"

"And I can sympathize with that, but shouldn'tcha have made peace with the fact that lying is Aya's entire shtick about now?"

"Not when it's about me, I haven't."

"How selfless of ya."

"Shut up."

Marisa was just about to blow a raspberry at Reimu— she knew it would be an incredibly childish thing to do, but hey, if it works, it works- before she caught the previously far-away, indistinct blobs, which had increased in number, suddenly emerge as very distinct, very angry wolf tengu guards in the corner of her vision, rapidly approaching the group.

"Alright, enough arguing," she reached out her arm and jerked Reimu towards her, their sides briefly touching and catching Reimu by surprise, judging by her expression.

"It's high time we showed it to these tengu pricks. Haven't had a fight like this in a real long time."

The cavalierness of her friend never failed to amuse Reimu and her proximity towards Marisa never failed to cause her heart to skip a beat— not that she'd ever admit that, of course.

So instead, she responded in the only way she really knew how.

'Spry and ready for a scrap as ever, aren't you?" Reimu snarked.

"'Course!" Marisa cheerfully responded, grinning madly, which had something akin to a soothing effect on Reimu.

"You two would not mind if I were to partake in this little scuffle of yours, I assume?" Yukari had folded her fan up, seemingly ready for a fight also.

"You have my sword as well, I did not anticipate this plan going smoothly anyway, considering the company I would have to keep," Momiji added, raising her sword towards the interlopers.

Reimu perked up at that last part. "What are you insinuating?"

"Whatever you're thinking right now, I suppose."

Reimu felt the need to start up another argument before Marisa pulled her aside and gave her a 'not-right-now' kind of look, frowning slightly.

"Fine."

Marisa's face reverted to her familiar grin. "Great! Then let's get started already."

Fumbling around with her pockets for a couple of seconds, Marisa produced her signature mini-hakkero and levelled it at the guards in front, now barely a stone's throw away from the group's current location.

She turned around to check the others; Reimu was gathering her yin-yang orbs together, Momiji was trying to find the perfect fighting stance, and Yukari stood as calm and composed as ever. Turning back around, she gave a wide smirk at the guards.

"Right..."

The squad of wolf tengu stopped in their tracks, and each began readying their own weapon; archers notching an arrow, swordsmen unsheathing their blade, all with eyes glaring at the group with murderous intent.

Not that it'll help them, of course.

"IT'S SHOWTIME!"

Chapter Text

An excerpt from the Grimoire of Marisa, 2nd Edition (Reprint). Published Year 187, 3rd of Satsuki. This edition published in Year 187, 7th of Nagatsuki, by Suzunaan Publishing House.

Brilliant Bucharest Baklava!

A Note from the Author:

Betcha thinking right now: "Ain't this already been done before?"

Well, you'd be right. This has been "done before" already! It's just that last time, I forgot to include some additional guest recipes from a couple of other folks. Oh, and Kosuzu ran outta copies to sell at her lil' store, so she kinda had to go and reprint a few new ones. 

Not before I managed to sneak in my alterations, though! So count yerself lucky to be amongst the few who've managed to get their grubby hands on this new n' improved edition, ya lucky scoundrels.

Now, let's get started, shall we?

Ingredients:

A few dozen sheets of phyllo (filo) pastry. About 40 or so sheets ought to do it. If you can't find any (wouldn't blame ya), then I guess you've just gotta make it yourself.
500 grams (1 pound) of walnuts. Walnuts for authenticity, you can use whatever edible nuts you've got at home, just not the salted ones, heard?
280 grams (10 oz) of unsalted butter. Preferably pre-melted and having let cooled off for a bit.
1 tsp (teaspoon) of cinnamon powder. I'm sure one of the few exotic traders has it in stock now and again

Syrup:

200 grams (1 cup) of sugar. White sugar if you've got the stuff.
2 tbsp (tablespoons) of lemon juice. Some other generic, acidic substances will suffice if you're short on lemons.
185 millilitres (3/4 cup) of water.
170 grams (1/2 cup) of honey.

Preparation:

Prep-time: Around 2 Hours.

Step 1: Whip out a 22 x 33cm (9 x 13 inch) baking pan. For reference, this book ought to be about the same size. It doesn't really matter how wide/long/deep your pan is since we're gonna be slicing the pastry to size anyway.

Step 2: Speaking of which, start cutting your phyllo pastry to the size of your baking pan, preheat your oven to 160 degrees Celsius (325 Fahrenheit), and start chopping up your nuts (heh) whilst adding in your teaspoon of cinnamon. Remember, the consistency should be fine, but it shouldn't be powder. It ought to be fine and smooth enough to act as a paste, but still have tiny chunks left in it for texture and whatnot.

Step 3: Once you're done with all the aforementioned above, start building up your pastry base by brushing the bottom of the baking pan with your melted, but cooled butter. Then, lay over a single sheet of phyllo, brushing it with butter too. Repeat until you've used 10 sheets, having brushed every single sheet with butter. Once you're done, scatter around a quarter of your walnuts onto your layered base.

Step 4: Cover with 5 more sheets of phyllo, brushing each individual one with butter as before, and top with another quarter chunk of nuts. Repeat until you run out.

Step 5: Cover the top with 10 sheets of phyllo, brushing each sheet with butter, including the top layer. Cut the baklava into four, long parallel strips, and cut on the diagonal to create a nice little diamond criss-cross. Remember, when cutting the diamonds, make sure you're cutting as deep as you would cutting parallel— you aren't scoring the pastry here as you would usually with a pie, so don't be afraid to cut nice and deep.

Step 6: Place in preheated oven and bake for 1 hour and 15 minutes or until golden brown. Meanwhile, start making your syrup, since it'll need time to cool down. Ideally, all you'll need to do is throw all the ingredients for your syrup into a saucepan over medium-high heat, bring it to a slight simmer whilst stirring to dissolve the sugar, then lower the heat further to simmer for another 3 minutes. Once all that is done, remove the saucepan from the heat and let it cool.

Step 7: Once Baklava is done baking, immediately pour your syrup (preferably already chilled beforehand) the moment it comes out of the oven. Leave the Baklava/Syrup mixture to soak for at least 6 hours, preferably overnight in the fridge.

Step 8: Serve, eat, and enjoy!


Baklava is typically enjoyed cold, though I wouldn't blame you for digging straight into your creation the moment it comes fresh off the oven. Gods knows that I'm guilty of the exact crime that I'm currently describing, heh.

You're not supposed to be here—

An otherworldly voice announces its disapproval of Alice's presence. On the whole, it ordinarily wouldn't have even been registered as being amongst the top hundred or so of most frightening things in recent memory, but to her half-asleep, weary mind, it might as well be the scariest damn thing she's heard all her life— at this very moment, anyway.

Alice jolted awake from the minimalistic, but very comfortable leather couch that she had been sitting on. Her eyes, still groggy from having just woken up, scanned the room she was in. She couldn't see, or for that matter, sense much of anything, but something told her that this wasn't her house.

If that was the case, then where exactly was she?

Maybe she had been kidnapped! Alice tried her best not to antagonize anyone in her relatively short stint in Gensokyo and had been rather successful in doing so. The same, however, could not be said for her previous life in Makai, which formed part of the reason why she was here in the first place, and not with her fellow magicians.

To her knowledge, there existed very few ways for someone, even a powerful mage, to cross the border between Makai and Gensokyo. So unless Shinki herself wanted another chance to meet up with Alice again, her being in Makai was probably off the table.

Then Alice saw a book just left strewn across the noticeably dirtied carpet. She let that unusual sight settle in for several seconds, and in that time saw another book, similarly left page side down on the floor with reckless abandon.

A few seconds longer, her sight was beginning to return to normal, allowing Alice to finally see the true scale of the complete and utter disarray the room was in. Various trinkets and baubles were carelessly scattered. 

Well, they would have been, if it weren't for the fact that they were all so closely packed together, that one would be forgiven for thinking that the chaotic nature of the room she was in was all perfectly ordered and planned out. There existed only one room, belonging to one house that Alice knew, but looking around, Marisa was nowhere to be seen.

Having overcome her paranoia-fueled theorizing, Alice suddenly remembered why she was there in the first place, and why her stomach felt like there was a cavernous hole in the middle of it. That being said, it didn't seem as if Marisa was going to be back with the promised food anytime soon. Judging by the Sun being overhead, its rays shining down on melting frost, her little nap had gone on for quite some time.

Alice would've liked to believe it was beneath her to ransack another person's house for sustenance, but still, her growling stomach wasn't going to shut itself up anytime soon, so she needed to find something to eat in the meantime. 

Eh, whatever. It's not like Marisa hadn't similarly plundered Alice's house once before, or several times, for that matter. This was revenge, in a manner of seeing it, despite however petty and childlike it seemed. Besides, maybe it'll help with her anxiety.

Getting up from the couch— which was a considerably harder task than she had first imagined- Alice carefully tiptoed her way across the treacherous minefield that still was the living room. How a person of such drive, passion, and determination when it came to the pursuits of her study could suddenly find said passion dissipating when faced with the prospect of actually bothering to clean up their own home, Alice didn't even want to think about.

In retrospect, it probably would've been nicer of Alice to at least try and clean up the comically-sized mess that was Marisa's living room, but considering the not-too-outlandish prospect of serious harm and/or death, and the fact that Marisa would have presumably gotten use to her house being this way by now, she felt a mite less guilty about rifling through her neighbour's pantry without doing much else to repay her.

Or, could it have been argued that this morning was more than enough to count as compensation? After all, she still found it slightly insulting that Marisa saw her free time as something to be squandered readily, without so much as a warning beforehand or promise of reward after.

Oh, and that mushroom gloop-thing didn't count as a reward— or as food, either. It tasted decent enough at first but had this awful, acrid aftertaste that had Alice worried the moment she took a first bite, afraid that a poisonous mushroom had accidentally been chucked without either of them knowing about it.

Moral dilemma aside, it mattered little as of right now. Justifying present Alice's transgressions was a task left up to the purview of future Alice; that might have sucked for the latter, but for now, present Alice was going to be living it up at Marisa's expense.

A few more minutes of rummaging around later, Alice had assembled what few items seemed edible at first glance on the countertop. There was still quite a sizeable amount of foodstuffs inside the pantry, but most were of dubious quality, to say the least. Half quite obviously foraged from the Forest, and the other half that remained were various provisions sourced from the village; not that they weren't edible per se, but she had little experience with Asiatic recipes.

Now that she thought about it, Alice had very little experience with cooking— certainly not with the fancy new outside-world technologies that Marisa had somehow gotten her hands on. But hey, she's only got the one shot right now, might as well not blow it.

In front of her lay the ingredients she had to cook with; a small pouch of sugar, a rack with containers placed on it, holding a variety of herbs and spices, some butter, and a sizeable sack of flour. 

There were some miscellaneous staples in a nearby corner; a tall bottle of cooking oil, a couple of lemons, and the largest wooden box she had ever seen, filled to the brim with various foraged nuts, which were hopefully edible. She did spot a whole bunch of pistachios nestled in there, so at least half the haul was fit for consumption.

It's weird, isn't it? All those years— decades, centuries, even- spent trying to become a magician youkai, finally succeeding after untold years of constant tribulations, only to still be saddled with the mortal need for sustenance.

Though, perhaps she should still count herself among the lucky ones. After all, unlike most of her contemporaries, Alice didn't share their desire for human flesh or blood, which definitely benefitted her fruitful relationship with the villagers practically next door from her, to say the least. 

Ah, but she was dilly-dallying now. The daylight was already beginning to wane, meaning that Marisa ought to be on her way back by now. 

What was that witch doing again? Ah, right, 'borrowing' provisions from that Hakurei girl. Such a trip shouldn't have taken too long, which means that, if she was correct in her assumptions, Marisa had gotten caught up in some sort of complication— heh, poor bastard.

Though she had every ounce of faith in her neighbour's safe and timely return, this lucky break meant that Alice had slightly more time on hand than she had initially imagined. Which was definitely good news for her, since there was really only one thing she knew how to cook with the ingredients in front of her.

Alice rolled up the sleeves of her dress— which took significantly more effort than she had anticipated- and heaved a portion of flour out of the sack, and onto a relatively vacant part of the countertop.

It wasn't necessarily a Romanian delicacy per se; Baklava was more of a wider Central Asian and Southern Slavic dish. But, she had fond memories of the baked treat. In fact, it was one of the few memories of her human past that she still had.

Does that mean that what she was going to make has a sentimental value to it? Well, not that it really matters in the end, she doubted that Marisa would take kindly, returning to a ruined mess of a kitchen, regardless of sentimentality. 

No worries, Alice would just have to find a way to placate her, whether through offering slices of her (eventual) creation or otherwise.

In the meantime, she got to work, going through the arduous and laborious process of making phyllo pastry from scratch. A few ingredients were missing here and there, but nothing that Alice couldn't cleverly substitute for something else.

It was just of matter of whether or not she could do it all on time. That is, before her fair-haired magician friend got back, probably with a few more scratches and bumps than the initial purposes of her outing would have entailed.

Death stains the town square. The once proud and confident militia guard of the Tengu village lay strewn across the ground, their bodies listless and unresponsive.

Although 'dead' would be a strong word. The stench of death may have permeated the air, in fact, so much so that one could almost taste the metal on their tongue, but there were no corpses littering the streets of the Tengu village. Fortunately, this also meant that everyone was still very much alive, though most seemed to have suffered pretty serious injuries before going down, which was something that Momiji had expected no less from her compatriots.

Mercifully, it also meant that they weren't going to get back up anytime soon, which granted Momiji and the other battered members of her group some desperately needed breathing room. Checking herself for any wounds first, Momiji saw that she had suffered only some minor injuries; small cuts and bruises and the like. Good, that left more opportunities to tend to the others.

Looking around, she first saw Yukari, standing proud without so much as a scratch on her person, her fan unfolded as to cover the bulk of her face. Her eyes stared off into the distance at, as far as Momiji could gather, nothing really in particular, just one of the many burn marks on the wall of a nearby building, created when a magical projectile smashed into it.

A more interesting spectacle, however, was to Momiji's right, where Marisa and Reimu could be seen tending to each other's wounds, though the former was obviously in far more dire need of patching up than the latter, who had the good sense to notice and point out this discrepancy.

"Agh! Stop trying to treat my wounds, you're not helping!"

Marisa didn't look up, too focused on trying to clean up some blood dripping down from a fresh bruise on Reimu's arm. "Quit fussing about, will ya? I'm trying to help you out here!"

"I don't need any help," Reimu tried getting back up but was forced back down, "besides, look at the state you're in."

"It's nothing, really."

"You know, wincing whilst saying that doesn't exactly lend you a whole lot of credence."

That got Marisa to look up. Her face looked troubled at first, as if she was trying to come up with a response, but eventually morphed into something akin to a more confident streak.

"Fair, ya got me there. But it was me who got you into this whole mess in the first place, I'm just trying to make things right, set the record straight, you get me?"

For once, Reimu didn't respond with something sarcastic, which rather surprised Momiji, unaware that the Hakurei miko was capable of anything but snark. Instead, her face mellowed out into one of sympathy, with perhaps not an insubstantial amount of pity, but that much was to be expected.

"Thanks, Marisa. All of this is unusually noble coming from someone like you."

"What's that supposed t'mean?"

"Just take it for what it is," Reimu reassured. 

Marisa gave Reimu yet another dirty look, though not long after, Yukari intervened, placing herself in the middle of the pair once again. 

"Come now, we didn't come all this way just to fight each other. Let us settle this amicably, so we can all move on."

"We? Who is this we?" Reimu marched up towards Yukari, pointing a finger at her and then shoving it into her chest, "Because forgive me for asking, but I'm still at a loss at how exactly you two got here so fast and without my knowledge."

"You really ought to be familiar with the extent of my powers, darling Reimu." Yukari folded her fan back up and took a couple of steps away from the ticked-off Hakurei, clearly intent on not being anywhere near her if and when she exploded.

"Ok, so you gapped yourself here, great. So then, let me ask you this—"

Reimu suddenly stopped in her tracks, turning to Marisa on her right, and began marching towards her instead.

A startled Marisa tried to back up, but the lingering pain from her untreated injuries and panicked state caused her to lose her footing, falling on her back onto the cold stone pavement.

"W-woah, hey! We're all friends here, rig-"

Marisa didn't even get to finish her plea for mercy before Reimu picked her up by her collars, her hands cusped around Marisa's cheeks, squishing them.

"—what the hell are you doing here, anyway?"

It seemed as if the question had thrown Marisa off, though why she would be caught off-guard by a relatively innocuous and predictable inquiry was beyond Momiji. She stepped up towards the pair and spoke her piece as well.

"I concur with Miss Reimu, I too would like to know what exactly are the both of you doing here and for what purpose?"

"Marisa tried to come up with an excuse, fumbling her words in the process. "Well, you see, uh... we kinda, um-"

"Miss Kirisame was in the process of stealing your amenities when I just so happened to have the good fortune of catching her in the act."

Momiji had never seen betrayal so accurately and poignantly portrayed on another person's face before this moment. To say that Marisa was merely glaring at Yukari would be a gross understatement, rather, it was an expression that could only be described as a perfect maelstrom of confusion and anger, one that Momiji could scarcely put into words.

"Wha- oh, come on, Yukari!" Marisa yelled out, quite obviously peeved.

Yukari unfolded her fan yet again, but it was quite obvious to everyone that she was enjoying this. "Apologies, I simply felt the compulsion to tell the truth, I swear."

Reimu, for one, was not amused.

"What."

"Crap." Marisa turned to bolt away from the situation she had found herself in but had also found herself unable to escape the wrath of a miko possessed. One of Reimu's yin-yang orbs launched itself at Marisa, tackling her to the ground. It then proceeded to hover dangerously close to her face, almost threatening to turn it into a mushy paste if need be.

Reimu walked up to Marisa and raised her gohei up above her head, seemingly intent on seeing the former through. Before the distinct click of a camera going off sounded, alerting everyone to its owner's presence.

Aya Shameimaru was perched on the balcony ledge of one of the taller buildings in the village and sat checking out previously taken photos, seemingly unaware of the fact that she had been spotted.

"Heh, what a scoop!"

Four distinct pairs of eyes settled on the oblivious tengu reporter, as she looked down, only to realize that she had been busted. Then, a moment of startling realisation, followed by the sensation of foreboding dread.

"Uh oh."

Reimu couldn't even get a good, satisfying look at that stupid reporter's terrified face before the dastard bolted away instantly, having moved so fast that she left behind an afterimage. The only evidence of Aya's ever being there in the first place was a small flurry of jet-black feathers, evidently shorn in her mad dash to safety.

Not that it would avail her anyway. But, then again, Reimu always appreciated a good hunt whenever the opportunity presented itself.

"Come on, all of you!" Reimu signalled for the rest of the group to follow her and looked behind to see them already picking themselves up to give chase, with the exception of Marisa, who was still sprawled out on the ground, bracing herself for an onslaught of gohei attacks.

As Yukari and Momiji moved on ahead without them, Reimu looked down at Marisa, still glowering at her.

"Ehehe, how about, uh, we let bygones be bygones?"

Reimu took a step closer.

"Aw, c'mon! Are ya really that mad about me stealing from ya?"

Another step, but this time, Reimu reached out her hand to Marisa.

"I'm real sor— eh?"

"That's the first time I've heard you speak the truth. Feels good to finally get you to actually admit towards stealing something, instead of using that thinly-veiled 'borrowing' excuse you prefer instead for whatever reason."

Marisa reciprocated the gesture, letting Reimu help her back up onto her feet. "Well, it ain't exactly an 'excuse', strictly speaking, it's more something I say to throw you n' others just long enough for me to make a quick getaway. Smart, right?"

"So you believe in what you're saying, you know that it doesn't work, but you say it anyway just to mislead us?"

"Hit the nail on the head."

Reimu pinched the bridge of her nose. "That's the stupidest thing that I've ever heard."

In response, Marisa began walking forward, brushed Reimu aside and gave her a sideways glance.

"But it's worked on you all this time."

And before Reimu could muster up something witty to counter with, Marisa had already stolen a nearby broom, hopped onto it, and flew away, presumably up ahead to meet up with the others.

Somehow, she was left feeling like more of a fool than she was to start with this morning. Between the prospect of becoming Gensokyo's laughing stock for the next few weeks— until those narrow-minded youkai moved on to the next topic of the day, that is- and having her perfectly planned-out plot of revenge foiled by a kleptomaniac witch and the sage who was meant to stop her from doing so. 

All in all, Reimu's 'master plan' was tearing itself apart at the seams, quite readily as well, if it weren't already obvious enough.

...

Whatever. Maybe beating the crumb out of the youkai responsible for this entire mess will help clear her mind, just like it's always done for her before.

Reimu lightly tapped the body of a fallen guardsman nearest to her, just to make sure they were still breathing. A small groan of pain sounded from the wolf tengu, which satisfied her definition of 'alive' just fine.

With nothing else left for her in Tengu territory and with more guardsmen sure to be on their way, Reimu set her gaze towards a faraway commotion, where she caught faint glimpses of magical bullets being tossed around wildly in the air.

She motioned for her yin-yang orbs to return to her side and took off into the distance, the sounds of roaring battle growing closer and closer still.

Best not to keep them waiting.

"Aaand there, done!"

Kanako knew that she was a woman— no, a goddess of many talents. But even she knew when to humble herself and to admit her (very few) faults whenever necessary.

And cooking was evidently one of them.

Breakfast, as defined by humans, was, at least to her knowledge, meant to be a short and simple affair; just make something light and energizing to get oneself through the early hours of the morning. So to turn such a trivial task, meant for mortal beings no less, into a two-hour-long cooking lesson, was quite the embarrassment for Kanako.

But even a mistake such as that was within the realm of acceptability for her, so long as nobody knew of her little kerfuffle. Unfortunately, every lesson requires a teacher.

And that teacher just so happened to be Suwako.

The inevitable barrage of teasing and banter that was in store for her for the foreseeable future aside, Kanako couldn't remember the last time that little toad having cooked anything whatsoever, much less her being some brilliant home cook readily capable of teaching others in the ways of the kitchen. Perhaps Sanae had been secretly teaching her dear old great-something-grandmother? However, why she would fathom doing so without Kanako's knowledge or consent was beyond her.

Her brain was already hurting thinking about it. Besides, there would be time enough in the future to investigate this, for now, she had three perfectly cooked omurice on the table, and it'd be a shame for them to go to waste.

"Ruminating again, dear?"

Kanako emerged from her reverie to see Suwako peering out to the side from under her.

"No, nothing of the sort."

"Y'know, denying the obvious only makes ya more suspicious." Suwako's mouth stretched out into yet another massive grin, her trademark by now.

"Hilarious, Suwa."

The two stood there for a bit, their conversation having turned into an impromptu staring contest. Kanako's pride wouldn't have allowed her to capitulate so easily, but she also found herself unable to do anything but state the opposite of how she found the current situation.

Eventually, it was up to Suwako to break the ice.

"I know, right? Always the comedi-"

THUD!

A small knock on one of the walls interrupted the two and spurred them on to investigate what was going on outside. Before reaching the door, Suwako took Kanako aside for a brief moment.

"What about Sanae? Shouldn't one of us stay behind t' safeguard her?

"I'm certain she'll just fine on her own, besides," Kanako slid open the entrance to the shrine, only for a danmaku pellet to narrowly miss slamming into her face by a hair's length.

The residue heat from the projectile hadn't even begun to die down, before it was followed up by a hazy, grey figure zooming past her, being chased by an ensemble of familiar faces, all led by a characteristically furious shrine maiden.

"GET BACK HERE, YOU NOSY, DOUBLE-DEALING TENGU BASTARD!"

"Yeah, n' tell where she can shove the rag of hers!"  added a voice trailing behind her.

Kanako looked back towards Suwako, her eyes now wide open.

"I believe we have more pressing concerns on our hands."

Chapter Text

A reminder that this document is the exclusive intellectual property of Dr. Eirin Yagakoro, and is not to be used, tampered with, or distributed in any way, shape or form. Yes, Tewi, that includes you.

Lunarian Moon Cakes

A Preface:
---------

Though I would consider it wise to use both a kitchen scale and mold with this recipe, there exists, as with many other recipes, a large margin for error. Of course, this does not entail imply eyeballing the amount with which every ingredient is to be added but rather, yet another reminder that it's okay not to be perfect.

Mooncakes are not a science so much as they are an art; as with most forms of art, there might be times where one will fnd themselves benefitting from a perceived mistake. Besides, with how vapid and commercialised store-bought mooncakes are these days, whoever is to have the pleasure of tasting your finished product will likely find themselves appreciating more the effort you've put in rather than the taste itself.

EQUIPMENT

• Mooncake mold for making small 1.8oz/50g ones
• Kitchen scale
• Pastry brush
• Baking sheet

INGREDIENTS

For the Filling/Paste:
100 grams of dried lotus seed
75 grams sugar (or to taste)
50 grams of a neutral cooking oil (sunflower, canola, vegetable etc.)

For the Dough:
150 grams treacle (Golden syrup works best.)
1/2 teaspoon lye water (kansui)
50 grams of a neutral cooking oil (see above.)
220 grams of all-purpose flour

Additionally:
20 raw, unsalted duck eggs
cornstarch, for dusting
1 beaten egg yolk, for brushing

Makes 20 mooncakes. If you need to make more, then adjust ingredient amounts accordingly.

Method

For the Paste/Filling:
Step 1: Soak the dried lotus seeds in water overnight. Drain completely and remove residual green bits (if any).

Step 2: Place the seeds in a pot and place just enough water to cover the top, and cook in simmering heat for about 40 minutes (or until soft). Drain, then puree; manually or with outside world appliances, it does not matter. Add more water if necessary during puree process.

Step 3: Transfer puree into a non-stick pan and begin cooking over medium heat. Add the sugar and oil in batches, not all at once, whilst stiring and flipping constantly. Once the paste becomes dry and can hold shape, remove from heat and allow to cool.

For the Dough:
Step 1: Mix the Golden syrup, cooking oil, and lye water until well incorporated. Add the flour, then combine and knead briefly to form a soft dough. It should like regular pastry dough; flaky and easy to form into little pieces.

Step 2: Cover dough, and let rest for 30 minutes.

Assembly and Creation:
Step 1: Collect enough lotus seed paste to equal 30 grams, then flatten it out into a round wrapper. Place one egg yolk in the middle, and seal together.

Step 2: Flatten roughly 20 grams of dough into a round wrapper and use the same method to form a ball.

Step 3: Coat the ball in a thin layer of cornstarch. Place into a mooncake mold. In lieu of one, proceed to shape the ball into a mooncake-esque shape manually. Don't worry, I believe in you.

Step 4: Line a baking tray with parchment paper, and place mooncakes onto it.

Step 5: Preheat oven to 375°F/190°C. Bake the mooncakes for 5 minutes.

Step 6: Once time is up, reduce temperature to 320°F/160°C. Take out the mooncakes and brush their top with the beaten egg yolk.

Step 7: Place back into oven for another 5 minutes, take out then coat with another layer of egg wash, then continue to bake for about 10-15 minutes or until golden brown.

Transfer the baked mooncakes onto a cooling rack until completely cool, then store them in an airtight container for 1-2 days before consumption. They are ready to be served once they gain a shiny glean to them and are soft to the touch.

Keeps well in an icebox/refrigerator for up to 2 weeks. Bring back to room temperature before serving.

Kaguya Houraisan, hallowed be thy family's name, had a problem.

You see, a lifestyle like hers tends to attract a certain type, and these types tend to, in and of themselves, invite trouble. Equally immortal, phoenix-like rivals aside, Kaguya's... sedentary way of living means her days are spent inexorably attached to the designs of her own schedule. Every interaction held, every chore done, down to even the individual steps and breaths taken can be calculated and boiled down to a routine science.

Living a full millennia, and being destined to live many more still, inclines one towards a pattern-filled life. An event that your average, eight-year-lifespan mortal would consider to be both memorable and significant, is naught but a blip on the spotless mind of a Hourai immortal. In that case, you might as well dedicate yourself to a program of living one repetitive day after the other. After all, there is no shame in doing so, especially when the less desirable alternative is to expend all of that excess energy into something inevitably futile, wasteful, and catastrophic.

However, therein lies her problem; if a mortal can experience the sensation of having days fly past them, hazy and forgettable, then surely an immortal must be able to feel the same way, magnified a thousand-fold.

So, you could imagine her (subdued) shock at her sudden recalling that, in the middle of a timeslot allotted to trimming her many, many bonsai trees, she had completely missed this year's Mid-Autumn Festival by about oh, what was it, two months now?

Drat. She'd made preparations and everything, planned it all out, as an organised princess ought to have. Funny how such important dates can slip out of the mind like butter on a warm plate. It's such a shame, too, knowing that she spends the festive seasons surrounded by loyal friends and servants— mainly servants. Compared to Mokou, who spends her Mid-Autumn nights shivering in her dilapidated little cabin of hers, or working herself to the bone at her gods-forsakened yaki-something stand.

Soft pitter-patters echoed down the hallway, announcing someone's imminent arrival. She'd have to deal with something- or someone- soon, but that was a problem reserved for herself in the immediate future, not now. Just the thought of having to balance two important tasks in her head at once was already making her feel tired.

She'd noticed something strange recently. The were-hakutaku, Miss Kamishirasawa, had been seen socialising her Mokou far more frequently than before, if the anecdotes given by her pet rabbits were anything to go off on. Good for her, perhaps some human contact, or at the very least half-human contact, is just what she needed to stop being so irritable and grumpy all the time.

The footsteps outside grew louder and louder. Any moment now, the doors to the room she was in would slide open, and she'd given yet another asinine thing to fuss over and worry about. Honestly, Kaguya sometimes wished that she didn't have any servants to speak of, just so that she'd have the time to be alone with her thoughts to wonder and reflect on her own thoughts, and certainly not be pestered by some overprotective underling.

Truly, Kaguya thought her current pace of life to be far too fast for her liking, despite however ironic and contradictory it might have sounded.

Soon, and as expected, the footsteps soon stopped right outside the doors. They audibly fumbled around with their clothes for a second- trying to make themselves presentable, she supposed- before quietly, gently sliding agape the left divider, trying to not make their presence known. It didn't matter much; she still saw them immediately, awkwardly glancing at her from behind the shoji.

"Um... Your Highness?" Reisen timidly asked, stilting her speech, "Master requests your presence."

"There is no need for formalities, Udongein." Kaguya waved her off and reluctantly pushed herself up to standing, trying but failing to hide her discomfort at the loss of feeling in her legs from sitting in seiza for so long. "A simple, 'Kaguya-sama', will do just fine."

"R-right. Please forgive my impudence, Kaguya-sama."

A small smile crept over Kaguya's face. The formerly Lunarian moon rabbit had been through quite the hell ever since she set foot on solid, impure Earthian soil, so it was understandable that such small details would lapse her memory every now and then. She mirrored herself, in a sense.

"Now," Kaguya clapped both her hands together, "what would Eirin have of me today?"

Reisen cleared her throat, clearly uneasy about something. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

"If you're thinking what I said before makes us peers, then I'm afraid I have some bad news."

"Hwah? Uh, no, I just didn't know if what Master asked me to relay to you would be... acceptable."

"Acceptable? Wha— you know what?" Kaguya motioned at Reisen to move aside, and began to walk forward, "Allow me to handle this."

"Are you sure about this, Kaguya-sama?" Reisen hurriedly asked as she stepped aside to allow the princess to walk past her, "If it would please you, I could simply tell Master that you are currently preoccupied with somethi—"

Kaguya raised a finger to silence her, "Peace, Udongein. You have done quite enough already. Please, I shall take it from here." She hoped that she managed to communicate her exasperation succinctly enough, her incessant grovelling was growing more irritating by the second.

She marched down the hallway towards Eirin's lab, maintaining as cordial of an expression as she could, leaving a very much dazed and befuddled Reisen to watch Eientei's latest ticking time bomb count down in real-time.

Now, time to find out just what Eirin considered so interesting, that she considered it prudent enough to interrupt her at a time like this. In the dead of night, no less.

Autumn mornings were always a joy to wake up to, even if it did make for a rather curt transition as compared to being ripped from your unconscious stupor, drenched in your own sweat and with a sunbleached brain in summer. But the temperate seasons have this awful habit of seemingly lasting far shorter than their more extreme siblings, and already the first signs of winter were showing themselves.

Nowhere was this fact more evident than having to trudge through dirt roads turned to mud, thawed under the intense rays of the morning and afternoon sun, all the way back home. The sensation could only be described as having to wad through freshly poured wet concrete, which would've been an apt description if it weren't for the fact no one in Gensokyo had ever encountered the stuff before.

The wind was the worst. You'd think that, in the absence of any truly 'cold' weather, any wind would be a slightly chilly breeze at worst, and you'd be (mostly) correct. It was at night where you would terribly, terribly wrong. A cold autumn night in Gensokyo wasn't one unless accompanied by gusts of wind with speeds reaching up to 40 miles an hour.

"Ya know, I think I've read about this in a book somewhere before."

"Really." Reimu said whilst trying to get one of her legs unstuck after stepping into a particularly deep, hidden hole in the path, "Please, do enlighten me."

Having not taken the hint, Marisa obliged, "Some phenomenon that only happens far out west, like, real far out west, you know what I'm sayin'?"

"Well obviously, this book of yours is wrong. Because if it wasn't, then I wouldn't be treading through this muck otherwise."

"Hey, no need to get riled up and shoot the messenger."

The road up ahead was gradually becoming harder and more solid to walk on. Unfortunately, it also brought ill tides of cold weather up ahead, and both of them were still wearing their summer clothes, not having changed into something warmer due to an unusually warm fall equinox having lured in a false sense of security.

"'Sides, I'm the one getting the shorter end of the stick here. You've got those tall hiking boots to keep ya company, an' I'm here trudging along in my regular walking shoes." 

A moment of silence fell between the two. Marisa wasn't sure if it was the comeback she made or the fact that the two were far too busy trying not to get their feet stuck in the mud that showed no signs of lessening anytime soon, but Reimu looked decidedly nonplussed about the whole situation. The looming figure of the Hakurei shrine was steadily revealing itself through the thick band of forest, and she was not looking forward to having to ascend what amounted to a dozen flights of stairs. Hell, why build it on a hill in the first place?

True, they could fly, but the biting cold of the evening wind was already freezing enough on terra firma; there was no telling what the temperature would be like way up in the air. In a best-case scenario, they both get away only suffering minor major cases of frostbite. Worst case, they'd end up human popsicles, gliding through the air much like how bricks don't.

"It's bullshit, don't you think?"

"Haw? What's bull?" It wasn't every day that Reimu dipped into using profane language; she always preferred to snark instead of making her negative emotions verbally, and quite rudely, known to others. So on the few rare occasions she did use them it was, in some ways, a cause for alarm.

"Stop beating around the bush," Reimu skipped onto a patch of road that was solid so she wouldn't sink further into the mud, then stamped her boots a few times to rid it of any particularly stubborn patches of grime and filth that had stuck on. "You know exactly what I mean."

Marisa sighed, "You can't possibly be that upset about being told that ya can't just go beat someone up all willy-nilly."

"It's not missing out on wrapping my hands around that bird-brained busybody that annoys me so," Reimu said, getting herself visibly worked up about the whole situation. "It's the injustice of it all."

"Injustice. Right." 

"You don't think it's wrong for them to just tell us to give it up and go home? To have the gall to let that reporter- or so she calls herself- get off scot-free after all the crap she's said about me?"

"Of course it ain't right, but it's not like we can do anythin' about it now, can we?"

In immediate retrospect, it was probably a poor idea at best to ask her that. Marisa saw that familiar glint shimmer briefly in Reimu's eyes— the type that screamed 'I've got an idea' and 'just try me' in equal amounts. Essentially, she took it as more of a challenge, rather than a sign that she should be backing down.

"I've got an idea. We march right back down to Moriya shrine, and then we bust down their doors and give them a piece of our minds—"

"We ain't doing that, Reimu."

"But why!?" Reimu shouted, barely speaking above a sudden gust of piercing wind. "Why the hell are we just letting them stamp all over us two, letting them dictate some idiotic 'ceasefire', when we all know damn well that it's not gonna last?"

Reimu clenched at her gohei- hard. Not only had her knuckles turned white from all the excess force pushed upon it, but so too had the entirety of the hand that clutched it. It looked like it was at serious risk of violently splintering in half at any moment, the same went for the handle, and Marisa had to find a way to calm her down before tonight became- somehow- even worse than it already was.

"Look- I think we should be looking on the bright side here! Ain't beatin' up folk then inviting them to tea how we make friends anyway?"

"By that logic," the intensity of Reimu's murderous glare had seemingly lessened slightly, but perhaps that was just Marisa's optimism talking, "those Moriya bastards just cheated us out of a valuable ally— not that I'd ever make friends with that voyeuristic, bird-brained reporter."

Her shoulders shuddered at the very act of describing an epithet of Aya, which was equal parts concerning and fascinating to Marisa, because it was becoming fairly obvious that Reimu was rapidly running out of negative descriptors with which to tack onto She Who Shall Not Be Named. To be honest, it was quite endearing.

"Well, I'm not sayin' that we weren't cheated outta a good fight or two, but c'mon, 'least you don't have to limp back home with sores all over your body now, do ya?" Marisa tried to add some extra cheer to her encouragement with one of her signature grins. It didn't seem to work at first, and her face fell a bit when Reimu looked at her, only to dodge eye contact and immediately go back to staring holes into the muddy ground.

But slowly and surely, and in no small part due to Marisa getting right up in Reimu's personal space and continuing to beam brightly at her, the cogs in the shrine maiden's mind began to turn. Eventually, Marisa managed to coax a tiny smile out of Reimu, too.

"Heh, I guess you're right. I should be glad about that." 

"Hah, 'course I'm right! Whenever have I been wrong before, hmm?" Marisa outstretched her arms in a wide, exaggerated fashion, before engulfing Reimu in a great, big, glompy hug.

The abruptness of it all took Reimu by surprise and for the briefest of moments, her entire body all of a sudden reflectively tensed up. But it wasn't long until she loosened up, and melted into Marisa's soft, cheerful, and most importantly warm embrace, wrapping her own arms around Marisa's waist.

It was so very weird in a sense. The two of them stood in the middle of a dead-silent forest, where the only sound made was by the howling, gale-force winds constantly blowing past, around, and straight into them. Yet somehow, Marisa felt like she was the warmest she had ever been before, being in Reimu's embrace; or, y'know, maybe that was just the hypothermia talking, but still.

"I'm sorry, Marisa. I shouldn't have let my emotions get the better of me." Reimu whispered softly into Marisa's ears, sending a weird tingly sensation down her spine. It wasn't a particularly bad feeling, just... unusual to her senses.

"Bah, that's nonsense you're blabbing on about there. What's there to apologise to me about?"

"Well, you wouldn't have gotten involved, meaning that you wouldn't have gotten hurt, that's for one."

"Wha- oh, this lil' thing?" Marisa noticed Reimu staring at the bandaged wound on one of her arms, still stained a deep burgundy and crusted with old, dried blood. It wasn't too big of a deal; it looked cool and it didn't hurt all that much unless she applied pressure to it, so in Marisa's eyes, it was basically nothing.

"Naw, you don't gotta worry about that! Besides, I've been through way worse, heh."

Reimu said nothing, but instead nestled her head deeper into Marisa's chest.

"Thank you. For coming to help me, I mean."

"Heh, don't mention it. I was spoiling for a fight anyway, might as well have expended my energy on something useful for once, y'know?" Marisa broke off from Reimu, and raised her bandaged arm out straight and level. "When I said I was fine, I meant it. I can even still flex with my lousy arm, see?"

The forest was filled with another sound that night; the howling, pained yelps of an ordinary magician far too overconfident in her own ability to ignore pain for the sake of showing off. They weren't even all that loud to begin with, but something about the trees caused them to echo thunderously around the two and far off into the distance regardless. Marisa could only hope that there was no one around to hear it— damn, that'd be embarrassing.

Too busy caressing her newly sore arm, Marisa neglected to see what Reimu's reaction was; all for the better, she supposed. However, between the onrushing wind and her desire not to hear whatever wisecracking, backhanded compliment Reimu had to offer, Marisa did hear a small snicker, barely audible. She looked up and, to no one's surprise, there was Reimu, hunched over from laughing. 

"Heh-heha hahaha!"

Well, this wasn't too bad; certainly better than the alternatives that she had in mind, that's for sure.

"You— heh— you big, clumsy fool." Reimu said, between wiping tears and trying to stop herself from laughing even harder.

"Hey, you'll never know what you can do unless ya try it, right?"

She looked up at Marisa, ever so slightly, and saw that she was still beaming the same bright, cheery smile despite wincing through the obvious pain and discomfort in her arm.

"That ego of yours is going to get you killed one day, you know?"

Without missing a beat, Marisa responded in kind.

"Not unless I've got you by my side. So," Marisa reached out a hand- on her good arm- towards Reimu, beckoning her, "how about it, huh. Stay with me just a bit longer?"

Marisa couldn't see all that well in the dark, despite the frighteningly bright full moon in the night sky, but she could swear that Reimu's face just turned a shade redder. Ah, maybe it was just the ominous soft glow of the moonlight that was playing tricks on her mind.

"R-right, of course." Reimu managed to eke out after a moment or two of stuttering. She shook her head around a bit and promptly returned to being the reserved, confident self that Marisa knew all too well.

"Well then, shall we get going?"

"Sure am! Man, am I starving after that whole kerfuffle." Marisa raised both her arms above her head as she stretched her body, making an 'x' shape. She obviously didn't think it through enough, as the little wince of pain on her face told so loud and clear.

"In that case..." Reimu shuffled around on the spot awkwardly, still not quite committed to offering what she felt would essentially amount to free reign of her pantry, "...I just so happen to have some food back at the shrine that'll go bad soon."

"Hmh? Oh, that an offer?"

"Why, I suppose it is."

"Heh, not like I'm gonna say no to free food anytime soon," Marisa took Reimu's hand and launched herself forward, dragging the very much beleaguered shrine maiden along with her into the night.

"Come on! The night's still young, but she also ages like a witch!"

It was the strangest of sensations for Reimu; she had always held Marisa in equal amounts of contempt and admiration, and yet, she had managed to firmly entrench herself as one of Reimu's closest confidants. The peculiar, out-of-place human magician girl that had suddenly up and appeared in her life one day had always been and continues to be an enigma, an utterly incomprehensible being to Reimu's heart and, quite frankly, refused definition. 

There was no real rhyme nor reason as to why and how Marisa was spat out of the sky that morning. Much less to the fact that she did so alongside the closest person Gensokyo had to an almighty god. But Reimu held at least one thing to be true; Marisa wasn't the kind to do such a thing out of some selfish, self-serving desire or, god forbid, some ulterior motive.

Well, now that she thought about it, the latter was definitely out of the question, but the former two she weren't too sure about. But still, her point stands.

She knew that one day, this whole situation would eventually, necessarily, have to come to a head. Seemingly impossible questions would have to have equally improbable solutions forced into existence to finally put a rest to it all, and Reimu certainly did not look forward to that day.

But, for now, at least, she could spend these next few days in relative peace and quiet, licking her wounds and her ego until the next confrontation invariably reared its ugly face. That damned tengu reporter would get her comeuppance soon, for every dog has its day.

Still, even as Marisa continues to forcibly drag her along the now well-trodden mud path, Reimu can't help but think that they're forgetting someone...

8:47.

Well, to be more precise, 8:47 pm.

That's what the hands on the little pocket watch Alice held in her hands read anyway, and she was proud of that. Not the fact that Marisa had probably abandoned her (again) to get herself involved in some gods-forsaken incident (again), but that fact she could read a clock to begin with. In a sheltered-off fantasy land where a literate person was about as rare as they come, that was an uncommon trait to have indeed.

The baklava was still somewhat warm, mostly because she had just done making it, and it also lay there without a single slice taken out of it. She had made the foolish decision to be a good houseguest, and at least have the common sensibility to wait for the lady of the house to return before indulging in her creation. Evidently, her honour was very much misplaced.

Just as she was about to throw away what little pride she had left and tear into the baklava, however, Alice heard a small rustling noise outside, barely audible above the raging winds outside, which meant that the person or thing outside must've been quite bad at stealth for them to make more noise than the ravages of mother nature.

Wait, a person. It could be another person!

Alice lept up from the couch she was sitting on, which was not the most comfortable thing to do, what with being crammed between a dozen or so magical artifacts haphazardly stacked on top of each other, and raced to open the front door and see who had decided to intrude upon Marisa's private domicile this late at night. Perhaps it was the unkempt magician herself, in which case, she was already preparing a barrage of insults and quips to launch at Marisa for leaving her alone for so long. Not only was it, well, rude, but unsafe as well; the number of objects that Marisa kept inside her house that had almost killed Alice just by wandering near them had defied keeping a tab on.

So when the front door slammed open from the outside, giving Alice her biggest fright for that day, and the unmistakable visage of a tengu appeared before her, it was quite a surprise. 

A level of cockiness and self-righteousness was always to be expected from members of the tengu people, always so convinced of their inherent superiority compared to their lessers. But not quite to the extent to which they wore an utterly massive, majestic shit-eating grin on their faces at all times.

Which was exactly what Aya Shameimaru was wearing whilst standing proudly, hands on hips and legs apart, in front of Alice.

"Ayayayaya~! Have I got a story to tell you!"

Chapter Text

Tonight was unusually cold in Gensokyo. The air sat within that uncomfortable spectrum of not quite cold enough to contract hypothermia, but not nearly warm enough to justify not turning up a furnace or two, just for pleasantries’ sake. The ambient temperature itself sat in between the transient area of being able to turn shallow puddles and other such pools of rainwater into thin patches of slippery ice, and being entirely helpless when it came to maintaining those frozen patches it created during the evening once the sun took over the morning after. It was a perfect storm, one that created favourable conditions for the most treacherous and inhospitable of muddy roads for weary pilgrims, encamped hunters, and drifting beast youkai alike.

None of this overly worried Reimu, aside from letting her know in advance that there would be no new donations for the foreseeable future so long as those roads remained in that same sorry state. No matter, she reckoned. It’s not like many prospective faithful made it a point to trek the hour or so it took to get here from the Human village. Fewer still made it a point to donate an amount that was in any way significant to bettering her financial circumstances, though Reimu supposed the gesture of making a pilgrimage was, in and of itself, a kindness. But a couple hundred extra yen tossed her way wouldn’t hurt, either. After all, a shrine maiden does not march on faith alone. Which was an axiom quite unlike what a certain miko in the mountains would rather prefer you to believe.

At the end of the day, Reimu rather preferred having common sense nestled close to her bosom. It may have never done her anything good, and it may well have held her back from a good few opportunities here and there, but she was willing to bet that it prevented a whole lot of bad from happening to her too.

“So, how long were you in the cold, did you say again?” Reimu said, eyeing the thief who was currently going through an entire harvest’s worth of mandarins.

‘Hm?” squeaked Marisa, who then stopped stuffing her face with fruit long enough to respond. “Oh! Right. It was ‘bout north of six or so hours. Just me n’ Alice, trudging through the frost.”

“But why?”

“Whaddya mean, why?” said Marisa. She reached for another mandarin, before her hand was swatted away with extreme prejudice by what she could only assume to be a gohei that had a mind of its own. Marisa was extrapolating, of course. She couldn’t see a hand attached to the thing on account of it moving so damn fast, so it was the only natural assumption.

“I meant—” Reimu shuffled as close as she could to Marisa without having to reach over the kotatsu, “—why the concern? Why bring Alice into this - actually, don’t answer that question, because I think I already know the answer, but don’t want to hear it coming out of your mouth - Why all this effort just to make something for me to eat? What compelled you to spend an entire lousy day lying, stealing, and fighting your way towards such a… boring endgame? What the heck even was your endgame here?”

Marisa idly picked at her nose, the action of which sent slivers of disgust up Reimu’s chest. “Well… do you want them all explained at once, but done so poorly, or do you want me to take my sweet time going through each one, separately?”

Reimu licked her lips, which she found to be a natural reaction for her when deciding on something she really wanted to do, but knew better than to go through with it. “Slow and steady. It’s not like I have anything else on tonight,” she decided in the end anyway.

“Sweet!” Marisa chirped, her hand subconsciously reaching for the fruit bowl for a second time, before common sense and a mean stare down from Reimu prompted her to stop. “Then how about you and I take a walk while we talk? Helps clear the mind, ya know.” 

“But we just got done walking,” Reimu said, rubbing at a sore spot on her foot underneath the futon.

“We could always fly.”

“With wind like that outside? We’d freeze to death.”

“Geez, ain’tcha just a worrywart,” said Marisa with a pout. “We can’t just stay cooped up in here, Reimu.”

“Why not?” said Reimu. “The shrine’s comfortable, warm, and a damn bit nicer than whatever’s waiting for us out there in the dark. Stay for a minute or two longer, won’t you?”

Her look shifts to that gloomy, pleading expression that, although a rarity from the easygoing shrine maiden, never fails to encourage a strange sort of warmth in Marisa’s chest. There was a term for this sort of thing, she was sure of it, but couldn’t for the life of her remember anything other than the fact that it started with a ‘g’.

“Ach, fine,” said Marisa. “But we’ve still gotta square away a couple of things first anyway, some wrongs that need to be apologised for. Might as well make a start on those while we talk, right?”

“Wrongs? Like…”

“Like blowin’ up Moriya Shrine chasing after Aya. Those kinds of wrongs.”

Reimu scoffed, then reached for a teapot on the table, which she was able to lift quite handily with just the one hand. But when she poured herself a cup, what came out of the spout resembled less so any kind of tea she had ever seen, and more so jaundiced water. The liquid had barely any colour to it, only discerning itself from regular tap water by its sickly, faint orange tinge. When she took a sip, it tasted like someone else trying to describe the flavour of tea to her. The concept of tea. The edges of Reimu’s lips curled up in disgust.

“Ugh… the teapot needs new leaves added to it. I’ll have to buy some new tea leaves as well. What a pain.”

“Buy? Don’tcha already have some spare in the pantry?”

“What do you take me for Marisa, not broke?” snarked Reimu. “Maybe put something in the donation box next time, and I’ll actually have enough to stockpile some essentials.”

“But I have put things in the box.”

“ Money, Marisa. I meant putting money in the donation box. You know, notes and coins? I wouldn’t be surprised if whatever podunk backwater you lived in had no concept of physical tender, on account of all those mushrooms you leave instead.”

“Now, that’s —” stuttered Marisa, nervously going at a little itch somewhere on the back of her neck, “—I think that’s a very unfair assessment. Y’know, not everyone has the luxury of living on top of a mountain in a nice, spacious shrine with running water, Outside-world appliances, and enough frequent visitors that you couldn’t count the amount on your two hands! The Forest is my home, and though it might not be the most hospitable of places, or the most welcoming to outsiders, it’s where I live. And I would appreciate it if you acknowledged that at least.” 

“You seem awfully defensive about living in a massive fungal colony disguised as an evergrowth forest,” said Reimu. “Besides, you and I both know at least a dozen other people who share the same living conditions. None of them have to deal with annoying intruders who treat my shrine like their own personal xanadu. Minus the debauchery. Mostly.”

“Jerk…” she heard Marisa purposefully mutter not quite underneath her breath. “Well whatever, we could always get some tea along the way.” 

“Along the way…” Reimu said, standing up to go put the kettle on, “...from where? All the stores are closed at this time of day.”

“Never mentioned where exactly, but —” said Marisa, who then also stood up, away from the kotatsu’s warmth. “Could always apply the ol’ five-finger discount. Should the opportunity present itself, ‘course.”

“Are you saying we go and steal some tea leaves? Gods, I’m not that poor, Marisa.”

“Never said you were poor!” Marisa said, probably focused on deflecting on the less important part of her statement. “Never said we were stealing per se, too. Just borrowing. ‘Till we’re dead. At which point they’re free to take back the stuff we ‘borrowed’.”

“So, the ‘borrowing books’ excuse, huh?” sighed Reimu. “Even you’ve got to know that no-one actually believes that line. Now, how does one even ‘borrow’ used tea leaves? Are we going to give them back?”

“In a manner of speaking, yeah.”

“Well forgive me, but I’m struggling to see how we’re going to play something like this off without also coming off as knuckle-dragging dirt munchers. You can’t give tea leaves back , if that wasn’t already obvious. Besides, it’s not going to be a good look to the people whose porches we’re gonna be dumping used tea leaves on.”

“But who’s gonna know, Reimu?” said Marisa. “They sure as hell won’t suspect you. Ya got too much pride to stoop to stealin’ stuff. Everyone knows that. Might not be true in that specific scenario, but whatever.

“Maybe,” conceded Reimu. “But then they’ll probably turn their attention towards the only person in Gensokyo who’s known for having a nasty habit of ‘borrowing’ things she should really be keeping her grubby hands off of.” Reimu stopped in her tracks, turned, and locked eyes with Marisa, her long gaze piercing something deep within the human magician’s psyche. “It’s not worth it, Marisa. It’s not worth sacrificing what little dignity we have left for some bloody tea.”

The two held the debate-turned-impromptu-staring-contest for a while longer, until Marisa’s eyes started to, naturally, sting like hell after keeping them open for too long. She rubbed her eyes, then started to laugh. Mostly at the absurdity of it all.

“Hah, what the hell. Why the heck are we arguing over something like this? We really don’t have anything else to do with our lives, huh?”

Reimu chuckled along in kind. “I’m with you on that. And to think that today was one of the quieter ones… maybe I ought to hang up the old gohei one of these days.” Hearing that caused no small amount of alarm in Marisa, but it was quickly nipped in the bud by what she said next. “Not anytime soon, of course. But one of these days. Even a Hakurei shrine maiden should receive retirement benefits, right?”

“An’ who’s gonna pay for said retirement? Not either of us, considering that we’ll both be withering husks by the time that happens..” Marisa laughed with all the levity of a very mortal, very ordinary magician trying desperately to distract themselves from their own fleeting mortality. “I mean, I think today still technically counts as an incident,” she said, changing the subject. “Just lacking the five or so other stages we’ve normally gotta beat. And we kinda fumbled it on the last part, that too. Letting that crow get away still doesn’t sit right with me, but what can ya do?”

“Beat her up tomorrow, then?” said Reimu.

There was a thoughtful lull in the conversation where Marisa seriously contemplated taking Reimu up on her offer. Ultimately, she thought better of it, but not for the reasons one would normally think. She had a lot to thank the paparazzi for in a way, that article in her paper for a start.

“Nah, I think I’ll have to pass. Oh, by the way, Reimu — have you eaten anything today?”

And as if right on time and devised for the sadistic pleasure of some uncaring god out there (probably the Hakurei god, whom she figured must be feeling very dissatisfied with essentially being forgotten for so long), Marisa heard Reimu’s stomach let rip a fearsome growl. The echo stood alone as the only sound to fill the room in the intervening, awkward few seconds of utter silence.

‘N-no…” Reimu admitted reluctantly after a while. “Haven’t had more than a bite to eat ever since this morning, thanks to that gap hap.”

Marisa snortled. “Heh! Gap hag! Man, ain’tcha just the creative sort when it comes to makin’ up insults, eh Reimu‽”

“Oh please, I heard it from you first, Marisa. So for once, I guess I’m stealing something from you, huh?”

“Ehehe… again, I ain’t got a clue whatcha talking about, but sure, not a problem,” said Marisa. “And on that note,” she added, “feel free to take whatever the hell else you want. Ain’t like my witticisms are patented or nothing.”

“Right. I’ll make sure to keep that in mind next time the great Ordinary Magician comes up with a real ripper of a one-liner.”

“It’d do you well, methinks,” Marisa said with a wink.

“...”

“...”

“I heard Mystia’s place is still open,” one of them says. Neither is quite sure who said what, and who said it first, but both are quite certain that someone said something .

“Sure, I’ll take you up on that,” the pair say at the same time. Just to be sure, both reckon.

Marisa grins, and picks up her hat to leave first. When she does, she feels a hand clasp onto and tug at the free arm she normally swings about when walking. 

“Hmh? Oh, it’s just you. Man, you almost gave me one of those heart thingamajigs. What’s keepin’ ya, Reimu?”

“Just…” Reimu gulps, “...wanted to try, uh, holding hands. That’s all.”

“Because it’s cold?” Marisa said, making sure to pronounce every word in its entirety, avoiding her usual accented dropping of the occasional syllable here and there.

“...Because it’s cold.” comes the tentative response, said in a voice so quiet that it could be mistaken for a whisper.

There is a pause. Another lull in the conversation. This time being far more awkward for one of the parties.

“Sure,” Marisa said, holding out the hand Reimu had grabbed at. “Do ya wanna ride shotgun as well? There’s usually room for one more on my broom.”

Reimu scanned her surroundings, making sure there was no-one around to witness her unholy act. After she was confident that there was no tengu reporter hiding in a bush this time, her hand grasped Marisa’s as if it were a rope she was hanging off of. “Why not,” she said.

And it turned out that Marisa wasn’t lying; there really was an extra space for another passenger. Just how a broomstick with such a long handle would be of any practical use when performing its usual duty of sweeping eluded Reimu, but she’s learnt to block out such nitpicking niceties by now.

After all, where has common sense ever gotten her?

“You know, you never did tell me the name of the dish you and Alice were cooking. What’s up with that?” Reimu said, admiring the love-coloured rainbow exhaust that was somehow being emitted from the brush end. But the real magic, she found, was in feeling the cold air whip lashes against her skin to no avail, since the person she was huddled up against provided warmth enough for her.

“Oh, that?” said Marisa. “Yeah, I kinda just stole that recipe from Mystia. Finders keepers, right?”

“Seriously? You’re such a crook.”

“And you’re a massive narc. So I guess that makes us even.”

“Hmph,” huffed Reimu. “I suppose it does. But you still haven’t answered my question.”

Marisa looked back at Reimu, and grinned. “Ya really wanna know?”

“I don’t see why not.”

She leaned into Reimu, right up against her ear. Then she cupped the gaps in between with her hands, as if she were sharing state secrets. 

“The Mushroom Maiden’s Tip-Tap-Pot. Pretty neat, huh?”

The feathers on Aya’s wings stood up. “I can’t say for sure, aya, but I’m sensing some plagiarism being committed.” 

“Pardon- plagiarism? Like, someone copying something, somewhere?” asked Alice.

“That’s alotta ‘sums’ you just used there, Alice. And yes, exactly that,” said Aya. “You see, I’ve got a sixth sense for this kind of stuff. Helps me detect unscrupulous sorts who might be privy to copying my hard-earned journalistic exploits. I’m not going to name anyone, that’d just be mean and unbecoming of an upstanding reporter, such as I am. But I will leave you with this: the folks over at Kakashi Spirit are buncha phonies and would-be's that aren’t worth the time of your day, much less your subscription.”

“That’s… awfully opinionated of you, Aya.” said Alice.

“Please, if you want opinionated, you should see my editorial pieces,” said Aya, at which Alice’s ears perked.

“Speaking of, what on earth were you thinking with today’s opinion piece?” Alice said, standing underneath a shadow cast by a tall stalk of bamboo. “You damn near got us all killed and made a mess of Moriya shrine while you were at it. Have you no shame? Or sense of self-preservation, for that matter.”

“Ayaya… so the elephant in the room finally clears its trunk,” said Aya, not quite certain on what an elephant or its trunk looked like. “Listen, I said this before and I’ll say it now, everything will be crystal clear by the time the sun rises in the morrow. You just have to trust in the process.”

“What process?” Alice said, clearly using up the last of her nerves.

“ The process,” Aya replied in retort, clearly not very cognizant of her situation.

Alice turned away and scowled. She shut up for the rest of the way to Mystia’s, and silently thanked her mother in Makai for the fact that Marisa wasn’t anywhere near as annoying as Aya.

Well, now that she thought about it, at least Aya didn’t steal books from her. Or eat her food. Or barged in her front door expecting to be given free books and food. Okay, she might’ve done more or less just that, just before, but that was different. That time, it was Marisa’s door she completely and utterly annihilated, which if she was to be frank, was none of Alice’s concern. The only thing of interest to her was the fact that Aya only broke down the door after knocking politely. She shrugged, it must’ve been something personal.

The two hurried along down the lonely, treacherously confusing and winding paths the Bamboo Forest of the Lost had to offer. One thing the pair didn’t notice however, was the notable absence of a white-red someone, normally out here keeping an eye on wanderers and travellers. 

Somewhere, deep within a clearing of the Bamboo Forest, sat a modest cabin. And what ran from inside this modest cabin hewn from wood and not much else was a bustling izakaya, owned and operated by a youkai far away from home. Red lanterns hung from posts and latches offset from the roofing shimmered brilliantly in the moonlight, with harsh white light dashing off surfaces wherever the lanterns’ glow did not reach. Navy-blue cloth signs advertised the night’s specials, waving in the occasional light breeze that the evening cold carried with it.

Maybe ‘bustling’ would be the wrong word to use by now, but it cannot be denied that it was full to bursting with weary guests and customers looking for their nightly dose of forget-me-juice just a scant few hours ago before it closed for the night. Yet despite being technically closed, there still sat one of the lone, almost-sobering customers on one of the stools, right in front of the drink bar. She more than made up for a full izakaya’s worth of fiery mirth and drunken revelry by her lonesome, though the way she went about typically doing so, wasn’t perhaps the most conductive of them.

“Miss Mokou, I really don’t think more alcohol’s going to snap you out of the stupor anytime soon,” said Mystia, the now debt-free proprietress. “In fact, I think the only thing it’s going to do is make it worse.”

“Argh, I know, I know…” or something vaguely similar to the fact was mumbled in a slurred, almost indecipherable manner by Mokou. “Fine, then just… get me the spiciest thing you’ve got on the menu. Make it hotter than me.”

“I — I don’t think you can assign an attractiveness value to food.”

“Not ‘hotter’ as in ‘good-looking’, you ass. I meant ‘hot’ as in ‘spicier’. Spicy as shit. And who’re you to say that food can’t look good? For one, a cake with frosting on it would look a whole lot tastier than some homespun plate of brown curry.”

“Of course. Sorry, Miss Mokou.”

“Don’t apologise. Just fix what you’ve done messed up; actions speak louder than words.”

“Ah, yes! One order of extra-spicy Mapo tofu, coming up!”

“Gotcha, Mystie!” shouted Kyouko. 

And it should be worth mentioning that, when yamabiko shouted, they tend to put their heart and soul into it. Owing to her uncanny ability to reflect sound waves, Kyouko’s scream practically decimated the eardrums of any lesser being caught anywhere vaguely near in the vicinity, and set everyone else up for a mean migraine to follow. Crucially, it also reached Mokou’s ears, which were about as close as one could get to ground zero.

“Can you shut the HELL UP‽ You’re making my brain wanna jump out of its own skull, ya dumb broad.”

Kyouko shrank away from the literally-inflamed Mokou, whimpering much like how a frightened puppy would. This was more or less down to the fact that she was one.

“Actually,” Mystia piped up, “shouldn’t you technically be calling her a ‘bit-”

“ I will rip those wings right off your back, sparrow.” A radiantly vermillion aura surrounded Mokou, half danmaku and other half fire.

“Nevermind. Forget what I said.”

Miss Mokou was strange like that. Relatively calm and amicable one second, incandescent rage the other. For a person who’s already lived for around a thousand years, Mystia had really expected her to be more level-headed and emotionless by now. Maybe it’s something to do with evolution that she missed out on, spacing out in Miss Kamishirasawa’s lectures. Or maybe it’s just territory that comes with a thousand years’ worth of lived experiences. Maybe Mokou was just a jerk. 

Mystia really wanted it to be either one of the former two, since they’d be the ones that would allow her to remain in her belief that the person in front of her, who readying herself to set the izakaya on fire, was deep down a kind-hearted and accepting person, who just can’t help herself from becoming a coarse pyromaniac every once in a while. 

But given time, all things eventually heal; so too did time work on Mokou. The enraged immortal simmered down after a while, alongside a pot of previously boiling water that she had inadvertently heated up. 

In a pipsqueak voice, choosing her words carefully so as to not set off Mokou’s hair-trigger temper again, Mystia said: “Would you like some tea, Miss Mokou?”

Mokou planted her face onto her palms, as if there was gold to be found there. Slowly, and to Mystia what must’ve been an agonising procedure, she peeled her hands downward toward her neck, her nails clawing deep into her skin. It didn’t draw any blood, a fact which both fascinated and horrified the people watching. This included Aya and Alice, both of whom had arrived on the scene scant few seconds ago.

Her true age was indeterminate, a definite number was known only by the one person Mokou would entrust her heart to over her many, many lives. But in terms of cynicism and general world-weariness, which was an easy enough thing to determine, she couldn’t have been less than two-thousand years old. Fittingly, she stared up at Mystia, moving only her eyes, and gave her a look that was practically neolithic.

“Yes please…” Mokou mumbled in sober guilt. “And with some yakitori, too. I’ll pay.”

“And that’s all I wanted to hear,” Mystia said, grinning upon hearing that last bit.

Two listless, bemused pairs of eyes stared on at what had just transpired. Then they shifted towards each other, staring side-eyed. The minds, which resided in the skulls of which those two pairs of eyes were attached to, then somehow managed to communicate with one another through means of perfect telepathy, their thoughts on what just happened.

The minds, who have chosen to go by the names Alice and Aya respectively, shared a look. It said: “You and I are the only remaining sane youkai left in Gensokyo and, although we share our differences in personal philosophy every once in a while, I’ll credit you for not having fallen as far as Fujiwara no Mokou.”

Telepathy was good and all, but there was surprisingly little that could be communicated through strange looks alone, the two found. There was only so much communicable through furrowed brows and whimsical whistles that wasn’t some variation on, ‘look at that pack of weirdos’. So it came as a surprise that it was Alice who vocalised something first. 

“Shameimaru, why can’t a human be more youkai-like?” she said, in a strange song-like intonation.

“Sorry? Be more like a what?”

“Be like us, Aya,” said Alice. “Yes, why can’t a human be more like us?”

Aya was silent for a beat, which completely ruined the musical roll that Alice was on.

“I don’t know why,” she began cautiously, “but I feel like something’s being plagiarised again.”

“Seriously? We’re back to this whole thing about plagiarism? It can’t possibly be that serious.”

“I’m afraid it is, Margatroid. I’ve had a strange tingling up my spine ever since I sensed Mystia over there thinking about how old Fujiwara is. So, I’m also afraid that I’ll have to cut this chapter short. Abruptly.”

“Wha —” was all that Alice managed to cough out before she was rudely cut off.