Disclaimer: I don't own Gintama or its characters.

Beta: Many thanks to Lumi75 who has been an awesome help as a beta reader and who has also insprired this piece in the first place. Thank you so much!

Note: The shamisen is a three-stringed musical instrument (seen with both Takasugi and Bansai), the bachi is the plectrum used to play it.

Duet

"Would you like an Orion Cream Shake, sponsored by Orion Spacecraft Industries, the best new connection from Edo to Outer Space?" asked the waitress in a kinky maid outfit who had suddenly appeared before him, "Or perhaps a Crab Nebula Special On The Rocks, sponsored by . . ."

When her artificial cat ears suddenly started blinking pink at the name of the second company, Takasugi's stomach violently clenched. With one big leap, he eluded the woman and the threat of blowing his cover by giving in to primary instinct.

"Hey, heyyy!"

He'd barely avoided bumping into the large man behind him, but the guy seemed intent on complaining anyway. His voice slurred just a tiny bit though, and one glance at the glass in his hand informed Takasugi exactly what a bad idea the Crab Nebula Special would have been.

"Oh!" the stranger suddenly exclaimed loudly, obviously surprised - and too drunken to process firmly what he was about to do, "You are--"

With a swift slap of the hand Takasugi had - accidently - rammed his drink into his face. Murmuring excuses towards the surrounding people with a sheepish smile, he quickly grabbed the man's elbow and yanked him into a dark corner. There was a flash of silver, and a small hand grenade fell out of the man's robes, bounced against the floor and rolled to rest against Takasugi's feet.

Of course this was one of Zura's men! How he managed to run a terrorist group with underlings like that without getting himself killed or captured by the government was beyond Takasugi.

His bored expression didn't change, as he stepped on the grenade, hiding it with his slippers, and bent down to pick it up with a silk cloth. As if he'd never planned on doing anything else, he then used the cloth to wipe off the blood that trickled from the cuts his glass had left on the corner of the other man's mouth. The act looked convincingly apologetic and tentative to the casual viewer, but in reality he had already shoved the grenade in the mouth of the grunting man. He put his left arm around his victim's shoulder, and as his fingers toyed with the bomb trigger, Takasugi's mood improved only slightly. Fuck, Zura would have to pay him for that. Staining one of his favorite handkerchiefs with an idiot's blood displeased him greatly.

A psychotic gleam in his eye was the only reaction when Takasugi sensed the man's legs tremble so hard he seemed on the verge of collapse. Then his eye narrowed as he leaned closer toward the stranger's ear, and whispered viciously, "It's your luck that I'm just a spectator today, moron."

Chuckling at the man's terrified reaction, he sauntered away. It was Zura's prerogative to punish the loser, and if not . . . he'd at least made sure he wouldn't be able to use that mouth for a while.

Unknown to him, another stranger had observed the entire scene from a window above. He put a finger to his cheek, adusting his black sunglasses, but his facial expression never changed. His hidden gaze, however, had fixed on Takasugi.

It was Friday night in Edo and the embassy was full of vermin in robes trying to outshine each other. Condescending aliens rubbed shoulders with equally disgusting bootlicking humans; but worst of all, it was a boring party.

Hanging from the ceiling was a wide field of traditional lanterns which competed for the public attention with garish plastic decoration dangling in between. None of them stood a chance; they both lost to the high technology video screens on the walls that broadcasted the advertisements of the event's sponsors in stunning visuals and brain-eating slogans.

Here, the Bakufu was celebrating something in fact not worthy of celebration, namely yet another We-sell-ourselves-cheaply-to-the-Amanto trade agreement. And Takasugi, leaning with his back against the sole video-screen-free wall, shamisen now in his right hand and sword hidden under the wide flower-imprinted kimono, had come for the erasement of the representatives at the place.

The question wasn't how to deal with this, as his sharp blade and manipulative brain would have been more than enough to handle the situation. The actual inconvenience was the information he'd gotten from his spies that Zura and his "friends" were already targeting the place as well. And depending on how successful they'd be, he'd have to be sure to leave early enough to avoid getting blown up as well. In reality, the nihilistic killer was a rather tolerant person; he didn't mind by whose hands it happened, as long as destruction came. It was just that Zura's Joui faction tended to be rather . . . unreliable.

The Amanto prince's speech was finally over. Takasugi had been gallingly reminded of why exactly they'd been fighting these folks in the first place. Hysterical applause sounded, but rather than honoring the prince it seemed to celebrate his departure - and hasten the arrival of break time entertainment. Undoubtedly, this was the main reason why most of the people had attended.

A teenage girl entered the stage, presented as the upcoming idol. Takasugi couldn't yet understand, why. Ignoring the doll-like looks, violet hair tied into childish ponytails, her lyrics were horrible. Somehow, however, it seemed like exactly what the masses craved. The crowd, including the elderly government officials and the blue skinned prince, had their eye balls peeled on the girl and, at her prompting, began childishly waving their hands in unison, chorusing, "Chome Chomeeee!"

Takasugi observed the spectacle from his position at the side, torn between the disgust at the scene that made him subconsciously grip the warm wood of his shamisen's neck a bit tighter, and the feeling that the brainwashing potential of the person behind all this would be an interesting asset. Still, right now he'd seen enough, and was ready to trust - just this once - Zura's group not to fail. So he could leave.

He strolled through the crowd completely unnoticed - although in their current euphoric state he might well have gotten away unharmed with stepping on old Matsudeira's foot - and moved quickly towards the side entry which he'd also used to sneak in some hours ago.

Only to find a new person blocking this way out.

Even though his appearance was half-hidden in the shadows of the doorframe, that blue haired man was rather outstanding. His face shielded by headphones and sunglasses, and a shamisen jauntily slung over his back, he surely didn't blend into the mindless herd behind Takasugi. However, the guy's right foot was beating in time with the music and he observed the stage with deep interest.

He was only two feet away from the stranger, when the man's gaze wandered off the stage, casually grazed over him, and finally locked onto the musical instrument in his hands. An unnaturally bright smile lit up his face and the man jumped to attention. He directed a friendly nod in his direction.

Displeased, Takasugi mustered a cold glare that could freeze the oceans and was supposed to clear the exit quickly. The stranger however, seemed unaffected.

"Yo!" he grinned and waved, before he closed the few steps separating them and clapped a friendly hand on his shoulder. The edge of Takasugi's mouth twitched and the grip around his sword's hilt tightened at the sight of that gesture. His eye narrowed even more, darting from the stranger's palm to glower at his face, full of deathly promise.

Those sunglasses seemed to block out any sight. That was the only possible reason why the man continued in an overly perky tone, "Thank you so much for coming to support Otsu!! We owe everything to fans like you, thank you so much, we really appreciate it!"

Takasugi, as intent as he was on making his escape, realized that he wouldn't achieve anything by ignoring the guy. His cold, almost imperceptible nod was received happily, and the man continued his absurd blabbering.

"And, how do you like the party? Enjoying yourself?"

The question elicited a low chuckle from the depth of Takasugi's throat, and he replied with ironical honesty, "Actually I'm only here to connect to an old friend. I was just about to leave. But I'm sure the party will get even more . . . bombastic."

"Oh no, don't leave yet! You will miss Otsu's wonderful bridge! It's a special line and will only be sung today." Hopeful eyes beamed at Takasugi right through thick black glasses.

"Let me introduce myself, I'm Tsunpo, Otsu's producer and songwriter," he looked somehow expectantly but a lack of reaction from his conversational partner didn't stop him, "and you are?"

Staring and glaring seemed to make no impact on the personable but plastic producer. Finally giving in, Takasugi answered, "Shinsuke . . . Just call me Shinsuke."

"Oh wonderful!" The man waved his hands ecstatically, "I hope I'm not bothering you, it's my job to get to know the audience, you know."

Takasugi was reminded of the impression he must have given the other one: with shamisen and traditional clothing - and 'listening' to that grating music on stage. So did "Tsunpo" think that he, Takasugi, was just an ordinary pop culture junkie with strange looks?

However, now that the music freak had come so close, too close, he'd realized a less obvious and much more interesting fact about him.

Something about Tsunpu was . . . familiar.

He emitted a dangerous scent that was telling a whole different story than the font of words that currently bubbled out of his smiling mouth.

Tsunpu still continued unwaveringly, "So, when I see a fellow shamisen player, I need to ask: what do you think about the mix of traditional instrumentation and modern . . ."

But Takasugi, ignoring the broad leather smell of the big jacket and the unreal impression of earthy wood and fabricated plastic that his strange accessories left, had picked up the faint trail of metallic scent that he would be able to detect anywhere. That smell that you couldn't wash away again once it's marked you and that would tell you a person's deepest secrets. Blood.

Very interesting, he smirked. Too bad, he didn't have enough time to get to know that guy . . .

". . . and the E-shamisen?"

Takasugi ignored Tsunpo's last question, but as a teasing reward for catching his interest, he bestowed a knowing smile on the other man, before he finally slipped his slim figure past the musician, and hurried out of the building. After all, it would soon prove to be rather uncomfortable inside a bombed embassy.

--

The contrast couldn't be greater. Once outside, the narrow alleyway felt refreshing and provided him with the space he craved. After bathing in all that oversized tastelessness, being almost crushed by the orgasmic flesh parade, hysterical laser beams and ecstatic laughter, he felt as if he'd walk onto another planet.

Dust rose with every step as he was looking for a good spot to watch whether Zura's men would do a good rebel's job or if they might fail yet again. A half destroyed house wall, low enough to easily climb up, seemed like a good spot to sit and wait. Pleased with the seat he'd found, he grabbed his instrument, intent on passing the time and cleansing his ears in one go.

Takasugi had just fished out the bachi, when suddenly Tsunpu turned around the corner of the next street.

Casually, the man walked over, but the fact he'd seen him only now, alarmed Takasugi nevertheless. Maybe the performance there was over . . . and definitely, Tsunpu had come for further entertainment.

"Your strings are extremely tense. If you tighten them too much, they will snap when you play," the man called out.

Takasugi waited until Tsunpu stood in front of the 'seat', then answered, his lips curled into a cold smile, "If I can't play the song I want with them, then they should be restringed anyway."

"So to achieve the sound you're after, you would rip as many strings as it takes?" Tsunpu's voice had gotten a bit lower.

Takasugi's croaking, low laughter was accompanied by the song he started to play. Strumming languidly, he looked somewhere in the distance as he answered, "It's the strings, that weren't doing . . .," the notes were deliberately getting higher, as if they were strangled . . .

- It wasn't luck that saved Tsunpu's life, but rather some kind of sixth sense. Any normal person certainly would have been cleaved in half when -

. . . "what they're supposed to do--," Takasugi's lips distorted to a vicious smirk, as he pushed the shamisen aside and jumped off the wall, in his hand his unsheathed weapon, the blade sharp and ready to take blood.

However, the man before him moved away just in time to not make contact - but to confirm the suspicion.

"I knew it," Takasugi sniggered, "your love for music isn't your only interest."

"Oh, my love for music is my only interest," came a quick reply, "but I hear a fascinating tune in so many more . . . things."

Kawoom!

The soaring noise of an explosion hissed through the air between them, its bang echoing back from windows and walls again and again. Debris rained down on the street, and a gray cloud grew menacingly bigger towards them.

The shockwave had thrown Tsunpu face first against the nearest wall; which still seemed to have no effect on his cool as he simply turned around and readjusted his sunglasses. He patted the dirt from his leather jacket before he traced a probing hand over his face and through his hair, wiping off the gray veil of dust: quick movements that lacked the uncertainty of someone who was truly shocked.

Takasugi jumped back to his feet, refreshed, cleansed, even delighted by the event, and looked around to take in the full damage the explosion had left. Judging from the ringing it caused in his ears even two streets away, it had been a satisfyingly huge bomb, though - he narrowed his eyes - it was pretty late. So Zura must have waited until the main attraction that had kept the lazy politicians inside, was already over.

His expression darkened quickly when he continued that train of thought. Had this been Zura's intention all along? To let them escape? That idiot! Why couldn't he understand that kind of half-hearted violence wouldn't change a thing!

Inwardly kicking himself for not having done something more successful by himself, Takasugi looked around some more, as the dust settled back to the ground and the sight got better. Slowly the local tenants walked out of their houses, confused expressions on their faces. From further down in the direction the embassy was located, screaming people ran over the place, coughing at the smoke. And again, it was the civilians who suffered more from this than the people who should have . . .

Oh, dammit Zura! Next time, I'll show you how to do it right.

However, he didn't have the time to delve much into his thoughts right now. A howling siren closed in, and with screeching tires a Shinsengumi Patrol car turned around the corner, darting towards the embassy. It wouldn't be long until they'd sniff around everywhere, the obedient little pets. And even if he wasn't the one blowing up the place, those guys would be glad to arrest him anyway. Today, however, wasn't the day to deal with the government dogs.

"There's too much heat here, shall we go somewhere cooler?" his voice was quiet and almost casual.

Tsunpu scratched his head, "Why do I think I'm jumping into a greater bonfire?"

Takasugi raised a brow, the expression more amused than questioning.

"Every child knows it's not good to follow strangers," Tsunpu paused shortly, a broad grin growing slowly on his lips, "especially those who might feed you explosives in the end . . ."

Reaching for his instrument that still lay on top of the wall, Takasugi eyed his new acquaintance again. With a crooked smile he offered, "Well then, Mister Musician, would you rather be interested in joining me for a little duet?"

--

(tbc)