The Red Scorpion</COLOR><i></i>
The Red Scorpion Bar, a small worthless-seeming bar with watered down drinks and the closest thing to live-music the establishment has ever known is the wino at the counter screaming the only drinking song he knows. The barkeep, a large hairless rock of a man, huge even by an Akamichi's standard has always been able to (thankfully) keep this patron's shenanigans at bar with a steel look. Criminals have always flocked to this establishment like moths to a flame. It had nothing to do with his wares but rather the location, in the heart of the Black Bazaar many unscrupulous individuals use this bar as a center of operations. Since the Obsidian was broken into by the Cabal, the bar has been packed wall-to-wall. The densely populated space does not seem to deter the growing crowds that last until morning.
Everything and I mean EVERYTHING comes with a price. From the baubles and trinkets that the merchants sell to allegiances and favors from friends and peers. The Cabal had wrought great destruction on the place she called home; Sunagakure had housed itself in a fragile bubble and once offense met such a delicate balance, the bubble *popped.* It seemed fitting that the worst portions of Sunagakure were the ones that were saved. The Black Bazaar was one such place, where the cretins and degenerates would gather, fester and growth in both numbers and strength like a disease. The malice and greed of this place attracted the Takahashi, she had been here before in what she thought was her lowest state. Unrequited affections were the least of her troubles. She came here to regenerate. What sympathies and ethics that bound her before were forgotten. These men who would never be missed and if they were it would only be so that a parade would herald the community's gain through their loss. Blood sacrifices would have to be made and the quality made no difference to her.
She told herself that she was doing the community a great service, riding Sunagakure of one wretch at a time. It would not take much to comfort her, she would sleep just fine. Better in fact once they were dead. Order a drink. Walk away with someone... anyone who would order a glass here was hardly better than a mindless beast. Everyone here was a murder, she was not emphatic but their malcontent and Machiavellian intent made the air thick and curled her toes. She carried a similar aura - of hate and wrath. While she bore no insignia of her family, no crest or marking; many of the men bore signs of their affiliation, some even proudly displayed their betrayals. This bar was no secret, but there was strength in numbers and due-process. She was going to eliminate the later. She needed to practice. She needed to remember -how- to be what she was. To take as well as give. Three men have already died by her hand this evening alone, there was time still for a fourth.
Sousuke was alive, but he had been broken by the terrors that had come to pass. She was a different woman as well, not even human. While this was not a change, rather a revelation it altered her perceptions. She accepted the bitter drink that slid across the bare table. It was something fruity, it was the color not that taste that attracted her. As the firewater washed the back of her throat she scanned the bar. She wanted to find the worst of them, she was not seeking alliances but rather ending their miserable existence. It was the Cabal specifically that she had grown to hate, they forced her from her oblivious state to this discontent.
<COLOR color="red">"Get this man a drink," Shiori called to the barkeep.
Homura entered. She would not have recognized him without hearing his song, for the past two decades she was left with only the darkness. She watched as the crowd parted. Someone mentioned how he betrayed Sand, ran off with some Cabal cunt and how he murdered his clan. Just the kind of man she was looking for. He had a look about him, the kind of look that would make a kitten cry. New target acquired. She smiled half-apologetically to the man she bought a drink for. 
*hug?*
It felt like someone had placed an explosive charge under her skin and set it off. She let out a scream as the chakra burned her flesh and singed her bone. It was not a small nor a clean wound, burnt along the edges it went through her shoulder blade and left clavicle and back into himself. The pain lasted only a moment before it went dead, she could not feel her left arm. Blood poured from her open wound and down her left side. Her arm useless, but her intended attack still charged. She arched her back, unable to pull herself away without wasting her charge she struck him with the palm of her hand hard in the side of his chest. She could hear the satisfying sound of his ribs cracking and his spine shifting.