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Biker Princess?

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“Why exactly should I call you something you’re not? Doesn’t make a bit of sense to me.” Akira didn’t mind making her skepticism known. Being coddled by Japan’s underbelly—gangs dealing with the worst society could muster—had left her with a particular lack of polite reservation.

The girl sitting across from her in the dimly lit storage room retained her scowl just when she’d been about to let it fade. “Because I’m the one who got you here. If you have any value for your chastity, you’ll acknowledge my skill.” If nothing else, thought Yan Yong Hua. “The name ‘Shi San Mei’ is feared among these cutthroat men. If you disrespect that, who knows how rowdy they’ll get the next time.”

“I could defend myself just fine!” She hadn’t been known to practice a specific martial art, but Akira had her own skirmishes under her belt, and was a renowned demon on her bike. The one problem today had been her running out of gas. She had been reckless, her mind had wandered; she wouldn’t openly praise Yong for taking advantage of her weakest moment.

“Not in Kowloon you can’t.” Countered Yong, who had only been arguing for her title to be acknowledged and nothing more. She had already considered that Akira’s mind still lingered on her brief window of carelessness. She didn’t want to touch upon it. Her respect for that tenacity had only been held /because/ the girl was a friend of her uncle’s guest—a friend of a friend, of sorts. While she had been kind, she also didn’t wish to babysit.

Which she already had been for the past two hours while watching over the previously unconscious Akira, who had been clocked by a chain.

“While you were dreaming, you almost looked like a princess. I could even say I was jealous of you.”

Akira perked up after hearing such a blatant tease. Her hands slammed on the table, and she yelled back with mounting frustration, “You were glaring too hard, then!”

Yong leaned back in her chair, kicking her feet up against the table. She was comfortable. Bantering killed time while she waited for her uncle to return and settle things for the lost Japanese girl in her custody. “Who says looking over you was all I did?” She had patched her faint gashes after extensive disinfectant had been applied, assuring a full body recovery.

“...What’s that supposed to imply?”

“You’re smarter than that.”

Akira leaned closer, leaving a boot in the chair behind her. She could almost leap and bite a chunk of Yong’s face off. Yong, ready for any sign of violent outburst, had her throwing-coins at the ready. She wasn’t worried. Her eyes, in fact, went thin, an obvious dare.

“I didn’t ask you to help me. I only just learned your name—which I also didn’t ask for.” Akira was teetering on reckless impatience. “So why should I bother staying here as /you/ request? You’re doing nothing now but pissing me off.”

Yong split her legs and rested her soles flat to the floor, enabling herself chance to lean in just as Akira had. Another abrupt jerk, and they very well could headbutt one another. “It’s for your safety, ‘Ojou-chan’.”

“Cut the crap.”

“I love you.”

“What?!”

“Just take it easy.” Yong wasn’t a good joker. Her overbearing frowns never helped her case. She eased back into her seat, and Akira did the same with a huff, both girls folding their arms.

A minute of silence came and went.

Akira couldn’t stop glaring.

Yong had since closed her eyes, thinking over the events that led to their hiding out.

“Where’s my bike?”

“You totaled it, remember?”

“Not what I asked.”

“Who’s to say: it’s probably been torn apart for scrap by now.”

“So you went and half-assed your rescue?”

“I only had my eyes on your firm ass.”

Akira slammed her hands on the table again, that time tipping it off of its legs for all of a second; it slammed hard. The shrill echo pounded through the scant, dusty ventilation.

“You’re /not/ funny!”

“On the contrary—I think I am,” Yong sighed, “for ever believing I could hide a biker princess and expect some sense of peace.”

Akira’s face softened, but her distaste could still so clearly be read.

It wouldn’t matter. Her outburst alerted skulking punks to their presence; those from the mainland were persistent. Yong knew it well. She had already been counting the amount of coins she had left on her person, and calculated the few escape routes she could drag Akira along. Their comfort was short-lived.