Monsoon O Koete ch. 1

"Minhas pérolas! Minhas pérolas! Polícia! Minhas pérolas!" the woman screamed, pointing at the thief as he ran away, with the police right behind him. The thief had gotten into a rich hotel, full of american and european tourists. At the first chance, he got into a room and started snooping around. He found a nice gold watch and silver earrings, and they'd fetch a very good price in the grey market, where you could sell your belongings for some money.
Unluckily, when he found the pink pearl necklace, its owner came and started to scream. The teenager then had to push the woman and run down the hallway, followed by the guards and two employees of the hotel.
By pushing maids and american tourists, Tom was able of run away, the pink, medium pearls still clutched on his hand. The guards were asking to close the doors, and he could hear them.

In no time, Tom got to the lobby. Jumping over luggage and sliding down the tile floor, Tom got to the main door. The other two guards tried to keep him from running away by grabbing his huge hoodie, but he twisted, turned and jumped uncontrollably, screaming insults in portuguese, and finally got free and started to run away. His body was the one that pushed the door open. He just kept running like a miserable bastard until he was four blocks away from the five star hotel. From there, he was safe, once again on the ghetto neighborhoods in Brazilia. Some kids were playing on the street, along with a dog and a little girl. Tom smiled, feeling fondly the love of his city. He had been living on this city since he was born, with only a german last name to distinguish him from the rest of his gang. Kaulitz. He never knew where had he gotten it. Tom hid the treasures he stole from the tourist on his pockets and kept walking. His dreadlocks framed perfectly around his head and he listened to the gorgeous sounds that his home made. He walked down the same stone and dust street where some people shopped, where children played football, where buses came and went. Tropical music emerged from someone's tattered radio, and from every corner, if you knew where to find it. It was his beat, his rythm, his own heartbeat.
Tom kept walking, saluting every one of his neighbors with a bow of his head or waving his hand. He knew everybody, and everybody knew him. The warm weather didn't affect him. Not very much, anyway. But he was growing hot under his hoodie. He took it off and let the warm, chilly, familiar and welcoming brazilian air wrap around him. Some children asked him to play football with them, but he had to refuse. He was already running late. And by running was how he got to his grandma's house.

"Lídia!" he called, then knocked."Lídia!" knock, knock. "Lídia!" knock, knock. "Lí-"
"I heard already, Tom!" a voice came from upstairs. Tom smiled and scratched the back of his neck as he waited for his grandmother. When the door opened, Tom gave her a huge smile.
"Well, well, well. Tomás came victorious from another fight, eh?" it was his aunt Aida. She smiled too and let him in. Aida had a brown-sand, curly hair, exactly the same color as Tom's. She had a beautiful chocolate skin, while Tom's was slightly honey by the sun.
"Please, aunt Aida. I'm Tom." Tom said, pretending to be annoyed. Aida kissed his cheek as Lídia Santos came down the stairs. Like Aida, Lídia had chocolate skin and brown, almond eyes and curly hair. But besides her wrinkles around her eyes and the silver painted on her hair, she was very pretty. Tom had always felt that she was his mom, for she had a strong, maternal aura around her. Today she wore a yellow dress, with her short, curly hair around her face. Aunt Aida took her mother and her nephew to the kitchen while re-tying her ponytail.
"Grandma, I-"
"I've told you not to call me grandma, Tomás." Grandma reminded Tom. Tom pretended to roll his eyes annoyed.
"And I don't like Tomás, either. Alright. Aida and Lídia, prepare to see the solution to our problems." Tom said, and took out the watch, the earrings and the necklace from his pockets on his pants. Aida took her hands to her mouth, and Lídia kept looking at the jewels frowning.
"Where did you took these, boy?" she asked, muttering.
"It doesn't matter. They'll fetch a good price on any jewerly, and they'll give us enough money to go to Portugal, like you wanted to!" Tom said, his face shining. Aida, still her hands on her mouth, turned to look at Lídia, while she did the same with her daughter. Then, the woman looked at her grandson's excited brown eyes, those that always reminded her of burning wood or of a coconut.

"How do you know that we're planning to go to Portugal?" Lídia asked.
"I've heard you discuss it at night. The jobs manage to cover the necessary, but we'd be able to go to Portugal in two years. I mean-" Tom said, but Aida cut him off.
"What happened with your jobs? At the butchery and at the restaurant?" she asked, removing her thin, delicate hands. Lídia noticed how a bit of the confidence that burned deep in Tom's eyes died a bit.
"Well...the butcher closed the store and fired everyone. And my other boss found out about the mess I was the other day in, so I got fired, too." Tom confided. Aida smiled a bit sadly, knowing how Tom could feel. He detested to feel useless or helpless. He hated to ask for help or to feel like nobody wanted him. She placed her hand on top of Tom's and gave it a gentle squeeze.
"Well, as long as you haven't stolen these to help us, it's all fine." Grandma Lídia declared, getting up and patting Tom's shoulder. Tom smiled shyly, wondering how could Grandma Lídia read minds.
"And so, what are you going to do now?" Aida asked as Lídia went outside to tend her vegetable and herb garden outside. Tom shrugged.
"Eu não sei. Eu terei que procurarar por um outro trabalho." Tom said, looking down at his dirty shoes, those that he used always. He had other shoes, but these were his favorites.
"Procura então um que você pode manter para mais do que uma semana." Aida said before getting up, helped by Tom, since her nine month belly gave her problems now and then.

---

Fumihiro closed his eyes and played the Shamisen like he had played it since he was 14. In the border of a pacific lake, under a sakura-blooming tree, he played the little three-stringed japanese banjo while some koi fish and one or another duck got near, hypnothysed by the mysterious and fascinating sounds.
"Fumihiro-san! Fumihiro-san!" he heard. Fumihiro removed his jet-black hair from his eyes and looked with his almond eyes at the monk that came towards him. He bowed.
"Koichi-sensei. In what can I help you?" he asked, still bending low. Koichi bowed too and said,
"Fumi, I've told you to call me san, not sensei."
"I'm sorry, Koichi-san." Fumihiro said, rising from his bow. Koichi turned around and then observed at the apprentice.
Fumihiro was very tall and slim, with a pale, perfect oval face and gentle skin. If someone didn't observe him as closely as he was observing him right now, that person would think that Fumihiro was a very beautiful girl, but his physical appearance was just very delicate, and that's it.
Fumihiro had called Koichi a "sensei" because he admired him very much. He looked up to him, and Koichi had taught him so much.
"Anyway, Taro-sama asked for you." Koichi said. Fumihiro's eyes widened a lot, and he bowed his thanks. He placed the Shamisen down on the grass and ran to find out why had the superior monk asked for him only.

Meanwhile, among the sakura blooms, while Fumihiro and Koichi talked, a dark figure watched them. He was directly above Koichi, but he didn't find out about his position. Koichi didn't sense the stranger's aura. He just walked away, giving the stranger more chances of breaking into the monastery.
Kiro, the stranger, removed the cloth that covered his nose and mouth. He smirked and looked around, while one of his hands touched lightly one of his twin swords.
"I've got the information..." he murmured to himself. Then, he jumped with extreme agility to the wall that separated the paradise of peace from the rest of Kioto, Japan. He jumped back outside, and from there, he was able of walking freely, calculating with his always restless mind how to get in, where to place his feet, how to grab into the iron, which muscles to give the necessary pressure to jump to the wall, where to run, in which trees to hide...just everything any good thief/murderer needed to calculate before attacking.