Sekirei ©Gokurakin Sakurako

To say that Daryl and Omaha were made for each other is an understatement. Each is the one the other has been waiting for, his yin to her yang. And the residents of New Orleans can tell, by the way they stand out. Out walking, Omaha only has Daryl by a couple inches in height, but it's her light mocha complexion, strong Asian features and muscular build that turns people's heads as they pass through neighborhoods. Though he hasn't bought a car yet, walking is the best way they can get around. And the men in the nearby parishes, docile by day, drunkards at night, have learned to steer clear of her. With her photographic memory, she remembers their faces, and can easily track them down if they cause trouble again.

And as for groceries, no problem. With the purchase of three extra large fabric bags, the two can go shopping, and Omaha can haul all of it back home with ease, with Daryl carrying the eggs and milk, of course. Having learned to fix other dishes to lessen their dependence on eating out so much, such as curry and miso soup, it adds to his variety of styles in cooking. And occasionally, he'd get the urge to make some gumbo, jambalaya, or even etouffee, which his Sekirei eagerly eats up with ease.

Their conversation never gets boring, as they are always talking about something new every week. The more they talk, the more they know about each other, and surprisingly, the more Daryl finds to fall in love with about Omaha. In her eyes, she can sense that her feelings were getting through to him, and that he felt the same way. It sent shivers down her spine, knowing that she will be with him forever, protecting and loving him with all she is and has. Yet, it is his genuine Cajun accent she can't get enough of; the fluency of French mixed with his Southern dialect makes her crazy for him. She is hoping she can live a peaceful life with him, but as life is, things are subject to change.

About an hour or so drive across the state border in Jackson, Mississippi, MBI has a U.S. processing center for its technology, which had helped the residents of the Gulf Coast survive through the disaster that was Hurricane Katrina. While FEMA was handling certain problems, the center was secretly importing food, fresh water and supplies from its headquarters in Shintou, Chiba Prefecture, Japan for the survivors. Equipped with three warehouses and a landing strip, the center has been a hub for relief during the natural disaster. And this is where No.109 Omaha, was processed and released, eventually sent to New Orleans to help with the relief efforts and restoring of order a few years ago.

The head of the center, Kato Kumo, has seen a lot happen since his stay here in the states. Transferred by Hiroto Minaka himself, he's made quite a name for himself in these parts. He also knows full well what's happening in Shintou, how things were coming to a head, keeping updated via satellite. Just as he thought it, he noticed something strange on the radar. It was a private jet coming in for a landing. Seeing the MBI logo, he had no fear of invasion, but why did the CEO not call about it? Getting up and heading outside to the landing strip, the Boeing aircraft taxied the runway and came to a slow halt. Kato and an assistant drove the truck out to the runway, as the door downcasted and revealed stairs. And just then, a woman in a black outfit brandishing a long katana stood there, smiling.

"So," she said, "this is the United States," speaking in fluent English. "Haihane, Benitsubasa, we have arrived."

As she started her way down the stairs, two others revealed themselves, one wrapped in bandages with long, sharp blades, and the other, slim and wearing an outfit crossing between a kimono and a yukata. Short and showing her lean legs, one could tell she could probably kick, hard.

"Don't be so fast, you three," another voice said, revealing a woman in a business suit, black and complete with tie. "We have to check in." The woman met the three at the bottom just as the truck pulled up with Kato hopping out.

"I wasn't informed of your arrival," he said as he bowed, "you're from MBI headquarters?"

"Yes we are," she said, "I'm Natsuo Ichinomiya, ashikabi for the Disciplinary Squad."

Kato was shocked to hear the team of three who were enforcers in the stages of the Sekirei Plan were here in the States. "The CEO forgot to inform you, it was a last minute decision made by him. May I introduce No. 4 Karasuba," gesturing to the one with the katana, "No. 104 Haihane," the wrapped one with the long blades, "and No. 105 Benitsubasa," the slim one. "We've come to see No.109. Where is Omaha?"

He talked as they walked. "She's currently in New Orleans, Louisiana, about a two hour drive southwest of here. She's recently emerged, and is now living with her ashikabi, Daryl Wilton, a young man of Creole descent." Reaching the office, he had already called for transportation, as a black Suburban with tinted windows awaited.

"Why has Mr. Minaka sent you here?"

Karasuba smirked. "He desires to test No.109's strength and resolve, to see if she's fit to live as a Sekirei, apart from us in Shintou. Though she is not participating, he wishes to know her balance."

"How long will you be here?"

"A week," Natsuo replied, "by that time, we need to return to Japan, in preparation for Kouten." The four climbed into the Suburban and rolled down the window.

"Your accommodations are all set," he said, "good luck."

With that, the truck took off, on its long journey to the heart of the Bayou State, New Orleans.

In New Orleans, just east of the French Quarter, laid Daryl's house. Beautiful in its appearance, it's been given new life by the young Cajun. Formerly a two bedroom shotgun house, where a straight shot from the front to the back was easy, it has been transformed into a two story, four bedroom double width house, utilizing vacant land on its east side for the addition. Daryl bought the adjacent property to expand, and possibly start a garden, for ease of use, and to beautify the section of town he lived in.

The back yard was just as big with the addition, with plenty of room to frolic and have fun. With a six foot tall fence surrounding the entire vast of land, privacy was guaranteed. Exactly what he had in mind for he and his Sekirei, No. 109, Omaha.

In the two months since her winging, Omaha has become pretty protective of her master. In her eyes, she sees much more with him, yet her heart was unsure. Having been alone for the majority of his life since losing his family, she sees a delightful face and senses a calm demeanor beneath all that is her chosen one. Observing him for that amount of time, she admires his ability to adapt to different situations. He is very respectful to her, and she the same with him. And as she told him before, she loves him, and wants to be with him forever. Now, the love she spoke of, began to manifest in her heart.

Daryl was finally able to buy a car for them to get around in, though they didn't need anything too big. So he set on a brand new 2013 Chevrolet Cruze, custom optioned with a turbo four and a six speed manual. Not a car guy, he like the feel of manual shifted cars. Can't help it, it's just his way. And no monthly payments either; cash only, giving hint to his stealth of wealth.

As the days went by, the bond of the young Creole and his Sekirei became stronger, as she mostly slept in his room instead of hers, which he fixed up for her. Learning about each other, strengths and weaknesses, likes and dislikes, favorites and abhorred, are taking time. For each other, it seems each is the one the other has been waiting for. Daryl and Omaha complimented each other to near perfection. And on this Thursday evening, he saw it in action. Standing at the patio door that lead to the large backyard surrounded by cedar fencing, he stood watching his Sekirei going through fighting moves. From one move to the next with fluidity, Omaha's concentration was not to be broken. To stand near six feet tall and weigh two hundred one pounds, she has speed that not even the fastest sprinter can't compare to. Rotating punches and kicks in blinding speed, Daryl couldn't help but smirk. Having the size of a heavyweight bodybuilder, she can move very swiftly despite the added bulk. 32" quads bulged with power with every thrust kick, while her arms with 20" upper arms backed the power to punch in midair, as the gusts were visible with every form.

Sweat poured off of her forehead as she moved like a ballet dancer, unaware of her single person audience. For fifteen minutes, she moved with born and bred fluidity, until finally she stopped with a hard kick to the ground, digging a borough with her heel in the lush grass. She suddenly heard a slow handclap come from behind her, as Daryl stepped to her cautiously, with a large towel on his shoulder.

"Absolutely amazing," he commented in his medium Creole accent, "I've never seen fighting moves and dancing so mixed together! You's truly one of a kind 'shá."

Omaha gladly took the towel and wiped her beautiful caramel skinned face with it.

"Thank you, master," she replied in her alto Asian accent, "I trained whenever I got the chance, before I came here and after the hurricane. Many of these moves were programmed into my adjustments while at MBI."

"MBI?" he asked quizzically.

"Yes, we were found nearly thirty years ago by a scientist and kept away from the world. That's as much as I know right now."

Daryl looked at her and blushed. Her tank top and shorts were soaked with sweat, yet revealed more of her muscular frame. Abdominals that protruded with pride, surrounded by strong laterals and obliques that topped off a killer midsection. Her D cup breasts stood out from her sculpted pectorals, with the nipples showing through the drenched fabric. Daryl turned away quick enough to see her blush, realizing what state of dress she was in at the moment.

"Uh," he stammered, "I...think you better go take a shower, mõn a mei," he giggled as he backed away from the door to let her pass. He didn't want to risk ogling her longer than necessary.

"Uh, okay," as she walked through the door and through the house to the staircase. Daryl just stood on the patio, thinking about what he just caught sight of. A smirk speared on his face, as his favorite phrase came to mind.

"Laissez les bons temps rouler," shaking his head and heading inside.

At a large house in Baton Rouge, a black Suburban pulls up the oval driveway to the front door. The back doors opening, Haihane, Benitsubasa and Karasuba climb down out of the luxury laden truck, as Natsuo gets out of the front passenger side. Just then, an attendant walks out and greets the crew of four.

"Welcome to the great state of Louisiana," he said in a fluent French-accented English, "Ms. Ichinomaya, I presume?"

The lady in the business suit smiled. "Yes," she said, "and you already know the Disciplinary Squad."

He turned his head toward the three females. "Yes I do, welcome to you all to the MBI House."

The house was two stories in height, and gave the look of a plantation house from the late 1800s.

"What's with the old house?" asked Benitsubasa flippantly, "I was expecting something more...modern."

"Sorry to disappoint," the attendant said with a smile, "this plantation dates back to the time of the American Civil War. Mr. Minaka saw it and bought it after it was restored. He wanted to use it as a getaway house, but set it up as a refuge and help center instead."

"I bet this place has a lot of history," commented Natsuo, taking a walk around the wraparound front porch. Another attendant was carrying in the bags from the Suburban. "Our stay will be only of a few days," she continued, "do you have No. 109's location?"

"Yes," he said, "she is a few hour's drive south, in New Orleans."

"Good," said Natsuo, as she returned, "I hope she's ready for her test."

"Because," said Karasuba, "if not, she will be terminated," stroking the scabbard that housed her kitana.

"Come," the attendant gestured, "you all must be hungry," as he guided them into the house.

The house was filled with the aroma of Creole cuisine, as Daryl whipped up one of his specialties, seafood gumbo with a side of beignets. The recipe he got from his family friend at the restaurant in the French Quarter. Shrimp, diced cod, and crawfish permeated the delectable dish as it simmered in the cast iron Dutch oven he was lucky to find at a yard sale in one of the nearby parishes. Humming a tune he was raised on expressing his Creole roots, he rolled out the dough for the beignets, cut them out and put them on a sheet to let them rise for an hour.

By this time, Omaha had finished a refreshing shower. Her hair let down, it was now wrapped in a towel, as an oversized towel covered her muscular torso, with only her massive arms and upper body shown. Even in this state, she was a sight to behold. Her full Asian features shone through her caramel complexion, indicating that she was no ordinary woman.

Heading to her room for a change of clothes, the smell of gumbo wafted through the house, and hit Omaha's nose like perfume. She closed her eyes, and inhaled the delicious scent. Then, she quickly moved into her room and hurriedly dressed, throwing on her new outfit that Daryl bought for her last week. He took the time to buy his Sekirei an entirely new wardrobe to wear, instead of the regular battle outfit she was given and wore all the time. His goal was to make her feel special, not just another useful robot. She meant more than that to him.

Heading down the stairs and to the dining area, she was met with the face of her ashikabi. Standing in the doorway, he smiled.

"Why in such a hurry 'sha?" he asked in his deeply rooted Cajun accent. Omaha blushed.

"I, uh," she stammered, "smelled dinner-"

"Com' on," as he turned around and walked to the table. There sat the Dutch oven, on a heating pad, with the seafood gumbo, hot and ready to eat. On the side, was a steamer of rice, white and fluffy. Omaha closed her eyes and inhaled the aroma. Then she heard a chair being pulled out.

"Won't do you no good if you don't eat it," said Daryl, who pulled the chair out for her to sit. The Asian smiled as she took a seat, and he made his way to the other side.

"Ladies first," he said, offering her to take the first serving. Omaha smiled and blushed heavily as she spooned some rice into her bowl, then some of the homemade gumbo. Blowing on it, she dipped her spoon into it and took a careful bite. The flavors from the aroma hit her tastebuds, as the cod, shrimp and crawfish melded together into a taste that was otherworldly. As he was serving up his portion, she got up and came around his side of the table, embracing him from behind.

"Oh master!" she said in excitement, "this is absolutely delicious! I love it!" nuzzling her face against his cheek. Daryl couldn't help but blush.

"Glad you like it," he replied, "I might have to make it more often."

She made her way back to her chair, to continue eating, as she carefully ate every bite of the gumbo, savoring each morsel. Despite being as small as he is, his appetite was only so much, as Omaha had two nice sized portions, leaving a good bit for leftovers.

A half hour later, the young Cajun and his Sekirei were sitting on the couch, she snuggled up close to him.

"You are a very good cook," Omaha said, cozying close to her master.

"I learned a lot from some of my family," he said, not realizing he was getting a bit hot and bothered, "it's a traditional Louisiana dish that can be made in different ways."

"While I was in Japan, all I learned was to make curry," she pouted.

"Hey, maybe next time, you could fix some curry, and I'll make some jambalaya to go with it. Deal?"

"Deal!" she eagerly said, as she turned towards him and hugged him around his neck. Just then, as she gazed into his baby blue eyes, she saw what she's been truly seeking, something that now had eluded both of them. As she peered onto his soul, she saw herself and him, closer that just master and Sekirei. Daryl, doing the same thing, had the exact premonition, as both moved their faces closer to the other's. Their lips met in a gentle touch, then locked in a bevy of passionate emotions both have been harboring in their hearts for some time. Daryl wrapped his arms around Omaha's svelte waist, as she motioned herself to lay him down on the couch, her on top, the passion growing thick in the room.

By this time, Omaha felt something poking her groin area. She broke the kiss,and gazed down, to see a nice sized bulge coming from her master's pants. Looking up at his face, he was flushed with embarassment, yet a hint of lust. She smiled.

With no words spoken, she stood up, bent down and picked up Daryl, and made her way up the staircase, and to their bedroom.

At the safehouse in Baton Rouge, one Sekirei suddenly had the urge to sneeze.