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Multiple Settings ㄒ卄乇 千尺ㄖ几ㄒ

Koba
The Dishwasher
Mind games were all colors, all swirls of beautiful disfigurement. Rorschach tests. Subjectivity failed to hold his interest. Masamune called out to him, and for once, he did have one idea. His gaze rested on Amihan. The little creep's eyes shamelessly lingered on the nape of Meifang's neck and then back down to the candy in her palm. Then, he felt something in his own. He looked down at a mint, the only candy he could stomach. The taste was sharp, fresh, clean. He unwrapped it and popped it in his mouth. Maybe it would help with the stench of the body poor Masashi had to break down in the corner. Hierarchy-wise, front-wise, Koba was the lowest of the low. A dishwasher. While Masashi was higher in rank, yet he lived under the boot of Amihan. The owner had the gall to force him into degrading tasks before their very eyes, and Koba wondered what he asked him to in private.

He made eye contact with Masamune once more. It was longer than usual, as if trying to gauge if Masamune was on the same page. The smart thing to do was ask. Where Rin was a silent tundra, Koba was a remote desert. Sun and sand. Welcoming for a time, until thirst and boredom broke you down. Only strong men survived.

“Guess I’ll be seeing you all—or some of you, in the restaurant.”

They exchanged a glance, and Koba followed his friend. He gave a respectful bow of his head to Masamune. The Head Chef would never let Amihan's taunting go too far. Masamune had always been vocally against the owner's abuse on his "bad days". As they walked outside of the Warehouse, they left behind the smell of deceit and decay. Only the mint filled his senses.

"Thank you," he said to Yuusuke. For the mint, for the departure of the Warehouse, for the unspoken belief Koba was at least not the Rat, it was unsure of what he thanked him for. But it was important to Koba enough to speak aloud.
coded by reveriee.
 






ㄒ卄乇 千尺ㄖ几ㄒ
尺乇ᗪ 爪ㄖㄖ几 乃卂尺

A
CT I, SCENE III.
"AN ENVELOPE"
October 8th, 2002. 10 AM.
Three days after Araya Kenji's death. Over a month after Saori's death.

Takara investigated his lead with Natsuki: 209-1019, Minamitanaka, Nerima-ku, Tokyo. What turned up was a flower shop, old-fashioned with an elderly couple running it. It was modest and small, tucked away in the metallic and industrialized growing city. It was reminiscent of countryside simplicity. A break from all the business suits and flashing lights of Tokyo. The sweet old lady, who limped to the front desk to tend to the men.

Meanwhile, an envelope arrived at Red Moon, and Amihan opened it with Masamune (who was there to plan/swap out the seasonal menus) and Yoshio (who was there to put old menus away). What he saw in the contents sent him into a destructive rage.

Kage was a master of killing and even more so combat, but this could not possibly predict a syringe to the neck from behind. Kiyoko was only witness to it. He was giving her a scathing performance review on October 7th when two figures in black poisoned him and tried to take him. Her gunshots thwarted their efforts, and though she shot at their car while it was driving away, she was left with Kage feeling fainter by the second. So she called another big guy to help her: Masashi. And she knew that beaten dog would not refuse her, lest he face the wrath of Amihan. So, they lugged Kage to his home. Determined the poison was a mere sedative (for his size, maybe a horse tranquilizer). And stayed with him to the moment he woke up.

Kazuo is suspicious of Meifang for reasons unknown. In a public place for coffee that morning, he decides to speak with her. To gauge her. He knows women are Hani's weakness, and there can be no room for weakness in Red Moon.

Koba saw something he was not supposed to see October 7th while a duo tried to apprehend Kage. Koba saw something, and it has spurred him to talk to the one person he knows could not give less of a fuck about Red Moon. Most importantly, about the owner.

Yuusuke has had all he could take. No killing since Saori's death? He was on edge. His fingers itched to strangle, to pull a trigger, to wield a knife. Anything. That morning, he set off into the seedier parts of Tokyo's cities to search for a victim (only one affiliated with the yakuza). But Shinju would not have it. Shinju disliked the disruption of order. For back-up, she took Umeko with her to stop Yuusuke.


















 










scroll
shiraishi kage





home





kiyoko & masashi





CurryFlurry CurryFlurry & ven ven










Where am I?

Kage let curiosity and survival override the incessant pounding in his skull, a low groan escaping his lips. At least, he tried to. Everything was... foggy. Wasn't he supposed to be doing something?

Kiyoko's voice, tired and faraway, clued Kage's foggy mind. Right... a performance review. The blonde clicked his tongue once,
"Damn.. you'll do anything to escape a write-up, huh?"
His voice was low and groggy, his own lame joke making him chuckle dryly to himself.

Then, his body recognized the plush leather couch it had sunken into. It was his couch. Even though his limbs felt like lead, he reached out to his right, his hand making contact with the glass coffee table.

Yeah, definitely home.

He barely remembered how he got here. There are snippets of grunting, groaning, some curses. However, it was only when Kage rubbed at his eyes and blearily blinked them open that he realized Kiyoko had help. Masashi's help, specifically. The realization alone made the wry smile fall away from his features.

Masashi. Such an angry, resentful employee, and for good reason. Kage wasn't an idiot, he knew that this wasn't done out of the kindness of their hearts, but he was thankful all the same. Despite the flicker of gratitude, it was quickly overshadowed by his own frustration. His inadequacy. If Kiyoko hadn't been there, then what the hell would have happened? Who else was compromised? Did these mysterious attackers take a shot at Hani?

"Someone explain to me what the hell happened, now."




♡coded by uxie♡
 
mood :
Calm and unbothered

location :
A cafe
outfit :
mentions :
Meifang

interactions :
Dicentra Dicentra
Kazuo Matsuda
松田 和夫

The street was busy, people rushing past, heading to work after their lunch break, or hurrying to get to the shops. It was noon, and the sun was shining in a clear blue sky. Down on the street, crammed between two other buildings was a small, cozy cafe, several tables set out outside it’s premises where patrons could enjoy the fresh air. At one such table– the one situated toward the back, with the best view out onto the street itself– sat Kazuo, dressed in a sleek grey suit, his jacket draped casually over his shoulders.

He’d chosen this table deliberately. His own chair faced out, while the second one stood on the other side, which meant it’s occupant would have to face their back toward the street. It was a subtle move, and had it been made by someone else, the choice might have been put down to chance.

Upon the table stood two cups. One, still steaming, held Meifang’s drink of choice– Kazuo had already ordered for her, of course. The other, directly across from it, Kazuo slowly sipped from, a delicate tea held within. His golden-hued eyes scanned the street before him, and each time a passerby went before him, his eyes followed them until they disappeared. It was not paranoia– not when it was justified. Anyone could be a yakuza spy, from the smiling, red-cheeked couple walking down the street, to the elderly woman plodding along, to the young mother with her two children. And Kazuo was not so arrogant as to consider himself infallible and dismiss the possibility that he had been followed. No one was exempt from the scrutiny. There was simply no room for mistakes.

But, that had been the reason he’d chosen this cafe, and this table. He’d visited here before, not enough to be seen as a regular, but certainly so that his presence did not seem unusual in any way. The cafe itself was tucked in between an apartment complex and a laundromat, and the outside seating of the tables meant that the atmosphere was loud enough that a single conversation would easily get swept up in the noise. Then, of course, there were always the benefits of meeting in a public space. He had wanted to see how Meifang would react.

“Anything I can get you, sir?”

Kazuo glanced up at the intrusion. The waitress stood before him, her mouth pulled up into a professional smile. She was a pretty thing– short-cropped brown hair, expressive eyes; her uniform crisply creased. If he had been someone else, he could have seen that being appealing. His lips twitched up in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes– not that the waitress would notice.
"Thank you. Some more tea, if you could."


She nodded with a smile and went to refill his cup. He inclined his head in thanks to her as she turned away to attend to the other customers. His hands were crossed in his lap, one leg swung over the other, his hair swept back in a loose ponytail, today. His eyes traveled to his wrist where a simple watch was fastened. He’d arrived early, of course, but the time was ticking nearer and nearer to their agreed-upon meeting, and yet Meifang was nowhere to be seen. Still, he knew she would show up, eventually.

With a small sigh, Kazuo once more lifted his cup up and took a sip. Patience was a skill he had honed long ago. He would watch, and he would wait.
coded by reveriee.
 
ishida takara

the honeypot
W
hen he had revealed the note to Hani, and the distance it was from the bar, there had been some initial trepidation in sending him there. Takara knew why. It was outside their usual territory and venturing completely into unknown waters. There was simply no telling what was waiting for them at the address, and whoever went would be too far away for the usual back up.

It was how Takara scored not only Hani’s favorite car, but the company of Nana to go with him.

Car keys in hand, he sauntered up to the bar and dangled the plastic baggie with the note in front of Nana’s nose.
“I have a lead. It is a bit of a drive - but I got Hani’s convertible to take us there.”
He announced in a cheerful voice, eyes twinkling with mischief, as he handed over the note for Natsuki to read and get a better idea of what he was being dragged into.
“I don’t know what is on the other end, but that is Saori’s handwriting and that autopsy report gave us less than nothing.”


He knew that Natsuki would agree, so when he did, Takara could only grin.
“If this all goes well you can drive the car on the way back.”
He teased.

The drive to the address was filled with the radio being turned up to full blast on Takara’s favorite station. The blond gleefully singing along - sometimes poorly - to the popular songs that played. To anyone looking in from the outside, the pair looked like a couple of carefree young men out for a drive. No hint of their true task in their demeanor or looks. Even though the handwriting of a dead woman was tucked into the pocket of Takara’s jacket, as close to his heart as it could get.

Their flashy car immediately stood out as they arrived at the neighboor the address was in. Takara pulled up the hood and exchange a look with Natsuki.
“Why in the world was Saori here. It wasn’t for a job.”
He questioned, having cross-checked with Hani and Kage to make sure first thing. She didn’t have any known acquaitences here either, at least none that anyone at the bar knew of. It made this entire area even more suspicious. Takara did not want to think that they were walking into a trap. But he had an uneasy feeling regardless.
“Stick close together when we get out of the car? Just in case?”
He suggested, not necessarily worried - but unwilling to put Natsuki in danger of this lead.

As they pulled up to a flower shop that seemed entirely out of place, Takara exited the car and locked it behind them.
“Flowers? Did Saori have a girlfriend we didn’t know about?”
He asked idly as they approached the front door.

The inside was old fashioned and well-worn, but clearly well cared for at the same time. The smell of bright, fresh flowers filled the small space and Takara did not resist taking a deep inhale.

“Good afternoon boys, how many I help you?” The soft, sweet voice of an elderly woman came from the backroom as she slowly shuffled towards the front desk. A warm smile on her face.

Takara was immediately glad it was he and Natsuki that came, two people with a lighter touch. If this was really just some grandmother running a flower shop, he didn’t need any of their more headstrong members trying to bully her.
“Hello ma’am, I was actually hoping you could help us with looking up an order our friend ma -”


Before he could finish, the door to the shop slammed open hard enough for the old woman to flinch and the door to slam off the opposite wall. The source of the commotion was three men, dressed in stereotypical yakuza cheap suits and sneering faces.

“Oi, woman. You didn’t pay your protection money this month.” One spit out, barely looking at Natsuki and Takara. “Pay up or you know what we have to do.”

The old woman shuddered with fear, looking nervously at the men and then Takara and Natsuki. The worry was evident in the lines of her face. “We paid what we could.” She explained weakly. “We have nothing left.”

Following her gaze, the yakuza looked at Natsuki and Takara and sneered. “Clear out you fairies, we’ve got business here.” He ordered.

At that, Takara turned and looked at Natuski, his eyebrows raised. He knew exactly how he wanted to handle this issue.


outfit:
location:
flower shop

 
The Chef.
‟Rin”

The conversation on the phone was brief. A single text sent by the silent dishwasher.

‘Coffee shop?’

A moment of prolonged silence urged the sending of a second message, ‘Saw something. It’ll be worth your time.’

Koba knew Rin was prone to ignoring whatever messages were sent to her number if they were deemed an encroachment on her time, idle chatter was something the four-eyed chef was known for not entertaining. If he couldn’t catch her attention the first time, then any other attempts to reach out were left without response.

But luck was on the man’s side. Emerald eyes traced the electronic screen of the phone, the brisk clicking of the buttons cementing themselves in Rin’s ear as she typed up a simple reply.

‘Sure.’

. . .

Rin arrived before him. The familiar scent of coffee graced her nose, almost serving as a welcome to the quaint shop. Several tables were sprawled across the floors, and Rin in her usual ways, picked the one farthest from the lingering bodies—the one ensconced in the back.

She settled in the chair closest to the back wall, her gaze occasionally dashing to any waiter who had begun to approached her table. Before a greeting could leave their lips, Rin, with a flat tone, would wave the intrusion away, never bothering to continue the exchange further.

She hates the taste of coffee. Koba should’ve known.

Nevertheless the low murmur of the shop continued. An accompanying ambiance as the thoughts flowed through Rin’s mind, she crossed her arms as her view remained fixed on the entrance.

Despite the blatant disregard she had for the bar, she still held a level of curiosity; curiosity only rooted in whether or not Rin had become the next subject of the bar’s whispered rumors. Koba was the listening ear, the one who spent more time listening than rambling on with his peers. He was approachable—closed off—but easy to vent to regardless. That made him the easiest to draw anything out of.

Rin was sure whatever he decided she ought to hear would be important. If it were any way related to the scenarios she made up in her mind, then even more so. With one leg resting over the other, she waited.

Finally, the door swung open once more, a familiar tall figure emerging from the bustling morning streets. A deft wave of her hand caught the man’s attention, and as he began to approach, Rin spoke to him plainly, “If you want coffee, order it now. The waiter won’t be coming to this table.”

e v i e v i
coded by reveriee.
 
Last edited:
Hani
The Owner
He was there in the office for a less administrative purpose than he'd liked to be. Maybe one of his apartments did not suffice, and he wished to see Kazuo, but the man claimed he had "business". Kage and Kiyoko did not answer their phones, which was odd. For them. He would have investigated more, but he assumed both were sulking due to not having any action since Saori's death. A cigarette hung from his lips as he started to sift through the stacks of paperwork. Conversation was sparse. Maybe Masamune and Yoshio deliberated about the menu change. Maybe the apathy from the Owner himself of service quality was a damper in the cramped office. Cramped only with all three of them. The ash of his cigarette fell on a bill, and he tossed it aside for Kage's eventual attention to it.

Another bill. Another. Spam mail. Maybe one of them muttered about setting off the smoke alarm, but Amihan paid it no mind. His thumb paused over an envelope, and he raised a brow. A frowny face was on it, two dots for eyes and a sad line. He opened it and tugged out three papers. Pictures. Small polaroid pictures. Hani pushed up his glasses and stared a long while, the cigarette burning away, pieces of its corpse dribbling down to the desk. He blinked.

"What the fuck?" he said quietly, and then he screamed it, jolting maybe his two employees from their focus.
"WHAT THE FUCK?!" he screamed, standing and kicking the desk down. The contents fell off, a pile of mess and papers and menus filling the floor.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me. You've gotta be fucking -- FUCK!" the small owner exclaimed, throwing the photos and denting a nearby metal bookshelf with his fist. Files fell, the ones Kage probably organized by date.

On the floor lived the photos. Three photos of Uehara Yosuke. One photo of him alive in some warehouse, his hands tied behind his back, staring tensely at the camera. One photo of a gun pointed at his forehead. The final photo was his body, eyes open wide as the contents of his head leaked out onto concrete. In the compartment of the desk was a butcher knife -- not quite his style -- but he brandished it and pointed it at the Head Chef and former FOH Manager.

"Did you do it? Did either of you do it?" he asked frantically, his eyes wide with madness.
coded by reveriee.
 
CHEF
Yuusuke


The Yakuza were a disease in Tokyo's underbelly, but Yuusuke would consider them more similar to roaches. Once he crushes one under his foot, hundreds come out scattering from its corpse like a plague. They were never-ending and similar to him; death was as natural to them as breathing. One or two missing people shouldn’t cause too much alarm. Yuusuke made his way towards the red-light district, hoping to scratch an itch like most of its patrons. But unlike them, instead of the cheap thrills and the smell of even cheaper perfumes, his body craved for something deeper. Still, the sun was just about to set, and it seemed like he was too eager to satisfy his needs. He had waited weeks for this moment and he could spare a couple more hours. The streets became livelier as the sun continued its descent and when the sky was completely dark, dazzling lights filled the area as if the day hadn’t ended at all. Yuusuke, now holed up in a random alleyway, surveyed the area for a potential hit.

He shouldn’t have to wait long. His target wasn’t the one that would frequent the red-moon bar. Instead, they were the collectors, the errand boys at the very bottom of the food chain. The ones that could only hope to buy a couple of minutes in a whorehouse. And just like fate, a burly man with too much confidence—for someone who didn't last an hour, comes out of the building opposite of the alleyway he’s posted at. Yuusuke was too familiar with their kind, how they walked in the middle of the road without a care and their eyes—like the barrel of a gun with how they stared people down like it was a threat. There was also the glimpse of a tattoo on man’s nape, not fully colored and making him the perfect target.

The man made his way towards the alleyway he was in and Yuusuke kept his eye low to the ground. His heart mirrored the hasty steps of his target, and it took all his willpower to stop himself from reaching out to his knife as soon they were in front of him. The smell of alcohol and cheap perfume filled the air as the man moved past him before turning a corner.

5... Yuusuke eyed his surroundings one last time and he thought he saw one or two familiar faces, but the man was too excited to care.

4... The knife was a comfortable weight in his hands. Freshly sharpened and shined just for this moment.

3... He could hear a sigh of relief as he neared the corner accompanied by a harsh stream splattering against the wall.

2... Yuusuke was at his limit. The pressure that has been building up since Saori’s death was threatening to burst out beneath his skin. The tease of a desire he could almost taste but was always just shy of his grasp.

1... He neared the corner, his body winding tighter and tighter until—

 
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