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Multiple Settings ㄒ卄乇 千尺ㄖ几ㄒ

e v i

e v i

i luv love
Roleplay Type(s)






ㄒ卄乇 千尺ㄖ几ㄒ
尺乇ᗪ 爪ㄖㄖ几 乃卂尺

A
CT I, SCENE I.
"AFTER HOURS"
October 5th, 2002. 5 AM, Tokyo, Japan.
Over a month after Saori's death.


Saori's death hangs over the heads of everyone as some struggle to maintain a steady work flow. It has been over a month since but no new answers or leads. Just the note in the owner's possession, the unknown cause of death, and an incredibly impersonal funeral just two weeks ago. No family in attendance of course. Just the bar on a September Sunday, their only day off. Now that "normalcy" is returning, the hitmen all begin to process: a rat? Among them? Someone responsible for their beloved (or not) Saori's death? With the people they normally spend the most time with, they discuss their thoughts. The who, what, when, where, why and how's.

Everyone performs their closing duties after a busy Saturday (4 PM - 4 AM hours). The General Manager and FOH Supervisor left around 3 AM, leaving Yoshio as the fill-in for the remainder of the night. Yuusuke was recruited to help Yoshio & Meifang polish the silverware and wipe down menus.

















 
Last edited:
"Hani"
The Owner
Amihan generally fucked off around business hours. When he was around, he was in the office with his signature black book. Names, addresses, numbers. All in undecipherable code known by him and only him. Hanzo invented the language. Maybe learned it from his own father. It was those scraggly lines damning criminals to their own violence that passed like kidney stones to the sole inheritor. While Kazuo and Kage were present employees in Red Moon, Hani ripped them from their Hell (he interpreted as such) that night for a very important meeting at Warehouse K. The car ride swelled with jazz from the radio and there was staunch tension between two men in the backseat who exchanged cautious glances. Hani was in a good mood, humming along and smacking the steering wheel off-beat.

Flanked by his former playmates, Hani pushed open the warehouse doors. It was dark, save for the anticipatory violet glow of his eyes. He shut and locked it once the light was on. In the middle of the bare concrete floor of the warehouse was a bald man tied to a chair. Naked. Tape over his mouth (with a frowny face drawn in marker on the tape), zip ties binding him to the legs of the chair. Near the side of him was Hani's table of tools. Normally interrogations were performed there -- for the sake of getting more names for Hani's book. The owner pulled out a candy bar and started unwrapping it, a small smile on his angelic face.

"So," he started off casually, the captive's sniffling and begging through his duct-tape starting to grind against the air --

"This is Araya Kenji. I saw him sniffing around Saori-chan's apartment a few days after she..." he stopped, watching pieces of his wrapper fall to the floor. The owner teared up, his voice breaking.

"It's so terrible. I can't even say it," he said, rubbing his temple. Something hurt there. Sometimes. Hani took a bite of his candy bar, pacing slow circles around the naked man. The stranger's chest heaved up and down considerably, and he tried to say things through the duct-tape, maybe striking wagers for his life, but it was all muffled. Hani blinked away his tears, watching him and taking another bite.

"Anyway," he started again with his mouth full, "I looked into him a bit. Bad, naughty family. Some indebted to the yakuza, in fact, quite a bit of them. Including this lucky guy. He started working for them, hm, quite a bit ago? As a handler to very, very unhappy-looking girls from… Taiwan? Was it? Dad must have sold him to that nasty business. I would have brought Masashi here, so he could have someone to relate to, someone to bond with, but that kitchen needs cleaning, right? Besides, this one looked like he was really happy — with those unhappy girls,” Hani speculated with a laugh, the hand holding his candy bar falling at his side.

“Kenji-kun claims he is an old flame of Saori-chan's. Which I highly doubt. He is very unattractive, especially after what I do to him tonight," the little owner claimed, intrigue in his eyes as he tilted his head once the man started hyperventilating through his tape. His crying eyes pleaded; they always did. Hani sighed after death-staring the man and sat down on his bare lap, facing Kage and Kazuo. The owner crossed one leg over the other and finished off his candy bar, a small smile on his face. There was a little bit of chocolate near the corner of his mouth. Hani could not look more immature if he tried. He pushed his glasses up.

"I missed you both by the way. It's been days! Thought maybe we all could catch up? How have you been, Kage?" he asked the guard dog first, a saccharine smile on his chocolate-stained face. Hani had a tendency to disappear for days at a time, but he was always cheerful when he returned. Especially to his old housemates.

leviohsa leviohsa Helioflos Helioflos
coded by reveriee.
 










scroll
shiraishi kage





Warehouse





Kazuo, Hani





e v i e v i & Helioflos Helioflos










Green eyes stared blankly at the naked man, Kage's face stoic as he listened to Hani's explanation. The man later named Araya Kenji made eye contact with him, a look of silent negotiation flashing in the victim's eyes before the blonde simply focused his gaze on Hani.

Calloused fingers twitched, instinctively reaching for a cigarette, and lighting it in a few fluid motions. The Owner's dramatics were nothing new for Kage, and he knew it wasn't for Kazuo either. Why Hani felt the need to bring them all the way here and not let them tend to their business, was plaguing his mind for the entire car ride, up until this moment.

“Kenji-kun claims he is an old flame of Saori-chan's."

Ah, another lead... Holding the menthol cigarette between his index and middle finger, he took a deep breath, his muscles relaxing within seconds. Another name to add to his list. But what was a woman like Akiyama-San doing with... this piece of shit?

Kage shared a look with Kazuo, knowing how passionate he was about finding this damned rat. He took another drag of his cigarette, before Hani commanded his attention again. "I missed you both by the way. It's been days! Thought maybe we all could catch up?" The Owner's post-hiatus glee is almost like clockwork, despite his usual erratic behavior. If there's any constant with Hani, it is that he's always cheerful after being away from The Red Moon.

"How have you been Kage?" The same as usual, as of late. Frustrated, dealing with paranoid gossip throughout The Front, employees letting their emotions impact their work in and out of the building, no-call no-shows...

But Hani didn't want to hear about that, not really. These were things that Kage and Kazuo dealt with, not him.

Exhaling another puff of his cigarette, Kage spoke up,
"I have been fine. Mostly training with Kazuo here on my aim during our free time. I'm tired of using my hands."
Looking over Hani's shoulder and straight down at the bald man, he continued,
"Though, I'm not afraid to make an exception tonight, if you need."
While Kage stood with perfect posture, and was dressed in a full-black suit, there was a dangerous tone in his offer that only made Araya Kenji scream some more under his frowny-face duct tape.



♡coded by uxie♡
 
Kazuo Matsuda
松田 和夫
Standing in the otherwise abandoned warehouse, Kazuo surveyed the scene before him with a detached sort of appraisal, the only show of his emotions a slight shift of his eyebrow.

His long hair was tied in a loose ponytail slung over his shoulder, amber-colored eyes peering through a thin pair of glasses. He was dressed in an expensive-looking suit, the dark grey– almost black– material spotless despite the long day of work, the pinstriped trousers still perfectly creased, and the matching tie exactly aligned. His expression complimented his outfit, both conveying a sense of utter professionality.

Not bothered in the slightest by the sight of the naked man tied to a chair before them, Kazuo’s eyes flickered briefly to Kage-kun, as the man lit his cigarette. The familiar smell of nicotine filled the air, and Kazuo’s lips turned upwards, a slight smile.

Almost imperceptively, his head twitched toward Hani as the other started talking– the only visible sign that he had even heard him. To those who knew him well– in truth contained to the two other people in this room– his reaction was evident. A slight intake of breath, a narrowing of his mouth, pressing down into a thin line, a clench of his right hand, as though tightening over an invisible knife. So… this Araya Kenji had known Saori-san.

As Hani proceeded to list the man’s misdeeds, Kazuo’s frown grew deeper.

His eyes, sharp as always, followed his boss’ movements, resulting in a slight eyebrow raise as the man plopped down onto the lap of their captured target. He sighed internally, and if he were a more expressive person, he would have rolled his eyes. Hani-kun had always had a flare for the dramatic, but Kazuo was rarely impressed with his antics.

He shifted in place. The banality of the conversation was getting on his nerves, not because he didn’t enjoy conversing with his two closest friends, but because the itch of paranoia was under his skin. It had sat there for over a month, ever since Hani had informed them of Saori-san’s death. A staged suicide– it set off all sorts of warning bells within Kazuo’s mind. The note found beside her was no better. Was it a diversion? A tactic from an outsider trying to sow chaos within their ranks? And if it were the truth, then the greater question still remained. Who was the rat?

Kazuo’s eye twitched. He would find them, whoever they were, whether one of their rank or not.

With a self-sure confidence, he sauntered forward, each step taken with a grace akin to that of a dancer. His eyes, half lidded, snapped to the tied-up man. The slug in the seat was still struggling, weakly sobbing against his gag, but that evoked no sympathy from Kazuo. He stopped before the odd pair, adjusting his cuffs.

“Hmm,”
he hummed, glancing over Kenji the way a butcher surveys a cow.
“So, indebted to the yakuza, is it…”
He murmured.
“From the way my friend describes it, you didn’t seem to mind that debt much.”


The man immediately shook his head, muffled yells escaping his mouth. Kazuo didn’t react.

“Do you know, Araya-san, what we do with people who make girls… unhappy?”
He paused, just enough to make the man sweat, before continuing.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.”


The man shook, tears flowing from his eyes, and Kazuo stepped back, feeling a bit better. He wasn’t usually one for psychological torment, much preferring to simply execute his job anonymously, but if Hani insisted on dragging him into these situations, the least he could do was oblige. Besides, it helped soothe some part of him that was still mourning Saori-san.

Kazuo’s eyes slid from the captured man to the younger one sitting in his lap. Spotting the chocolate on his friend’s face, his lips twitched with a contained laugh. With one smooth gesture, he plucked a handkerchief from his breast pocket and offered it to Hani-kun.
“Are you planning to play with your food, or are we taking the more productive approach?”
It was clear he wasn’t talking about the chocolate bar.

leviohsa leviohsa , e v i e v i
coded by reveriee.
 
Saturday, October 5th, 2002
Migiwa
Shinju
What do you see beyond that apartment window?

Gossamer curtains swaying lightly in the spring breeze beckoned her to take a closer look, yet her feet remained firmly in place, rejecting the gentle invitation. For a long time, she stood there. She numbly gazed into the cloudless sky beyond the open window, stuck at the boundary between the hallway and Shiori’s room accompanied only by a book she’d dropped by her feet.

Screams pierced through the air, and the wailing of sirens flooded the streets. Still, she didn’t dare look down.

Her mind abandoned the whats and whys, leaving only the question of whether this was the last thing her sister saw.

When news of Saori’s death reached the Red Moon, Shinju callously replied with nothing more than a nonchalant drag of the lit cigarette resting upon her lower lip. Time and time again, the world proved its many unwritten laws. It was always those positioned closer to the good end of the spectrum who died in the worst of ways. The ones who survived were scum like herself, continuing to pollute the earth with their existence.

A rat.

As Shinju wiped down one of the tables with disinfectant, the sound of hard candy repeatedly clicking against teeth faintly but nonetheless audibly followed her around. Sharp, sour notes prickled at the parts of her cheek she’d idly bitten at during her shift, but the distraction did little to alleviate her irritation. Things were always unnecessarily complicated at the Red Moon. This case was no different, and it didn’t help that that damned temperamental gnome of a boss was still being tight lipped about the autopsy report.

From her glimpses at Saori’s written orders and the brief look at her last note, it had either been penned by the server’s hand or a clever forgery. However, the why continued to loom over their heads.

While flicking the rag in her hand, Shinju straightened herself back up to move on to the next item on her itinerary. At least, she would have had it not for the sight of a certain person idling about that stopped her mid-turn.

Crack.

The sphere of lemon candy crumbled between her molars alongside the last of Shinju’s patience.

“Fuckin’ hell…”
Shinju muttered under her breath. If the already tense situation weren't bad enough, the attitudes of some of her coworkers were downright insufferable. What excuse did the little hypocrite have this time?

“Now that you have fewer responsibilities,”
Shinju spoke through grit teeth while snatching up the closest broom,
“at least do the rest of your job properly.”
And with that, she sent the broom in Kiyoko's direction with a flick of her wrist. Gently (by her standards), mind you. As much as she detested that skank whose level of delusion was inversely proportional to her work ethic, she just wanted to finish up what was already a disastrous shift. Of course, if it were any other day, she wouldn’t have been nearly as polite with her words, and that broom would have been sent flying.
#kiyoko
#yosuke
Code by Nano
 








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    lemon


    kenshi yonezu









    MASAMUNE




♡design by miyabi, coded by uxie♡
 
The Chef.
‟Rin”
The smell of disinfectant, mixed in with the heavy tension of the kitchen staff, made up the atmosphere in a surge of unnamed emotions—emotions all caused by the metaphorical elephant in the room.

A rat.

Her dark hair swayed slightly as Rin’s hands moved across the counter, the rag tightly held as it picked up the remaining pieces of dirt.

A red moon rat.

Her emerald gaze remained stoic despite her heavy lids. Rin recalled that day as vividly as any other memory. The silence, the thickness in the air, the look on that dwarf of a boss’ face. Not to mention, his two managers who always sniffed around him like his little guard dogs. Everything about the two’s demeanors was off. They kept up the facade of composure, but deep down that they knew they missed something. They knew that they weren't as good at sniffing out rodents as they thought.

And yet Rin’s reaction to Saori’s death was the same as her reaction to everything else in the world—a blank stare with a frown that tugged on her lips. Her mind abandoned the details, the who, whats, and whys, and only focused on the one thing that concerned her.

That woman is dead, and now I’ll have eyes on me. Hm. My luck.

Rin sprayed the stove, and with a flick of her wrist, more came to her mind. Saori was a woman dismayed by the path she walked. Her heart so brittle and frail, yet Rin never pitied her. When they first met, her interaction with the woman was the same as with everyone else, cold, blunt, and quiet. Since then Saori knew better than to waste the time of the Red Moon ghost. Others would say that the world she lived in just wasn’t made for her, but for someone who had to learn to fight in this world, Rin begged to differ. All her breakdowns ever did was lead to everyone scrambling to cover for her, while she took foolish escapades into that apartment of hers.

“There isn’t a time to cry.” Rin spoke with cold callousness, the look behind her lenses unwavering in the face of the woman’s tears. “Do your job like the rest of us.”

Those were the last words that Rin ever shared with her. And the next time Rin heard of her, she was dead.

[Bzzt. Bzzt.]

The electronic vibrations of her phone echoed throughout the room, interrupting her train of thought. Her gaze, once fixated on the task ahead of her, moved downwards as she reached to pull the wailing device from her back pocket. A text. Multiple.

…When are you coming home?

…Ryuko?

Shift’s over. I’ll be home soon.

…And how soon is ‘soon’?

She could feel her sister’s worry, even if it was just words written out on a dim screen. Rin’s finger lingered on the buttons, unable to move as she tried to muster up a response.

Whenever I decide it is. Go to bed.

A quiet exhale escaped her lips. If the complicated situation of the bar couldn’t add onto her stress, her sister would certainly be the one to do so. With the head chef’s voice piercing through the silence, Rin peered at him from the corner of her eye, a moment passing as he shuffled around before replying with a lofty nod of her head.

Her gaze settled on Masamune and the lone beer bottle in his hands. The bags underneath his eyes told her everything that the woman needed to know, though she knew better than to point it out. The head chef was always a second thought to Rin—he did his job, and didn’t ever bother her with his tendency to intrude. The same could be said for the man in charge of the back, though she had more grievances with him then she cared to admit.

One of the two would give her orders, she would follow them, and when her shift concluded, she left without so much as waving goodbye. Then she would be the first to return the following day. It was clockwork.

Straightening herself once again, Rin (after an unnaturally long time), finally glanced away from Masamune, not bothering to break the silence created in the kitchen.

Steve Jobs Steve Jobs CurryFlurry CurryFlurry
coded by reveriee.
 
"Hani"
The Owner
Through his thin-framed gaze, Hani's two oldest friends could see themselves in the reflection of his glasses if they looked close enough. The smell of Kage's cigarette spread throughout the room, and Hani used their captive as nothing but a chair still. His hands stayed politely in his lap. Kage. When Amihan was in a sensible state of mind, he wondered about the platinum-haired giant. The crybaby boy he used to cradle in his arms in a candlelit room. Kazuo was shown no such kindness, yet he ended up... more diplomatic than Amihan would care to acknowledge. The owner knew one thing about both his confidantes: they did not care for the silly mind games. An Epicurean lifestyle was one they were unafforded -- by the father who broke them in with such concussive force. They were changed men. They were his.

The little owner chuckled and gratefully wiped the corner of his mouth with Kazuo's handkerchief. He let his hand fall to his side.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Always business with you, Kazuo," he said with a dramatic sigh. But he was reasonable enough depending on the day. Kazuo was right, Kage was helpful, and Hani was eager. The man crawled off his lap and ripped off the duct tape. As if it were a dam, all tears and pleading burst through the captive's lips. Hani let him. He was quiet, and he reached up to tug the cigarette from Kage's lips. He took a long drag and exhaled the smoke from his nostrils rather, then handed it back to Kage.

"Alright, Kenji-kun. Let's talk," he said gently. Kazuo and Kage knew better than to believe his sweetness. If Kenji knew any better, he would fear Hani the most, but it was Kage and Kazuo who the bald man stared at in terror.
"I-- I swear, this is a misunderstanding. Please, please, you have to believe me! I have-- I have a baby on the way," he pleaded. Hani tilted his head in interest.

"And in which underage girl is this baby to be born from?" he asked, and the man let out a sound. Of despair, of fear.

"No. No. Please, please just listen to me. My-- my father sold me to the yakuza to be a handler. I don't enjoy it. I have a wife at home who I've known since-- since middle school. They've threatened her life, our baby's life, if I don't do this. I had no idea my father was embedded so deeply into this life. Before, I was an economics professor," the man explained frantically, red-faced, panting.

"But you looked like you enjoy it -- your line of work," Hani pointed out.

"I can't... stick out in a den of wolves. Their enjoyment is real -- mine is not. I promise. I- I swear. I take care of those girls as much as they will let me. Most of the time, I'm drunk at work to-- to deal with-- with it all," the man confessed and started crying again. And again, Hani let him. The warehouse filled with only the man's tears and sniveling.

"And Saori-chan? Your connection?" Amihan asked.

"My wife met her by-- by chance. In a grocery store. Last month. She told us everything. About-- about her occupation. Blue Man? Something or other. She told us... she could take care of it. She just needed time. She was sweet, she was so sweet, she sensed my wife's pain, I-- I--" he broke down again. Hani slapped the shit out of him, a resounding pressure in four ear drums.

"Enough of that. I don't like it," he warned him, taking a step back.
"Continue," Hani urged him.

"Yes, I-- I'm sorry. Um, Akiyama-san... She said it could be done by September 1st, and we waited. W- We waited. But I hadn't heard from her after that day, and that's when..."

"But you said she was an old flame of yours," Amihan said calmly.

"I said friend! FRIEND. You-- you heard flame," Kenji insisted.

There was a silence again in the warehouse. Amihan liked them. Silence was the best interrogator at times, as liars would fill the gap of conversation with more lies. Kenji did not. His bloodshot eyes stared directly at the owner. Sometimes challenging Hani's reality could either prove fruitful or disastrous. It seemed that night, he was calm and reasonable enough. The owner turned to his two friends.

"Do either of you buy it?" he asked lowly. It was very much in Saori's nature to sense when someone was unwell. She was attuned to people -- the most miserable kind of people usually are. She had done it in the past. Helped people who needed it. And a man being sold by his father to the yakuza to do their bidding... well, that was also a common story. Yet Hani wanted to know what his friends believed to be true. Granted they would never take a man's sole word for it. Even if Kenji told the truth, the decision was sealed. He would never see his wife or his child be born. It was concrete in Hani's eyes.

leviohsa leviohsa Helioflos Helioflos
coded by reveriee.
 



hayashi yoshio.





































  • mood



    distraught
















Despite their untimely deaths, Yoshio thought Saori's parents were lucky in a way. They'll never have to experience their daughter dying before them, and they'll never have to experience the beat down he would've given them for making her inherit their position.

It wasn't new for his colleagues' relatives, or any younger person, to fill out their roles after retirement. But Saori stood out because of how incompatible this lifestyle was for her. She was such a sweetheart, so much so that she couldn't stand watching anyone suffer, including those yakuza bastards that deserved it the most. Her time off was as erratic as her breakdowns, and when she crumbled, the rest of the staff was left to clean up the mess. To be fair, her only real strength as a hitman was her poison—a concoction so painless it could drop the toughest men without a struggle. Efficient, sure, but telling. She wanted even death to be kind.

Still, Saori was a bright spot in Red Moon. When Yoshio was hired in 1988, she was only twelve when she was already following her parents' foot steps. Even in a world stained with blood and brutality, she managed to bring a rare softness. It was such a shame that this poor girl didn't even get a proper funeral, let alone a proper chance at life; all because of her birthright and that damned rat on the loose.

Yoshio was already prepared to have at least one of his colleagues, including the ones he knew since they were young, get hurt or killed in the line of duty. Hell, he was grateful for managing to last so long himself. But for it to happen a few years after Hani inherited the bar/restaurant, with one of the staff being potential suspects, it felt like a betrayal deeper than any blade or bullet could inflict. There's definitely someone plotting against them but who? The Red Moon had enemies stretching back generations, both from Hanzo’s reign and Hani’s. It could be anyone, and that uncertainty gnawed at him like a festering wound.

Regardless of who was responsible for Saori’s death, there was one thing for certain: Yoshio wouldn't rest until he can lay his hands on the culprit.


Red Moon Bar had closed for the early morning, yet tensions in the bar/restaurant remained thick as the lingering scent of smoke and sake. Hani took out Kage and Kazuo away for "other pressing matters," leaving Yoshio to return to his old duties as Front of House supervisor for a short while. It wasn't as chaotic despite their absences being out of the blue, mostly because Kazuo was a capable successor that he's now working under.

After the clock stroke at 4:00am, he returned to the host stand to polish silverware alongside Meifang, a fellow hostess, and Yuusuke, who's been using him for his work (in more ways than one.) Yoshio's the one in charge of the knives—not because Mei or Yuusuke were unqualified to do so; far from it. Since some of the staff were already suspicious about the rat, he didn't want them to... demonstrate their skills when tempers were running high.

Yoshio carefully held each blade under the soft light, running a cloth along its length, removing every smudge and fingerprint. He felt the smooth metal gliding against the fabric, each stroke reflecting the tension lingering in the air. As he meticulously polished each knife, Yoshio's mind buzzed with questions that needed answers; he glanced at Mei and Yuusuke, wondering if they had seen or heard anything unusual in the days leading up to Saori's death. To be honest, he understood that as an older colleague, there were things that the younger members were uncomfortable sharing with. But he had to try.

He cleared his throat, breaking the silence that felt almost palpable between them.
"You guys noticed anything different with Saori-chan?"
he asked abruptly.

"I knew she had a couple of flings and all that, but there must be something serious that lead to her death. I mean, that note she left made it seem like it wasn't just planned. Any issues I wouldn't know about?"
































pretty old man



no buses










♡coded by uxie♡
 
mood :
Craving answers

location :
Red Moon
outfit :
mentions :


interactions :
comfortable comfortable iridescent. iridescent.
Sexy Bartender
Natsuki
The early hours of the morning were some of Natsuki's favorite, the dark provided a lovely blanket of secrecy that made his rather dull cleaning duties seem a little more exciting than they originally were. Each of the bartenders were responsible for cleaning their designated section of the bar in order to save one from feeling overwhelmed with their cleaning duties. His own reflection smirked up at him as it glistened, "Another job well done for Nana if I do say so myself. Considering how sticky these tables were, it's a miracle the last customers face managed to peel off easy." Prone for talking out loud as usual, Natsuki tossed the filthy rag into the used laundry bin on the other side of the bar.

A deep inhale could be heard throughout the bar as Natsuki allowed the strange tension to finally leave his body. He wouldn't consider himself as close to Saori as some of his other coworkers would, but the loss of the life of a trusted ally is one that weighs heavy on him. With his own family's twisted history of betrayal by the very yakuza that were once groveling for their partnership, it stirred a sickening cobra that rarely raised its head. Loyalty was a trait instilled within him since he was a young child and his father had a saying that spoke of often as if it were a mantra, 'Anyone is capable of evil deeds but only a truly despicable monster tears into the hand that supported them.'

Natsuki engraved those words into his very being and grew up only trusting those that had shown themselves worthy. The few instances where someone had betrayed him, he cut them from his life immediately along with his own idea of revenge. Natsuki would often collect evidence of their own trusted friends betraying them and send it to them, an eye for an eye he'd tell them. Plenty of relationships have been ruined by his immoral flirting and encouragement of cheating with him. Basic humans were nothing more than slaves to their own lust, so a little temptation went a long way with men and women.

Slight movement out of the corner of his caught his attention, it took a moment to realize that it was Umeko and Shintaro walking around the bar. His earlier question that was uselessly bouncing around his brain suddenly reappeared and he skipped happily towards his fellow Tenders. "Good morning Ume and Taro, since we're basically finished with the cleaning, I feel that we need to focus on what's really important. Which of our brothers or sisters would be foolish enough to betray the Red Moon family and assume that we won't hunt them down like the filthy vermin they are?" Natsuki's smile was chilling yet wide like the Cheshire eyeing his latest prey.
coded by reveriee.
 
mood :
here



--LOCATION HERE--

[/comment]here
outfit :
mentions :


interactions :
Steve Jobs Steve Jobs Frownist Frownist
BOH supervisor
Masashi

Masashi let out a heavy sigh, gritting his teeth as he moved another box in the walk-in fridge. The cold refrigerated air was doing its best to keep his mind numb, after all. All anyone could think or talk about these past few days was- Saori. Reaching for his clipboard he scanned the context of the box. Various root vegetables, cut meats, eggs, anything needed to keep the kitchen fully operational was in here. And he was just about done with the inventory. Putting the box to the side, he crouched down. Spray bottle in hand as he cleaned underneath the wired shelves. Making sure that even the metal grates had been stripped cleaned. His gloved hands moved in a circle, scrubbing the cracks of the floor as he tried to focus on cleaning. Anything to drown out the thoughts of what really happened. “Saori..” He murmured to himself, his eyes focused on scrubbing ever speck of dirt and grime off the floors. With a sudden pang of frustration, he tossed down the scrub brush and sat back on his heels, pulling off one glove to rub his temples. The weight of unanswered questions hung heavily in the air, like the lingering scent of bleach he had used moments ago. What had really happened? Why her? The rumors swirling in the staff room felt like a noose tightening around his mind, each version more explosive than the last.

Masashi, regardless of how he acted. Always had a soft spot for the younger staff members. A part of him just couldn’t help it, seeing them throw such a precious life away for this. Always made him feel. Bitter. But Saori was special, a breath of fresh air amongst the rest. While he was never particularly nice to her or anyone else in that regard. He could count back the times she offered to stay late to help him clean. How brightly she smiled despite being covered in grease head to toe. Or how she would talk about her dreams and aspirations outside of the bar. And for some reason, he always listened. Talking with her was easy, she was a sweet girl. One that should have never been a part of this business to begin with.

Though after her death, it was as if a target had been put on his back. His disdain for this job wasn’t a secret. After all he was bound here by the debt his father had racked up for him. Like a wounded animal with its leg caught in a beartrap, this was all he had. He could never leave, and biting off his leg would only result in. Death. Rumors of a rat spread like wildfire, anywhere from the customers to the host, all the way to the backbone of the bar. The easiest way to pass time was of course by gossiping, and Masashi had become a hot topic. It has to be him, he always hated this place. Who else could it be? Hushed whispers that would fizzle out when he walked past them. The bar had become a cage, and he was the only thing inside it to chew on. He could feel it in the way they moved around him, jittery and tense, like prey that sensed a predator lurking nearby. Rumors that followed him even back to his shared apartment. By some way or another, Masashi was the suspected rat. And it showed. Hushed whisper, quick glances. The feeling of thousands of eyes burning into your back. Sweat trickled down his neck as the thoughts swirled around his mind. Prejudice from his father was placed onto him. The comments of his father was a horrible man, it must run in the family. He’d always known that being the son of a notorious man came with its own set of burdens. But this? This was an entirely different beast—He grit his teeth scrubbing harder into the floors losing himself in the rhythmic motion. Rat, rat, RAT-

Masashi’s head snapped in the direction of a knock, his heart hammering in his chest, turning his eyes were met with blond hair as Masamune entered the walk-in. He let out a groan of displeasure when the man spoke. “I’ll be done in a bit, fuck off” Masashi shot back, the edge in his voice exposing the frustration he had been trying to suppress. His roommate was right, Masashi had probably been in the walk-in for a few hours now. Then again it was the only thing keeping his mind preoccupied. Moving a few boxes back to their respective spot he sighed inward, dusting his clothes off a bit as he cracked his neck. The relief filling his body as an audible sound echoed the room. God that was killing him. He tucked his clipboard under his arm, noticing the missing beer from his “write off section” that most of the back of the house used after a long day. This was one of those days. He swiped a can, cracking it open as fizzed up. He quickly nursed the can as he walked out of the walk-in. His skin slightly tingled as he was greeted with slightly warmer air, it felt as if he was defrosting. His eyes scanned the room, nearly spotless. They did a good job. Placing his clipboard down on one of the prep tables he pocketed his gloves, making his way over to the other two.

Placing a hand on top of Rin’s head he ruffled her hair lightly, looking down at her with a raised brow. “Good work, can’t say I'm surprised though. What’s on your mind kid? You look slightly more irritated than usual?” He commented lightly as he examined her face, despite the deadpan look in her eyes. It was clear she had thoughts on her mind, though in Rin’s case. It more likely revolved around her home-life then with kitchen affairs. He pressed his thumb down in between the space between her brows. Letting out a short laugh before moving his hand and walking away, his attention turning towards Masamune as his eyes examined the drink in his hand. “That’s your fifth write of this week” He said in an irritated tone as he snatched the bottle from Masamune’s hand. He took a swig, beer never tasted better than when it came out of Hani’s pockets. Handing the bottle back to Masamune he could feel the silence building in the room. Sucking his teeth he let out a statement. “I know everyone’s thinking about Saori’s death, it’s all anyone can ever fucking talk about these past days. But one thing needs to be made clear. With all this speculation I need you both to know,”

It was quiet, Masashi could feel the tension in the air. It became so thick you could practically swim in it. His eyes darted from Masamune, to Rin and then off into the distance as he stared into blank space. His mind was humming. “I am not the rat.” he stated bluntly. “If I hear any comments aimed towards me about that bullshit claim- Just.” He let out a sigh as he pinched between his nose bridge, trying to calm himself down from the rising anger. “We’re almost done, let’s just finish up so we can all go home.”


coded by reveriee.
 
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scroll
shiraishi kage





Warehouse K





Hani & Kazuo





e v i e v i Helioflos Helioflos










Kage listened to the man's story as much as he could, his disinterest plain as day in his features. A disgusted frown even tugged at the corners of his lips, quickly covered by his hand holding the cigarette he took a drag from. Kage did not know Miss Akiyama well. In fact, he considered her a nuisance. Always late, and when she was in the building, she was blotting away tears at the host booth and putting on a brave face. She brought the mood down during service, but she was also a listening ear. Even as General Manager, he knew how much she meant to so many of the staff at Red Moon.

But to believe she stopped a woman at the grocery store and offered help? That was a stretch. It prompted his eyes to narrow at Hani's question,
"Not all of it, no."
Kage's voice was a low, breathy exhale, pushing out a cloud of smoke that was even more noticeable in the cold.

Kage's answer prompted more screaming and pathetic wailing from the man, and it only irritated the blonde even more. Did he not have any dignity?

These Yakuza never did. Not really.

And that's what this man is. Yakuza.
"You wanna know what I think?"
Kage tossed the finished cigarette onto the concrete floor, stomping it out lazily,
"The story is very sweet. Poor Economics Professor and his poor, pregnant wife. Forced into a life of crime and sex trafficking. Maybe some of it is true. But do you really think Akiyama-san would completely tell a stranger of her work? It doesn't make sense. She was... emotional. But not stupid. Never blatantly ignorant of the dangers of her work."
Or was she? Her slipping up and revealing the nature of Red Moon would explain how an outsider knew about them.

Blonde brows furrowed in irritation, his gaze shifting over to Kazuo,
"You seemed to know her better than I. Am I wrong? Would she really be so..."
He tried to find kinder words for the dearly departed,
"Easily moved? Would someone actually admit to a cute girl in the grocery store that their husband is a sex-trafficking piece of shit?"




♡coded by uxie♡
 


mood
uneasy
location
the bar
Interaction
shinju
Tag
Nano Nano



The reality still felt so unreal. The idea of death was not one unknown or unexpected, especially to the workers of the Red Moon. Yet, Saori’s just felt wrong. Death should only come early to monsters, but the claws of fate had etched an unjust path.

Kiyoko’s eyes drifted to the front of the bar as if the girl she had come to know as a friend would turn up. As if someone had orchestrated an elaborate charade—a terrible prank that, while horrible, could be forgiven. She would forgive anything as long as it meant Saori was still alive.

No matter how much Kiyoko willed it open, the door remained closed, because Saori was dead, and the world had already begun to move on. The trace of her presence grew fainter every day, and no matter how much Kiyoko tried to cling to it, she knew it would eventually fade away. Her memory was one that only lingered within the walls of the Red Moon, but what if eventually they too forgot?

Without any care or warning, Shinju shattered her stupor. The sharp words of her coworker were nothing new, it was no secret the two simply didn’t get along. Conflicting philosophies intertwined in every fiber of their beings.

If Saori had been here, she would have already stepped between the two of them. Stopped whatever altercation had begun to brew before it even truly began, but Saori wasn’t here and Kiyoko was on edge in her absence.

Kiyoko clenched her fingers around the broom that Shinju had thrown at her, causing her fingers to turn white. “I’m only gonna work slower if I have to deal with your shitty attitude. Would it kill you to not be such a bitch?" She spat back, tossing the broom to the ground. "I wiped down the tables, I did my part."

Kiyoko stood, arms crossed, her eyes teeming with unchecked ire. Just as quickly as her volatile disposition manifested, it melted away. Replaced with a smile, lacking in any authenticity. Her voice, her words, it all dripped with sickly saccharine, but her words were anything but sweet. "Besides, Hani knows I don’t sweep.”
fujiwara kiyoko.
© reveriee
 
ishida takara

the honeypot
S
tanding in front of the bar, a bucket of soapy water underfoot, Takara cupped a hand around his lighter and desperately sought to light his cigarette. The air inside of the bar had been oppressive all night, and being outside didn’t make it any better. The ghost of Saori weighing on everyone like a spector even weeks after her death. Takara couldn’t blame anyone for feeling that way, but it made work much more exhausting than usual.

“Eh, Yosuke-kun can you help me out? I think my lighter is broken.”


Or maybe his limbs and hands were clumsy and tired from the fact that he’d spent all of his free time since Saori’s death investigating it to figure out what had really happened and who the rat really was. Not that he would reveal that to anyone, not until he’d found something and had the concrete proof to back it up. Throwing around the word rat at the bar was like throwing a grenade into a locked room.

Takara tilted his head up, giving Yosuke a pleading look as he waited for him to hopefully lend a hand.

“I don’t know why they sent us out here, this is not part of our job.”
He complained, taking a drag from his cigarette and squinting through the main window into the bar where the back-lit silhouettes of their coworkers moved around to try and finish up the closing work.
“Seems like busy work since the bosses are out.”
Takara said, blowing a sigh out from between his teeth.

He wrinkled his nose as the wind changed direction and blew the smell of smoke back at him. Adding another layer of it to his clothes and hair. A silly thing to complain about after being in a bar all night, but he shifted so that the smoke was blowing away from him once more.
“How would they even tell if we do it? Its too damn dark to tell, “
Takara joked, his tone bright and lighthearted as he winked at Yosuke from the corner of his eye.
“Maybe we can skip out on it.”
Hang out outside long enough to make it seem like they were working, and then leave when they claimed they were done without anyone being any wiser to it.

But to do that, meant that they’d need to kill time. Yosuke was not the most talkative person unless you were paying him. Yet that didn’t stop Takara from carrying on the conversation primarily one-sided.
“Or maybe we can sneak inside, steal a few beers and hang out in the alleyway.”
He joked, though the longing look he shot towards the bar showed it was maybe not as much of a joke as he made it seem.

outfit:
location:
out front of red moon bar

tags:
 








  • click here
































    lemon


    kenshi yonezu









    MASAMUNE




♡design by miyabi, coded by uxie♡
 
mood :
Irritated, but not showing it

location :
Warehouse K
outfit :
mentions :
Hani, Kage

interactions :
leviohsa leviohsa , e v i e v i
Kazuo Matsuda
松田 和夫
With that same stoic expression, Kazuo listened to the man blubber out his words, the sorry tale doing nothing to endear the criminal to him. His eyes flashed with disgust, lips curling, the longer he spoke. The look Hani-kun gave him, and the question preceding it, was acknowledged first by a tiny nod. Kazuo, like Hani, believed that the piece of shit dirtbag before him did not deserve to continue living much longer, no matter how much he claimed he was coerced. In Kazuo’s opinion, anyone who was a decent person, would not be complicit, much less, actively involved, in sexually abusing young women, especially not to save their own skin.

His fist tightened, perfectly manicured nails digging into the soft flesh of his palm.
“Their enjoyment is real, mine is not,”
Kenji had put it. The thought made Kazuo want to physically recoil. As if that was any better! As if that mattered to those girls.

But, he kept those thoughts private, as he so often did. Hani had not asked him for his opinion of the moral implications of Kenji’s story– no, he was after the credibility. Kazuo waited until Kage finished, mulling over his thoughts before speaking.

“Kage-kun is right. Saori-san was–”
He paused for a millisecond, considering his words. There was much he could say about Saori-san. She had been a silly woman, unsuited for their line of work, the type who tended to break under pressure rather than persevere. She had been a lousy worker, unreliable and unstable, much too emotional for Kazuo’s taste. She had also been kind, the type of kind that was rare to find in the world. She’d always made sure to talk to him, cheerful and unafraid, uncowed by Kazuo’s steely stare, asking about his day, and seeming as though she genuinely wanted to know the answer. She’d once asked him how he dyed his hair. He’d been so surprised that he’d ended up answering honestly. She’d come in with a pink strand on her dark hair the next day, and a smile on her face.

“– Caring,”
he finished,
“But not naive to the dangers of our world. Would she have been sympathetic to a sob story from a pregnant woman? It is certainly plausible. Would she have revealed the details of her career, and moreover, the name of her place of work– knowing full well how–”
His lips tilted up for a brief flash.
“–frowned upon, that would be? That, I find more difficult to believe.”


He knew that Saori-san had been friends with many of the workers of the Red Moon, and perhaps he could even count himself among those many. They had all been hit hard by her death, no matter how much Kazuo loathed to admit the weakness, and that companionship had not been one-sided. He could not imagine Saori running her mouth about these long-held secrets, knowing the danger it might put them all in should the information reach untoward ears.

“As for the wife– I agree here too. To confide in a stranger about your illegal troubles, and instantly implicate both yourself and your husband, seems to me somewhat far-fetched. Unless his wife is an incompetent idiot– I do not know.”


He sighed.
“But there is, I think, truth in what he’s saying. I do not know why a murderer would return to the scene of the crime only a few days after he has committed it. Besides, the yakuza is not so sloppy as to allow that.”
He pushed his glasses up his nose, as they had slipped down as he’d been talking.
“I would venture our problem goes beyond this low-life.”
coded by reveriee.
 
The Chef.
‟Rin”

The air in the kitchen shifted as the back of house manager made his presence known, though it did nothing to alleviate the suppressive atmosphere. As he approached Rin, the faint mixture of annoyance lumped itself in her heart. He ran his fingers through her hair so casually as if he didn’t have more looming threats to be concerned about. If it was any other day, she’d simply glance at him with a lack of care in her eyes—but the only thing that looked at Masashi was a piercing glare, one that lingered for an unnaturally long time.

Regardless, she didn’t say anything in response. With that familiar stoic frown, Rin continued on with her business, her hand moving to put the buzzing device into her back pocket. The two men’s conversation took up all the silence inside the room—chatter with underlying dour—though it wouldn’t take long for that feeling to rear its ugly head in Masashi’s speech. He spoke with blunt earnestness, like he had taken all the gossip to heart, and Rin couldn't blame him. With the way his voice boomed from even outside the kitchen, it’s natural paranoid thoughts would arise.

If only you spent more time working then yelling. It’ll do yourself a favor.

Nobody said he was the rat. Rin didn’t have any reason to think so, the old man couldn’t take a life even if he wanted to. Despite Masahi’s authoritative ways, the woman knew what it felt like to have eyes etched on your back, waiting for the next damning move. The head chef tries so hard to urge the kitchen to continue on—to not dwell on the death that befalls them—but at the end of the day, Saori was the weak link, and nobody could turn a blind eye to the weak link.

The last of her words were carried away by the wind, her face already disappearing from the memory of others, yet she still left that feeling that hung over their heads like a gallow.

Avoiding reality isn’t going to change it.

Her thoughts as fleeting as her attention, fickle as the two men’s conversation continued.

CurryFlurry CurryFlurry Steve Jobs Steve Jobs

coded by reveriee.
 
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Meifang 'Mei' Li


She hummed to herself, pulling a fresh disinfectant wipe from the container and dragging its chemical-laden scent over the glossy menu pages. Once upon a time, the restaurant had used paper menus to cut costs. That was, of course, until the utensil incident.

Management had learned the hard way that paper wouldn’t contain Meifang’s… creative tendencies. After that day, everything was switched to wipeable surfaces - just in case she decided to get a little too "artistic" with the tools at her disposal again. After all, they needed to give her something to keep herself occupied with.

What was the utensil incident, one might ask? Well, as the hostess, Mei had the perfect vantage point to watch the eclectic crowd that shuffled through the doors of the Red Moon Bar. Future targets, civilians, businesspeople, or names already on a hit list - everyone came through at some point. It was a complex, ever-changing audience, and Mei had made it a habit to watch them closely.

She studied their behaviors, taking mental notes. Some chewed with their mouths open, likely because their noses had been broken one too many times by their criminal bosses. Others spent the entire meal glued to their phones, probably texting their wives that they were working late at the office - while sharing dinner with a younger mistress. And some, poor souls, were just innocent foodies, drawn in by the allure of the restaurant’s famous dishes, only to get caught in the middle of something far more dangerous than a dining experience.

Mei’s eyes missed nothing. Every habit, every quirk, was filed away for future use - until one day, the urge to play with her “observations” got the better of her.

She’d noticed a man the moment he walked in - a suitcase in hand, sunglasses on despite the dim lighting, and a face mask pulled snug over his mouth. He carried himself like someone trying not to be noticed, the way a celebrity might slink through public spaces to avoid fans. Mei raised an eyebrow but didn’t react beyond that. It wasn’t an unusual sight.

After all, the Red Moon saw all kinds. There were always aspiring actors and actresses, convinced their next project would launch them into stardom, hidden preemptively from paparazzi that weren’t even looking for them. Models showed up from time to time too, paranoid their faces had become too recognizable from clothing store ads. And, occasionally, there were those who simply loathed social interaction - a sentiment Mei could respect.

But there was something about this one that made her pause. He wasn’t just avoiding attention; he was hiding. And that piqued her curiosity.

He was jittery the moment she sat him down, his posture stiff and avoiding eye contact - even though the sunglasses made it impossible to tell. His leg bounced under the table, and a thin sheen of sweat glistened at the back of his neck. It was obvious: he wasn’t just uncomfortable; he was hiding from something or someone.

She made a point to linger near his table, walking by a few times under the guise of offering water refills while the servers tended to the other guests. The first time, she caught the barest glimpse of his jittery hands scrolling through his phone. But it was on the second pass, as he fumbled with his glass, that she caught something far more interesting - texts. He was messaging someone, frantic and sloppy, asking if his tickets would be ready by the time he reached the airport. He wasn’t just anxious. He was running.

That’s when recognition struck - the twitchy man wasn’t just some nervous diner. He was on their list. And now he was at flight risk.

Oh, but she wasn’t worried. She enjoyed the tremor in his hands, the sweat gathering at his temples, the slight twitch in his jaw every time she moved past. Standing behind him, her gaze locked onto him like a snake tightening its coil. The red glint in her irises shimmered with the thrill of it, and her hand drifted closer, a fork gripped tight between her fingers, gliding toward his neck.

Not that he noticed. He was too absorbed in his own panic, too consumed by the need to flee. The fork inched closer, steady as a heartbeat, until it hovered just a breath away from his skin. One more twitch, and it would be over.

Then, she felt it - another gaze cutting through the room in her direction. Her focus broke, and she blinked, suddenly aware of how close she had come. The prongs of the fork were nearly touching his dorsocervical, her fingers curled in anticipation. None of the patrons had noticed, too engrossed in their meals, too oblivious to the bloodlust in their midst.

But someone had.

From across the room, Saori was watching her, the weight of that gaze heavy and knowing. The same Saori who, not too long after, would be found dead - just a little too curious for her own good. And, she was a snitch. She went straight to Hani, spilling every detail of what she’d seen. From that moment on, Mei was banned from touching the utensils. No forks, no knives - not even a spoon.

That was when management decided she needed to be given something to do during closing shifts. The menus, they figured, were the perfect outlet - plus, they looked much better this way anyway. It was a win-win, or at least that’s what they told themselves, hoping it would keep her entertained... and out of trouble.

In the end, Mei got to have her entertainment with the man. But the fact that Saori had talked? That stung. And for Mei, grudges had a way of lingering.

Mei never wasted time grieving over fallen coworkers. To her, that’s all they were - just colleagues. In this business, survival was the bare minimum. If they couldn’t make it, it only meant they weren’t good enough. She was simply incompetent at her job.

"I haven't noticed anything!" Mei answered with a upbeat smile, sliding the freshly dried menus into place. "I never really spoke with her, anyway. And you, Yuusuke? She was a server, right? Did you ever chat with her when she came by to pick up food?"







/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.
 
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CHEF
Yuusuke


It was rare to see Yuusuke outside the kitchen, even rarer to see him behind the host station. One look and you’d know he didn’t belong. Unlike Yoshio or Mei, his scowl would chase potential customers away instead of inviting them inside the bar. He felt exposed, working in an unfamiliar place with his knife left on the kitchen counter. The silver lining was that he needn’t scrape the oil and food built up on the stove grates or risk a pulled muscle trying to wipe the hard-to-reach areas of the kitchen. Polishing silverware was a much easier task, and a welcomed change. It was repetitive, monotonous, and it left his mind free to wander.

Of course, Yoshio just had to disturb the silence and open up a can of worms, disturbing Yuusuke’s peace of mind. Ever since Saori’s... unfortunate passing, their backend operations have come to a halt and Yuusuke was feeling restless. To openly admit that he missed going on runs made him sound like a crazy bastard, and maybe he was. He figured it was a pre-requisite to work in the bar. He and his coworkers have been in the industry long enough that blood started to be more of a nuisance than a cause of alarm.

Naturally, dying came along with the job. They all had a common acquaintance named death watching from the side. For some it was a rabid dog waiting for the right moment to pounce on them for scraps. Others believed it donned the face of their family, reaching out a hand to welcome them back home. Whatever it may be, the last thing they’d see was a gun pointed at their head if they were lucky.

For how often Yuusuke has thought about death, Saori’s still surprised him. A suicide, he didn’t expect, though he probably should’ve. He figured any normal person who lived the same life they did have considered it, but he already established that he was far from it. He supposed Saori was the most normal out of all of them. If anyone was to die through suicide, it would be her.

Yuusuke was more than content to leave Yoshio’s question unanswered, but Mei just had to pass it onto him. He was slightly irked, part of it was because now he’s forced to respond, and the other was from the nonchalant—almost dismissive tone the girl used when talking about Saori’s death which was a surprise to him. Not about what Mei did, no that was normal. What came as a shock was that Yuusuke didn’t realize Saori’s death affected him to that extent.

The girl was more than a familiar face to Yuusuke, that much he could admit with her being the main server he had contact with. That being said, he could count what he knew about the girl on one hand. She lived alone in an apartment somewhere, her favorite food was pizza, and that she never rejected his leftovers except for the day she died.

At first Yuusuke thought it weird but brushed it off just as quickly as Saori left the bar. He remembered eating the leftovers instead, which was a weird thing to recall, but it tasted off. As a chef who prided himself on his skill, Yuusuke spent the rest of the night figuring out the problem to hopefully make the next batch perfect. The dish was decent enough, a picture-perfect copy from the recipe book, and he wouldn’t have thought that there was something wrong unless he tasted it.

Maybe if he adjusted the temperature—how was your commute to work? —or added less salt— you shouldn’t eat too much of that stuff—or maybe he just needed to start from scratch—Saori, are you alright?—but it was already too late.

“We talked... sometimes. I didn’t notice—” Yuusuke paused, or didn’t care to notice, “—anything wrong with her the last time we spoke.” He realized he had been wiping the same glass this entire time, scratches replaced its once pristine surface before he put it back where it belonged.

“Although,” Yuusuke may not know much about her personal life, “It's obvious that there's something more to her death” but he studied how she killed.

People revealed their true selves at the face of death, and it was the same for the one holding the gun. It was obvious to everyone that Saori wasn’t meant for this line of work. Her choice of weapon was enough proof. Her hits were personal, similar to his. Where they differ was that he wanted the yakuza to suffer, and she wanted to let them down peacefully for some goddamned reason. It was painless from what she had described, almost like falling asleep. A permanent solace in the cruel world they were a part of. Her poison, no matter how much Yuusuke disagreed with its principle, was something to be admired. It suited Saori well and Yuusuke wondered why she didn’t use it instead.

“Saori may have committed suicide, or maybe she didn’t. I think there’s no point in thinking about it right now and we should just wait for more information.”

Would it be terrible of him if he wished it was a set up? That poor Saori didn’t commit suicide and was instead murdered before her body was left to hang on the ceiling for the flies? If it was the case—then maybe he wouldn’t have himself to blame—the suspects in the bar would’ve lessened. It certainly would clear Rin, his main target currently, as he didn’t believe the girl would resort to a gruesome-almost personal method after having worked with her on a hit before.

“Until then, just focus on cleaning up so we can go home just as fast.”

 
Last edited:
Saturday, October 5th, 2002
Migiwa
Shinju
The broom fell upon the floor with a hollow clatter, promptly answered by a sarcastic applause. Shinju’s slow clapping snapped through the tense air thrice, and the crimson gaze simmering with thinly veiled irritation grew sharp like the edge of a finely tempered blade.

“You wiped down a table? Amazing. Would you like a gold star for a job well done?”
Her tone, akin to a teacher praising a grade schooler, was starkly juxtaposed with her far less pleasant expression. In one step, she dropped her hands by her side and moved to retrieve the fallen broom with the tip of her shoe. A swift, backward kick gave the shaft enough lift for her to balance it upon the top of her shoe before she gave it another kick upward into her right hand. However, she made no move to sweep the floors.

“Maybe I wouldn’t be such a bitch if you did your fucking job, but sure. Thanks for the reminder. I almost forgot that bipolar Zacchaeus over there prefers filling his little rodent den with his pets instead of actually competent people.”
Shinju’s eyes flicked from the woman grinning like a opossum eating shit down to the broom secured in her hands. Pale fingers lightly trailed down the middle of the broom, inspecting the tool for any damage. After this conversation, she wasn’t keen on the head chef being on her ass again for breaking another broom, though it wasn’t even her fault.

“Well, since you’re so close, you can explain to Shiratori why the floors haven’t been swept.”
Shinju said while turning to put the broom back where it belonged. Whether or not that infantile mental case really went crying to Hani didn’t matter anymore. If someone complained about some dried ricegrains in an obscure corner of the restaurant, that was their problem.

Kiyoko. Takara. Saori.

Shinju’s grip on the broom tightened. They were insufferable, all of them.

The fact that the little goody-two-shoes who always seemed ready to jump out of her socks at the slightest of scares had disrupted her routine made her all the more an eyesore even in death.

“I swear, it’s like Uehara’s the only other server who doesn’t act like a complete parasite,”
she muttered to herself.

“If you’re going to stir things up, at least leave something more conclusive. This little mystery of yours isn’t all that interesting.”
#kiyoko
Code by Nano
 
Hani
The Owner
The man, his bare body shining under the warehouse lights, labored his breathing considerably. The owner was silent, poising a finger to his chin as he absorbed his two employees' assertions of the situation. Occasionally he would nod along or a furrow a brow, to show he was following. To show he cared, truly, what they had to say. That night, he happened to mean it. The young man pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his small face pensive. Kage was rightfully scrutinizing and suspicious. A loyal dog glued to his owner's flank. As if he would give anyone but Amihan the benefit of the doubt -- that went against his very training. And Hani could not have that. Likewise his pink-haired confidante, too, was a hair more objective on his cross-examination. At times, Amihan's sanity leaked through to understand Kazuo still had pieces of his humanity. He was not like Kage.

"Please! I- I didn't-- I didn't even know the poor girl was m- murdered!" the man insisted, and his tears glimmered with truth. Amihan only watched him, his fingers still taking hold of his own chin to mimic thought.

The autopsy reporter, a long time hired hand of the Shiratori family, indicated suicide was not the likely cause.

"Your baby," Hani finally murmured, his small voice casting a bellowing echo throughout the warehouse, "what will its name be?"

"W- What?"

"Your baby."

"I- Its name... Yuki," the man stammered.

"Yuki," Hani repeated and sighed, massaging his temples. Head pain was not new to him and contributed to his agitation some days. That agitation would be taken out on a select few employees.

"Good news is, Kenji-kun, I believe you. I don't think you killed Saori-chan," he finally said, walking to the table and plucking a handgun from the surface.
"Bad news is, I do believe you've brushed shoulders with the person who did. For that sin alone, you will be dying soon," Hani explained as if it bored him. He started to load bullets into the magazine. The small "click" of his motions were a violent duet with the screaming of the man in the chair. Pleading for his life, claiming all the plans he had, making promises, drooling and slobbering as it dribbled down his face and stomach. And then, in his final moments, anger.

"You-- you self-righteous pricks! Don't look down on me! You're no fucking better than me! You-- you kill people. You ruin lives too. You're a y- yakuza of your own. Who are you to deliver justice?! Your hands are just as filthy! And you small-dicked little bastard you--!"

"Hey, hey, hey, hey! How would you like it if I shaved yours down a few inches?! Fucking-- pot calling the kettle black," Amihan hissed through gritted teeth. His murder signature was performed promptly. The man's stomach was a large target, and Amihan pulled the trigger. Their captive flung back, screaming and hitting his bare head against the concrete. And there, on that warehouse floor, he would die in agony for a good hour or more. It always depended on the target. Normally, Hani liked to watch them die, but he instead sighed and leaned against the wall. He lit a cigarette, eyes drifting to Kage and then Kazuo.

"It's average," he murmured as the insult sunk in deeper. The owner shook his head fervently, taking a deep breath and another drag of his cigarette.
"Tell me," he finally said, raising a brow at his two employees.
"Who do you think is the Rat?"

leviohsa leviohsa Helioflos Helioflos
coded by reveriee.
 



上原 YOSUKE.





































  • the horseman



    wants to go home.
















Wipe.ㅤWash.ㅤWring.

Past the dim afterglow of what light was left glancing onto the bar's windows, Yosuke guided his squeegee across the borders before dragging inwards. Clockwork precision, even pace—sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he maintained the process for the past myriad of panes he had already finished cleaning while his coworker was busy rambling.

It was almost impressive how adamant the man was in getting him to talk. People often gave up after the first few quips lobbed at his stonewalling, but he was either the most oblivious sucker on earth, or he categorically did not care. Hearing him continue his prattling after the seventh dunk of his terry cloth had Yosuke swallowing the possibility that both could be true.

Of course, the server wouldn't have minded this as much as he did if Takara was also helping, but now he's out at the crack of god knows what hour doing work meant for two.

Wipe.ㅤWash.ㅤWring.

It wasn't as though he didn't agree with what the blonde was complaining about. On the contrary, Yosuke would have adored nothing more than to have clocked out before his bosses could have said even the suggestion of overtime (and on fucking window washing of all things).

All grievances were laid to rest at the mention of reimbursement, however, which meant that this had to be taken seriously.

Slacking was no longer an option. To Takara, maybe it was, but that just meant that he was now completely bereft of the choice. Leaving these windows alone won't just impact his paycheck; worse—it might mean being given more work, and he would rather be crucified.

He crinkled his nose almost reflexively, brows knitting at the honeypot's wink. He was too shiny, too bright that he almost needed to squint. Sunlight at the corner of one's eye; it was almost comically oppressive. There was grudging respect to be had in one's tenacity to be a pain in the ass, but he could spare no kind sentiment to someone who remains that carefree after what they've done and will continue to do.

Wipe.ㅤWash.ㅤWring.

The funny thing about blood is that it always smelled the same no matter who it was from. The stench clings stubborn, and floors and fabrics are never truly the same when it's left spilt and uncleaned for too long.

You learn that because it's always the same, it stains the same. So you'd have to wash it the same. The groove of a knuckle, the surface of a tabletop, the leather lapel of a jacket, the carpet of an apartment, the autopsy of a body—you've been in such a business long enough, you could feel it in your fingertips even when you were never there. It reeks, and it binds, and it takes.

Yosuke dips his cloth.

Wipe.ㅤWash.ㅤWring.

Wipe.ㅤWash.ㅤWring.

Wipe.ㅤWash.ㅤWring.

Wipe.ㅤWash.ㅤWring.

"Fuck it."
he sighs, running a tired hand through his hair as he stepped back from his work. He cocked his head back to lob Takara a withering look, but one that finally conceded.
"Ishida."
he finally called.

Seeing him cast such a longing glance at the bar almost made Yosuke reconsider ever entertaining his ideas, but he may as well now that he's finally broken the silence on his end.
"Get six."
he commissions,
"I'll meet you in the alley."


































malice at the pix









♡coded by uxie♡
 




















umeko ikamura

the bartender










Umeko stretched her arms above her head, a long yawn escaping her as she squeezed her eyes shut. Fatigue clung to her muscles; the night had been grueling. She rolled her neck, savoring the momentary relief from the dull ache that had settled there. The two bartenders had worked tirelessly, darting past each other like bees in a hive, leaving a mess in their wake. Now, with closing duties looming, she steeled herself. There was still so much to do.

How much liquor was left?

What needed restocking?

Had Natsuki mopped?

Did anyone else need help?

She spun on her heels, her ponytail swishing as she surveyed the tall glass shelves behind the bar. Grabbing the notepad from her apron, she methodically listed the nearly empty bottles. Kazou had enough on his plate running the front of hourse, so the least she could do was ease some of his burden.

The Red Moon’s staff operated like a well-oiled machine tonight, every movement smooth and precise. Yet, an undercurrent of strain lingered, the weight of loss pressing on everyone. Saori’s death, and the haunting words she had left behind, lingered in their minds like a shadow. Umeko found herself wondering what her mother would say in a time like this.

Her mother had despised treachery. And so did she.

Umeko frowned as she poured a mixture of bleach and water into the deep sink, then refilled it. Her gaze swept across the bar, noting the staff lazily wrapping up their tasks, chatting about the night’s events. She couldn’t picture any of them as The Rat.

Her eyes landed on Natsuki, his fiery red hair as dramatic as his personality. She rolled her eyes at his antics but couldn’t help a small smile. Typical. As she wiped down the bottom-shelf bottles, her movements slow and deliberate, her mind raced. She replayed the days leading up to Saori’s death, searching for clues.

Suddenly, Nat appeared beside her, startling her so much she nearly dropped a bottle. She shot him a narrowed glance and set it down carefully. "Almost done cleaning?" she asked with a teasing lilt. “Did you mop? Restock the bar? Cut lemons and limes?”

His questions felt probing, almost invasive—like he was voicing what the rest of the staff at The Red Moon had been thinking but dared not say aloud.

She didn’t want to answer. So she didn’t. Instead, she sidestepped him, resuming her work. “There’s more to do, Natsuki, than gossip about the death of one of our own,” she murmured as she moved past him. He was younger, five years her junior, and perhaps she was being too harsh. But people processed grief in their own ways, and she had never been one to talk about it so openly.

Silence settled between them, a quiet pause before she finally stopped, setting the rag down and leaning her hip against the table. Umeko exhaled, breaking the silence. "I don’t know, Suki," she said, crossing her arms as her gaze drifted toward the front of the house. "It’s hard. I still can’t quite believe it myself."























mood

pensive








outfit

here








mentions

@ Helioflos Helioflos








interactions

@ Shadow Alpha Shadow Alpha








♡coded by uxie♡
 
mood :
As happy as he can be.



--LOCATION HERE--

The Kitchen
outfit :
mentions :


interactions :
Steve Jobs Steve Jobs Frownist Frownist
BOH supervisor
Masashi

His gaze lingered on Masamune for a bit longer than he wanted, he hated admitting when the other man was right. The words lingered in the air, heavy with truth. At that moment, he could almost feel the weight of his own flaws pressing against him, threatening to suffocate him under their expectations. Still, he scoffed, unwilling to concede anything. He was right. The more he denied it the worse of a picture he painted for himself. He pressed his beer against his lips, his hands shaking slightly as he took a sip. “Fuck I need a smoke,” He hissed. It was of course easier for others to brush away such accusations so easily especially when it wasn’t pointed towards yourself. With a few gulps he polished off his beer, letting out an exaggerated sigh as he tossed his can in the trash. Crossing his arms his face settled into his usual scowl as he tried to ignore his roommates' other comments. Letting out a dry laugh he merely rolled his eyes. “As if yours are any better.”

His eyes darted around the kitchen, inspecting it slightly from where he stood. He didn’t have to worry much, after all with the crew he had now. That kitchen was always near spotless after their breakdown. Adjusting his weight as he leaned against the prep table as he sighed inwardly. Leaving late was normal, but leaving late with a staff of three for deep cleaning. Unheard of. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing back sweat soaked strands. The scent of bleach and various cleaners still lingered in the air, remnants of the hard work they all had just poured into deep cleaning the kitchen. The machines humming around them in an almost eerie stillness. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he let out an irritated sigh. God it was late. He’d have to visit her tomorrow morning before work.


“If you keep glaring like that you’re going to get wrinkles, kid.” Masashi shot Rin a look as he raised a brow. Her expression was always the same deadpan, but Masashi could sense the simmering annoyance beneath her facade. He could always sense it, in all the years he knew her he always had a hunch when she was irritated. Staying late would probably do it. “I’d love to send you both home, but unfortunately. Shiratori’s kid requires us to stay past our typical wrap up time.” He wiped his hands roughly against his apron as if almost trying to clean himself of mentioning the late “owner’s” name.

Letting out an exhausted sigh he pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’ve already pulled out the ovens, deep cleaned the grates. Not much else to work on tonight..Besides, I'm sure Yuusuke is pleased to have ditched on his cleaning duties tonight.” His eyes flicked towards the double doors that led to the main dining room, the one thing connecting the back of the house to the front. Clicking his tongue his gaze bounced between the pair before resting on Masamune. “What’s your plans for dinner tonight? You’re cooking.” he declared. Turning his gaze back to Rin. “And you, kid? Want to humor me and join your old man for dinner?” His tone softened as he leaned against the table. Trying to carry some manner of small talk between the two, any other day he’d let them both ignore each other as long as the job got done. But with the few moments of free time he had to spare, why not soften the harsh topics with- Mindless chatter, and mundane talks.



coded by reveriee.
 
ishida takara

the honeypot
S
ilence was hardly something that deterred Takara anymore.

He’d made his entire career in talking to people, and coaxing them to talk back. He spent countless hours bugging the people at the bar until they replied to him. Yosuke’s silence was hardly new, and if anything it just encouraged him to want to coax a response out of him all the same. So, Takara just kept talking.

Luckily for him, tenacity pays off.

“Yes sir, Yosuke-kun.”
Takara said cheerfully as the other server finally broke down and agreed to his inane suggestion. The grin on his face could only be classified as a shit eating one as he grabbed the bucket that Yosuke was using and dumped the rest of the contents out onto the street.
“I’ll be right out.”


Walking into the building, he let the bucket tap against the side of his leg as he strode behind the bar and crouched down to begin filling the bucket back up with water. While also depositing six cans of Kirin Ichiban that were within easy reach inside of it as well. It meant there was little water, but the bucket hit what he’d placed inside easily enough. Luckily the bartenders were busy on the other side chatting with each other about the rat. The conversation definitely piqued his interest. Yet, he had to decide between chiming in on gossip and taking the beers outside to get tipsy with Yosuke.

Squatting next to the full bucket of beers, he contemplated for a moment what to do before deciding that the choice was obvious.

Much heavier bucket in hand, Takara strode out from behind the bar, sinking at Natsuki.
“Yeah Nana-kun get back to work.”
He teased, grinning over his shoulder at the other man before heading back outside.

He nudged the door to the bar open with his shoulder before letting it fall shut behind him. From there, he casually strode over to the side of the building and down the alleyway where Yosuke had ducked into.

“Beers acquired. I hope you like this brand, it is my favorite.”
He announced proudly, bending down and putting the bucket at Yosuke’s feet before pulling out two beers. Holding them in one hand, he cracked open one of the tabs and let the foam run over his hand before opening the second one. He held his hand out for Yosuke to take one, before bringing the other to his lips and taking a long, satisfying drink.

“See, isn’t this much better than washing windows that no one will even bother looking at until it's dark again?”
Takara teased, leaning towards Yosuke as he spoke.
“Plus, you deserve it for doing all of that hard work.”
He wasn’t obtuse, he knew that Yosuke had taken on his part of the window washing as well, though he didn’t know why he even bothered. It had been nothing more than busy work assigned to the pair of them. But, Yosuke did always seem to want to wring every dollar that he could out of this place.

He was able to keep his mouth shut long enough to drink his beer in companionable silence, more interested in finishing it and moving onto the next one than anything else. The empty can was chucked into the recycling out back along with everything else.

“You really should relax more, though - you take too much overtime.”
Takara declared as he went to open a second beer, gesturing to open one for Yosuke too if he was ready.
“I can help with that. I know all of the best ways to unwind.”
He offered, looking up at Yosuke through his lashes with a playful smirk before standing up right to hand him the second beer. Everything had been so tense in the bar in the last month - for good reason, he know - but it was going to wear them all down fast if it kept up.

outfit:
location:
out front of red moon bar

tags:
 
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