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Multiple Settings ㄒ卄乇 千尺ㄖ几ㄒ




hayashi yoshio.





































  • mood



    vengeful
















Yoshio sucked his teeth in frustration as he worked the cloth over the knives' gleaming steel. It looked like there wasn't much for him to guess a motive. And if there was, clearly Mei and Yuusuke weren't going to share it.

He had a feeling that Hani taking Kage and Kazuo out within the last hour of work had to do with Saori's death. But until he actually reveals the autopsy results, the remaining employees could only speculate who the rat might be. Yoshio was especially wary of how easily tension was spreading among them now that the "back business" was on hold.

The three people currently polishing silverware and menus had one thing in common: they love making the yakuza feel pain. Mei had a bloodlust that eclipsed his old partner, and her pleasure in torturing her victims was so fervent that it almost leaked into the front business. But that didn't mean Yuusuke lacked the same sadistic streak—he was just better at containing it. Yoshio wouldn't be surprised if either of them began to experience withdrawal symptoms after a month without slaughter. Or maybe that was just him.

Though the Red Moon Bar grew more hostile than it usually was, Yoshio was still confused about the circumstances of Saori's death. He doubted that any of his colleagues would be sloppy enough to leave evidence, especially since most of them were trained to be as efficient as possible. It would've made more sense if they quickly disposed her body before rigor mortis could happen. Even if the killer did want to make a statement, she was just a sweet and sensitive young woman, not a "valuable target" as much as he hated how dehumanizing it sounded. If anything, poor Hani was the biggest target out of all of them, judging from how everyone's livelihood was tied to him.

With Saori gone, who will be the next victim? The question gnawed at Yoshio, a relentless specter haunting his thoughts as he polished the knives, each stroke feeling heavier than the last. Ever since he started working at the Red Moon Bar, he swore to remain there until every loose end was tied, every threat extinguished, and every debt paid in full. But with her death, it was only a matter of time before they came for the rest of them, destroying the foundation that Hanzo built from the ground up. And he'd rather have the rat pry the truth from his cold, lifeless hands than allow them to take anyone else.

"Welp, I just wanna make it clear that I'm not blaming anyone for what happened,"
Yoshio declared,
"You guys mean a lot to me, and I'm not gonna let that rat tear us from the inside out."


He abruptly placing the knife down on a cloth splayed on the host stand, making sure it was far enough for none of them to quickly reach.
"Even if some of you did hate Saori-chan, which I understand given her work ethic, I doubt any of you would overlook that letter if you did kill her. And besides..."


Suddenly, Yoshio wrapped his arms around Mei and Yuusuke's shoulders, before giving both of them an enthusiastic squeeze. The grin he wore was forceful and excited, stretching wide across his face like a coiled spring ready to explode.
"Once the back business reopens, I bet there'd be plenty of targets lining up for us to hit. Haha! Whaddya think?"
































pretty old man



no buses










♡coded by uxie♡
 


mood
uneasy
location
the bar
Interaction
shinju
Tag
Nano Nano


Kiyoko groaned, a mixture of boredom and frustration. The day had gone on for far too long. It was already grueling as Saori’s death hung heavy and oppressive over their heads, but, this only made it worse. Any other day, and other time, Kiyoko would have let the bitter words slip from her lips.

She hardly cared if she upset the uptight and self-rigorous Shinju. In fact, she quite enjoyed seeing the irritation blossom on her coworker’s face. It was just another thing to happily regal to Takara during one of their afternoon gossip sessions.

Yet, at the mention of explaining the situation to Hani—whose name she had thrown out first to gain an advantage—any semblance of winning this minor spat began to slip.

Guilt swelled in her chest as the fire in her began to dwindle, quelling enough that the raging flames no longer clouded her vision or decisions. There was no use burning out now, for something, no, someone, so trivial.
The words, which were once coated in pungent vitriol, died on her tongue. Hani had plenty on his plate, and just this once, she’d grant him the mercy of not adding more.

“Whatever,” she said, her words simple and dismissive. Her stomach twisted in this minor concession as if she had suffered so great defeat by allowing Shinju’s words to push her into actions she didn’t want to take. Actions she wouldn’t take, in the circumstances, weren’t what they were.

Kiyoko forced herself into action before the flames roared to life once again. Exasperation escaped her with an exaggerated huff. Kiyoko pushed past Shinju, not sparing the girl a glance. Snatching the broom that had been put away, making a show of sweeping, with flamboyant and exaggerated movements that did little to actually clean the floor.

She bit her lip, feeling the words that bubbled in her throat, as they pushed to be spoken whether she liked it or not. “You don’t have to be so sensitive, you know? It’s not a good look.”
fujiwara kiyoko.
© reveriee
 








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    omoide


    suzuki tsunekichi









    MASAMUNE




♡design by miyabi, coded by uxie♡
 










scroll
shiraishi kage





Warehouse K





Hani & Kazuo





e v i e v i & Helioflos Helioflos










"Please! I- I didn't-- I didn't even know the poor girl was m- murdered!" The familiar echoes of anger began to writhe its way through Kage's gut, making his jaw clench, his hands still at his sides. He knew the man was telling the truth. That he was simply in the way. But, God, was he putting himself on a pedestal.

Green eyes observed Hani's theatrics, then narrowing once the naked man began to slobber all over himself, revealing the ugly truth underneath the ignorance. Kage never understood the need or want to hear the Yakuza talk. It was tiresome, and always the same. When he was barely an adult, he liked to pummel his fists into his victim's jaw until it was broken, their tongues unable to form words. Anything to get them to shut the hell up and pay for their misdeeds. Memories flashed as Hani's bullet was fired, forcing the naked victim farther away from the trio.

The blonde didn't even flinch, used to the sounds of Hani's kills. It took a lot to get any of the two employees standing there to react to much, these days. It was Hani's voice that willed Kage to come back to reality, his gaze leaving the pathetic, screaming mess across the room to focus on his slightly offended boss. "Tell me. Who do you think is the rat?"

Kage stayed silent for a beat. Let the question hang in the cool air in the warehouse. Did he really have an answer? No. He didn't. Hani won't be impressed.
"I have been wondering if there even is a rat."
Kage's voice was low, tired.
"How do we know that it wasn't one of our newer recruits getting sloppy? Leaving traces? Regardless.."
Kage lit another cigarette, the habit gnawing at him as he recollected his thoughts on his number one stressor.
"It is a lot more complicated than it being just one of our own. And Red Moon is getting restless."


That is all Kage knew, really. Anyone could feel how tense it was at The Front. Paranoia is growing, and if this wasn't settled soon, accusations will be made. Lives will be taken. Kage took a drag of his own cigarette, before looking over to Kazuo expectantly. He was always the more level-headed of the three, and the General Manager knew that he might have a more definitive answer. Although, with how anxious he has been, maybe he didn't.

The thought alarmed Kage, though he would never show it. Kazuo tended to have an answer for everything. He was a constant. To see him falter is... unnerving.



♡coded by uxie♡
 
mood :
Impeccably serious

location :
Warehouse K
outfit :
mentions :
Hani, Kage

interactions :
leviohsa leviohsa , e v i e v i
Kazuo Matsuda
松田 和夫
He had been expecting this. The gunshots echoed out in the large and empty space of the warehouse, and it was as though Kazuo could still hear them long after they subsided. The chair had been sent backward, their target along with it, left to die slowly and painfully. Kazuo would have shot him in the head, personally, but he knew Hani-kun liked to let them feel the last minutes of their life.

“We will need to clean that up,”
was the first thing Kazuo said once both Kage and Hani turned to him. He had listened to both of them speak, silently taking in the information, and forming his own thoughts in the meantime.
“His blood will soak into the floor if we leave him too long.”


Practical thoughts, practical actions. Much better than speculation. It felt as though all he had been doing these last few days was speculating.

He sighed. He knew what they wanted to hear. He would indulge them.

“We cannot take any chances.”
He uttered, eyes still fixed on the dying man.
“If there is a rat, they must be found. So our only option is to operate under that suspicion. Otherwise, we leave ourselves vulnerable. You understand, that is not something that we can afford to do. Give the Yakuza an inch and they will leave us slaughtered in our sleep.”


Taking a pause, he adjusted the sleeves of his suit, ran a hand over the fabric in a way that helped ground him. His gaze focused on Hani, something in his expression softening for a split second before the cool and collected mask of indifference settled once more over his features.
“Beyond us all, it falls to you as the owner to investigate.”


He swallowed. This part was difficult for him to say.
“You cannot exclude anyone based on your personal feelings, Hani-san. Not even the two of us.”
His eyes flashed up to Kage-kun, a silent apology. He didn’t want to suspect the boy he’d grown up with. He didn’t. But he was practical. They couldn’t leave any stone unturned. He had to suggest it.

“The employees are feeling the uncertainty. The death of Saori-san,”
His voice very confidently didn’t waver on her name,
“Has shaken the trust and morale of the group. I think you must remind them that you can keep them safe. Perhaps even imply that we suspect the rat to be an outside influence– lull them into a sense of safety even if it isn’t something we can truly provide.”


He looked away.
“If even one of our own decides it is too risky for them to stay, they might jeopardize the whole operation. The rat might run. Others might fear being caught unjustly, and lash out. What we need is their compliance. Then, and only then, can we investigate…”

coded by reveriee.
 






ㄒ卄乇 千尺ㄖ几ㄒ
尺乇ᗪ 爪ㄖㄖ几 乃卂尺

A
CT I, SCENE II.
"CAT ESCAPED THE BAG"
October 6th, 2002. 6 PM, Tokyo, Japan. Warehouse K.
A day after Araya Kenji's death. Over a month after Saori's death.


Operations ran as normally as 5 AM bled into morning light. Once finished with their tasks, employees went home and spent their free time in whatever way they chose. They had Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday off, and it would not be filled with back business assignments -- all of it had come to a halt. They were ordered to lay low, meaning murder was strictly forbidden. Sleep would be the wise decision to fill their free time. However, they each received an individual call from the owner from the span of 4 PM to 5 PM with instructions that could not be defied: meet at Warehouse K, 6 PM sharp. Once they did, dressed comfortably and out of uniform, they were greeted with two sights that would stun the ordinary citizen -- if only they were that. The now pale and bloated body of Araya Kenji, naked and dragged in the corner, leaving a trail and pile of blood. And in the middle of the room, a table with minimal refreshments and snacks. Mostly candy, Hani's favorite kinds. They were half eaten anyhow. The little owner stood before his employees, and he announced what they all had been wanting to hear: the autopsy results.

The letter was written. Then, alcohol (presumably champagne because of the half-empty bottle on the table). Sleeping pills. A bath. Strangulation marks. A staged hanging. All in that order, and then Amihan arrived 45 minutes later.

An undisclosed network of grunts who owed their life to the Shiratori family figured the cause of death and held the body on ice until the funeral, once all her secrets were extracted. All but one. The big who. His eyes glazed over the crowd. He did not take Kazuo's sound advice; he wouldn't be him if he did.

"A good question. Is the answer in the room?"

And with that, all but a few loyal hounds were dismissed. Front work exclusively was to resume Wednesday. There was an itch to kill. As dense as he was received, Amihan could see it in the faces of his employees -- as a mirror staring back at him.

















 
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    山崎まさよし


    Masayoshi
    Yamazaki









    MASAMUNE




♡design by miyabi, coded by uxie♡
 
CHEF
Yuusuke


The soft bubbles of a simmering pot of water along with the sizzle and crackle of oil filled the room as the smell of freshly grated ginger stung Yuusuke’s nose. Even on his break, he was stuck in the kitchen, and he found that he didn’t mind it as much. His... withdrawals were getting worse, especially when he’s in his room alone with his thoughts so he figured cooking a meal would at least keep his hands busy and mind focused on something else.

Which was the reason why he currently has a chicken on the cutting board and other pieces of meat on the side, already butchered. At first, he thought butchering pork would do the job and help him get his mind off things. They were similar enough to the Yakuza, hearts a carbon copy of the other with their greed and glutton. They also seemed to squeal like pigs when met with Yuusuke’s knife. It did little to satisfy Yuusuke’s urges, however. Then was the satisfying crunch of chicken bone being split and separated but it still wasn’t enough. Their meat, too pale in comparison and the butcher beforehand already drained it of its blood. Usually, he kept a clear boundary between his work as a chef and as a butcher, but Yuusuke could see his cuts get sloppier by the second, knife cutting with the grain instead of against it. With each imperfect slice he could feel his annoyance grow and his grip tighten further.

A call, and after looking at the name, Yuusuke didn’t expect that there would come a day where he’d be glad to see Hani’s name on his phone. It was rare that he picked up on the second ring, even rarer that he uttered a simple ‘Thanks’ before hanging up. When he received the order to report to the warehouse, his excitement grew, and he went back to cooking with the hum of a random tune he heard on the radio.

The clock hits six and Yuusuke has been waiting near the vicinity of the warehouse for 30 minutes. The other members of the staff have already arrived, notably Masamune along with Masashi getting off the same car. Yuusuke followed shortly after, and the smell of the place hit him before he could even reach the entrance. He tried breathing in with his mouth instead, but the stench was so rancid that he could taste it in the air, almost making him gag.

The sight of the bloodied body disposed on the side made his heart race, however. It's been a while since Yuusuke saw a dead body and his eyes lingered over the figure of the man, trying to determine his cause of death. With Hani involved it wouldn’t have been a quick death, something they had in common. He could imagine the man beg for his life if his tongue wasn’t cut off in the beginning, his eyes frantically looking around for an escape before realizing that it was all hopeless. He wasn’t even graced with the sight of the night sky before the life behind his eyes disappeared, only the rotting ceiling of an abandoned warehouse where he’ll lie forgotten.

Yuusuke could feel envy simmer beneath his skin.

Still, they were there for a reason and Yuusuke redirected his eyes back to Hani, waiting for the big announcement. Finally, at the reveal of Saori’s death, Yuusuke let out a sigh of relief. The knowledge that Saori didn’t commit suicide lifted a weight on his shoulder. It didn’t matter if he tried to reach out more, or if he asked how she was doing. It wasn’t his fault because she didn’t take her own life.

With the more detailed autopsy, Yuusuke would wonder about the goal of the murderer. They weren’t even sure Saori was the one who wrote the letter. For all they knew it was the rat who did it. And if Saori did write the letter then why didn’t they remove it from the scene?

Yuusuke nodded in agreement with Masamune’s sentiment, “Which in itself is a clue, probably.” He then made his way towards the table filled with refreshments and grabbed a mint candy before popping it inside his mouth. The instant relief from the stench of the place was a welcome change.

“How sure are we that it was a rat and not some random Yakuza wanting to stir trouble inside the restaurant?” Yuusuke continued. All he knew was that they needed to find whoever did it, whether they were a rat or not before things could go back to normal.

 
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Sunday, October 6th, 2002
Migiwa
Shinju
A sharp, mechanical singing pierced through the veil of Shinju’s concentration—or rather lack thereof based on the thick stroke of ink running from the middle of the paper onto the wooden desk below. As the hand holding onto the brush remained suspended in the air, she contemplated leaving both the mess and the call behind in favor of crawling back to bed for a nap. Though time had already inched its way to the boundary between the afternoon and evening, it was clear she hadn’t gotten enough sleep the night prior. However, upon seeing the caller ID flashing insistently on the small display etched into the outer shell of her phone, she groaned. Dropping the brush onto the now ruined page, she removed the stick of candy in her mouth and snatched up the phone with her other hand.

By the end, she almost wished she hadn’t picked up at all. The call offered the information that would either fan or settle the unease slowly percolating under the skin of this damned organization of theirs. Yet all that she seemed to get out of it was that Shiratori was a bastard who had neither the manners nor the mind to call for meetings ahead of time. Really? Expecting punctuality when giving merely an hour’s notice in advance?

Funnily enough, these frustrations of hers would be quickly forgotten upon stepping foot into the abandoned warehouse.

82 seems like he’d eat lunch next to the corpse he embalmed if he were a mortician

Ignoring the heavy atmosphere, the black-haired woman deftly clicked away at the buttons on her phone before saving the note and sliding the flip phone back into her pocket. The rest of the briefing went about as expected: the revelation of the autopsy report and murmurs of the supposed rat in their midst. She had a few ideas on why someone from the red moon would murder Saori, but…

“If this was how they left the scene of the crime, they either get off on playing weird mind games or are horribly incompetent at their job. Were they even trying to make it look like a suicide? The bar is doomed if people like that were employed,”
Shinju spoke up to no one in particular as she placed the remnants of her cigarette into her ashtray pouch. If this was the performance of the average member of the red moon, they would’ve been discovered a long time ago. Surely there was no one this foolish and overconfident.

While snapping the pouch shut, Shinju turned her head toward the person standing next to her. Then, she made a face.

No, there actually was someone exactly like that. Though she doubted he was the rat the brass were looking for given his personality. Still, he was living proof of the type of people gathered within the Red Moon.

Taking her eyes off of Natsuki’s face and planting her cheek in her hand, Shinju sighed,
“You know what. Suddenly, I’m having an easier time believing that maybe there really is someone that stupid or perverted at the bar.”
#natsuki
#kage
Code by Nano
 
Hani
The Owner
Amihan liked Meifang since high school and elected she stand next to him during the announcements. He liked most of the women at the bar and loved women in general. They normally smelled floral, and he was interested in their nails. How glossy and neat they could be. How most women he met were manicured down to the finest detail. Not even an eyebrow hair could be out of place -- and if it were, it went unnoticed. It seemed their grooming habits were an inward decision, not dictated by the ravenous stares of men. As they stood there, his gaze lingered on her arms. How soft they might be. A small part of him wanted to touch her hand, and he was sure she would let him, but he didn't. He instead watched the group of employees further deliberate about Saori. His eyes fell on Kage, who absorbed something (presumably critical) Shinju said while that idiot Natsuki stood by as well.

His biggest concern was a crumpled up corpse in the corner. Hani sanitized his hand with a small travel-sized bottle in his pocket, let it dry, and plucked a snack he knew Meifang liked from the table. The owner gently took her hand just as he wished to do earlier and poured a few contents in her palm. He stood close to her, and he stared blankly at the corner for a few moments. Specifically, he wanted Masashi beside him too, a deviation from his usual request for Kage to be at his flank. Maybe Masashi stood there wondering what the hell Hani wanted, but for a price, he would wait. There had been a pressure in the owner's head, and he looked down at his spit-polished shoes (courtesy of some slain yakuza).

"Masashi," he finally said, in between chewing the shared snack with Meifang.
"Can you break down poor Kenji-kun over there?" he muttered, picking up a heavy toolbox and throwing it to Masashi. He smiled at him, but his eyes failed to follow suite.

"How's your mother doing? Haven't had the chance to visit her, but I've been thinking about her," he said coldly. It seemed that day he was calculated and distant. Tomorrow, he would probably be different.
coded by reveriee.
 
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ishida takara

the honeypot
O
ther people may have slept and relaxed with their newly found free time, however Takara was not sitting idly by this time. He had dates to go on, people to meet with, and a murder to look in to. None of which would wait for him if he decided to laze about in bed.

He was in the midst of one of those things when Hani called him. Despite his lackadaisical attitude, Takara never ignored a call from Hani. Which meant his plans were cut unfortunately short.

“Well, maybe we’ll get to play more next time.”
Takara said as he hung up the call and dropped his phone back onto the bed.
“Duty calls. See you very soon”



He arrived just in time, slipping into the warehouse and standing between Yoshio and Kazuo. His nose wrinkled as he caught sight of the embarrassing array of snacks and drinks that Hani had brought, not even blinking at the bloated and decomposing dead man in the corner.
“He couldn’t splurge a little?”
Takara complained, crossing his arms over his chest and letting out a sign of complaint before Hani began to speak.

Saori’s death made no sense.

The wrinkle to Takara’s nose returned as he thought more on how nonsense Saori’s death was. Whoever had killed her either couldn’t make up their mind, was a psychopath, or was incompetent like Shinju said. It was hard to imagine anyone in the bar as incompetent, though. If they were, then they would be long dead. Which just added another layer of mystery to the matter. Was this stage? Was Saori’s note stage? Takara had so many questions, but nothing that Hani was telling them provided him any of the answers that he wanted.

Hani asking if the killer was in the room was in poor taste, but all Takara did in response was roll his eyes. He wasn’t sure if it was a joke or meant to unsettle whoever had done it. Either way, Takara didn’t care for it.

“We all had to come here for this?”
Takara muttered lowly.
“Is he trying to use a scare tactic, on us?”
A bunch of trained killers and assassins. If they were so easily rattled they wouldn’t deserve their jobs. Or to have lived this long. Yet, maybe that was what Hani hoped for, that whoever did it was on edge enough to be affected.
“I’m going to put extra hours on my timesheet to make up for this cutting into my free time.”
He declared.

However, since it was just him, Yoshio and Kazuo standing together right now - and he trusted the pair - he decided to dive a bit deeper into his own investigation.
“We’re assuming the letter was written by Saori-chan, right? And not a forgery?”
He questioned while pulling a plastic baggie out of his inside jacket pocket and handed it over to Yoshio.
“Does this look like Saori-chan’s hand writing to you? I think it is - but she didn’t write much for me.”
Yoshio had been there a long time and Kazuo had been their boss, if anyone would know her handwriting it was them.

The note itself was not very long. Just a scribbled down address on a piece of paper from their notepads that he’d found tucked in a locker. Clearly written in Saori’s hand, and new enough that it hadn’t been cleaned out by one of the kitchen’s usual deep cleans.

209-1019, Minamitanaka, Nerima-ku, Tokyo

outfit:
location:
shitty warehouse

 
Koba
The Dishwasher
Koba slept most of dark morning away. It was a strict routine where not the slightest bit of deviance could leak through. Leave from his shift, return to his stepmother awake in the living room, greet her, undress, shower, apply the same lotion on his hands he purchased since starting his position, dress, and then sleep until 13:00. Then, he would sit with his stepmother and have the lunch she prepared strictly tailored to his tastes. He despised pork. He hated leaking oil. No, he required steamed mackerel, precisely 8 ounces of rice, green (and only green) steamed vegetables, and a soup. Broth only. Water or barley tea, unsweetened. He stared into his plate, estimating, counting, and all was well. Koba ate with the woman who chatted about her sewing club and the women at church and their scandalous grandchildren.

Then, he watched TV and digested. Just as he dressed to go to the gym, Hani called him. The little man. If Koba and Kage were the intimidating Doberman dogs everyone claimed them to be, Amihan Shiratori was a yapping, pathetic chihuahua. Those silly videos he saw on TV sometimes of tiny dogs thinking they were big dogs. He answered and was to be at Warehouse K in an hour. Warehouse K was only five miles from his home -- he could make it without a car and then ask Masamune or Yuusuke for a ride home. So, he ran there. Arrived with a thin layer of sweat. A red nose. And he made it just in time for everyone to gather inside. There was a body. A tray of snacks which disinterested him. And the two people he found familiarity with, especially Yuusuke. Koba stood beside him, listening to the Head Chef and Chef.

Masamune was close to Saori. Koba was sure he saw her as someone lost. The opinions of the server were not mysterious to the dishwasher, who always listened and remembered. Rin found her weak and irritating. He was sure Yuusuke liked her a little more than Rin did but way less than Masamune did. Masashi? His eyes trailed to the grey-haired BOH Manager being presumably commanded by Amihan. He did not kill her, Koba thought, thinking back to his display the night before. He vehemently declared his innocence. Koba did not know his situation entirely, but he could see in the eyes of a man who had a lot to lose. That was how Hani got you.

Yuusuke had a mint, and the sharp smell of it provided a thin layer over the smell of blood and shit in the corner. Koba raised a brow, and his stare trained on Amihan, as if the sight before him was disgusting. Not the body, not the taunting of Masashi, but the owner himself. The staff being so loyal to the family for all those years and then it being implied they killed their own... left a bad taste in Koba's mouth.
His eyes said it all to Yuusuke and Masamune.

What if this idiot is involved? None of this shit ever happened with his father as the Owner.
coded by reveriee.
 
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mood
uneasy
location
warehouse
Interaction
rin
Tag
Frownist Frownist


Kiyoko hadn’t taken a proper vacation—at least not in the past three years—and while this time off from work was mandatory rather than for pleasure, it felt all the same. She was irritable, fearing that her patience would run thin for those she considers friends, which rarely happened. Who would expect her to feel any other way? Sure, Amihan knew what he was doing, and they really should lie low, but the evil men who taint the city of Tokyo would only further their reach each day the Red Moon remained inactive.

Her phone rang, and she flipped open her phone, her stomach jumping at the sound of Hani’s voice, and she held her breath as she waited for him to give the order that would allow her to realize this unease that had settled within her body. Instead, he requested her presence, and she felt whatever happy emotions dissipate.

Clicking off the TV, she silenced the reality contest show that had done little to distract her. She had two hours before she had to get there. If she was leaving the house, it wouldn’t hurt to do a little shopping first.

🩸🩸☺️🩸🩸​

It felt as though Amihan’s mission was to make her day terrible. The news of Saori’s murder sat heavily within Kiyoko’s stomach, trapping her in her spot. The reality felt worse, the somber feeling that had lingered since her friend’s death felt tenfold. Murdered. Someone murdered Saori. The knife that had found its way into her heart upon the initial revelation of Satori’s demise once again twisted, opening up old wounds and making those that had yet to heal worse.

Kiyoko’s vision doubled, and it suddenly felt as if she was breathing too much air and too little at the same time. Could it really have been one of them that did it? A rat?

If a traitor was among them, then no one was safe, and the integrity of the business would be balancing on a thin thread. She couldn’t help it, the way her eyes analyzed her coworkers, some of which she considered to be like family. How could anyone do this? Even those who she didn’t particularly care for, she felt enough trust in to assume they would never stoop to such a level.

Kiyoko’s eyes bounced from person to person, mentally checking them off her list of potential traitors, only for her eyes to narrow as they landed on Rin. ‘Cold-hearted wretch,’ she thought. She wouldn’t trust Rin if her life depended on it. The chef always kept a distance, and when she did grace the world with her presence, it was always unpleasant, at least in Kiyoko’s eyes. She’d gladly put herself at the mercy of Shinju’s poison before she trusted Rin.

The name Rin and the word rat were awfully similar when you thought about it. With her signature shit-eating grin, Kiyoko made her way over to her favorite chef. She had a few questions she needed answered, and Rin might just provide the insight she needed.

“Hey you,” she called as if greeting an old friend, “Crazy news isn’t it? Would want to say I’m surprised, but Hani’s barrier of entry is...” her eyes trail along Rin, the gestured pointed and overtly flamboyant, “-lacking. What to do you think of the entire ordeal? Any one raise suspicion? Maybe we can sus them out together. What do you say?” she teased.
fujiwara kiyoko.
© reveriee
 
mood :
Pretending he does not hate everything about this

location :
Warehouse K
outfit :
mentions :
Takara, Yoshio

interactions :
buckybaernes buckybaernes , tsurene tsurene
Kazuo Matsuda
松田 和夫
There was a bottle of amber-colored liquid sitting before him, tantalizingly close. Kazuo had avoided it for as long as he could, and still, it had drawn him in, taunting him to pour himself a glass and drown his worries in oblivion. Even on his days off, rare as those were, his thoughts stayed firmly locked onto his work. They plagued him, like his own personal demons, never allowing him a moment’s rest. As of late, he had been mulling over the complications their business faced ever since Saori’s untimely death.

Saori… Even here, in the privacy of his own home, with no stray eyes around to see, Kazuo could not let the emotions take over him. Grief and guilt, and no small amount of rage, bubbling beneath the surface, aching for a point to spill out. He wanted the calm that came with aiming a rifle and steadying his breathing, matching his shot with the space between his slow heartbeat. He wanted the release of a fight, the pain of bruised knuckles breaking bone, the press of a knife in his palm, and no space in his mind for thoughts outside of survival. He wanted the pleasant burn of alcohol in his throat and a fuzziness that let him imagine, if only for a moment, that he could lead a normal life.

Instead, he breathed deeply. He closed his eyes and brought his legs up into a crossed position where he sat on the couch. Slowly, he formed an image in his mind– a masked figure, clad in black, wielding a firearm. He analyzed them– stocky, but shorter than him, and likely slower. He would be better suited to use quick and light attacks, get the enemy off balance, and then deliver a stronger finishing blow to knock them down. Once he had them on the ground, disarming them would be easy. He breathed out slowly, and in his mind’s eye rushed forward to attack.

It was a technique he’d formed some time ago to help center himself. He would picture an attacker, a target, or sometimes a victim to save, and then run through the motion of how he would disarm, incapacitate, or rescue them. The exercise required total concentration and left no room for wayward thoughts or distractions.

The phone rang.

There was a long moment of silence. Kazuo’s eyes fluttered open, his internal meditation cutting off like a film running out of tape. Once more, his gaze locked on the bottle before him. He sat still as a statue. The phone rang again.

On the third ring, he stood, and turned away from the bottle. He very carefully did not look back at it. Perhaps, somewhere deep down, he worried he would not be able to stop himself from picking it up if he did so.

Instead, his hand clasped around the handset, and he lifted it to his ear.
“Hello.”


Immediately a familiar voice jabbered at him, requesting– declaring– in no uncertain terms that he come to Warehouse K at 6 PM exactly. Kazuo nodded, then realized his employer would not be able to see the gesture over the phone, and confirmed his assent verbally. He stayed on the line as it went silent, the tinny noise of a steady beep breaking the otherwise silent atmosphere.

He placed the receiver back with a click.


At 5:30 PM precisely, Kazuo stepped inside the aforementioned warehouse, casting his gaze around at the dingy surroundings, eyes catching on the still-present corpse slowly rotting away in the corner. For a second a note of something like irritation, or perhaps resentment, flittered on his face, but it was wiped away faster than it had appeared. He did not mention the body to Hani. Instead, he helped set up anything that was needed.

So too, he did not comment on the direct disregard of his advice. He’d known when he’d given it that Hani would not listen. It was not his employer’s style– the careful approach, the caution and planning, the meticulous, detailed, contingencies. No, Kazuo had long ago accepted that this particular aspect was his duty. He would strategize, account for all the variables, smooth over the backlash, and dampen the impact of the less… palatable choices Hani-kun decided to make.

At 6:00, he listened to the speech Hani gave, standing next to the other employees, and bearing their disparaging comments without intervening. It was best that they aired their displeasure now, and it seemed as of yet, no one was reacting with active hostility at the news.

He couldn’t stop the twitch of his eye as Hani-kun asked whether the killer was present. Did the man even listen to anything Kazuo had said?

Already, he could hear the complaints muttered around him. He turned to Takara and made an executive decision to ignore the comment about his hours. That would be an issue for him to sort out later.

“There is a high likelihood the letter is indeed Saori-san’s doing,”
he confirmed.
“It’s identical to her writing. It could be a very high-quality forgery, but something like that would require much forethought and the work of a highly skilled professional.”


He tilted his head in a way that made the light reflect off his glasses and obscure his eyes.
“Although, if you have suspicions, Takara-san, it would be wise to mention them. That goes for any employee,”
his gaze slid to Yoshio.
“In any matter pertaining to Saori-san’s death. We value your input.”

coded by reveriee.
 
The Chef.
‟Rin”

The chef’s life at home was no different from her life at the bar—full of obligations she had to fulfill. In the many years she’s poured into the bar, Rin had little work-life balance. In fact her life was just that: work.

The first day she spent running errands. The second day was spent focused on her younger sister, and the final day spent in preparation for her next hit. And yet with the murder of Saori, her final days were becoming more empty.

Even in death, the server still found ways to encroach on her schedule.

The evening rays crept through cracks in the curtains, the only source of light in the bleak kitchen. The blaring sounds of the knife hitting the surface of the cutting board echoed throughout the room, only to be interrupted by the groan of a teenager as the noise became more incessant in her ears, “Can you calm down? I can’t focus when you’re doing all of that.” Raising her pen from her paper, Nanko’s finger tapped nonchalantly against the wooden table as Rin’s gaze settled on her from the corner of her eye. “…Can you at least tell me what’s wrong?”

The older woman didn’t reply, instead an suffocating silence engulfed the room. Nanako inched further, “Ryuko, what’s wrong?”

The sound of the knife started up once again.

“You know, I won’t stop talking until you say something.” A smile tugged at Nanako’s lips as she crept back in her chair, naturally seeing past her sister’s icy exterior.

“I’m making dinner.” Rin deadpanned, not bothering to turn her head towards the one who spoke to her.

“You’ve been home more. Does this whole ignoring me thing… Involve your job?” Nanako’s prying words brought forth more silence. Finally turning her head, Rin’s mouth hung open as she worked to manifest a reply, but instead the cry of her phone would steal her train of thought.

A sense of irritation washed over her as she read the name engraved on the screen of her phone, her brows furrowing for just a moment as she set the wailing device back down.

The sound of the knife started up for the final time, and so did the cries of the vibrating phone.

Her gaze behind her lenses remained fixated on the device. It was rare for Rin to pick up the phone to Amihan. In fact, the little man knew that if she didn’t answer the first call, then she would never answer any following ones. And yet this time was different. This time Saori loomed over his head.

Following her better judgment, Rin decided to pick up the phone.

—-

The thoughtless musings of the boss were grating on her ears, and yet he still had the audacity to request of her with an hour's notice. There was no argument, and Rin was silent on the other line. A flat “sure” escaped her lips, bringing the end of the one-sided conversation.

Rin arrived around ten minutes before six, her nose immediately being hit with the horrid aroma that lingered in the air, and as her view traced her dimly-lit surroundings, she caught sight of the source. A corpse, rotting away lumped in a far off corner, contaminating the place.

Rin stood behind the rest of the murmuring crowd, the smell deterring her from stepping forth any further. Amihan couldn’t even be bothered to clean up, and as he revealed Saori’s cause of death, it did little to soften her mood—in fact it did nothing but confirm Rin's single worry: the eyes etched on her back. Just the way the faces in the gathering contorted as the words hit their ears, the brash comments, and their wandering gazes told the woman everything they needed to know. And with the way Shinju spoke of the slob-job, Rin couldn’t help but agree.

Amihan was never like his father. The man was never careful who he allowed in. It wasn’t surprising to Rin that the rat would act in the way that they did, whether it was plain idiocy or some sort of fantasy.

But regardless it didn’t matter to her, because her worries would soon become reality with that familiar squealing voice: Kiyoko. Her gaze had already remained on the girl from the moment her umber eyes locked in Rin’s direction to the moment her heel hit the ground, clicking away with that absentminded grin.

It was obvious that she suspected the chef. Kiyoko was immature. She was no Shinju that she could boast about to her other incompetent coworkers, and she was no Amihan who constantly played into her delusions. Because of that, all she could do was pout whenever Rin dismissed her attempts to anger her.

Now the snake-eyed server would come stomping in expectantly, waiting for one more thing to accuse her of. Painfully predictable—she worked like clockwork. As Kiyoko spoke, Rin’s emerald gaze trailed her face and dramatic gestures, the piercing rays reflecting off of the older woman’s glasses.

Kiyoko finished her theatrics only to be met with silence. A discomfort in the air as Rin simply peered at her, letting Kiyoko know of her obvious answer.

ven ven
coded by reveriee.
 
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    lemon


    kenshi yonezu









    MASAMUNE




♡design by miyabi, coded by uxie♡
 
mood :
Craving answers

location :
Warehouse
outfit :
mentions :


interactions :
Nano Nano leviohsa leviohsa
Sexy Bartender
Natsuki
Natsuki couldn't help the excitement that had begun to course through him as his shift had finally come to a close. The seemingly senseless flirting and pointless drabble of the last few customers had begun to bum him out, which would have been a shock to his fellow coworkers as he tended to enjoy hearing the lives of regular people. His mind had strayed at the beginning of his shift, and he never regained that original track. His mother had tasked him with developing an antidote that would affect different symptoms of the same base poison when administered in varying amounts. If there was one thing Natsuki despised, it was being unable to come up with an immediate solution to any problem presented to him. The approach of 5 am was a welcomed blessing as he quickly bid farewell to his fellow killers and sped home.

Upon reaching his rather his abode, a chorus of long-winded meows echoed through the hallway. The echo lessened as the patter of tiny, padded feet raced to the entrance. Yuki and Yoru excitedly greeted their father and leapt up to be carried. Natsuki had already thrown his bag to the side in preparation for this. "Good morning my lovely daughters! I know you missed me greatly and this little cat pile up is exactly what I needed to heal my soul from the mundane job of the day. Maybe getting an actual mission would be more entertaining but I sure as hell don't intend on working during my free time. So, let's go ahead and get ready for bed girls." Instead of being productive, Natsuki had intended to sleep well into the night. It was approximately 11:40 am before his brain finally settled down enough to allow him to sleep into a peaceful sleep.

A strange sound began to emanate from under his pillow. The cause of it wasn't enough of a concern for a groggy Natsuki to be bothered enough to question. A frustrated grunt escaped as he used one hand to fish his phone out. His left eye cracked open and quickly shut as his phone screen brightness hadn't automatically adjusted. Natsuki tried to read the blurred screen once more and instantly laughed to himself. The contact photo that appeared had Hani's face on the body of a Mogwai with his usual scowl. He clicked decline and began a mental countdown before it began to ring again, Natsuki answered and quickly told Hani that he wasn't interested in buying any girl scout cookies. His superior tried to reprimand him but it truly went in one ear and forced out of the other until his tone shifted into the serious work mode. "I'll be there as soon as I can, scout's honor!"

The warehouse was never a lovely place to begin with and it was made even more drab with the thick air of tension that seemed to wrap all of those that were present. The talk of a rat amongst them continued and Natsuki meticulously eyed up all the people he passed as he began to envision which of them would be able to be as sloppy as a newborn babe and yet attempt to get away with this. Natsuki felt a pair of eyes boring into him and met the glance of Shinju. His cocked to the left as he offered her a wide smile that also expressed his confusion, akin to that of an interested dog. His smile widened as he heard what Shinju had to say, "It's only overconfidence when one doesn't have the experience or skillset to back up their claims. On the other hand, I also wouldn't be disgusting enough to kill someone that I value as a colleague or trusted ally." His eyes scanned the messy details of the scene once more as he mentally corrected the excessively disorganized staged suicide. "Yeah...this is an overkill that only some neurotic novice would be capable of feeling pride at if they thought they had successfully gotten away with it. Simple poisoning or few well-place nicks from a knife would be more thrilling in my eyes."
coded by reveriee.
 




















umeko ikamura

the bartender










She arrived in a comfortable silence, her fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel, the soft hum of music drowning out the growl of her engine. Parking in front of the warehouse, Umeko killed the lights and engine with a fluid motion, her mind already turning over the evening ahead.

As she stepped out of the car, her hair fell neatly down her back, the black of her outfit a seamless part of the night. Stray wisps of hair framed her face as she stood still, waiting for Yosuke to join her. Her eyes flicked between the darkened parking lot and the trickle of figures arriving—slow, purposeful, like a gathering storm.

She had allowed herself to indulge in a rare three-day weekend, a luxury that now felt more like a distant dream. The quiet had been nice at first, each hour spent away from the bar a release, a chance to breathe and let the tension fade. But there was always that weight, a heavy truth she couldn’t escape: There was a rat in the family. Among them. Her people. The ones she would die for, yet one of them was betraying everything they stood for.

The more time she had to think, the more restless she became. The bar, for all its chaos and noise, had always been her refuge, a place where distraction kept the dark thoughts at bay. Without it, her mind wandered, and she found herself circling the same uneasy conclusion again and again. So when the call had come earlier that day, she hadn’t hesitated. She needed this, whatever it was.

Walking into the warehouse, the familiar smell of rot and decay didn’t phase her. She stood there, arms crossed over her chest, her face an unreadable mask. Between the shoulders and heads of the others, she could make out Hani’s form, standing just out of clear view. She listened closely, absorbing the details as they were laid out.

Finally, she sighed, letting her arms drop to her sides. Her gaze shifted left, meeting Yosuke’s eyes. Without a word, she offered him a small, almost imperceptible smile, then leaned in so her voice was barely a whisper. “Any ideas on who it could be?”

Around them, the quiet buzz of conversation grew louder, people huddling together in small groups to discuss, but Umeko’s focus remained razor-sharp.























mood

tired








outfit

tag tag tag








interactions

khai. khai.








tags

tag tag tag








♡coded by uxie♡
 
mood :
Exhausted, irritated.



--LOCATION HERE--

Warehouse K
outfit :
mentions :


interactions :
e v i e v i Dicentra Dicentra
BOH supervisor
Masashi

Masashi groaned, awakened by banging at his door from his roommate. To be called in for a meeting on an off day was– expected. Considering the circumstances he was surprised they all weren’t called in earlier in the week. Masashi laid in his bed staring up at the bare ceiling cursing under his breath. He’d visit her tomorrow. The trip to the warehouse was standard, neither he or Masamune said a word to each other. And upon arrival they broke away into separate directions as they entered the building. Fuck–

The stench alone in the warehouse was enough to make him gag, if he had known about the body he would have dressed for the job. His eyes scanned the cold floor, the dried blood mixed with the clotted mess that stretched across the floor leading to the desolate corner where the body was tossed. His pale eyes could barely look away, scanning every speck of evidence that littered their warehouse. He let out a groan, pinching the bridge of his nose as a migraine formed pounding behind his eyes. The pressure being enough to cause him to grit his teeth in an attempt to soothe himself from the anger bubbling within. The warehouse was quiet, the silence dripping with a heavy weight that only deepened the frustration gnawing at him. Messy, sloppy, disgusting– Perfectly Hani. Clearly this was the kid's handy work, it had his bursts of anger written all over it.

The pathetic table of refreshments was a joke, he found himself rolling his eyes scoffing as Hani spoke. Crossing his arms he merely stared straight again, as if looking through the runt. Yet as Hani continued, his arms fell to his side. His throat felt tighter, almost suffocating. As if hands were wrapped tightly around his neck slowly squeezing as Hani rambled on. The autopsy. Finally a clearer picture was laid out before all of them, yet Masashi didn’t dare let his eyes stray from Hani. Every word, each pronounced syllable hung in the air. Silence had fallen over the crowd as he listened in disbelief.

The question, the question that hung in the air like a noose around his neck. And even in a room full of faces he saw everyday, he felt as if all eyes were burning into him.

Sweat trickled down the back of his neck as he stood there. His posture was stiff, his lips pressing into a thin line until– “Masashi” His eyes snapped to Hani. The unsettling feeling in his guts twisting as he held his tongue in response. Pale eyes glanced over at Meifang, the girl seemed to be the unfortunate object of Hani’s desire for the night. A loud thud followed by the sound of clattering tools rattled at his feet. He paused, his mouth slightly agape as he looked down at the toolbox. A sight he knew all too well. Days, months, spent breaking down bodies in many warehouses throughout the decade..Why was he surprised that Hani would put him to work even now. He hissed in response, rolling up his sleeves as he knelt down to pick up his tools for the night. “Tell me next time before I show up that i’m breaking down a body kid-” He hissed through gritted teeth. The veins in his arm bulged as he stepped closer, looking down at the child that stood before him. Like a beaten dog he bared his teeth at the young owner.

And then he spoke. A threat. His expression deflated in an instant. His grip on the handle of the toolbox tightening in a vice-like hold as he stood there frozen. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to steady his hands. The invisible leash Hani held in his hand felt as if it was digging into his neck. And like the beaten dog he was, Masashi tucked his tail between his legs, averting his gaze his eyes fell to the ground at Hani’s feet. “Fuck off” he muttered under his breath as he walked off to the bloated corpse in the corner of the room. Rolling up his sleeves he kicked open the tool box, hunching over as he rummaged through the mess. With a heavy sigh he reached into his back pocket, retrieving a pair of rubber gloves. With practiced precision, he pulled the gloves tight, this was just another chore to him. Like doing the laundry, or taking out the trash. This was no different. After all he had a debt to repay. That bastard's debt.


Though of course this task couldn't be done without some sort of defiance. The corpse laid in a grotesque heap of it's own pool of blood. A mess he'd have to clean later. He examined the disfigured form of the man, his gloved hands turning his face to the side, his eyes raking over the mangled mess that seemingly was a nose at some point. He let out a dry laugh, preparing himself for what was next. Lifting up the body’s arm he draped it over his shoulder, the dead-weight resting against him as he readied himself. Holding his breath he gritted his teeth lifting the bloated body into the air as he rose with it. A mix of bile and blood coating his shirt with each step he took. Of all the days to wear white. He snapped towards Hani, barking out towards the runt. “HEY KID,” His eyes glazed over the snack table in which he couldn't help but laugh at the sight. “Oh, so we’re using my butcher block to serve leftovers? Clear off the fucking table, otherwise i’m not butchering your pig.” With a huff, he adjusted his grip, feeling the coolness of the corpse seep into his skin, the weight settling harder against his shoulder.




coded by reveriee.
 
CHEF
Yuusuke


Masashi’s voice was far more irritating than the stench of the body he was carrying, especially in an enclosed space where his already loud voice was further heightened. He wished his ears could get used to the man’s constant yelling as fast as his nose could adjust to the appalling odor of the room, but disappointment was an ongoing theme in his life.

Giving the man a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, Yuusuke took another piece of mint, waved it in front of him, and mouthed a ‘You’re welcome’ before handing it over to Koba with another, subtler smile. He didn’t see why he should help Masashi; it wasn’t in his job description to do so, and he didn’t even spill the blood that’s slowly soaking in Masashi’s clothes. Goodluck cleaning that up.

Yuusuke’s eyes surveyed the room one last time before landing on Hani. Koba raised suspicion on the man earlier, and Yuusuke entertained the thought. Maybe all of this was his idea of a teambuilding exercise. A spontaneous decision to make sure that camaraderie was strong between them. It was a very fucked up situation, but you never know with Hani. Still, he didn’t believe that the owner would go as far as to murder one of the staff no matter how crazy he can be.

“Guess I’ll be seeing you all—or some of you, in the restaurant.” Yuusuke figured they weren’t going to do anything productive even if they stayed up till morning, and he didn’t particularly care to watch Masashi 'clean up’. There was no satisfaction watching the man butcher a lifeless clump of flesh. Yuusuke walked towards the exit, a nod in Koba’s direction signaling to the man to follow if he wanted. Masamune had a car, but for the sake of their sanity Yuusuke quickly disposed of the thought. He also wanted to get out of the place as soon as he could, and he suspected that the head chef would wait for his roommate to finish cleaning up.

 


mood
uneasy
location
warehouse
Interaction
rin
Tag
Frownist Frownist



The Red Moon provided many things, but friendship was not always one of them, a surprising revelation, given the shared occupation. Her vision of a perfect world and her goals to achieve it aligned with fewer than she thought—an enigma to Kiyoko—finding herself at odds with her coworkers more often than not.

Her relationship with Rin was not one filled with pleasantries and light conversation. Nor was it as hostile and heated as some of her dynamics with the front of the house’s more self-righteous workers. This was most likely because of the limited interactions fostered between the two, but the moments that slip into their normal routine are cold and detached, much like how Kiyoko views Rin herself.

It seemed like the Chef hadn’t improved her personality since the last time they interacted, much to Kiyoko’s dismay. At least Shinju argued back, but Rin was as tasteless and bland as ever.

“Look,” she said voice losing its once jovial tone. Any other day she would have played along, pushed a bit too much, and goaded Rin in her silence, but Saori was dead. There was a rat, and suddenly everything felt wrong. “I get that this whole, silent and frosty persona is kinda your thing, but would it kill you to act like a normal human with emotions? One of our own is dead, and regardless of whatever egotistical nonsense you’ve deluded yourself into believing, you aren’t any different from the rest of us.”

Kiyoko shakes her head as if pushing away the malice threatening to claw its way from her skin. Rin wasn’t the enemy, at least not yet. The possibility of her being the rat was there, yes, but Kiyoko wasn’t the prosecutor nor the executioner, at least not until Amihan gave the word.

She turned to leave, set to end the conversation there, ready to give up on Rin, no longer in the mood to deal with the disinterested and vague husk of a person they called their chef, but it had been too long since she killed, the feeling leaving her heavy and exposed, the filth of the world seems to run rampant clinging to her skin and clothes and drowning out her breaths. Maybe it was the newfound knowledge that itched in her fingers, pushing her to take action against an entity unknown. That rat could be among those she once considered allies, clinging to the Red Moon and leeching like a cancerous blight.

“If you aren’t the rat, which I can’t confidently say, then you could be the next person to end up drowning in their blood. If you’re unwilling to help or even pretend to care about anyone here, what makes you think anyone will look out for you?” she questions, eyes narrowing, “and don’t feed me some line about how you don’t need anyone. Mentalities like that get you killed.”
fujiwara kiyoko.
© reveriee
 
The Chef.
‟Rin”

Pleasantries, that’s all her empty words were, and didn’t it take long for Kiyoko’s stringed together facade to fall in the face of Rin’s silence. Rin in her earlier years often compared her to a lap dog, but dogs at the very least, do what they’re told. Kiyoko’s more of a child, hanging on to useless connections and awaiting approval. Yet the tingling sense of turmoil remained underneath Kiyoko’s skin was evident, even with the rejection of her proposal.

“No different than us.” Kiyoko spoke. The words recite themselves in the chef’s mind. She lumped the two together as if she didn’t make her way here to accuse Rin of something she’s not.

“One of us.”

Despite her morose response, Rin’s silence continued, her gaze dashing away once Kiyoko began to part. Her efforts were fruitless. But of course, Kiyoko was always the kind to keep pushing. In a way she wasn’t like the man she spoke of with such blind fondness—viewing the bar, built on the blood of the Yakuza, as some sort of family that Rin had to care for.

But that was never the case. They’re employees. Saori met her demise because she failed to do the job she was paid for. Whether it was dishing dosages that were too low, messing up and crying for Rin’s assistance, or disappearing for weeks while others had to scramble to clean up her messes. Regardless of it was death that met her or some other unforeseen consequence, she wasn’t cut out for the job.

“I’m not the rat.” Her words brief, Rin’s glance moved along Kiyoko’s lips. Eyes narrowing as her response settled in the air. “And I don’t think anything. With your demented ways, you ought to focus on yourself. Dependency is weakness, Akiyama learned that the hard way.” Expressionless was her face, yet Rin’s words carried a sense of cold callousness.

“You of all people should know that. Not that I’m surprised, you were never the bar’s brightest.” The older woman concluded with a flat tone, her gaze slipping away as she stepped off, deciding not to spend more time in the warehouse then she should.

ven ven
coded by reveriee.
 



hayashi yoshio.





































  • mood



    determined
















While everyone else wasn't impressed with Hani's "refreshment table," Yoshio helped himself with a couple of snacks and candy bars, including the ones that already had a bite taken out of them. He was never picky to begin with, but running all the way to the warehouse had only exacerbated his voracity.

Lately, he had been visiting his coworkers' graves more often than ever. He originally did it every few weeks, when he knew he'd have enough time to grieve properly, without rushing or glancing at his watch. But after Saori's death, he began to spend hours at the cemetery, often going on his days off or when his shifts were over. It even started to seep into his daily training routine, an attempt to exhaust his mind as much as his body so that sleep would come easily, and he wouldn’t be left alone with his thoughts.

Who knew which one of their relatives could be the next victim, or if either of them were responsible for murdering her? The question had become a constant whisper in the back of Yoshio's mind, one that no amount of physical exertion could drown out. It haunted him, the idea that someone he knew for years could betray the group when they were just getting used to a new owner. He couldn't wait to learn the autopsy results, to finally have the back business open again so that something that he could focus on something tangible, something he could break apart with his hands. So when he received a call from Hani about meeting in one of the warehouses, Yoshio dropped any sense of fatigue and reason, and rushed to the location without a second thought. Now here he was, gorging on some mediocre food while listening to his boss talk in graphic detail about Saori's murder.

He could honestly care less about the stench coming out of that cauliflower-looking body in the corner, as he was more focused on his colleagues and their reactions to the autopsy report. He was especially concerned about Kazuo, his former protege and current supervisor. They couldn't be even more different; Kazuo was clean-cut and methodical, always impeccably dressed and ready to complete a task with ease. Meanwhile, Yoshio was rough around the edges, boisterous, and far more willing to get his hands dirty. Despite this, the older man had always felt a certain pride watching Kazuo rise through the ranks, which made the current situation all the more painful. The thought that Kazuo, someone Yoshio had taken under his wing, might somehow be connected to Saori’s death gnawed at him. He could only hope that they'll find the rat before the entire crime group implodes.

Judging from the autopsy report's sequence of events, there were a few reasons that he could think of. Saori might've had a failed suicide attempt through drowning, and someone else was an accomplice that strangled her in order to help her die. Or maybe she and the murderer were both drinking together and they decided to strangle her once she was unconscious. It was also possible that the killer intentionally made the murder more complex to appear less capable than they truly are.

But no matter how he tried to rationalize Saori's death, Yoshio still had no idea how the letter played into this. He knew his colleagues well enough to know they'd never leave evidence behind. Well... maybe in more elaborate hits, but there was never an issue up till this point. The only way that could happen here was if Saori had written it way before her death. Even then, she would've had enough time to snitch on whoever tried to betray them.

After Hani finished his speech, Yoshio was about to ask Kazuo about what he thought of the autopsy when Takara approached them, his hand casually clutching his jacket. He wasn't surprised about another person joining in, but what really shocked him was the plastic bag Takara pulled out inside his jacket.

Upon opening it, he lowered his orange shades to scan through the contents of the note before passing it on to Kazuo. He agreed that the handwriting resembled Saori's.
"That address might be a clue,"
Yoshio observed, narrowing his eyes.
"But it could just as easily be a trap. Someone should do a background check before we go running in."


He paused, glancing around the room with a smirk.
"As for who the rat is, I doubt they'd be a complete idiot,"
he remarked.
"The fact that the killer was able to kill one of us without a single trace proves they're either insanely skilled or knew our habits well enough to avoid every detection point. I bet that they purposefully overcomplicated the murder to hide their 'specialty,' but pfft-"


Yoshio chuckled, shaking his head.
"Looks like someone needs to learn what a good strangle is."

































pretty old man



no buses










♡coded by uxie♡
 
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Meifang 'Mei' Li


A phone ringing in the dead of night; some employees likened it to a death toll bell. For most, it usually bore grim news: Hani had a job, or some poor soul needed to cover a shift. Neither option boded well for the faint of heart. But to Mei, it was music to her ears. Meet at the warehouse at 6. The message was clear, and Mei couldn't be more thrilled. The warehouse always held a secret, a promise of fun.

While most opted for the convenience of a taxi, Mei preferred the solitary pleasure of walking. She took her time, winding through backstreets and slipping into alleyways, where shadows cast their cover, each turn carefully chosen to erase her trail. The cool night air slid over her bare arms, crisp and alive, as if the city itself were breathing with her. She savored the quiet, the echo of her steps the only sound against the soft hum of distant traffic.

The faraway whisper of the city was a comfort, a steady hum reminding her of how alive the streets were. She liked that faint noise - a subtle pulse under the cold evening wind. But as she approached the warehouse, the sound faded, swallowed by an unnatural quiet that thickened with every step. By the time she reached the entrance, the silence was absolute, heavy as a held breath.

Mei’s smile didn’t waver as she surveyed her coworkers, all lined up, tense with anticipation. The news she’d been waiting for: Saori's autopsy. It had been a brutal affair - a mess of injuries that spoke of struggle, a slow and deliberate cruelty. Saori had put up a fight; there was no doubt about that.

Her mind picked through the details, piecing together an image. This wasn’t the work of brute force alone, no clean kill by sheer strength. A larger man would’ve ended it swiftly, a hand to the throat, a final snap. No, this had the marks of something less direct. Unless, of course, it was a man - but one shorter than average, or someone whose physicality didn’t lend itself to a quick job.

Her gaze shifted over to Hani, a silent question in her eyes. If it had been Hani’s doing, it was of no consequence to Mei. She would never question him; if he’d decided Saori's usefulness had expired, Mei would only nod in quiet agreement. Loyalty to Hani was ingrained in her and his choices were those she would not doubt.

But truthfully, she didn’t care who’d closed Saori's life. A good killer is also a good survivor - those who could kill should be prepared to meet the same threat in kind. Saori had simply failed to live up to the standards Mei expected of anyone she called an associate.

Hani’s fingers lingered against hers for just a moment, a gentle brush as he dropped a few pieces of candy into her hand. Mei’s lips curled into a soft smile, quiet as she usually was in these meetings. She noted the shadows beneath his eyes, the slight fatigue that greyed his gaze, and resolved not to add to his strain with idle chatter. The small gesture of the candy and his brief touch settled her - her posture softened, a quiet surrender, a docile presence in his follow, awaiting whatever came next.

Soon, Masashi was ordered to dispose of the corpse, a smear of dim red across his clothes already marking his task for the evening. Mei, indifferent to the body and the lifeless gaze it held, was quick to answer the call when the supervisor requested the table be cleared off. With a skip in her step, she gathered the remaining snacks with both arms, cradling them protectively as she returned to Hani's side.

"Are you sure you don’t want anything, Masashi?" Her voice was laced with cheer as she sifted through her collection. "We've got caramel corn, choco pie, wafers… Oh, but you strike me as more of a salty guy." She eyed the drying splatter across his shirt with feigned consideration, tilting her head. "Maybe some yuzu chips?"





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

© weldherwings.
 
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scroll
shiraishi kage





warehouse k





shinju & natsuki





Nano Nano & Shadow Alpha Shadow Alpha











How Kage ended up nearest to Shinju and Natsuki, he hadn't the faintest idea. Tired green eyes looked between the odd pair, listening to them debate amongst themselves.
"The execution likely was deliberately poor."
Like clockwork, he pulled out a cigarette that made the air reek of menthol as he lit it, inhaling in a fluid motion that everyone around him had seen before.

"They weren't looking to entertain us, Natsuki."
 He spoke through his exhale, his eyes shifting their focus to Shinju,
"And this certainly isn't someone working at the bar."
He spoke with casual confidence, but did he actually believe it? Well, it certainly wasn't off the table. Maybe someone on the inside held a grudge with Red Moon, or wanted to start a fire for the fun of it? It was a very real possibility, but he couldn't afford to have the entirety of the bar turn on each other.

So, he opted for the theory of it being an outsider. It had to be an outsider.

Kage looked from Shinju to Hani, a habit of attaining his location drilled into him. It was clear he wasn't needed, and honestly, he was tired of the retched smell that dead scumbag infested his nose with. So, he spoke up again,
"We won't get any answers here. Let me buy you two some drinks."
 A polite plea to leave the scene. Frankly, he would leave whether the redhead or the brunette wanted to come or not, but he figured as their manager, it would only be fair to offer something to help take the stress off.



♡coded by uxie♡
 
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