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gotham-ruaidh · 4 years ago

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Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be

This story takes place during the summer of 1987. It's the time of the Cold War, and heavy metal, and Just Say No.

Ten chapters, each with a specific song as its soundtrack.

I'm so excited to finally share it with you.

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Chapter 1: Starry Eyes

Soundtrack: "Starry Eyes," Mötley Crüe, 1981 [click here to listen]

It was quiet here in the mountains.

Claire Beauchamp drew in a long, shaky breath of clear, crisp air, and tucked her legs up onto the seat of the Adirondack chair. Watching the sun set over the valley.

Gripping the arm of the chair with shaky hands.

Behind her on the deck, a dozen or so strangers – men and women – shuffled into their own chairs, or to square tables with board games under one arm. Chatter wafted through the door that led into The Ridge’s main building.

The brochure that Joe Abernathy had pressed into her hands, sitting in the back seat of his Jaguar sedan while his wife Gail drove them to the airport, described The Ridge as a residential treatment facility. Her mind was still reeling from the intervention, and that Gail had already packed her a duffel bag stuffed with essentials – it had all been so seamless.

There were many things Claire had wanted to block out in the two years since she’d left Frank and everything had fallen apart. Many things she had shut out from the world around her, paralyzed by pain. But she hadn’t lost all of her faculties quite yet.

Because no matter what The Ridge called itself, no matter how beautiful the landscaping of its grounds, or the plush cushions on the chairs, or the gourmet meals prepared by the in-house chef (herself five years in recovery, or so the brochure proudly proclaimed), there was no hiding what it really was.

Rehab.

Claire was there because she was an addict.

And she would stay there until she had unfucked her life.

“Excuse me?”

She turned to see a tall man, red hair down to his shoulders, colorful tattoos covering every inch of his arms and disappearing beneath the sleeves of a well-fitted black t-shirt.

“May I sit next to you?”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

He flopped down into the chair, crossed his long legs, and lay both palms on the armrests, thumbs tapping a quick beat.

“First day?”

It had been forty six hours since her last fix, and pain sliced her skull. She hadn’t gone this long without in more than a year. “Yes,” she murmured.

Now his fingers joined in the tapping. “Thought so. The new ones always come in the middle of the day – that’s why Group is always in the afternoons. So we can have our individual sessions in the morning, and meet all together in the afternoon. It helps to stick to a schedule.”

She turned in the chair to look at him. He wasn’t looking at her – just gazing straight ahead – but he kept talking. “Anyway, it’ll just be a few minutes until dinner. I hope you like Mexican – they take Taco Tuesdays pretty seriously around here.”

She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I can’t remember your name. I know we introduced ourselves at Group, but it’s all just a blur.”

He turned to face her, and she could hear his smile. “Don’t worry about it. You’re Claire – pills addict. That’s what you told us, anyway.”

“It’s true.”

“Well then.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Jamie – I’m an alcoholic. Bourbon, mostly. And a little bit of cocaine, now and again.”

She gripped his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“I’m a sex addict, too,” he added. “John – my therapist here – he said that the more honest I am, the better it will be for me later on.”

“I appreciate your honesty,” she said, not quite sure what else to say.

“I’ve hurt a lot of people by not being honest, and by drinking, and not being honest about my drinking.” He folded his hands in his lap. Lallybroch read one tattoo inching up his left arm, and Ellen read another. “I’m on the tenth step. I’ve learned a lot so far.”

Claire stared down at her own hands – bare, except for her mother’s silver wedding band, which Uncle Lamb had given her when she was twelve. “Well, if we’re going for honesty – I’m a trauma surgeon, at one of the top hospitals in Boston. My asshole ex-husband used to hit me, and I prescribed myself some ludes to deaden everything. I wrote out the scripts to him, then took them to the pharmacy myself.” She pursed her lips, feeling his eyes on her. “I thought I had it under control – I thought that nobody noticed. Until I showed up high one day, and made a stupid mistake, and almost killed a patient.”

He was strangely quiet – and after silently counting to twenty, Claire looked up at him. He was still tapping his fingers against the armrest of the chair, though in a more structured, organized rhythm. Nodding his head. Thinking.

“It was my best friend who got me here,” he said softly. “I’ve known him since we were kids – he even married my sister. He saw what I was doing to myself, how much I was hurting her, and hurting the thing that he and I had worked so hard to build.” A spray of black and white stars flexed above his elbow. “Who got you here?”

“My best friend. We went to medical school together – he was my man of honor at my wedding. He and his wife staged a full-on intervention.”

Jamie’s brows lifted. “Wow.”

She nodded, encouraged. “I’d already been indefinitely suspended without pay from the hospital. I figured, what do I have to lose?”

“Yeah. We have to reach that point.”

A metallic clang pierced the air – and Claire jumped.

Jamie smiled. “That’s the literal dinner bell. Like I said, I hope you like tacos.”

Claire slid forward in the chair and stood, stretching. “I could eat anything right about now. I’m not too picky.”

Now Jamie stood – and smiled down at her. “I’m helping get everyone seated tonight – we all pick up chores around here. See you in there?”

She smiled back. “Yeah. And thanks for talking to me.”

“No sweat.” Quickly he stepped away from her and across the deck toward the door back inside.

“Hey.”

Claire turned to see a woman – young, dark-haired, size zero – remove her enormous sunglasses.

“Yes?”

“I can’t believe you were talking to him!” she exclaimed.

Claire shoved her hands into her pockets. “What do you mean?”

The woman shook her head. “Do you even know who he is?”

“He introduced himself. Seemed nice enough. Why?”

The woman huffed and flipped her hair over one shoulder. “That’s Jamie Fraser. You know – the singer and lead guitarist in Print?”

“Print?” Claire searched her scattered memory. “Isn’t that some hard rock band?”

“Not just some band – the biggest band in the world for at least five years now. Like, dozens of hits, videos on MTV 24/7, big stadium tours, and armloads of awards. I’ve been trying to get his attention since I got here! And he just walked right up to you!”

It had been a long day. Claire was hungry, and tired, and wanted nothing more than an aspirin and a pillow – maybe a taco first. Definitely not any more time with this girl.

“Well, thanks for the info – ”

“Geneva,” the woman explained. “I’m an alcoholic. You?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Claire made a beeline for the door.

#outlander #outlander fanfic #little bit better than i used to be #here we go

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hyunisms-a · 4 years ago

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( kim namjoon, cis man ) have you seen HYUN JEONG? i heard HE is a CIVIL ENGINEERING MAJOR at ASHDOWN ACADEMY. they’re 25 years old and they’ve been living in san verto for 3 YEARS. they tend to be SOCIABLE & ENTHUSIASTIC, but rumor has it they can also be TACTLESS & AIRY.

basics:

full name: hyun jeong

nicknames: hyunnie, bastard <3

gender: cis man

pronouns: he/his

sexuality: bisexual

age: 25

date of birth: 26th of july

zodiac sign: leo

occupation: graduate student, majoring in civil engineering and minoring in mathematics

hometown: boston, massachusetts

height: 6’1 :nauseous_face:

piercings: has your standard lobe piercings, a helix piercing and industrial piercing on his left ear (why his left ear? because it’s the side van gogh cut off, he says)

tattoos: nope, he’s thinking about getting one though

hair colour: platinum blond

style: very casual and loose, he moves around a lot so he prefers wearing comfortable clothes, also wears a lot of sustainable clothing brands, wears accessories (earrings and bracelets, in particular), has an Enormous collection of ugly socks and sunglasses

personality:

traits: (+) affable, tidy, optimistic, spirited (-) cocky, irresponsible, childish, blunt

labels / tropes: Ambiguous Disorder, Beware The Silly Ones, Genius Ditz, Motor Mouth, Distracted By The Sexy, In Touch With His Feminine Side, Shutting Up Now, Undying Loyalty, Unsportsmanlike Gloating

likes: apple pie, books, his porsche taycan that his parents got him for christmas haha, fancy socks, romcoms, vincent van gogh, taylor swift

dislikes: tba <3 he hates spicy food but that’s about it for now

hobbies: collecting socks :~) travelling, building gundam/gunpla models, partying... also loves going to the gym and working out... he’s the type of person who gets up early to jog unless he’s hungover or exhausted

quirks: has a habit of getting into stupid shit, pretty sure he’s almost gotten arrested a couple of times...

faves:

ice cream flavour: a tie between moose tracks and vanilla

time of the day / night: 11 pm when the party’s just getting started <3 and 6 am when the sun is just rising

weather: sunny!!! the type of weather where the sky is an artificial blue and the sun isn’t Too overpowering

colours: cyan <3

songs: arctic monkeys, queen, david bowie, anything r&b, something that has a lot of bass and guitar noises

background:

hyun doesn’t really have a sad childhood or an angsty past; his parents were always around, they took good care of him, spoiled him silly (they still do), and practically gave him everything he wanted. however, his father wanted hyun to become an engineer like him, so his parents merely “nudged” him in the right direction, towards the path of following in his father’s footsteps. hyun played with legos and dollhouses a lot— often building the latter from scratch with his mother, learned to assemble and disassemble gundam models and was encouraged to join STEM-related workshops ... hyun was a fast learner when it came to science and math <3 his childhood home is adorned with gleaming trophies and medals from STEM competitions... lmao nerd

he graduated from massachusetts institute of technology with a bachelor’s degree in civil engineering

his father has a lot of connections so he practically has a job waiting for him but he loves living the uni life so much that he wanted to keep studying and pursue a master’s lol

moved to san verto to spend a gap year at a non-academic research lab / a government laboratory funded for applied research before enrolling at ashdown

he doesn’t really know what he wants to do? he’s good at what he’s currently doing, but he’s been indoctrinated to “love” engineering that he hasn’t found his true Passion, right now he’s just aimlessly dancing through life ... lifes more painless 4 the brainless <3

plays soccer and is incredibly good @ it... he’s def in the uni’s soccer team (if they have one...) used 2 play american football in high school :nauseous_face:

wcs:

roomies <3 hyun is a chill roommate, he’s like a tall roomba that cleans after people’s messes (unless he’s drunk, then he’d even make more of a mess trying to clean up)

smth spicey like exes, fwbs, cute lil crushes, friends w/ feelings (unrequited?? maybe not?? a bit of chem would be needed for this tho <3), hyun is very... inscrutable when it comes to relationships so anything is possible! it could’ve been a whirlwind romance that ended badly, they could be exes on good terms (a “we’re better off as friends” type of situation), or they could just be casually sleeping with each other... also, hyun flirts a lot but he’s never had a long-term relationship... he jumps from one person to another so... make of that what you will DKSFJHDKFH i love angst, u guys <3

friends!!!! study buddies, gym buddies (!!!), friends he can be dumb and reckless with, unlikely friends... hyun is generally pretty friendly and easy to like if you can put up with his obnoxious jokes... his sense of humor can be really odd sometimes but he’s very fun!!! very loud!!! really brash!!! the type to wake up in the middle of nowhere after partying hard... that being said, he also needs someone to shut him up or rein him in NBMVBMXNCVB

bffl, the ride or die!!!! hyun would literally risk everything for them... would love to exchange hcs and stuff for this <3

childhood friends? :thinking: this is also smth we can discuss together!

#— about.

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silverfootstepswrites · 7 years ago

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title Sunday Nights summary Conversation doesn't help us pairing itasaku, tobisaku, headaches

White mist streamed out of her mouth as she looked at the city. Her skin almost felt like paper. She rubbed her fingers against each other. Then against the front of her coat. She tucked them into her pockets. Leaning against the railing, she stared at the passing faces. Each one blurred into the next, like a carousel of strangers looping around and around. Hoping, straining to see the one face that would stand out from the rest.

When Sakura opened her eyes, she was staring up at an eggshell ceiling. She turned onto her side, fingers pressing to her eyelids. The light that streamed in through the blinds pierced. She fumbled until her fingers connected with the cord. With a hard yank, she closed off the light from outside.

The quiet pooled along with the darkness in this bedroom. It was only until she rolled onto her other side that she could tell which room this was in which apartment. Not that they were much different. They were empty, for the most part. Pale walls with paler furniture. No photographs, no personal trinkets. Just enough outfits in the closet. And if she ran out, she could have more brought in.

These apartments were all interchangeable pieces in a puzzle without colors. Where there was no hunting and matching the jagged edges. One could replace the other. And in a way, that was easy. Because they were all unfamiliar ceilings. They were all lonely places. No one place hurt more than the other.

Sakura grabbed her phone from the nightstand. The screen lit up blue at her touch. She scrolled through the list of missed calls and messages that had sat unread. Emails notified her of bank transfers and meetings scheduled. It was the same pattern of clicking and dragging through one message and then another. Instructing the boys on how many knees to break and how many arms to twist.

She rolled onto her back, arms stretched out at her sides. Staring up at the ceiling, she counted back the days since she had returned to Tokyo. And then counted forward to the days until her next birthday. Paused as she forgot, for a moment, when her own birthday even was.

"I should shower," she announced to no one. As if the words would motivate her. They sort of did.

As she sat up, she caught sight of the one pop of color in the room. A plain glass vase filled with purple flowers. She didn't even remember the name of this particular variety. Itachi had sent her so many different kinds over the course of a month that she had stopped reading the labels.

Just purple and just pretty enough.

She sat for too long in the hot spray, mulling things over. And then she lingered in her towel, staring into the foggy mirror without seeing. She wiped the mirror with her right hand in broad strokes. Until she could see the cherry blossom tattoo running up her right arm. Turning, she followed its bath over her shoulder. On the back of her ribcage was an old poem. She didn't even remember where she had first heard it. Didn't even remember why she had liked it so much in the first place.

She stared at the person in the mirror. Met her eyes. Looked her up and down.

"You're going to be strong today," she promised her. And the woman in the mirror, for a second, looked like she gave a smirk of approval.

Itachi came to the club again. An enormous armful of light pink roses clutched to his chest. His right arm hung at his side. It wasn't in a sling anymore, but she could see that it was still difficult for him to use. She met him by the door, her nude heels pointed like the blade of a knife.

"Do you really not have anything better to do than play delivery boy?" asked Sakura, coming down the stairs. Yet she still accepted the flowers. Her fingertips skimming over the back of his hand. And she must have been smiling because the tip of his gloved thumb touched her lower lip.

He took off his hat. But when he struggled to undo his scarf with one hand, she reached up and unhooked it from the back of his neck. And then he took her hand, neither smiling nor frowning. He turned her hand over, looking at her knuckles, at the thin gold band on her pointer finger. At the two faint cigarette burns on her knuckles. Itachi ran his thumb over them. So gently, as if they were still raw.

She was about to say something else when she felt a hand tug on her elbow. She lifted her head so that Sai could whisper in her ear.

"Uncle Tobirama is heading here. Just him. Not an entourage." And then Sai's eyes darted once to the oyabun standing in their shop. She understood. Putting her hand on his cheek, she whispered instructions to him. Sai's brow furrowed as he took in her orders. Nodding, he slipped away to relay the news to Tenten.

“If I ask you to leave, will you?” she asked, turning to Itachi. He shook his head, so she grabbed the front of his shirt.

“You can't be here right now. He definitely won't like it,” she warned. He grasped her forearm in return.

"Who?" he asked, his eyes not at all serious.

"Who could be so intimidating that he rattles even the great Jing-Mei?" he demanded. Her temper flared, she shoved at his chest. But he held on the same, eyes never leaving hers. And she hated the way that he seemed to see through her, like she was painted onto glass. Gritting her teeth, she tried to shove him again. He didn't even budge. Injured or not, he was evidently stronger than she was.

"Why?" he tried instead.

When she tried to pull away, his hold tightened.

"Fine," she relented, sagging. And then he released her.

She shook her arms, letting her sleeves fall back where they should. Fixed her hair, pretended to fuss with the buttons on the front of her dress before she looked at him again.

"It's...complicated. I don't really have time to go into detail," she admitted. His expression didn't change.

"That was the most non-answer answer I've ever heard," he criticized. Her eyes narrowed.

"That's all I can say for now. And it'll be much easier for me to deal with if you're not here," she added with a pointed look at the door.

Itachi didn't budge.

They were beginning to draw curious eyes. So she leaned in close, meeting his gaze straight on. She rose on her tiptoes. And his head bowed to meet her. Placing her hands on either side of his face, she whispered:

"I'm asking you. If you stay, please, just don't let him see your face."

Before he could react, she slipped away. Her tapping heels urgent against the tile. Sai was only a few steps behind her, suddenly barking orders and moving the staff around.

The air in the club seemed to sharpen, somehow. Some of the customers who had been laughing and clinking glasses with the girls changed. Exchanging looks with the staff, and then their eyes trailing Sakura. Following her as she went up to her office and them came back downstairs. Everyone else was oblivious, of course. There were pockets of nervous eyes amidst the laughter.

When the front door opened, a small ripple went through the room. The tiny action of hands edging toward concealed weapons. Fingers tightening around glasses that became easy blades when smashed.

It was just one of the regulars who had dropped in for round two after work. One of the girls hurried up to usher him to a table, hanging onto his arm.

Itachi took a seat at the far end of the bar, his back to the door. Before he could order, Tenten poured him a drink and pushed it down to him. Her towel gave a sharp snap before she resumed wiping glasses.

Their eyes met. Itachi had never seen Tenten look so unsettled before.

The door opened a second time. Winter clung on Tokyo's heels, refusing to make room for spring. The smell of the cold blew in. And two men stepped in after. The noise in the room faltered for just a moment.

"Welcome!" Ayu exclaimed, offering her best smile. And it was a very charming smile- showing off her twin dimples.

Itachi spotted Tommy sitting in his usual spot. Tommy's gaze darted to the two men, and then he looked back at Itachi, shaking his head.

"What's wrong? Aren't you having fun?" asked Moegi, tugging on his wrist. Grinning, he put his arm around her.

"Sorry, ladies. I was just stunned by your beauty for a second, yeah," he replied.

"Oh, you flirt!" they scolded, laughter swelling around them. And that seemed to pop the bubble of sudden quiet. Like someone had paused a song and then pressed play again.

The yakuza were certainly intimidating with their dark sunglasses and identical black suits. Some of them rolled up their sleeves to show off their tattoos.

These men were unsettling in a different way. They scanned the room for a long moment, unsmiling. One had a vertical scar over his left eye. He was in a long grey coat with black leather gloves. Gold and sapphire buttons on his sleeves. Gleaming shoes that were so unscuffed that they belonged on mannequins.

The other was Tobirama, who wore a black jacket with a fur hood. But the fur was a silvery-grey that blended in with his hair. Combined with his height, it made him look like a giant wolf filling the doorway.

Neither of them spoke. So Ayu tried again in her awkward English.

"Can I help you?"

But then Tobirama glimpsed pink hair past the curtain in the back. He murmured something to his companion.

"There's no need," he then replied to Moegi in excellent Japanese. And they walked around her, as easily as if she were a piece of furniture.

The man with the scar spread his arms wide as he pushed past the curtain.

"Jing-Mei," he drawled. Sakura's turned, her expression flat. She pulled out her gun, the gold gleaming between her fingers. She pointed it dead-center between his eyes.

"I thought you were dead," she stated. He seemed unconcerned as he collapsed in the seat across from her. Kicking up his shoes on the table, he draped his arms across the back of the booth.

"Kakashi."

Both of them looked up as Tobirama walked up. One hand in the pocket of his tailored black pants. His white shirt was a little wrinkled, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He draped his jacket over his left forearm.

"Don't be rude," chastised Tobirama. When Kakashi didn't move, Tobirama reached into his back pocket. Leisurely as if he were getting a stick of gum. Instead, he took out a pistol.

"Maybe you’re hard of hearing now, old man? Feet," Tobirama snapped.

Heaving a sigh, Kakashi lowered his feet- one at a time. Tobirama pockets his firearm, settling beside Sakura. Not exactly close, but not far either.

Sakura kept her arm steady.

"You know, there was a time when you two called me 'Uncle'. Now I'm getting scolded like a schoolboy," lamented Kakashi. He opened his coat, shedding his gloves. Half of his left pinky ended in a stump. But there was a silver ring on it, as if rewarding it for its ugliness.

"That's not true, Kakashi. Schoolchildren at least know basic manners," retorted Sakura. And then, she lowered her gun. Her pointer finger rested on the trigger. With her other hand, she snapped, bringing Sai over.

"Daai lou," he greeted the two men, bowing. Tobirama nodded. Kakashi looked him over, not saying anything.

"Whiskey, neat for our guests. Pinot noir for me," Sakura said. Sai bowed again before ducking past the curtain to head for the bar.

"I was wondering why it was so quiet. That one’s not in Hong Kong to start trouble. He’s just like you, Jing-Mei," Tobirama observed, staring after him. Sakura turned her head away, scoffing.

“He was just a little errand boy in my time. I never assumed he’d catch your eye,” Kakashi said.

At this, Sakura crossed one leg over the other. The high slit in her dress opened and her thigh peeked out. She felt Tobirama glance at it but ignored him. Pinning Kakashi with a glare, she opened her mouth.

"Well you made an assumption that I wouldn't kill if you showed your face here. Looks like you aren't doing so hot tonight, Mad Dog," she threatened. Her voice all silken and soft.

"Aiya, Sakura, don't be like that," sighed Kakashi. "Us halfies have to stick together, you know?"

When she had first come to Hong Kong, she hadn't really felt like she belonged anywhere. Kakashi had a Japanese father and a Chinese mother. He claimed that his old man had died of cancer, although there were rumors that Kakashi had slit his throat for leaving his mother.

"We halfies have to look out for each other, right?" he always said. Dropping off weapons and packages for her to hide. Slipping her candies from Japan in case she felt homesick. In her youth, those little kindnesses had warmed her heart.

But as Hashirama brought her into the fold, he made a point to keep Kakashi far away from her.

"Be careful, Jing-Mei. Mad Dog talks nice, but that's the problem. He's all talk. He's the type to bring a book of poems to a gunfight."

Eyeing his easy smile, Sakura scoffed.

"Kakashi," she said. (Which wasn't even his real name. Because who would name their child 'scarecrow'?) "Kakashi, the only thing you are is half 'jack' and half 'ass'."

Tobirama snorted as Sai arrived with drinks. Sai placed the tumbler in Tobirama's waiting fingers before setting the other glass in front of Kakashi. Without looking up, Sakura raised her hand over her shoulder. Sai slipped the stem between her knuckles. Her palm molded to the shape of the glass.

"Thank you, Sai," she called after his retreating back.

"Yeah, Mama," he replied, also not looking at her.

"But seriously, don't be like that, Jing-Mei. We had a deal, remember?" insisted Kakashi, leaning forward. His elbows on his thighs. He cracked that old grin- the one he used like a lockpick to always wiggle his way in.

Sakura eyed him over the rim of her glass. She took a long sip. The wine was the same color as her lips, staining her teeth black for a second.

"I can't recall," she answered.

Kakashi huffed. He picked up his drink and took a sip. Made a noise of approval. Took another sip.

“This is some good shit,” he commented. And then, eyes narrowing, he pointed at her.

“You look like you’re doing well for yourself, Haruno. This is a swanky joint,” observed Kakashi, looking around. At the high ceilings. At the gleaming floors and twinkling string lights. Something in his gaze shifted. Leaning back in the seat, he continued pointing.

“I always knew you would make it big, Jing-Mei. Which is why I gave you so much,” Kakashi insisted. Rolling her eyes, Sakura set her glass down. She stood, walking over to adjust the curtain. As she peered past, she saw Charlie staring at her. Her eyes darted to the bar and then back to him. He got up, ignoring the way the puzzled hostesses called after him.

“You didn’t do shit for me, Mad Dog,” Sakura retorted, still staring out at the club. She stepped back to her table. Sank into her seat. Just a little closer to Tobirama than before. She could smell his cologne. When she reached to pick up her wine again, her arm brushed against his elbow.

And then, she tilted her head back, considering the chandelier. It was a custom-made design flown in from New York City. The clusters of glass flowers glowed soft yellow. Casting golden shapes across the ceiling like many reaching hands.

She spun the stem of her glass between her fingers. Let her eyes flutter shut.

"Ah. Yes. Now I recall. You were supposed to give me your territory. In exchange, I would help you disappear," she stated. Eyes falling open. Mouth curling on one side. She pointed with the hand holding her wine.

"Whatever happened, Mad Dog?" she questioned.

His smile faltered. Clearing his throat.

"Now, Jing-Mei. You know that things got messy. I didn’t realize the Red Arrow gang would move in so quickly," he began, holding up his hands in front of him.

"Oh. I see." Her eyes narrowed. She took a sip of wine. Licked her lips.

"And remember that it all worked out in the end? You have the Mid-Levels now. Those are some high-ranking people under your protection. Plus I gave you Charlie Lau. Don't you like Charlie Lau? He's useful, isn't he?" he reminded her. Beside her, Tobirama scoffed.

"I thought that the deal was all you owned. Whatever happened to your slice of Aberdeen?" Tobirama pointed out, examining his nails.

Kakashi shot a glare in the other man's direction.

"I thought you were here to help me talk to her," he grumbled. Tobirama looked guiltless. His gaze darted toward Sakura. And then he shrugged.

"The deal was that I get her attention. I never said anything else," scoffed the Red Pole. He leaned back, arms draping over the top of the booth. Sakura glanced at him, almost laughing. And their eyes locked.

"What was in it for you, Tobirama?" she queried. His eyebrows arched.

"Let's just say that drinks are on me tonight," responded Tobirama. She looked back at the man sitting across from them.

"At any rate, you didn't hold up your end of the bargain, Mad Dog. Cleaning up after that mess was a pain in my ass for months. What makes you think that I'll ever listen to another word you have to say?" she demanded.

Kakashi suddenly looked small. It was hard to believe that he had once been a Red Pole just like them. His eyes darted around. That was his speciality- finding a way to charm his way out of every sticky situation. He spread his hands, shrugging.

"My rugged good looks?" Kakashi ventured.

She leveled her Desert Eagle at him. The barrel glinted. She took another sip of wine with her other hand.

"Try again," she said, unsmiling.

Kakashi rubbed the back of his head. Letting out a sigh, he stared down at his feet. And then he rubbed his face with both his hands.

"Fuck, Jing-Mei. My wife is pregnant," he confessed in a muffled voice.

Her gun didn't waver. "So?"

His head shot up. Leaning forward, he slammed both his hands down on the tabletop. The club suddenly went silent at the noise.

"Mama? Is everything alright?" called Moegi from her table.

"Everything's fine. Don't worry, dear," replied Sakura, her voice light and pleasant. That didn't stop Sai from sticking his head behind the curtain. He took in Kakashi's aggressive pose. Sakura's gun pointed at his forehead. She could see Sai reaching for his own firearm concealed under his black vest.

"Unnecessary. I would like some more wine though," Sakura stated. She held Sai's gaze until he lowered his hands.

"Of course, Mama," he ground out. Shooting Kakashi one last glare, he disappeared behind the curtain.

"Are you serious? Come on, Jing-Mei? How long have we known each other? That really doesn't matter at all to you? Do you seriously have no loyalty left for someone you used to call a 24K brother?" demanded Kakashi.

"You told me once that all that brotherhood talk wasn't worth shit. That it's more important to watch out for yourself. I'm just following your advice, daai lou," retorted Sakura. But after she considered him a while longer, she lowered her gun. Left it on the seat beside her.

"But congratulations, I suppose," she then added. Folding her arms across her chest, she leaned back. Her shoulder knocked into Tobirama's hand. But she didn't flinch away.

"So. What do you want?" she then questioned.

"To get the hell out of Hong Kong," he replied without hesitation. Hands clasping together, he let out a sigh.

"I thought just getting off the island would be it. Kowloon seemed safe enough. But now shit's going down and I don't want my kid growing up near any of that," Kakashi explained. And then he looked up. His eyes met hers.

And she hated how she understood that expression right away. Because she had seen it so many times in her mother's tired looks. Her soundless sobs as she washed her muddy and blood-stained uniform.

Hadn't been kind enough to stop fighting. Hadn't been smart enough to lie whenever her mother asked if she had failed her.

"I need six months to gather my funds to move to America. Let me stay here in the meantime," requested Kakashi.

Her expression didn't shift. Even as she felt Tobirama's fingers trail down the back of her neck.

"You won't be invisible in Japan, Kakashi. You still have a lot of enemies," Sakura pointed out. But she looked him over as she considered. At the weariness etched into his posture and his gaze. Calculated that, although taking over his territory had been a true pain in her ass- he had made her much richer.

"Six months from tomorrow. Not a day later," she relented. Before he could thank her, she glared.

"You step one toe over the line, you are and your wife are dead, Mad Dog. Pregnant or not. Now get out before I change my mind," she warned. Kakashi bowed low, forehead almost touching his knees. Gathering his gloves, he got to his feet. Nodded at Tobirama. And then he left.

Because even if he had a reputation for being all talk, Sakura didn't.

Tobirama and Sakura didn't look at each other for a while. The club cooled as the door opened and shut. Sakura swirled her wine around in the glass.

"Now, I'm curious. Have you found York yet?" she asked, eyes trained on her knee. She measured the distance between each word. Careful. Light.

His fingers on the back of her neck stilled.

"Not yet. Rumor's say he's still here. He's starting to really piss me off," replied Tobirama, sighing. She glimpsed him running his hand through his hair.

"I see."

Drinking the rest of her wine, she set the glass aside. She examined her nails as she spoke: "I'll let you borrow Charlie Lau for a couple days. He's good at finding rats. He'll be helpful, especially since this is his turf. Doesn't make him look good either if York's running around under his nose."

Lifting her head, she met Tobirama's eyes.

"Good?" she asked.

“I’ll be out of the city as soon as I find Ng,” he responded. Getting to his feet, he handed her a few bills. More than enough to cover his whiskey and Kakashi’s.

“Fine,” answered Sakura. And then he walked out the door, pulling on his jacket as he went.

As soon as the door slammed shut, Tenten sagged against the bar. Sai did the same, his hands clenching into fists.

Itachi stared at them.

“Was that someone big?” he questioned.

Sai squeezed his eyes shut, a visible shudder running up his spine. Tenten, grimacing, nodded.

“That’s one of the other Red Poles. He goes by Tobirama, even though that’s definitely not his real name,” she explained. And then she cast a look toward the door. Like Tobirama might walk back in.

“I wouldn’t ask too many questions about him, daai lou. That man is dangerous,” added Tenten.

Sakura counted through the bills. Sandwiched in the middle was a brand new credit card. Sleek and black. Apparently, Tobirama was planning on creating a mess if he was giving her such a nice present. She slipped just the card into her bra.

“If you’re done gossiping, I need you to call me the car, Tenten,” Sakura called out.

“Shit, she has good hearing,” Tenten hissed, patting her pockets to find her phone.

Sakura walked over to the bar. She leaned against it just beside Itachi.

“The Uchiha’s don’t touch drugs. So you wouldn’t happen to know anything about the whereabouts of a dealer named York Ng, correct?” she asked. Itachi shook his head.

“I hope you’re telling the truth. Because it’s about to get really ugly in Yokohama,” Sakura predicted. Heaving a sigh, she stood up straight. Itachi took her hand, turning her toward him.

“Jing-Mei-”

“Go home for tonight, Itachi. I have some business to take care of now,” she interrupted him. She could feel him looking her face over. But unlike with either Hashirama or Tobirama, she didn’t feel exposed. He couldn’t see through or into her. Her expression was a mystery to him. But it was no mystery to her that he was worried.

“Is there anything I can do?” asked Itachi. His thumb ran over her knuckles. She pulled away, smiling. She touched his cheek with the back of her hand for a second.

“You’re sweet, Kumicho. But this is 24K business,” she answered. Blowing him a kiss, she turned to head for the door. Sai was waiting for her with her white fur coat and purse.

“Have someone follow Mad Dog. Report in every hour,” she whispered as she pulled her hands through the sleeves. Sai nodded. She patted his shoulder, slipped him the money that Tobirama had left. Was out the door, into the frozen streets. The smell of wine and roses mixing in her nose. Lingering like an unwanted guest long after the party had ended.

Sakura glanced around. Then looked down at her watch. The car was nowhere to be seen. Sighing, she shifted her coat over her shoulders. Craned her neck to peer down the block both ways.

She jolted when she felt a hand touch her shoulder.

“Sakura.”

“Itachi, I’m serious. Go home.” She turned on her heel. Saw the expression on his face and paused. He was still in the neon lights, the blues and pinks washing the color out of his face. The collar of his jacket was crooked again. She reached out to fix it.

“I’ll wait with you. A lady shouldn’t be alone on the streets this late,” Itachi responded, completely serious. The smile that came to her lips almost hurt.

“Have you forgotten who I am? I’m not in danger,” Sakura reminded him. She reached into her coat for a cigarette. Stopped when she heard him chuckle.

“It’s more of a courtesy than anything. You’re still a lady,” he simply said. Holding his hand out to her. She watched it, wary.

“What’re you playing at, Uchiha Itachi? You already have my favor. No need to kiss ass any more than this,” demanded Sakura, eyes narrowing. She pulled the cigarette out, holding it between her pointer and middle fingers. And when she looked up, his lighter was waiting for her.

She stared at him through the flickering flame. At the way he cupped one hand around it to protect it from the wind. At the way he watched her through his eyelashes. How, unsmiling, he looked more and more like his father each time she saw him.

“Do you really hate it so much?” queried Itachi.

Sakura touched her cigarette to the flame. Waited for the smoke to rise. She took a breath, leaned away.

“Not particularly,” she admitted, not meeting his eyes. A smile curled at his mouth.

Before he could respond, a black car rolled to a stop beside them. Sakura didn’t recognize the shape or the license plate. Both the front and back windows opened. Itachi was already pulling her out of the way before she could react.

“This is your only warning, bitch,” a voice said from inside. And then they opened fire. Gun smoke and the crack of bullets erupted into the night. And the nearby civilians screamed, scrambling for shelter. Itachi pulled her behind a utility pole, his good arm digging into his jacket pocket.

The door to the club slammed open. Tenten and Sai emerged, guns blazing. They had thrown random customers’ scarves over their heads to hide their faces. But Sakura could pick out Tenten from the way that she was shooting with both hands.

Sakura felt a vibration inside her coat. She pawed through the layers of fur until she found her phone. She could hardly hear Tommy through all the screaming and gunfire.

“Boss, just called for backup. Where are you?” he shouted. Sakura peered around the pole, jolted back when a bullet ricocheted off the edge. She glanced over at Itachi, he was also shouting into his phone. But when he met her eyes, he grabbed her by the front of the coat and held her close.

“Out front. I’m behind cover with the kumicho,” she replied.

“We’ll be fi-” Glass shattered somewhere behind Tommy. And then he heard one of the girls begin shrieking. “We’ll be fine! Just get out of here for now, Boss!”

Hearing her name, Sakura looked up. She saw Tenten was taking cover behind another pole, reloading her gun. Sai crouched beside her, attempting to pick off the driver. But all the bullets did were bounce off the reinforced sides of the car. Tenten gestured for her to go with a sharp jerk of her hand.

“Diu,” she hissed to herself. And then she cradled the phone between her ear and shoulder as she dug back in her coat. Her fingers curled around her Desert Eagle.

“Call Rock Lee. I don’t care what he’s doing. Fly his ass over here! I’ll leave things to you three,” Sakura shouted.

“Mou man tai. No problem, Boss,” replied Tommy. And then the call ended. Sakura shoved her phone back into her pocket. Grabbed Itachi by the front of his coat.

“You got a ride, Kumicho?” she asked. They both flinched as bullets peppered the wall precariously close to their heads. Itachi reached back to pull a pistol out from under his jacket. He pointed down the opposite end of the street with it.

“I’ll cover for you. Get us out of here,” Sakura said. Nodding, Itachi scanned the area. He fired a couple shots off at the car. Sakura lifted her arm to do the same. Her bullet squeezed in through the gap in the window. Red exploded out from inside the car.

They darted out from behind the pole. Tenten and Sai unleashed a rain of bullets down on the car to cover them.

Sakura looked over her shoulder. Squinted through all the smoke and debris at the license plate of the car. Saw a chrysanthemum etched into the side of the plate. Nearly stumbled. Itachi took her hand and pulled her forward.

“Fucking shit. Tobirama,” she snarled as she ran as fast as she could.

#eastern suns #itasaku #tobisaku #triad!sakura x yakuza!itachi #writing #guess who's back from vacation #aloha my children #triad!au

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grumkin · 8 years ago

Text

Early, Brooklyn, Present Day

On my seventeenth birthday, my mother sent me to a psychic. It was the summer after my high-school graduation, and I was having some trouble deciding what to do with my life. Summertime in Brooklyn—the street trees fluffy with leaves, sparkling soda can discards glinting in the gutters, loud music pouring from every open window—is not conducive to buckling down and becoming a grown-up. Under the magnet on the fridge, Mom left a note that said, You have a noon appointment at La Botanica Divino Nino. You better go. Happy Birthday Love Mom. It was hot and humid that morning and although the light that pierced the curtains threatened to aggravate my headache, I put on some sunglasses, slipped on my flip-flops, and left the apartment.

The seer operated in the back of a Dominican botanica in Brooklyn, a few blocks away from where we lived. The sign in the window flashed neon green and pink: Psychic – Palms Read – Futures Told. The seer had a slight mustache and a tragic dye job. She gripped my hand to her billowing chest as I entered the door, and cried, “My dear, I have just forseen your death!”

I stumbled across the peeling linoleum threshold. The walls were lined with shelves containing cardboard boxes labeled in Spanish, and pungent incense wafted from a small cauldron on top of the glass display case. The seer dragged me to rest on a squeaky folding chair. As my eyes adjusted to the dim interior, I saw my mother, Agatha, sitting in the corner, smoking and pretending to read, and I jumped almost out of my chair. She was always doing stuff like this. It was very exasperating, and hard on my nerves. While I was startled, I wasn’t surprised.

“Mom!”

“What? I’m reading, leave me alone.” Mom burrowed back into her book, something called Dancing with Depression, like she just happened to decide Divino Nino was the best place to catch up on her mental health. Puff-puff.

The seer took my hand again and shook my arm a little. “Don’t you want to know the date of your death?”

“I’m not sure I do,” I said.

“Early,” my mother barked, “Do you want to know what it is to really live?” She shook her thick grayish-blonde braid over her shoulder and glared at me through her reading glasses.

I, who had been listening to Rihanna, smoking cigarettes, and playing solitaire on my bed only hours before, felt this question was unfair. “Mom, could you just give me a break, please?”

Mother believes. In all kinds of things. Psychics are high on her list. She loves the famous television psychics. She believes in television, too. She believes in angels, guardian angels, one or many of which we all have. She believes in past lives. She believes in children. She believes in the benefits of grapefruit for the digestive system. She believes in vitamins. She believes in inner light. She believes in Jesus. Mother is credulous. Mother believes there is a cure for everything.

The seer wanted to get back on task. “I am Madame Borbala, and I see your future. Listen to me, I have foretold the hour of your death, but not its nature.”

“You haven’t even read my palm yet; how have you foretold anything?” I looked around for cards or a crystal ball or other kind of divinatory device but saw only the bare card table, shelves full of tiny bottles, and an army of red and black candles marching in rows along one wall.

Mom rolled her eyes at me. “This one, she doesn’t believe anything you tell her,” she said to Madame Borbala.

“They’re so difficult at this age,” the Madame agreed. She turned my hand over and peered at my palm. “Yes, it’s very clear, here; you can see the indication on your life line. Your death,” she announced, “will be one year from now, on your eighteenth birthday.”

“I’m hungry,” I said, gently pulling my hand out of her grasp. “Mom, can we go? I could eat a hamburger so fast right now.”

“She’s gonna eat me out of house and home,” my mother groaned through the incense and cigarette smoke. “It’s like she’s got a bottomless stomach.” Madame Borbala made sympathetic noises. “I’m convinced she has a worm.”

“Mom, I’m leaving now.”

Mother sighed and tucked her book into her purse, stubbing out her cigarette into a straggly potted plant beside her. “Thank you Madame, you’ve been really helpful.”

“No problem.” The seer nodded graciously.

My mother discussed all of my problems with the neighborhood. Madame Borbala probably knew all about what mom called my ‘rebellious ways,’ and not in the psychic sense, either. No, my mother had a big mouth. My drinking! My smoking! My habit of staying out till all hours of the day and night! I’m sure she told her friends all the details of my bad attitude.

I spent the next few days considering the possibility that I might die in a year; that I might ever die at all. I have to say I just didn’t believe it at first. What teenager ever thinks she’s mortal? I ate my hamburger; later I went swimming with George at the community pool; and I forgot about the visit to Madame Borbala.

Fast forward to this year. Brigit and I meet on June 14, at Dunkin Donuts next to the hospital. Supposed to be studying for Regents exams, I have taken to spending the mornings at Dunkin Donuts, reading books and getting hopped up on the iced hazelnut blend. DD is across the street from my apartment, and it’s got A/C, and one of the girls who works there was my partner in Earth Science before she dropped out, so they let me stay as long as I want. I always sit in the window booth, and before I met Brigid, I read and watched the street and watched my own reflection in the glass. I saw her, a tall girl with pink hair and big tits, come in almost every day. Her tattoos were kind of intimidating, and she held her mouth in a tough way, so I pretended not to notice her. Then one day she just plunked down next to me with her coffee.

“Can I sit with you?”

I startled and pulled myself out of my book. She was looking at me as if she expected me to say no.

“Sure,” I said.

“So what’s your deal?” she asked.

“I don’t have a deal.”

“Everyone has a deal. What are you reading?”

Reluctantly, I showed her the cover of my book. Suddenly Psychic; a Skeptic’s Journey. “I got this one off of my Mom’s bookshelf.”

Brigit nodded and said, “That’s cool,” in a way that didn’t make me question if she meant it.

“What’s your deal?” If everyone had a deal, she was sure to have one as well.

Brigit was an outpatient at the hospital’s psych ward. She came in every day for six hours of “partial hospitalization.” On her lunch break they let her come get coffee. “It’s the only drug I’m allowed to have,” she explained. “Coffee addictions are socially acceptable. Cigarettes too. Oh and the psych meds, of course! Wanna come outside and have a smoke with me?”

I did.

Brigit was an ex-Moonie. That is, her parents were members of the Unification Church, a religious movement started by a Korean dude named Sun Myung Moon. Members of this church think this guy is the second messiah, no shit. Brigit was brought up this way. When Brigid was ten, her parents were indicted on charges of fraud against little old ladies, and she was sent to live with her grandmother, a little old lady who was like, the OG Moonie.

“Gramma hates that I don’t believe in The Reverend any more. She’s always threatening to send me on a mission somewhere. But she won’t,” Brigit said, exhaling sharply.

“So what are you in here for?” I asked, indicating the hospital across the street. We leaned against the glass of the Dunking Donuts window and flicked ashes at the shimmering sidewalk.

“Me? Oh, the partial hospitalization? Yeah. Um. I tried to kill myself again in March. I do it every year.”

“How many times have you tried it?”

“Three. Since I was fourteen. It keeps Gramma on her toes” “In March, every year?”

“Yeah, around there.”

“Why March?”

Smoke came out of Brigit’s mouth in a rush. “The spring is always a time of transformation and change for me.”

“You’re obviously not very good at killing yourself.” “O, I’m sure the cigs will get me one day.”

We both took a meditative drag.

“I hate July!” I complain to my cousin Honey, who has a straight back and a six-months-pregnant belly. It is disgustingly hot today, one day after Independence Day. The street is littered with red, white, and blue confetti. We sit on the stoop, fanning ourselves with party fliers. Honey is in her usual long white habit, which she took to wearing when she got pregnant, with a white rope tied high over her baby bump and under her rack, which is so enormous that the habit isn’t even doing a good job of hiding it. She’s practicing to become a nun, plans on entering the convent soon as she has the baby. Honey wants me to call her Clare, which is the saint name she plans to take. Everyone, in fact, has been calling her Saint Clare. Saint Clare, the pregnant teenaged nun. You could laugh, but it’s actually a shitty story, which nobody tells, as though by not telling you could, like, erase what happened to her, which involved being raped and impregnated by her own stepfather. Honey had always been religious, praying to the Heavenly Father and the Dear Lord, please this, please that, always in church, except that one fateful afternoon when she wasn’t, and after she found out she was pregnant, she decided that was all the calling she needed. Now she’s carrying her baby for Jesus.

Honey’s white hood is pushed back against her glossy dark hair, and her skin glows with a pearly sheen.

“August is even worse!” She says, fanning herself harder, and suddenly my insides go queasy. Something ticks inside my skull and Madame Borbala comes swimming up from last summer.

My 18th birthday is on August 13th. I’m a Leo. My little half-brother George sometimes tells me, when my hair is ‘fro-ing out, that I look like a lion. All this humidity drives my curls crazy. My mix of Dominican and Polish does not make for easy hair. If I die on my birthday, my hair better look good.

Honey and I squint into the street and the sun presses down on us.

“Last year a psychic told me I was gonna die on my 18th birthday.”

Honey nods her head. “I’m pretty sure psychics are tools of the devil.”

We contemplate that for a while. It is so hot here in this corner of Brooklyn, it is easy to believe the devil has had some influence around here. I want a cigarette but I’m trying to be good and not smoke. This morning, Mom accused me of stealing hers and if I admit it to myself, I have been doing that a lot.

“On the other hand,” she says after a moment, “The Holy Spirit might be using this means to bring you to Jesus.”

“I’m not sure I want to spend my last month on earth devoting my life to God.”

“I can’t think of any better way to spend your last month on earth,” Honey says, staring nobly into the distance. She leans against the railing on the stoop, caressing her belly.

“You’re a little more religious than me,” I say. A cigarette would be just the thing.

“I know,” she says, sighing. “So if not Jesus, what are you going to do with yourself?”

“One thing for sure: if I die on my birthday, my hair better look good, “ I tell her. “That could literally take all month to achieve.”

“You crazy-“ Honey loves calling people you crazy “- your hair better look good on your birthday whether you’re dead or not.”

She has a point.

“I have been thinking about it, now that it’s July,” I say. “I don’t really think I’m going to die on my birthday…but pretend I was.”

“Are you worried you won’t go to heaven? I worry about that all the time.”

“No,” I say, “I’m not worried about going to heaven.” “Not at all?” She goggles at me.

I stare back at her. “I don’t believe in heaven any more.”

Honey turns away from me.

“Okay, so pretend you’re gonna die in…how many days do you have?”

“It’s July fifth. My birthday is August 13th. So that’s forty days.”

“That’s how long it took Noah to build the ark. Or wait, was it Moses on the mount for forty days? I forget. Anyway, dang girl, you better get cracking.” She won’t say ‘damn.’

I stare into Honey’s brown eyes.

“That’s what I was thinking.”

Thus the Birthday List is born. First item:

Good hair.

Honey leaves, hauling herself up, wiping away sweat from her forehead. She’s gotta pee, and wants to get back inside where it’s cool. She’s my uncle’s daughter, but her parents are divorced. She lives with my uncle, my missing father’s brother, Tito. She left her mom’s house after she got pregnant. My uncle lives close by, with his new wife and baby. Honey kisses me and heads down the street, slowly, her belly swinging in front of her. She’s got chores to do.

#FDFN SFironblogger Early Brooklyn psychic

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