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tifonbellanariablog · 5 years ago

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Weird fiction (reader meets Kato in the weirdest of the places)

Crackfiction ahoy ! Don’t take it seriously as a thriller. Who else loves to discover tiny restaurants in tiny downtown alleys? :D :D I love restaurants, love food...hey, from sorcery/alchemy/handling insects to cooking there’s a thin line. If you want me to continue this weird thing, go ahead!

A brilliant golden temple surrounds you. You have been to Thailand before. It was that famous spring break vacation all your middle-school and highschool girls had saved during all your shopping mall part-time job. It’s as scorching hot as you remember from the alcoholic haze you have had during your last visit. It’s not that you don’t drink that much, but you’re neither one of those loud drunks. You drink socially, like any other millennial.

Wearing a tiny skirt with breathable panties and long sleeved tunic with a west cartoon logo, you walk side by side with one of your pen-pals, a girl who knows Bangkok through.

She was the one who helped you choosing a comfortable but light set of clothes. You had your hair cut short as “messy buns” aren’t really your thing and wasting water isn’t something you’re keen to do.

After taking a long visit in the Golden Buddha Temple, Par Aromdee takes you to a local pho restaurant she swears by. It’s in a dark alley even your Google-Maps can’t identify. The name of the restaurant “perfect empire” should set a few alarms.

Once inside the twenty square-meters restaurant, the spicy mixture of boiling green onions, curry and soy sauce hits you. It’s when Par Aromdee introduces you to the owner of the restaurant that you feel incredibly hot. For a South-East Asian, he’s awfully tall. You have met guys from Indonesia and Indochina before. Sure, Thailand is a melting pot of cultures, but there is something that seems off about the seven feet tall man in a dark leathery apron and a small transparent mask.

He kisses your hand after taking the gloves and the transparent mask. His voice is quite deep and his English is mild. You have been teaching Indonesian kids ever since you quit college, you know a little about languages...Even though his intonation and pronunciation are heavily accented, his vocabulary is extensive. If anything, the man’s accent reminds you of North-Asia, like Korea or China.

Boiling noodles with eggs and oysters. It’s a perfect combination. The broccoli in this soup are nothing like the ones you are used to eat at home.

Par Aromdee is slurping what looks like a real duck fetus from a egg. Then, she begins to eat what’s clearly a very spicy stew.

‘You want something?’ She points at the oysters and the fried bugs.

You shrug while accepting a small fried grasshopper.

‘Don’t worry, they’re washed thoroughly before being fried.’

To your surprise, it tastes like shrimps or a crunchy-like nut.

After the meal, Par Aromdee is given a kiss in the cheeks by a man she seems to know. Thai people aren’t known for being open about PDA. In fact, the restaurant owner nearly coughs up a large bug he was eating alongside one of the blushing, fairer Thai waitresses.

A romantic music from a Mandarin-speaking movie seems to play in the background. You wonder how a man can walk with a wine-coloured suit and a rain coat and heavy boots with all the heat.

‘Hey...ahm...This is my boss...not exactly my direct boss, but you know.’

‘Pleased to meet you.’ You say in a meek voice, blushing slightly.

You smile while bowing to the man in the large fedora hat. He grins and begins to speak in Thai. Par Aromdee looks petrified. Then, she playfully tries to give him a kick on his rear. She fails. The man merely laughs, his voice booming in the alley.

The music shifts to a strange but familiar instrument. Violins and accordions, but not in the chords you’re used to. It’s traditional Thai music, but with a hint with western influences.

‘Coconut water...It cleanses the palate.’ Par Aromdee offers you a glass. ‘I need to return to my job...night shift.’

‘How long do you think?’

‘It’s a short shift.’ The giant of a man in the dark fedora hat speaks softly.

‘Take care, Par.’

Par smiles as she playfully kisses the air between both of you. Her lingering perfume of cinnamon and cardamon hangs in the air as she rushes with the man. They nearly dance to the rhythm of the song. The metallic rustle of metal and something clicking into place is muffled by the music and the noise of cars honking and passing in the closest streets. There are a few street peddlers and vendors yelling, claiming their food is the best.

The owner of the restaurant sighs while shaking his head, washing the dishes.

‘Don’t get mixed up with him...’ He comments in an acidic tone.

‘Drug dealers...’ The young light olive waitress mutters in weak English.

‘I thought Par worked in Unicef, helping girls from poor towns with her skills in French and English.’

‘Little Par...That one does all types of jobs.’ The oldest of the waitresses mutters as she puts off her apron in a small racking stack. ‘Mr. Kh...’ She began to speak in Cantonese. The man answered to her fluently. Then, she bowed two times before saying the words you know by heart. It’s a goodbye and hope you don’t work too late.

#doomedmegalopolis #streetfighter #crackfiction #one night in bangkok

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tifonbellanariablog · 5 years ago

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About time someone would offer him some news. The man in the old Hong Kong hotel began to flip up the pages in a recent newspaper. He was worried that some meddling buffoon could see him - a witch, a wizard. People in Hong Kong still had honour for their ancestors. Nevertheless, the Thai News Weekly came through the hands of a shivering young woman dressed in a strange boyish manner.

He was hoping the successor to Khomeini would offer his priceless “family heirlooms that God offered to him”. Apparently, Iranians were still superstitious they would offer a dead man’s balls after he died to the main benefactor of a will. No. In a last moment whim, the old man had given up both his testicles and the magical objects to a young “University doctorate graduate from from Paris”.

“No one can be certain, but a few people have been speculating if the pious man has had any other romantic escapades other than the ones that are known to the world”. A pink tabloid had wrote back in 1989.

The tall man in the old black suit and the dark green trousers wouldn't question how women had rapidly earned their independence. Perhaps Hong Kong had been modernized, much like the rest of Asia. He had travelled to Korea, and then to Thailand.

He wasn't given a warm welcome over, the man with the unusual long features and the dark, piercing eyes thought while scratching his chin.

The local police instantly marked him on the way to the airport. They began to search him. Yet, when they saw all he had were spell books, a few pots of ink, flasks with herbal medicine and a few acupuncture needles, the airport border security officers immediately allowed him to go board the airplane.

In Thailand, people still revered the old traditions.

"A young woman from Iran manages to recover the priceless antique. Despite her Persian origins, this woman resides in Paris. Mysterious artifact was thought to be planned for an auction. Nevertheless, the late Ayatollah and Supreme Leader was benevolent enough to offer this unique opportunity to the world. A mass exhibition celebrating the event will be held in Macau, 2nd of of April this year."

Roshini...The name felt soft and sweet to his ears. She called herself Roshini. Yet when she began to answer all the questions the reporters asked, Kato Yasunori found the woman wasn't that young as she appeared. No young woman would dodge dangerous, close questions so fluently.

Scratching his chin, the sorcerer began to clutch with the free hand a teacup of coffee.

'That woman managed to catch the Antiques of Persepolis and the Dragon-Owners before any other person could...I wonder how she could persuade that old fanatic.' He said to himself.

1993. The date said 1993...He should find a way to recover those energy-fueled chains, alongside with the objects of power. Perhaps these could grant him another chance at destroying the capital.

As the man flipped over the pages, he noticed a small ad in a tiny section of the Thai newspaper. It was written in English, but the man could decipher from the few Chinese words.

Mercenaries for hire...Arm dealers, drug cartel. They didn’t believe in a God...The man sighed in relief. It would do him no good dealing with people who thought of him as a heathen wizard. It said it had enough resources to provide for large scale operations, from terrorist bombing attacks, to plane hijacking. The base price plus the budget planning was over five-hundred thousand British pounds. The address was a few blocks to the North-east of his current location. He didn’t mind - he had the name of the organization. Finding the real entrance wouldn’t be that hard. The address could be a fake one - a bobby trap set aimed to law enforcement agents. He could certainly make a few hundred thousand Pounds disappear from the Bank of England. It was a parlour trick for him. Kato smirked triumphantly. Soon, he could - and he would - summon gods!

#prompt #originalcharacterthrownforflavour #Roshiniyoureamazing #crossover #doomedmegalopolis #streetfighter

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