#that i must bow so low ( moder musings )

[raichoose-moved]

dani and moder are the blessed farm girl and the misunderstood majestic wild mustang, send tweet

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Tag Dump

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[deliciousliving]

Enveloped P.2 (All Might x Reader)

You do something a little reckless but your heart is in the right place. Toshinori Yagi grows rapidly over-protective. It doesn’t help that he’s attracted to you either. A bit of a prelude to the first fic of the same name.

Contains: Kidnapping, Creepy All Might

Being the number one hero meant accounting for things others might not. For example, which parts of the city had higher crime? Who was more susceptible to the dangers a villain might pose? Who was more likely to lead a life of crime and why? All Might was popular in the hearts of citizens because he truly took into account their vulnerabilities. He never expressed this aloud, didn’t bother debating his preference for patrols, and he still didn’t bring it up when the ideologies of the hero-killer Stain came up in discussion. He merely paid attention to Musutafu as a good hero should.

So naturally, he again found himself walking the streets of one of those low-income areas. As he stood on a moderately sized building, his heightened hearing picked up the sound of a scuffle and a desperate voice. “No...please!” Something about the quiver in that plea gave his instincts a greater sense of urgency, and he found himself shifting in the direction of the commotion before he fully realized his feet were hitting the ground.

A few blocks down and a just barely in the shadow of an alleyway stood a lovely little thing, your bag clutched possessively to your chest, while a taller albeit very-young villain hovered over you, a small blade in hand. Hesitantly, you spoke again, “I can give you the money just let me keep my...”

“I-I said hand over the fucking bag!” He hissed out, head swiveling around to keep aware for onlookers.

“FOR I AM HERE!” The Hero exclaimed. Leaping deftly to the front of the poorly lit alley. He turned his attention to the man with the blade, hand landing on your attacker’s shoulder, “Young Man! What are you up to?”

“I-I-I...” The attacker stammered. He stood frozen in place, his eyes large in fear. There was an underlying waver in his voice, if his quirk was folding in on himself, you’d think he’d do it. He was young, maybe even still a teenager, and had a pitiful shake to his stance. Before you fully thought it through, the words left your mouth.

“He’s my cousin!” You all but shrieked, causing both to immediately lock eyes on you. “We’re acting out a scene in a play.” Heat prickled at your cheeks as you gave a deep bow in the towering man’s direction. “I’m so so sorry to bother you, All Might, sir.”

There was an almost painful silence as both parties took in your act. The lie was obvious, sad even, but you were committed. “Uh...J-Johnny...” you began rooting through your bag, taking out a large bill -the last of your grocery money- and handed it to the young man. “Why don’t you head home? This is for helping me with my lines.” Your eyes followed All Might’s grip on his shoulder, watching it tighten then relax before he gave a brief nod at the near-thief who didn’t waste any time running off. His eyes lingered on the shrinking figure as he spoke, curiosity lacing his tone.

“Miss..You did not know that young man.”

You stiffened. Your plan had not accounted for lying to the number one hero. It was true that sometimes you saw the best in people when they were at their worst, but even you were having difficulty wrapping your head around your actions at the moment. “Well...” You started slowly, parsing out your own thoughts as you spoke. “He was just a kid. 18 at most? This area is not easy to grow up in, I should know. So... maybe...maybe he just needed a break and some pocket change?” You were fiddling with your purse strap now, feeling awkward and slightly ashamed at your lie. It didn’t help that All Might was taking his sweet time replying to you.

Toshinori knew what you had been doing, what he had trouble figuring out was why. The boy had a knife on you, ready to use it had you not been interrupted. Sure, maybe you felt some sympathy for the kid -even the worst villains were sympathetic- but to vie for him with little repercussions? That denoted a distinct lack of self-preservation and it prodded at the Hero’s protective nature. “I will be walking you home.” he stated suddenly, not giving you the option of declining. It was typical for All Might to laugh in this situation, maybe give a small scolding with some added levity as the criminal was lead away in hand-cuffs. Tonight though, he was silent, mulling over how this interaction had uncovered a part of him he had long thought was buried. Yes, he felt you were naive, but you were also candid and honest...thoughtful even. He had been bright-eyed and passionate once, when he first started saving people and didn’t have to concern himself with things like his “image” and junk journalism. No, it wasn’t usual for him to favor a single citizen, but there was an intrigue here he wasn’t ready to let go.

“Uhm...ok” you started. He had been quiet for a full minute now, you weren’t sure if he was angry or confused, but the silence was killing you. “Thank you...” you murmured.

Pulling ahead of him, you straightened up to lead the way and he followed in stride, letting you.

--

The walk home was kept in a barely comfortable silence. All Might said nothing, his gaze occasionally falling on you then drifting away. You kept your hands primly at your front, clutching your purse, each time you’d attempt to start conversation you’d sense his eyes resting on you and you would lose your nerve. You couldn’t help the wriggling idea that this felt like an awkward first date. Flustered, you gave even more attention to your bag, fingers meddling with the fibers of the fraying strap.

The hero knew the moment you came to your own attacker’s defense, you were special. In his line of work he was typically met with one of two reactions: adoration or vitriol. Survivors had a tendency to gush over him when he handled an altercation, but not you...if anything, your reaction could have been read as a critique of his heroic methods, yet, he didn’t take it that way at all. He merely took you as a young person with a kind heart. Maybe too kind.

Noticing you playing with your purse strap, he smiled down at you. “I’m not making you nervous am I?”

“No, well I...” you stammered, then paused just be direct, you’ve already lied to the man once. “...Actually I’m feeling a little out of my element. I hope you don’t think I’m being rude. I’ve never interacted with a major hero before let alone...you.” On the last word you vaguely gestured in his general direction.

At that, All Might couldn’t help himself, he let out one of his token laughs a hand landed casually on your shoulder, lingering there, you were so small. “My reputation precedes me then. Please, call me Toshinori.” He couldn’t help but test the waters.

You blushed, face turning away from the hero shyly. “That’s a bit...informal isn’t it?” You queried, simultaneously awe-struck at how close he was while also trying to squash the surmounting sense of over-familiarity. Maybe it was a hero thing, a way to build trust among the public? You would be lying if you didn’t admit you were at least a little star-struck being given attention from the greatest celebrity you’ve ever known.

His grin was wide in his reply, “What kind of hero would I be if I wasn’t a friend to everyone? Anyway, a nice young person like yourself doesn’t need to worry about formalities.” He said, chuckling and lightly thumping his hand to his chest as if doing so would beckon a more casual air between the two of you.

“Well...I suppose.” You tilted your head in thought. It was true that what you’d seen of All Might was solely through the media. It was likely his current demeanor was closer to how he normally was. It didn’t make sense to overthink it. Internally chiding yourself for judging him, you smiled. “Toshinori it is.”

What a smile it was! One that caught the hero completely off guard. He was having difficulty putting his finger on why, but the more he gleaned information from your body language, the conversation, and your general demeanor, the more he found himself wanting to know more. Yanking himself from his musings, Toshinori looked up. An apartment complex neared in view and your voice graced his ears “You don’t have to walk me to the front door...I know you must be busy.” You said politely. He frowned. Interest aside, it wouldn’t feel right leaving you on the corner of a street. There was a twinge of frustration rising in his gut at your almost business-like manner. There was no way he was going to leave things as they were.

“I insist.” The hero stated, holding up his hand as though to communicate it wasn’t up for debate. “Your safety is important.”

You blushed again, that same sense of over-familiarity prodding at the back of your mind. At least it was nice to be thought of. “I’m a few doors down from the 2nd floor.” You motioned and glanced at All Might who did little but nod solemnly. The closer you got to the complex, the less pleased he seemed.

As far as Toshinori was concerned, this was not a nice area for you to be living in. Everything about you was placid, polite, even-tempered. It contrasted with the foreboding surroundings of the area- just on the cusp of known villain territory. Someone like you was not meant to be in a place like this. His growing sense of reticence to leave you alone was bearing heavily on him, like a rock on his chest. If he let you stay in a place like this, he would have a hard time forgiving himself.

Once at your door, Toshinori took advantage of you fishing for your keys and stepped just close enough to you, inhaling your scent and observing your comparatively petite form. It was true that he met all sorts of people in his line of work, but you were certainly...titillating. It didn’t help that you were particularly pleasant company either, only serving to prompt a train of thought he rarely humored. What would you be like as a partner, he mused, helpless to resist his attentions, but you wouldn’t want to.

The door swung open, stealing his focus from you to your meager apartment. That rock weighing heavier and heavier as the hero took in your humble living space. Entirely ignorant of his inner conflict, you gave him a pleasant wave prepared to see him off “Thanks again for everything, All Might.”

“I thought I told you to call me Toshinori.”

You stared, dumbfounded and a little fearful. Was that a...demand? You weren’t sure how to reply, now taken off-guard. A moment passed and he was still there, gaze still lingering and not looking like he had any intention of leaving. You tilted your head as you stared at him, parsing out your thoughts before giving a proper response. “I didn’t mean to offend you...Toshinori.”

Just like that, his dark look softened, but instead of a reply, his hand was on your cheek, caressing it. “I forgive you...and you’ll forgive me...” He murmured.

“I’m sorry..?” You stammered back, about to step away and into your living room when the Hero’s arms suddenly engulfed you, one wrapping around your waist whilst the other clamped over your mouth, consequently covering nearly all of your face. You gave a muffled shriek as the hero bolted from the balcony of the second floor of your complex and onto the ground. The reverberation of the landing shook you to your core, and you found yourself struggling to keep your breath only to be physically jolted once more as Toshinori took his token leap into the sky, taking you with him.

[thethoughtsfromthreeam]

Sunshine

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x OC (Evelyn “Evie” Blaker)

Warnings: Angst

A/N: Sorry my boos. . . 

Reminder:  I ain’t ever seen Pedro Pascal in FUCK ALL, I’m just coming up with this as I go along, using imdb.com, wiki, and 84,000 tabs I got open to plan out this shit.  I also write soft versions of his characters so if you’re craving asshole vibes, I ain’t got any but my own to offer.

Tags:  @zeldasayer , @romanticgumchewer, @beskars​ , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder, @lavenderl3mons , @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito​ , @randomness501 , @fioccodineveautunnale  

[PART 1]  [PART 2]  [PART 3]  [PART 4]  [PART 5]  [PART 6]

Part 7 

But Flying Too Close to the Sun Means You Get Burned

Maxwell adjusted his bow tie and fiddled with his cuffs, finding the Botanical Gardens warmer than he suspected for so late in the fall.  The fundraiser wasn’t for the NYBG as he had thought, they were just the host.  In fact, he wasn’t even sure who the hell was asking for money and he briefly thought that maybe he should find out.  He sipped his champagne and looked around.  Several people he recognized waved in greeting and he smiled and nodded back.

When they first arrived, he warned Evie that they would have to do The Circuit. As he explained, many of members of the upper crust and businesses worlds were there that night and he would have to say hello to everyone, lest someone felt snubbed.  So, they walked the room, Maxwell introducing her to people and eventually Eric.  The latter was also an accountant, but for the rich like Maxwell.  The two, however, hit it off and commiserated a bit about their love of numbers before they were both pulled away to say hello to someone new.  

And so, the evening went until everyone had been introduced and now Maxwell found himself off to the side, feeling grumpier than normal.  He wasn’t sure what brought on his mood, but he felt like he couldn’t shake it.  There was no reason for his change in attitude given what a great day it had been thus far, but he could feel something creeping into his brain.  He shook his head, trying to clear it, but the aura remained.

Evie, on the other hand, was enjoying herself immensely.  Once they had completed the introductions, she had wandered away to get something to drink and found herself distracted by the exhibits that were left open to the partygoers.  She recognized where she was and wandered through the beds, trying to remember as many facts Bette had told her as she could.  Everything seemed so different in the evening, almost dreamy.

As she continued to wander around, she heard music and began to move in that direction, wondering what it could be.  As she came out of the exhibit, she found herself on the edge of a dance floor.  Lights strung above gave it an otherworldly glow and the band’s upbeat music had couples moving across the dance floor.

She stood there, just watching and letting the magic of the scene wrap itself around her.  She clasped her hands in front of her and her eyes became soft, toes tapping.  She was so lost in thought that she didn’t notice when Eric walked up and stood next to her.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”  He voice was a little loud to be heard over the music and Evie nodded with that little smile on her face.  They stood there a little longer and after another two songs, a moderate up-beat number began, and Eric turned to her. “Would you like to dance?”

“Oh!  Sure!” Eric held his hand out to Evie, and he guided her onto the dance floor. He turned out to be a great dancer and Evie enjoyed herself immensely.  When the song ended, another tune started up and Eric raised his eyebrow, indicating he’d like to continue to dance.  She nodded, thanking her lucky stars that she bought different shoes than the ones from Wainscotters.

While they floated across the dance floor, chatting away like old friends, Maxwell finally wandered deeper into the party, coming across the dancing couples.  He stopped, wondering where Evie was because he would have loved to take a turn on the floor with her.

Then he spotted her.

He could see Evie laughing while wrapped in Eric’s arms, a large grin on his face.  The grumpiness that skirted around the edge of his mind began to grow inside of him and his face grew darker.  Another song came on, slower this time and instead of breaking apart, they continued to dance, and Maxwell’s jealousy began to crowd out any other thoughts in his mind.

Finally, Evie had to call uncle, she was worn out and the band played way more upbeat tunes than slow ones.  At the end of the slow song, she hugged tightly Eric and thanked him for such a great time, not realizing Maxwell was glaring daggers at the them from across the space.

“I think I’m going to go find Max.  The buffet should be open, and I bet he’s hungry, too.”  Eric offered his arm and she took it as they walked off the floor, dodging other dancers.  She looked away from him and saw the man she was looking for off to the side.  She smiled and waved at him, but he merely stared back at her.

On the outside, he looked stoic as usual and with his hands in his pockets, he almost looked casual.  But no one could see his hands curled into fists, trying to keep his anger in check. He wasn’t going to lose his shit in public and not over her of all people.

As the two walked up to Maxwell, he answered their grins with a tight smile and Eric said his good-byes before heading towards the bar.  Evie looped her arm through Maxwell’s and rested her head on his shoulder.

“I don’t know if I have another dance in me just yet, but I think I could after dinner.  Are you hungry?”  Her question was met with silence and she looked up at him.  This close, she could see his jaw ticking and he wasn’t looking at her.  She pulled back, frowning.  “Max? What’s wrong?  Are you feeling alright?”

He glanced down at her and she pulled away when she saw the fury in his eyes, startling her.  He suddenly turned around and a hand reached out, grabbing her.  He dragged her away, back into the exhibit she had been in earlier. He looked around and when he saw no one, he stopped and yanked Evie in front of him.

“Max, what the hell is wrong with you?!  That hurt!”  She was rubbing her upper arm, the neckline of her dress now over her shoulder.  She pulled at it, looking around and hoping no one was watching.

“So, the minute you get all dolled up, you just start throwing yourself at people?”  His voice was low, and the anger was palpable.  Evie’s jaw dropped and before she could say anything, he continued.  “What do you think this is? Pretty Woman?  You get a taste of the high life and then just go running around, throwing yourself at people like some common whore?!”

“What the hell are you talking about?”  Now Evie’s voice was angry, and she curled her hands into fists, hoping the bite of her nails into her palm would keep her from screaming at him at the top of her lungs.  She didn’t know where this was coming from, but she wasn’t about to let this man of all people call her a whore.

“I saw you throwing yourself at Eric!  Rubbing up against him like some bitch in heat!”

“You are a pompous mother fucker, you know that?  Standing here accusing me of what exactly?  Being nice?  Being social? Not being a rude bastard looking down on people?”  Evie snarled as the next comment that came out of her mouth.  “Not being a complete asshole like your mother?”

He drew back at that comment and she might as well have slapped him, but before he could even say anything to her, she stepped up to him and grabbed him by the lapel, jerking him down towards her.

“I don’t know what the fuck has gotten into you, Maxwell Lord, but you will not stand here and treat me like a piece of shit that is somehow beneath you.  So whatever craw you got stuck in your ass, get it the fuck out.”  She let go of him, slightly pushing him away from her.  “I’m going home.”

She started to walk away before turning around.

“You will never talk to me like that ever again. I should have said something on Monday when you got snippy over the phone and that is on me for letting it slide.  But I’m not your employee.  I’m not your servant.  I’m your fucking equal and you will treat me as such.”

With that, she stalked off and hoped that it didn’t look like she was stomping away.  As she wove her way through the crowd, she smiled and nodded at the people Maxwell had introduced to her earlier in the evening.  It didn’t matter how upset she was, she would never be rude to people who didn’t deserve it.  Ever. Soon, she found herself up front again and after gathering her items from the coat check, she hailed a cab.  Once she gave the driver Maxwell’s address, she sat back and let out a shaky breath.

The day had been so lovely and earlier, when he had cleaned her up after making love, she never felt so complete in all her days.  She stopped when she realized she thought of it as making love.  The tears she held back began to trickle down her face.

She loved a man who didn’t love her.

Just great.

---***---

It seemed like hours before Maxwell made it back to his house and when he walked into the door, it was deathly quiet.  So quiet that a chill skittered across his skin and for a moment, he felt fear.  He dropped his keys on the foyer table and hung up his coat.  He wanted to call out to Evie but felt he should just keep his mouth shut.  Which is what your stupid ass should have done earlier, his brain screamed at him.

‘You called the woman a fucking whore, what is wrong with you!?’ That voice in his head continued.   The same one that shrieked and hollered at him when he stood there and accused Evie of vile things and made her feel like nothing.

The first floor was quiet, only a small lamp on in the living room gave the area any sort of life.  She must be upstairs in bed, he mused.  He climbed the stairs, going to his fate quietly.  He deserved her anger, her sadness and he was sure that if she slapped him across the face, he’d be thankful.

There was no reason for him to have acted the way he did tonight and even earlier in the week.  She was gregarious and social, of course she would have accepted a dance from one of his friends.  She was merely enjoying herself.  And yet his brain immediately jumped to the worse case scenario.  Twice.

Why?  Why was he feeling jealous over a woman when he never had before?

Because you love her, you fucking idiot, the voice said.  He stopped on the landing as the thought skittered through his mind.  He loved her. And yet he had hurt her.

He sighed as he continued up the stairs to the bedroom, the lamp on her side of the bed on.  Everything else was dark and quiet, like the rest of the house.  A chill began to make its way up his spine as he looked around the room, noticing something on the bed. He walked over and he hung his head when he realized it was her dress from the evening. He turned and walked into the bathroom, the light seemingly harsh after the darkness of the room.  All her toiletries were gone, and he walked over to the dresser and yanked open the drawer he gave her, only to find it empty.

“I’m going home.”  She said. He stupidly thought she was coming back here.  She really meant she was going back to Poughkeepsie.  Maxwell yanked his phone out of his pocket and called her.  It went immediately to voice mail.  He left one for her, his voice small as he begged her to call him.  When he hung up, he immediately texted her.  But no response.

He didn’t blame her.  He ruined a great day – no, a perfect day – with his attitude.  He acted like a jackass.  No, he acted worse.  He acted like his mother – a woman who would kill her own family to get what she wanted. Cold, calculating, and ruthless with nary a heart to be found within a hundred miles of her.  She never had friends and in his darkest moments, Maxwell wondered if she was even capable of loving someone else.  Evie’s comment hit its bullseye more accurately than she knew.

He sat down on the bed and buried his face into his hands.  Maxwell Lord was known as being ruthless in business, as being selfish in bed, and being an asshole when he didn’t get his way.  In short, he was the male version of his mother. Until Evie.  With her, he wasn’t those things and he grew to like it, that new Maxwell.  He wanted to be good for her because she was so good to him.

He sobbed a little.  Her love was probably lost to him now.  He sat back, eyes looking up at the ceiling to try and contain the tears gathered there. His dad always told him to never let the sunset on his anger, whether in love or in business.  And yet the stars twinkled brightly outside, reminding him that maybe he shouldn’t have been a massive dick in the first place.  Then he wouldn’t have been here.

He sighed.  He would wait before reaching out to her because she had the right to be angry at him.  But he would do what he could to talk to her again because she needed to know that he loved her.  And he needed to see if she could love him at all.

Even just a little bit.

[sukitaro]

The Underworld

Part 1/2:

Wading through the gleaming streetways of Kugane under it’s midnight rainfall, the hulking silhouette of Ryuki sluggishly wandering the streets of the Rakuza District nearest the Garlean Consulate. Even with the rainfall, the middle-aged Auri opted for a black Yanxian haori, hakama and zori. He was poised in his deceptive hunch, bamboo cane in hand. His head was kept down, but his focus remained forward, golden irises piercing the night from between salt and pepper hair.

The typical crowd to be expected in the Rakuza District was present, albeit in semi-smaller quantities on account of the hour. Merchant shacks and carts had closed for the evening with staff retired to the safety of their homes. Men loitered around, a majority dressed in a black kimono or haori, with little skin to be shown off. Raen Auri, Roegadyn, and Hyur were present in the masses, exchanging words in Hingan. These men likewise populated the less-visible alleyways of the Rakuza District area, performing the occasional swapping of unseen materials - in many cases, some variation of a drug. Despite the vacancy of the merchant stalls and closed teahouses or restaurants, a few establishments continued to operate, nestled in the rear alleyways, ranging from sexually illicit stores to karaoke lounges and bars. The alleyways and surrounding area were kept impeccably clean and unviolated with litter or property defacing. 

As Ryuki neared the strip of the Rakuza District nearest the Garlean Consulate, he halted at the steps of a specific karaoke lounge - in contrast to the few others that sat in the more hidden reaches, this lounge made no effort to keep out of sight. The light from within held a reddish hue, illuminating the exterior with a soft crimson glow. A man stood idly to one side of the main entrance, dressed in a floor-length black and grey yukata, a mess of chocolate hair covering his forehead. A katana was boldly sheathed at a hip, and despite the occasional patrol units of the Sekiseigumi, this potentially criminal offense was spared not more than a passing glance by roaming guards before turning to continue along their route. He casted a side-long glance towards Ryuki as he approached, holding it for a moment before dipping into a respectful bow. He turned his attention towards the streets when this had concluded.

Ryuki slowly returned the gesture, stepping into the karaoke lounge with careful footsteps. The interior of the entrance hall was exquisite, adorned with high quality Hingan sake and whiskey to break the bank of a typical visitor. Gorgeous black leather couches and seats sat neatly in the general seating area, fine porcelain wares studded in imperial-quality jade standing on display on tabletops nearby. Authentic works of Hingan and Doman art were hung along the walls, varying in styles from ukiyo-e to Yanxian landscape painting. Private karaoke rooms were layered along hallways branching from either side of the entrance hall, with all listed as ‘Unoccupied’ in Hingan kanji except for one karaoke room at a hallway end listed as ‘In Use’. Despite the lack of complete lack of patronage in the hallway or anywhere in sight, the faint scent of cigar smoke sat in the air.    

A brawny Sea Wolf Roegadyn silently tended to the bar area, organizing glasses and sanitizing what was in reach. He boasted a full suit and tie, along with polished dress shoes and a slicked back head of navy blue hair. As Ryuki made his presence known, the Roegadyn spoke up in curt Hingan, halting his cleaning to bow in the expected Eastern fashion. <”A familiar face. Good evening. How may I assist you this evening? Might I start you off with something to drink, or would you like to rent out a room?”> 

Ryuki, with his haori and hakama partially plastered down by rainwater, dipped at the waist in turn. Replying in Hingan. <”Good evening. I respectfully decline your offer. I have business with yours’.”> Maintaining an even eye contact, he made a mental note of the shotgun in the Roegadyn’s holster.

Despite the vague explanation for his arrival, the Roegadyn knitted his brows, gesturing towards one end of a hallway with an open palm. <”...I am of the assumption you understand where to go. Thank you for stopping by, Kotaro-sama.”> With a parting bow, he slowly pivoted on a heel, returning to his mindless cleaning.

The Auri man returned the gesture graciously, turning his attention towards the hallway to his left. Leading with his bamboo cane, he made his way for the peak end of the hallway where the private room marked ‘In Use’ sat. He stood before the door a moment before twisting the knob, pushing the door open and revealing a downward staircase. What began as a faint trace of smoke in the main entrance area amplified in intensity as Ryuki began his descent. Upon arrival at the base of the staircase and with further travel down another hallway, he peered up, greeted with the hanging scroll that marked the entrance of a place unknown to the masses too cowardly or blissfully unaware. Upon the scroll laid a bold daimon.

The daimon of the Takaneda-gumi.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Part 2/2:

Stepping into the space with a gentle opening of the entrance door, Ryuki stood still with his hunch persisting. The interior space was moderately lit with Hingan lanterns along the wall, alongside various Hannya masks that seemed prepared to come alive at a moment’s notice. As was the case in the upstairs area, the space was adorned with priceless Eastern paintings, velvet crimson couches and traditional cushions and randomly placed jade statues of Eastern serpents and terrifying creatures of legend. Expensive bottles of Eastern sake and whiskey littered the tables. Of all the aspects to note, one stood out in contrast to the Eastern-lounge feel to the space -- the small number of Imperial banners that hung, showcasing the widely denounced Garlean insignia. A group of men loitered about against the walls or on sofa cushions with bottles of sake in hand. Roegadyn, Raen Auri and Hyur. In contrast to the bartender above, these men boasted some variation of a sleeveless haori or no shirt at all. A myriad of Eastern irezumi inkings coated the skin of what was visible, leaving only the face unmarked. The majority chatted idly with one another in the native tongue. A smaller cluster were huddled at a table, lost in a game of Doman Mahjong with a handsome quantity of koban on the line. The scent of smoke hung thickly, sourced collectively from lit cigars. Everyone present looked occupied in some fashion, speaking in casual Hingan without a care in the world.

That is, until Ryuki made his presence known.

The Raen man advanced into this new space with a bow, greeted with the wary side-long looks of the majority present including the group involved in the game of Doman Mahjong. Seeming overall unperturbed by the attention and sudden silence, Ryuki hardly gave the group a passing glance as he made his way for another room across the way flanked by twin Eastern serpent statues and scrolls showcasing the Takaneda-gumi daimon.

<”I am obliged to understand what you are doing here, Kotaro-san.”> A gruff voice in Hingan called out. 

Ryuki slowly peered over his shoulder, met with viciously scarred Midlander man. The accursed third ‘Garlean eye’ visible on his forehead with his mop of hair slicked back. <”My reasons for a visitation are of no concern to you, shateigashira.”> Ryuki grunted.

The Garlean Hyur canted his head. <”No concern to me? Is that the case? I speak to the man whose Clan nearly sent our operations spiraling into extinction following the liberation of your pitiful excuse for a home. You dare treat me as a chip on your shoulder, you Eorzean-sympathizing bastard?”>

<”That will be all. I pray to the Kami your oyabun will teach you respect. You are as a lawless babe, threatened by those that question your hotheaded temper. How many times must we have this interaction, Raekis-san?”> Ryuki mused, turning about half-way. <”I do understand this to be a common flaw present in the Garlean population.>”

The Garlean Hyur gnashed his teeth, reaching for a dagger nestled away. Halfway through his motion, under the squinted stare from Ryuki, he stopped. <”...We will have our day, Kotaro-san. You will find yourself a Clan patriarch, with no Clan.”> Casting a smoldering look at the door nearby, he pivoted on a heel to walk off. Likely to burn off steam.

Huffing, Ryuki approached the doorway flanked by Eastern serpents and hanging Takaneda-gumi scrolls. Remembering his mannerisms, he delivered a knock on the door. 

<”Come in, Kotaro-San.”> A low voice responded with not a moment to spare before Ryuki could get a word out. Smooth and confident.

Adjusting his haori, Ryuki pensively pushed his way into the space at the voice’s invitation. The ‘office’ was akin to a more condensed version of the underground lounge he had arrived from, with the addition of an ornate fool’s portal mounted on the wall. 

A monstrous Raen man sat comfortably on a leather chair to the rear of the office before a desk, kiseru pipe pinched between fingers. Even in comparison to Ryuki, who stood a few ilms taller than your average Auri when his hunch was lifted, this man-in-waiting was taller still by a few more ilms - almost abnormally so. He looked between 30 and 35 in age, rippling with scarred and irezumi inked muscle underneath a luxurious suit and tie. A hefty tail resembling that of a komodo dragon with a hazardous quantity of spines and jagged edges hung from the edge of his seat. A pair of cold, calculating irises bore viciously into Ryuki the moment he worked the door open, orange in color and glowing with a feral intensity. His skin was a tan caramel in shade and hair a short mess of black, spiked forward and partially shielding his right eye. A pair of ridged horns angled downward and forward from his skull like animal canines. He faced the door with legs crossed in the male fashion, tapping a pointed fingernail against his kiseru pipe as he suppressed the urge to greet his visitor with an unnerving, fanged smile. 

<”I am truly blessed this evening. Please, take a seat, Kotaro-san.”> The man gestured to the Eastern cushion purposefully placed before his desk. A power play to all who dared request an meeting.

Eying the cushion, Ryuki shook his head, bowing slowly. <”With all due respect, I would wish to stand. Takaneda no Zenkoshi.>” He spoke the man’s full name, tapping his bamboo cane into the floor.

<”You would do well to remember your place in my pecking order, Kotaro-san.”> Zenkoshi remarked with a lift of his brow, extending a finger to gesture to his guest’s bamboo cane. <”An impressive act. However, I am a man of authenticity.”> He took a generous hit of his kiseru pipe. <”Would you not agree?”>

Ryuki knitted his brows, placing his cane against the doorway and rolling his shoulders back. He stood at his full height, hunch dropping entirely. The man stood with his hands at his side, eying the crime lord warily. <”I will stand. Do me harm, and suffer the unending wrath of my people, oyabun-”>

<”Your ‘people’?”> Zenkoshi interrupted, head tilted softly to the side. <”Your people are fewer with each passing month, Kotaro-san. Your numbers…”> He trailed off, taking another puff of his kiseru pipe. <”...I can name on a hand. As you can see, I have been a busy man.”> Opening a palm and gesturing to the hideout on the outside, smiling. <”My men live as nobility. I, myself, the emperor I was destined to be.”>

<”Even with your much beloved financial masters fractured and left to wander?”> Ryuki mused, arms folded across his torso. <”The Garlean Empire is in hopeless disrepair. Soldiers and civilians have fled. Squadrons disbanded. With your funding strained, what remains of your brutish band of traffickers and petty criminals?”>

Zenkoshi chuckled darkly behind his kiseru pipe, pinning it between his elongated fangs for the moment. Speaking up. “<Petty criminals...without koban, we are stripped of potential. Although.”> He released his pipe. <”Hard times create strong men. I am apologetic on your behalf. Your Clan’s mindless vigilante days have produced a storm beyond your understanding.”> The Raen continued on with a fine squint.

 Staring at the oyabun with a stoic expression, Ryuki produced a gutteral hum from deep within his throat. <”Takaneda-sama, I implore you to move past this. I have repeatedly taken accountability for my Clan’s hotheaded actions. Dealing with your mettle is best left to the Sekiseigumi, easily enticed by koban as they are.”> He spoke with blatant distaste on his tongue. 

<”You fail to witness the deep-seated effects of your ‘glory days’.”> He pointed his kiseru pipe at the older man. <”Wrenched operation after operation bled us dry of much of our support. Even much of the Empire has learned to fear the Shinobi, it would seem.”> Zenkoshi frowned. <”I do wonder. Who remains? The patriarch...and his heiress.”> Slowing his speech as he neared the end.

<”This conflict is between you and I.>” Ryuki spoke up without a moment to spare, jamming a finger at the ground between the two. <”You and I. This occurred on my watch.”> 

Zenkoshi lifted a palm. <”Are you so lost beyond your years you forget the business in which I operate, old friend?”> Sneering. <”An heiress of so feared a Clan would fetch a fortune. Or, if this is not to your liking, she can remain here? How lonely this office can be...”> He mused, looking off to the side. <”If you wish to end this ‘bickering’ as you so graciously label it.”>

<”This is OUT of the question!”> Ryuki roared, slamming his palms atop the oyabun’s desk. <”You have enough koban and material wealth to last an eternity. I will hear NONE of this rabble.”> He hissed between clenched teeth, leaning forward to drill his reptilian gaze into the crime lord. <”I will bleed you in the dead of night.”>

In an impressive display of collectiveness, Zenkoshi remained in his seated position. He snapped his kiseru pipe with a sudden tensing up of the hand, irises ablaze with fury as his lips curled back to reveal his vicious set of teeth. <”I am going to recommend a soothing dip in the Onsen to ease that tension, Kotaro-san. Have a lovely evening. I will keep in touch.”> The man spoke with an unnatural coolness, veins popping along his neck.

Visibly shaking from a narrowly restrained anger, Ryuki lifted himself from his aggressive lean, watching the oyabun from start to finish. Wordless tension. With a pivot on his heel, he grabbed his bamboo cane, exiting the office and heading for the upstairs. Ignoring the clusters of Takaneda-gumi that had gathered following his sudden outburst.

Zenkoshi slowly laced his fingers atop his desk, leaning back with a hot exhale of breath.

<”In time.”>