Ryuugamine Mikado (Shark) (
digitalemperor) wrote in
streetwalkers2013-09-10 02:51 am
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It'd been over a decade since the epidemic that wiped out a third of the earth's population, and the wars and political struggles that had risen in the following, chaotic years had down in for another half of what remained, if not more if one counted the death toll to disease and crime, the lack of modern medicine, the tainted environment and water in most urban areas and the general set back in civilization.
Mikado had been fifteen when it started. He was twenty-seven now. And like any of the survivors of the years between the end of the world and now... He was changed. One of the lucky ones to survive disease and war, right? Lucky... Survival came at a cost, and when the streets of Ikebukuro, once bustling with commerce and tourists, became a dead zone of gang warfare and violence, Mikado had been right in the middle of it. And powerless.
He'd learned just how powerless, painfully, and often. Until his hatred and anger had warped and tempered him into something cold and precise as a scalpel. He wasn't strong in the way the thugs and the fighters were, but amateurish inexperience could only last so long and Mikado was a fast learner. He rose to power on three things; his wits, his force of personality, and ruthlessness. Ambushing his enemies and using clever traps and guises to get him where brute strength couldn't, and using those connections that were drawn to his innate charisma to get him where only brute strength could. Even after disaster and damage, he had a certain ability to charm people with his personality, and those that followed him now were, by and large, either incredibly loyal or too useful to be rid of. In turn his mind and vision was too useful for even the less loyal followers to risk trying to be rid of, and so a balance was struck somewhere along the line. He'd lost the charming uncertainty and idealism but he'd gained a quiet, iron confidence that others were drawn to.
He had a game, a way to control the territory he'd wrested from lawlessness. Preventing fighting on the streets of the ruined city was impossible, but he could enforce it. Give it incentive. Only registered combatants would be suffered to be found fighting, and they could tear at each other as they wished, when they wished, wherever they wished. The incentive; tags given to everyone who registered, that could be ripped from a defeated opponent. They could be traded in for anything based on their number value. Better accommodations, whores, drugs, weapons, though guns were banned from the fights. The most skilled could, in theory, attempt for the specific poker hand of tags that would allow them to challenge the organization's mysterious and shadow'd leader, though none had ever reached that goal. In turn, anyone unregistered caught fighting would be summarily executed by the enforcers--unless the enforcers decided they were good looking enough to serve another purpose.
In that way, Ikebukuro stabilized a little. Non-combatants still feared the streets at night but thugs feared the enforcers more, and some semblance of life continuing grew a little, under the watchful laws of the lawless Dollars.
For Mikado this wasn't his end ambition but it was a start. But he hadn't expected, months ago, that one of the new combatants to register would have been Kida himself. The registration took place in the mansion the main members of Dollars called home, and with all registrations Mikado had been watching the newcomers put on their masks, his own in place before he revealed himself to meet them, explain the rules, and ask if they wanted to participate.
His heart had near stopped when he'd seen Kida. He almost hadn't recognized him, both their faces and voices had changed with age and trauma, and Mikado was sure Kida hadn't even had a remote moment of recognition when Mikado explained the purpose and perks of fighters. Mikado's own role in the world he'd created was the secretary to the shadowy and terrifying Dollar's boss, with none but the highest ranking aware that the quiet and no-nonsense, rather popular secretary-san was the shadowy Boss himself. That he dealt in everything from drugs to slavery and black market items, well, that was just a means of further acquiring power. Distasteful as it was, it was effective, and he left the more sadistic parts to those that most enjoyed it, usually.
But seeing Kida had shaken him, worried him in a way he wasn't aware he could still worry. Fighters died daily, defeat could mean anything from humiliation and rape to outright murder, anything was allowed in the laws of the game, but only within the game. A victor had complete freedom to deal with a loser as they saw fit, and after seeing Kida's face for the first time in years, Mikado had had his first nightmare in years; that same face dead and staring, lifeless and accusatory. For days afterwards he'd been grumpy and out of sorts, a state he couldn't afford to maintain.
Try as he might to put it from mind, he couldn't help but be drawn to Kida's progress in the fights. And Kida's presence brought with it other trouble. Members of a gang from a territory Mikado didn't control (not yet, but that was an eventual goal, they were strong enough to pose a problem for now though) had started showing up in Dollar's territory. They weren't registered fighters and they mostly respected the game's laws (those who didn't met bad ends, even rival gangs feared the consequences of violating Dollar's law) but they were still a concerning presence, trouble tracking Kida.
And Mikado was tracking them. He knew, after a few weeks of his underlings keeping tabs, that the gang was after Kida, and so he kept watch himself or through an underling.
So when Kida found himself being backed into a corner by the thugs of that group Mikado had been watching, Mikado happened to be there. If Mikado were an enforcer he'd have dealt with them ruthlessly, but he was only the Dollar's "secretary" and so he made a note of each face before he darted out of the shadow of one doorway, grabbed Kida's arm with a shouted "This way!" and ran.
No one knew the streets and back alleys like Mikado did, like he'd made a point to, and but still he kept them navigating the maze of abandoned and derelict buildings for twenty minutes to be safe, before coming to a stop in one mostly intact old apartment building, a little winded, letting go of Kida to glance cautiously out a broken window. The streets were empty, there wasn't a sound or feeling of anyone but the two of them.
Mikado had been fifteen when it started. He was twenty-seven now. And like any of the survivors of the years between the end of the world and now... He was changed. One of the lucky ones to survive disease and war, right? Lucky... Survival came at a cost, and when the streets of Ikebukuro, once bustling with commerce and tourists, became a dead zone of gang warfare and violence, Mikado had been right in the middle of it. And powerless.
He'd learned just how powerless, painfully, and often. Until his hatred and anger had warped and tempered him into something cold and precise as a scalpel. He wasn't strong in the way the thugs and the fighters were, but amateurish inexperience could only last so long and Mikado was a fast learner. He rose to power on three things; his wits, his force of personality, and ruthlessness. Ambushing his enemies and using clever traps and guises to get him where brute strength couldn't, and using those connections that were drawn to his innate charisma to get him where only brute strength could. Even after disaster and damage, he had a certain ability to charm people with his personality, and those that followed him now were, by and large, either incredibly loyal or too useful to be rid of. In turn his mind and vision was too useful for even the less loyal followers to risk trying to be rid of, and so a balance was struck somewhere along the line. He'd lost the charming uncertainty and idealism but he'd gained a quiet, iron confidence that others were drawn to.
He had a game, a way to control the territory he'd wrested from lawlessness. Preventing fighting on the streets of the ruined city was impossible, but he could enforce it. Give it incentive. Only registered combatants would be suffered to be found fighting, and they could tear at each other as they wished, when they wished, wherever they wished. The incentive; tags given to everyone who registered, that could be ripped from a defeated opponent. They could be traded in for anything based on their number value. Better accommodations, whores, drugs, weapons, though guns were banned from the fights. The most skilled could, in theory, attempt for the specific poker hand of tags that would allow them to challenge the organization's mysterious and shadow'd leader, though none had ever reached that goal. In turn, anyone unregistered caught fighting would be summarily executed by the enforcers--unless the enforcers decided they were good looking enough to serve another purpose.
In that way, Ikebukuro stabilized a little. Non-combatants still feared the streets at night but thugs feared the enforcers more, and some semblance of life continuing grew a little, under the watchful laws of the lawless Dollars.
For Mikado this wasn't his end ambition but it was a start. But he hadn't expected, months ago, that one of the new combatants to register would have been Kida himself. The registration took place in the mansion the main members of Dollars called home, and with all registrations Mikado had been watching the newcomers put on their masks, his own in place before he revealed himself to meet them, explain the rules, and ask if they wanted to participate.
His heart had near stopped when he'd seen Kida. He almost hadn't recognized him, both their faces and voices had changed with age and trauma, and Mikado was sure Kida hadn't even had a remote moment of recognition when Mikado explained the purpose and perks of fighters. Mikado's own role in the world he'd created was the secretary to the shadowy and terrifying Dollar's boss, with none but the highest ranking aware that the quiet and no-nonsense, rather popular secretary-san was the shadowy Boss himself. That he dealt in everything from drugs to slavery and black market items, well, that was just a means of further acquiring power. Distasteful as it was, it was effective, and he left the more sadistic parts to those that most enjoyed it, usually.
But seeing Kida had shaken him, worried him in a way he wasn't aware he could still worry. Fighters died daily, defeat could mean anything from humiliation and rape to outright murder, anything was allowed in the laws of the game, but only within the game. A victor had complete freedom to deal with a loser as they saw fit, and after seeing Kida's face for the first time in years, Mikado had had his first nightmare in years; that same face dead and staring, lifeless and accusatory. For days afterwards he'd been grumpy and out of sorts, a state he couldn't afford to maintain.
Try as he might to put it from mind, he couldn't help but be drawn to Kida's progress in the fights. And Kida's presence brought with it other trouble. Members of a gang from a territory Mikado didn't control (not yet, but that was an eventual goal, they were strong enough to pose a problem for now though) had started showing up in Dollar's territory. They weren't registered fighters and they mostly respected the game's laws (those who didn't met bad ends, even rival gangs feared the consequences of violating Dollar's law) but they were still a concerning presence, trouble tracking Kida.
And Mikado was tracking them. He knew, after a few weeks of his underlings keeping tabs, that the gang was after Kida, and so he kept watch himself or through an underling.
So when Kida found himself being backed into a corner by the thugs of that group Mikado had been watching, Mikado happened to be there. If Mikado were an enforcer he'd have dealt with them ruthlessly, but he was only the Dollar's "secretary" and so he made a note of each face before he darted out of the shadow of one doorway, grabbed Kida's arm with a shouted "This way!" and ran.
No one knew the streets and back alleys like Mikado did, like he'd made a point to, and but still he kept them navigating the maze of abandoned and derelict buildings for twenty minutes to be safe, before coming to a stop in one mostly intact old apartment building, a little winded, letting go of Kida to glance cautiously out a broken window. The streets were empty, there wasn't a sound or feeling of anyone but the two of them.
no subject
[It's clear how much the episode took out of him, and the fever has yet to go down. He's falling asleep pretty much the moment he's made the decision to relax. He still finds the energy, though, to mutter, more asleep than not, as Mikado goes to leave:]
...Thank you. I really did miss you.
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[Mikado pauses and tugs the covers up over Kida, a random, fussy gesture that he halts halfway through, then finishes with a frown. I should have gotten rid of him a while ago. He's really throwing me off balance. But even as he thinks it, it's more in a resigned way. He knows there's no chance he can now and he decided he wouldn't already, so he might as well try to adjust to having Kida back in his life and throwing his emotions out of whack.]
...I missed you too. Don't disappear again.
[He pats the covers over Kida's shoulder and walks out to the living room. He said he'd stay so he will, but the first order of business is collecting one of Kida's pills and pocketing it. He'll need to give the drug to whoever he commissions to work on it, and likely he'll have to find a way to produce test subjects.]
[....Well the men in the hall might as well be a start, there. It'll double for interrogation, so that's two birds with one stone.]
[He sits in the windows, watching the streets below and contemplating the various projects he needs to do or look in on. What he can do about Kida, and the general business of Dollars.]
[Eventually, thoughts organized, he sits on the couch and closes his eyes. He means only to rest but finds himself slipping into a doze. Since he's a light sleeper, it doesn't bother him to let himself nap, he's confident no one will sneak up on him before he's awake and alert. And as he drops off his dreams involve walking down busier streets with his two best friends laughing about inconsequential, daily life.]
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[At another date and time Mikado is once again in Kida's house. This time he brought the alcohol since planning to go out was so doomed on his last visit. It's pretty good sake, he can afford to indulge and share it. Not that Mikado is fond of drinking, but social drinking (and just as important) the ability to hold his liquor, is a huge asset in his line of work. It was necessary to develop the skill and the awareness that it was in general a good "bonding" exercise.]
[So here he sits on Kida's ratty couch on his third cup (he's been nursing them but he's still on the third and he hasn't counted how many Kida's at) and feeling just a little warm and relaxed. Not minding too much since the company is... Well not another gang leader or enemy, but just Kida. How much is the sake and how much is just Kida's existence is hard to judge.]
[...Just Kida who is another gang leader and a powerful one, a powerful fighter too, and Mikado laughs at his own dismissive thoughts, leaning his head in his hand. Before he realizes he missed what Kida just said while he was busy woolgathering.]
Sorry, could you say that again?
[No awareness that that was the first time he's genuinely laughed in Kida's hearing, or in a long time really.]
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But now that he's god knows how many drinks in, he's warmed up quite a bit. Laughing, joking, telling stories about all the dumb things he did on his path to greatness. The life of a gang boss can be pretty funny, particularly when said boss is the type whose secretary isn't afraid to tell him to go watch her three year old for an hour while she does the real work.
He's pretty obviously drunk. He can hold his liquor just fine, but he's had much more and faster than he'd allow himself to normally. His cheeks are flushed and he tossed his hoodie aside in favor of just a tank-top some time ago. His laughter has gotten loud and unchecked -- but it feels nice. It's good to be able to grasp a moment of happiness, when he's been feeling so completely helpless for so long.
Seeing Mikado laugh, however, is a shocker.]
Whoah! Nevermind that, I'm just surprised you know how to laugh.
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[It's been nice, and through most of it he's smiled a little at the stories. Honestly engaged and amused and enjoying the recounting of Kida's life (a little resentful he was so close and so far at the same time) but mostly content to see Kida open up so much.]
[So Mikado leans forward with a wry smile and tops off his own glass, huffing a little in protest at the comment.]
I'm not actually a robot.
I was just thinking how nice this is because it's good to relax with someone who isn't dangerous and then I realized I was thinking you weren't dangerous.
[That explains why he found it funny right?]
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[Says the drunk guy whose gun is sitting about two feet away on the coffee table. He takes better care of that thing than he does himself, easy.]
I'm still a lover of love, you know. I've had a lotta lovers. Was thinkin' about getting married soon, maybe. --Oh, but that one died.
[His face goes dark for just a moment, before he purposefully distracts himself with a different thought.]
I wasn't going to shoot you, anyway. I couldn't, 'cause-- 'cause I'm sentimental. [enough so to try to drape an arm over Mikado's shoulders] I can't stop thinking of you as my friend, so I'm not dangerous to you, right? Not directly, anyway... It's the baggage that's gonna get you.
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[A dead fiancee. Sucks. But Mikado doesn't say that, letting the conversation move on and lifting the drink to his lips, companionably allowing Kida to invade his personal space and drape on him.]
I know that. I was just amused out how sentimental I am too.
[He shakes his head, downing the glass without savoring it.]
I'm not too concerned about your baggage.
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[It's an important question. It's also one that's being delivered like it's a joke, as he leans more heavily on his friend and soaks up the much-missed feeling of being close to someone.]
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Both.
[It's an honest answer, maybe too honest but he's already pouring himself another drink and topping Kida's off so he's not going to elaborate on it. He's fairly content to let Kida do most of the talking anyway, it feels more familiar and comfortable.]
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[Mikado rolls his eyes and leans back but there's a kida on him so leaning on Kida is the compromise.]
I admired that you could follow an ideal like that of helping other people when the world was so messed up. When I was at my worst I started hearing about you...
[He stops and glosses over to the rest.]
Ah... Well, the idea of a "hero" existing is sort of inspiring to everyone, don't you think? At first when I heard of you I thought you were full of it but when it turned out you weren't I always wanted to meet you and see what kind of person you were for real. I wouldn't have imagined it was you.
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[He starts in on that other drink as he talks, settling in and getting comfortable. He's not trying to hide that he's pressing close, but he's always been that way. He likes the contact. The warmth.]
You know, I actually ran a gang in middle school. Never got around to telling you that one... But because I knew how, I thought I should try to organize a little bit. And the next thing I knew, everybody was listening to me. So I decided that I-- I can't run from things, anymore. I won't let anyone down anymore, even if that means struggling when it's pointless. But I never thought I'd get knocked down this bad... Uhm, but it's okay. Because I found you, I'm not alone anymore.
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[Mikado hasn't been used to casual touch in years, but he's drunk enough to tolerate it from Kida.]
[He's quiet and listens to the admission, and the confession, without making any embarrassed or tsun comments like he might have once. No mocking or sarcasm. He sips his drink and turns his head to look at Kida, somehow surprised to find him so close even with the guy draping on him.]
From everything I heard you helped a lot of people.... I did miss you though. It shocked me pretty bad when you walked in alive a few months ago, but I'm glad you did.
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[Annnd how to move the conversation away from himself. Even drunk Mikado isn't too keen on this direction of topic.]
It's fine, I said before I was surprised to see you, so it wouldn't be unnatural to not recognize me either. Do you want another drink?
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[Fortunately for Mikado, Kida's easily distracted when he's this far gone. Unfortunately, he also has very little filter.]
Hey. You're doing that on purpose...
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How many have you had? Instead of offering another maybe I should be cutting you off?
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[to demonstrate this, he knocks back the rest of his current cup and sets it down (without quiiite slamming it) on the table]
See, I'm fine. I feel better. Better than... than the whole last year. I'm totally relaxed. Chill. I could be happy, maybe.
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[Are your standards that low? Mikado sighs and tries to get comfortable.]
Maybe?
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[He is however apparently allowed to initiate outright cuddling]
But then there's some things I'm really happy about, anyway. So maybe.
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I didn't know you had to have permission. Do you sign a form and mail it in to a government office for official happiness approval and licencing?
[Okay there's the snark.]
Should I be reporting you for illegal and unlicensed happiness?
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[drops his head to press his face against Mikado's shoulder]
And I'll report you for being cute and rude.
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I think you need to lay down.
[You're calling ruthless gang leaders cute you are getting cut off.]
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