Welcome to Tokyo, Japan. January, 1991. The world has entered the technology era, portable phones, home computers, internet, video games. Japan quickly became the epicenter of the latest and greatest. Companies and factories flourished. Where money was, people followed. And while many rose to live a comfortable, happy, and delightful life from this new found money... Others did not. You see, money has this effect on people that can't be outdone. People will do anything for it. And when it starts slipping into the wrong hands, it's impossible to stop. Benethe the day time laborers and the double-shift workers, a seedy underbelly of syndicates exists. Narctics, black market, organized crime, money laundering, you name it and it's been growing as fast as the upper world economy. While many do it just to stay alive, there's those who make it their posh lifestyle. Either way, there's only one question. What would you do if the money was good enough?
JAN 29 2021: Welcome!! ƎLEMENT has been open for two weeks now and we're so happy to see such a bright beginning! If you're new feel free to drop into the discord and say hi before joining.
Hysteria was wild. Not that every night club was wild, but Hysteria itself carried an energy that was different to the mainstream. Perhaps more intimidating or perhaps more eclectic. A gathering place for many a member of niche subcultures, and pretty much one of the few places Yoshi could even spot another person sporting leather jackets, chains and heavy eyeliner. But- did it have to be so loud? Even the music was erratic swapping back and forth in genres in an attempt to please every sort of person here. Yoshi could vibe with a song every five tracks at least. But it wasn’t enough to keep him from feeling self-conscious even amongst a sea of like minded ( sorta ) individuals.
It’s especially difficult when he’s sitting in one of the few available bar seats, scouting the crowd for a single sober looking person as he nursed his whiskey glass full of- well- water. He only drank around friends and Yoshi didn’t really have any. Not good ones anyway. Drinking alone just screamed terrible idea, especially for a man that owned his own bar. So, water it was.
And water it had been for what felt like hours now. He wanted to go home and curl up in bed. He could’ve done something more productive like patched up that old cabinet he’d just acquired or look into taking care of a cat. You know, something better than watching strangers get progressively drunker. Tired it was hard to make friends as an adult, and once more regretting the fall out with his last circle of friends, Yoshi stood up taking his water with him. He’d just go home. Maybe goths were just meant to be loners after all. Drunk loners. He turned without another thought, eyes moving to look for the exit. However, his hand smacked against someone’s chest and he barely heard the sound of ice flying and water spilling from his cup onto another clubber. Oh no. The man’s eyebrows knitted together in a classic grimace, annoyed that he’d pull such a rookie mistake. There’s hesitation, especially since one probably wouldn’t be able to hear him clearly in the noise of the club. Still, the last thing he needed is to get thrown across the bar. “Uh…..sorry!” he shouted pulling back his now empty glass. The words were lost in the chords of an electric guitar and the screams of the vocalist. “I didn’t see you! Sorry! I’m in the way!” Which, with the ebbs and flow of the lyrics probably sounded more like ”I…. you….in the way!”
✉ tag -- ( open ) ✎ 000 words ※ come fight the wimp plz
[attr="class","seiichipost-lyrics"] show me your colors
[attr="class","seiichipost-body"]Hysteria was a pain in the ass.
Seiichi was no stranger to night clubs. Most of his business was conducted in them, and while every club in Japan had their own gimmick, they all boiled down to the same throngs of drunks and junkies, the same overpriced bars, the same ear-blasting music. He’d arrived a little earlier on his own, not bothering to come with an escort as the knowledge of his inventory alone was like blood in a pool of sharks. In minutes, he found himself circled.
One shmuck—Ryo if he could recall, though the guy kept calling himself Petrol for some reason—keeps slapping him on the shoulder, cackling about some inane thing his fellow clubmate had done five minutes ago, all while parroting questions about discounts and LSD tablets. That’s when Seiichi gets up, cutting off the laughter from their group of two-faced hyenas, and decides to get a drink.
He’s heading towards the bar when his body collides with someone else, and he’s graced with a sudden shower of water and ice cubes. He blinks away the water, finding his face, some of his dyed hair, and most of the front of his band shirt now soaked. He bristles immediately, having already had his patience tested, and turns to the culprit.
The klutz is some strange fellow with a face caked in makeup and neon blue hairs. The stranger bumbles, their words cut by the background music and sounding oddly as if they were accusing him for the spill.
His hand by his side flexes its fingers, before clenching tightly into a fist.
His glare does a 180, as if a switch is flipped, expression melting into something amiable. “Not much of a Bauhaus fan, hm?” He chuckles, pulling at his soaked collar. The white fabric of the shirt and its monochrome print has suctioned itself to his chest. He feels like tossing this guy over the bar.
“Can you take me somewhere I can change?” he asks. His voice is clear over the music, sure of itself and as casual as an old friend, but the look in his eyes is cork board pin-sharp. His aura is off. He expects an answer.
Yoshi felt his stomach tighten as he instinctually braced himself for an attack. There’s the initial flare up clear as day, a storm on the horizon and then…as quick as it had appeared it vanished. Despite himself, his core relaxed as the stranger spoke up. He blinked, more confused than cautious now. Yoshi glanced over at the speakers vibrating with the current song. “Not really...” He hadn’t bothered paying attention to the music. He’s impressed he can hear him pretty well over the volume, he still struggled with that without flat out yelling into people’s faces. “Uh…” Wouldn’t he want napkins or…paper towels? He kind of didn’t want to stick around. But maybe he was being judgmental. Then his eyes lit up with understanding. Ooooh! The guy didn’t even know where the bathrooms were. “Sure- Uh-…This way.” He said as he led the stranger over to darker, but somewhat less chaotic section of the club. He could hear the mad giggling and groans of a couple of patrons, but it was far less hectic than right next to the bar or the mob of people in the middle of the dance floor.
The man barely dodges someone trudging out of the boy’s bathroom, wiping spit off their mouth. He pushed open the door with his foot before gently kicking it open and stepping through. The music is a little distant now, but the loud thumping of the bass of the next song is constant. The tempo’s a little faster, and he imagined the chorus of screams meant this was a popular request. “This is the bathroom; third stall is permanently broken.” He said, scratching his head as he looked around for even a single paper towel. Except for the music of the club, he’s quiet for a beat. “Well…I’ll head out then.” He said as he turned around back to Seiichi. "Stay dry?" he asked flashing what he hoped was a friendly grin.
✉ tag -- ( open ) ✎ 000 words ※ fresh outta jokes sorry
