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.
[attr="class","poredholdermj"]So come on and take a shot, You just can't get enough Don't let the fact that you know nothing stop you talking now
[attr="class","poredwordsmj"]There was a sharp pain in his side as he staggered like a drunken fool. If only it was alcohol that was causing the dizzying sensation washing over him like crashing waves. His left arm wrapped tight to where the mildly inconvenient wound under the hoodie he worse. He was honestly angry over how that fight went. Well… Almost went.
Sure, street fights were all about the risk and gamble. It’s why the money there just works. It flows like the blood of the fighters when they gun for that high reward at the end. He wasn’t expecting there to be a knife pulled on him when his opponent was going south. He remembers a disgruntled onlooker tossing it to the guy. It’s when he started to turn serious about the whole deal. He hated himself, but he still had a thread of self-preservation to not go down without a fight.
“... That son of-” He started hissing to himself at the pain.
Granted, he won and walked away, but he had to call the night early and on top of that, every part of him was burned out, injured in some way but nothing held a candle to that blade’s bite. It was not sharpened, hell he was surprised that it wasn’t rusted over. Regardless, this made him think he needed to bring attention to that in specific as he lifted his darkened hand, seeing peaks of red that were from the lapping of fabric.
“Fuck me.” He muttered to himself before he finally leaned on an alley’s wall that he entered.
He has to pull in a favor. Granted, he wasn’t going to be dying from this yet, he decided it would probably be smarter to not let his wound get an infection. Again, he refused to go down without a fight and dying over a damned knife gash from a fight he won was not how that worked for him.
He thumbled about his pocket, searching for the damned card that guy handed him out of his wallet. He knew he was somewhere in this area, but his brain struggled to recall anything with how it spun. When he found it, he glanced it over before he went staggering on again, planning to see a doctor for once. Though, he didn’t know how much excitement was for the man that employed him to see him looking like a punching bag. But he didn’t care, as he moved until the address on the card came into his view and he found the strength to put his fist to the door in a slightly harder than necessary manner.
On those rare occasions when Shuichi's services weren't needed, when he had an evening to himself, he was most often found tucked away in that modern-aesthetic townhouse he called home. He would sit with a good book or get high and play video games until he passed out or, more often than not, struggle with the crippling anxiety looming in his gut by sitting on his couch and downing a handful of Xanax and a bottle of wine. Luckily for Jikai, Shu had been halfway through that latter option when he'd gotten so stressed that pacing around his home with a bottle of Merlot wasn't doing enough, sending him over to his clinic to straighten things up. [break][break] When's the last time you put literally anything in order? his brain chided as he trudged through the dark, as he arrived at that little back-alley door, as he slid in and glanced around at the practically-immaculate space. It wasn't large; he was the only worker, it didn't need to be especially spacious. A waiting room, operating room, bathroom, and a little office for him to disappear to if he needed. The address wasn't often given out, Shu reserving this place for those high-profile clients and those strong bodies he most frequently hired to keep him safe while on the job. [break][break] He got to work immediately, some manic energy in his movements as he flitted from room to room, grabbing up documents, washing already-clean tools. The wine bottle followed wherever he went, propped on some countertop every time he reentered one of the different rooms, occasionally giving him some escape from the wholly-unnecessary cleaning. The place was as prim and properly put together as his home, cleanliness and obsessive-levels of organization a relatively useful byproduct of Shu's anxiousness. The fact he had felt the need to even come to the clinic, let alone as hopped-up as he was, was ridiculous; he should have been back home, snuggled up on his couch, crying over some sappy move or-- [break][break] KNOCK! KNOCK! [break][break] The sound that left Shuichi's lips was some strange halfway point between a yelp and a cough, the poor thing halfway through a swig of Merlot when that fist hit the door. He stood in the waiting room, eyeing the doorway suspiciously, clinging to the neck of that bottle like it was a lifeline ready to pull him to safety. As the anxiety meds and wine had begun to settle in his system, the world had begun to melt into something like a watercolor painting, the only things in focus hyper-visualized to a jarring degree. [break][break] In that moment, it was like the clinic's front door was the only thing in existence amidst a sea of melting colors. [break][break] Slowly, so agonizingly slowly, Shu crept towards the entrance, his visage something akin to a terrified animal. When he did eventually open the door--against his better judgment; inhibitions were all but chased out by that chemical reaction going on in his system--his guest was treated to a sight rather abnormal for the young doctor. Disheveled locks hanging loose around his frame, one of his oversized at-home sweaters and a pair of old, torn-up capris replacing the usual professional, perfectly-fitted ensemble he bore while on the clock; he looked like, well, a normal twenty-nine-year-old on a day off. [break][break] It took Shu a long moment to focus in and register who exactly was at his doorstep, Jikai's form clearing through the watercolor haze and shooting a fresh, unexpected wave of anxiety through the young man. [break][break] "J-Jikai?" he flustered, words slurring ever-so-slightly, brows furrowing in confusion. "Wh-Why are you--?" [break][break] Blood. That was blood. Oh no, that was a lot of blood. [break][break] "Sh-Shit! Come in, come in!" [break][break] And without waiting for too much of a reaction, Shu was grabbing at the other, instinct taking over even in that inebriated state, tugging him into the clinic. It was a bit of a chaotic pulling, that wine bottle a bit... intrusive, but the moment Jikai was fully inside, Shu closed and locked the door behind him. Social recollection wasn't the most successful of endeavors for Shuichi in that moment, his brain always capable of recalling with perfect clarity the name and location of every bone in the human body while so often forgetting faces and names in the haze of intoxication. Fortunately, they'd had enough interactions--Jikai was one of Shu's go-to bodyguards--that the young doctor managed to remember his face and importance enough for that preservation instinct to kick in. [break][break] "What happened?" he inquired, setting his bottle down and turning to assess the other's form. Normally, he'd have given some space and time for the man to explain himself, never partial to touch when not necessary. As it were, his hands were back on the other the moment they were free from the wine, tugging at fabrics so he could look at his wound, a one-track mind another byproduct of that chemical-cocktail state.
[attr="class","poredholdermj"]So come on and take a shot, You just can't get enough Don't let the fact that you know nothing stop you talking now
[attr="class","poredwordsmj"]He leaned against the door frame for a moment as it sank in for him that there was one hell of a big chance that that good ol’ doctor buddy might not be around for this pinch. He probably just gave up the ghost and get to a payphone maybe, ring up for an ambulance before the warm fuzzy feeling turned startling cold and the world lost its sharpness. Like hell, Shu could be somewhere else entirely for all he knew, even another country if he was the type.
But eventually, his thoughts were cut off about how he could probably just pass out here for all he knew, let alone cared while it could just fade away when the door clicked opened. It was so shyly at first, confusion clear in the man’s tone as he began to question why this big ass baffoon was at his door. “Wel-”
”Sh-Shit! Come in, come in!”
No time for explanations, then he found himself thinking as the doctor took to flight even though mere seconds ago he looked like he was somewhere else. Jikai thankfully wasn’t the kind to really question that previous bit too deeply, like how Shu was in casual clothes for once. Like he was really in the state to do so. The whirlwind of tugs, the rush of leaking blood, and the mild entertainment he felt at the panic state the doctor was spun in over a tiny stab wound honestly had him missing the fact there was a wine bottle being poked into this whole affair.
”What happened?”
As he was sat down on one of those odd medical beds that were all too comfy for where there were meant.
“That’s a greeeeat question. Depends on the answer you want?” Jikai gave a small laugh that was eventually cut off by a grunt of pain from both Shu’s prodding and his side not enjoying the movement of his breathing let alone laughter. So much for playing this off as not that bad…
“Would you believe a party gone wrong?” It wasn’t necessarily wrong. But it also was not entirely right. It is a party, but definitely not the kind you go to for some drinks and food deal.
He gave a groan of pain eventually and fed up with the doctoring while Shu fussed with his layers. “Hold on-” It sounded grumpy like he was pissed he survived this. Probably because he lowkey was, but also the fact it hurt so damn much. He tugged the one side of his shirt and hoodie over to rest on his shoulder to make it easier on the both of them, keeping the clothes out of the way without any of the work, leaning so the cut showed to more light.
“Honestly, it’s not thaaaat bad.” Could of been worse. Always could be. Even though most people didn’t share his sentiments. Then that woozy feeling hit like a wave and made the room feel like it spun even though it was mostly still thing there and it showed. His lean wavered a bit like he was ready to dip off the table. So much for it not being that bad.
"That's a greeeeat question. Depends on the answer you want?" [break][break] Shuichi had lost his tendency for theatrics when he joined the Ajiwau ranks, replacing wide-eyed enthusiasm with stoic simplicity as an act of self-preservation. Now, though, his inhibitions all but plundered by that inebriating wine and narcotics mixture, the young physician fell back into the familiarity of dramatics. His brows creased at Jikai's joke, some childlike pout finding his features, the expression only deepening as his companion's laughter turned to a pained gasp. [break][break] "Would you believe a party gone wrong?" [break][break] The frumpiness just increased, Shu's fumbling hand movements becoming all the more fevered as he tried to pull at those fabrics and get at the wound. [break][break] "Hold on-" [break][break] He jumped at that grumpiness, anxiety flaring for a brief moment before he realized what the other was doing. He took the time away from Jikai's body to finally set the wine bottle to the side. As his emeralds watched with nervous, fretting curiosity, Shu's hands reached up and tugged those long pink locks into a loose bun, a few strands still falling around his features. [break][break] "Honestly, it's not thaaaat bad." [break][break] "Yeah, that's why you immediately came running to a back-alley physician, right? Because it's not that bad?" [break][break] Shu hadn't meant for the words to come out as snarky and sarcastic as they had, another byproduct of the intoxicated state, but he didn't regret them. In fact, he paid them little mind as that wound was revealed and his attention was caught. He leaned down, emerald gaze perusing the bloody mess before Jikai was suddenly swaying like a tree in the breeze. Panic returning to his countenance, Shu reached forward, one hand finding his companion's bicep, the other at his unstabbed side in some attempt to help steady him. [break][break] "Here, lay down," he instructed, hands smoothing to Jikai's chest and pressing him back onto the bed. "I'm not going to be able to help you if you're swaying like that." [break][break] Wound now fully on display, Shu spent a long moment just assessing it before turning and beginning to dig in his supply closet. It was a nasty wound, clearly done with some not-at-all-sharp blade. Shu wasn't one to pry into his coworkers' or employees' lives outside of their work together, so he didn't quite know what Jikai was up to most of the time when not guarding his body, but this definitely reeked of some fight gone bad. The bruises and markings along what he could see of the rest of Jikai's body were similarly implicating. [break][break] "Can you at least tell me what kind of blade it was?" he questioned, grimacing as his fumbling hands dropped a few items in the cabinet. He really needed to not be so far gone right now. He didn't mean for that snarky sarcasm to return as he added, "Any sort of information about what happened will help." [break][break] He popped up a second later, arms full of different supplies that he deposited onto the little wheel-y side table. He tugged them over, pulling on a pair of gloves, and began organizing as he listened to whatever retort or, hopefully, explanation Jikai had to offer.
