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.
What's worse than drinking too much? Drinking too much while a handful of Molly courses through your system. What's worse than drinking too much while a handful of Molly courses through your system? Some handsy 40-year-old and his drunk wingman thinking that just because you've been drinking too much while a handful of Molly courses through your system, you're down to get a bit frisky in the alley behind the bar. [break][break] "Back the fuck off, assholes!" Sachi barked, words slurring, the world of grays and neons swirling like some cheap Picasso painting. She stumbled, scraped her bare forearm against the brick wall of the club, and let out another sloppy curse as she glanced down at the wound. [break][break] The distraction was, unfortunately, enough that Mr. My-Business-is-Creeping managed to get ahold of her, his meaty fingers digging into fabric of her skirt. A disgruntled sound left the young woman, her hand flailing, somehow managing to make contact with the bastard's face. [break][break] "What the fuck?!" [break][break] The angered cry would have probably brought a snarky grin to Sachi's face had said face not suddenly been introduced to Wingman-with-a-Mean-Right-Hook's patented right hook. Sent flying back against the brick, an involuntary whimper leaving her, Sachi hardly managed to stay on her feet as she caught herself. Blood. She tasted blood. [break][break] Fuck, fuck, fuck! [break][break] Had she perhaps not drowned her system in a bit too much stimulation, were the world perhaps less of a watercolor painting, she probably could have handled herself rather well. She'd gotten into enough violent scrapes in her lifetime to be able to kick some ass when needed. [break][break] This was not one of those moments. [break][break] Breathing shallow, head throbbing, Sachi could barely manage to differentiate the men's outlines from the swirling mass of colors that made up the alleyway. She didn't even realize hands were coming at her until she was being thrown against the brick, head bouncing off the stone and sending black spots shooting across her vision as she slid to the ground, the slurred laughter of the two assholes beside her echoing through her aching head.
No attempts at tension-easing were going to work. Sachi wouldn't have tolerated someone breaking into her apartment on any evening, but she was already having a bad night; some snarky intruder's attempt at humor wasn't about to calm her down. [break][break] "Good luck charm, my ass," she practically growled back, reaching down to remove her other shoe, glaring emeralds never leaving the invading form before her. "And trust me, you haven't begun to see me try to kill you." [break][break] Shoe successfully removed, a heel in each hand, Sachi cock a perfectly-trimmed pink brow at her "guest," reminding herself of where her pepper spray, bat, and other useful defense tools were. When she spoke, her tone was neither kind nor friendly, and it certainly contained no trace of the humor found in her companion's visage. [break][break] "Get the hell out of my apartment or I'm going to fucking make you leave." [break][break] Whether he agreed or not really didn't matter; Sachi was so pissed off that even if he agreed to leave, those heels were going to start flying. Careening through the air just moments after the warning left her lips, heels angled towards the dramatic form lounging across her cushions, Sachi used the moment to dart towards her purse, haphazardly discarded on the floor a few feet away, the mace inside her destination.
Sachi was having a bad night. It had begun well enough--a few drinks with friends, some dancing, a bit of flirtation with the cute bartender--but a too-handsy 40-year-old and three shots of Fireball were not the most conducive combination, leading to some violent tussle in the alley behind the bar, Sachi stumbling out victorious but with a plethora of purples and blues dotting her form. For the briefest of moments, she debated staying out, reuniting with her friends and drowning the aches in a handful of narcotics. The sleazy bastard had left a sour taste in her mouth, though, resulting in a bruised and battered and half-drunk Miss Morita stumbling back to her apartment in the mid-evening gloom. [break][break] And so it was that the little mistress of pink arrived back home, unlocking her apartment and slipping inside with a quiet, exhausted sigh. She flipped on some lights in the kitchenette, grabbed out a water bottle from her fridge, and headed to the couch for some much-needed relaxation and recuperation. [break][break] "What the fuck?" [break][break] Water bottle hovering near her lips, one of those damnable heels halfway off, the strap pinched between her fingers, Sachi froze and stared at the body occupying her cushions. [break][break] "WHAT THE FUCK?!" [break][break] The second exclamation, far louder than the first, was accompanied by that water bottle careening through the air towards the invader's face, water splashing across the man and couch alike. [break][break] "WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?!"
'Cause nothing satiates me, and I don't think that I hate me, but, bad or good, seems nothin' could, take away this tasteless haze...
TW: drug use [break][break] PERSONALITY [break] Sachiko is a young woman with a bright future ahead of her. She is a hard-working, sweet, intelligent student who treats just about everyone with respect and kindness. She has big plans to be a lawyer someday, and she is well-liked by the majority of the university population. She lives alone, spends most of her time studying, and gets flustered easily when someone flirts with her. [break][break] At least, that's what those at the university believe. [break][break] In actuality, Sachiko spends her evenings letting off steam the best way she knows how: by kicking ass, committing crimes, and having sex until she forgets about the stress of finals and bullshit professors who want her as a TA just so they can oggle while they order her around. She curses, she fights, she flirts with just about anything that moves; her friends tease her about being some sort of emotional werewolf, transforming under the light of the moon, but Sachiko knows the truth: when you grow up being told how good you are at things, studies and relationships coming easily, you eventually reach a point where feelings of inadequacy and incompetence follow you around like a shadow, taunting you every chance you get, and the only way to fill the void of "I'm not good enough" is to do a bit of Molly and ride some stranger into the sunset. [break][break] Despite these two wildly different flavors that make up the Sachiko Morita package, the girl does have some traits that transcend the boundary between day and night. For one, she's smart. That shit doesn't fade when the sun goes down, even if she has a nasty tendency to drown her brain in narcotics and liquor. She also maintains acute awareness of how to get people to do what she wants, though she's a lot more brash about her methods of manipulation when she's not trying to impress advisors and potential future employers. But she's also loyal, her friends--though in different worlds--working as a lifeline for her. Her strong sense of justice, the impetus for her pursuing a law degree, is also maintained in the wee hours of the evening, though it manifests itself in different ways. While she uses tear-filled expressions and guilt-inducing sweetness to punish wrongdoers roaming the university grounds, Sachiko prefers the heavy thump of a bat on skull or maybe a jacket lit on fire to mimic how inappropriate it is for a forty-year-old to get all hot and bothered over her friend Misaki who just wanted to have a good night out dancing with her fucking friends. [break][break] But I digress. Ultimately, Sachiko knows she isn't living a sustainable lifestyle, knows that eventually she's going to have to get her shit together and learn how to be an adult without causing collateral damage, but she's only twenty-three; she doesn't need to have it all figured out yet, right? [break][break] HISTORY [break] Sachiko grew up in a wealthy home on the outskirts of Tokyo, parents both highly-respected members of the medical field. Her older brother, Shuichi, followed in their parents footsteps and is now working for their parents' private practice... whatever the hell that exactly means. Sachiko knew early on, though, that she didn't want to join the family business. If she'd had her way, she probably would've gone a bit more artistic with her interests--maybe a painter or actress. Instead, she chose law, because it wasn't medicine and it was a lofty enough goal to satiate her parents' unhindered lust for a family devoid of financial failures. Plus, she liked the idea of fighting for justice and making sure the creeps and perverts of the world got what they had coming. [break][break] For the first about 15 years of her life, Sachiko maintained a pure enough lifestyle, always working hard, getting the best grades, making her parents proud and all that shit. Slowly but surely, though, anxiety started to slip into her everyday life, constantly reminding her that she was never going to be good enough, was never as perfect as everyone wanted or expected her to be. And that ate away at her. Still does, if she's being honest with herself, which doesn't necessarily always happen. [break][break] Luckily, as she entered her final year of high school, Sachiko found the golden goose: enough drugs and liquor to keep her sane through her last couple months as a minor. She started hanging out with bad crowds after school, crowds that would teach her all the ways she could numb the pain of hyper-stimulating stress and crippling anxiety. [break][break] She moved out the moment she turned 18, getting a little apartment of her own near campus. Her father offered to pay for the place so she didn't have to work while in school and she took the money without question. Free room and board, away from prying eyes, for the price of a weekly Sunday brunch with her parents? She could handle that. Of course, that means she has to maintain the facade of sobriety every Sunday, which is easier said than done. Oh well, beggars can't be choosers. [break][break] LOOKS [break] Sachiko stands at a lean 5'5", curvy and pale-skinned. She works out regularly--it helps with the hangovers--and maintains a decent healthy eating routine. It's amazing how responsible you can be with your body during the day so that you can do whatever the hell you want with it at night. An emerald gaze and pink-tinted hair, Sachiko often gives off a very cutesy look, something she's not afraid to use for personal gain or against people that piss her off.
