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","dangertxt"] He laughed. It was subtle, but it may as well not have been. Miyasaki-san laughed. Was it a dumb question? Should he have known what he was there for? He felt warmth tingle in his cheeks and all he could do was blink at him, clueless. He laughed. And now he was commenting on his outfit. The boy shifted a little, all the more annoyed at himself for dressing in the same sort of thing he would’ve worn on a date instead of formal meeting attire and- Oh. It was a compliment. He thought he presented himself well. And...he’d be popular in the film scene?
The lawyer continued on immediately after to tell him it was about a case, the added information only confusing the blond further because he couldn’t see how he could possibly help him with it. If it wasn't about school, what could it have been? Work? Yoichi didn’t involve himself with people or places that could get him in trouble. He liked to drink and have fun around the city, but he didn’t do anything sketchy. He worked hard and studied hard and considered himself responsible, mostly. He had too much to lose.
Before he could thank him for the compliment or ask questions, the waitress cut in with his drink. Fingers barely trembling with nerves wrapped around the glass and pulled it closer. It was already wet with condensation and he considered the fact that if he didn’t get answers soon, he was about to be just as sweaty. He didn’t drink from it yet, only held it, thumb rubbing absently across the dripping beads.
Not a drinker?
“What? Oh, no, I am,” he assured. “I go out drinking all the time. I was actually supposed to go with my friends tonight, I just-” Yoichi cringed, begged himself to shut up or slow down, but he never got nervous like this and words were coming out before he could stop them. “I just didn’t want to be rude and order other things. And…” Struggling to decipher the man’s intentions through that flirty grin and friendly lean forward, he trailed off, his second reason that he didn’t trust himself to drink at that moment. Not with him. Not when he didn’t know what they were meeting about or how he should’ve been representing himself. Should he have brought a lawyer of his own? Was he reading things wrong? Maybe just one small glass would smooth him out. Get him to stop thinking about how dreamy he was when he should’ve been busy worrying. He drank enough that his tolerance was strong and he got the sense he was being rude by declining. It was only half a bottle.
“We can, if you want,” he decided, sitting up a little straighter to try to seem more confident. “I usually like dry reds or sweet whites, but I’m not picky.” A moment of hesitation. “You said you want me to help you with a case? What’s it about? I guess...I must be involved somehow if you know of me, right? Did I do something?”
[attr="class","dangertxt"] Break it up? Solid advice, jerk, he thought, still trying to do just that.
The change in weight distribution when the guy was pulled away had Yoichi slipping off the sink, finding unsteady footing on the spinning floor while wiping spot from his neck and mouth with his sleeve. He stayed pressed closed to the wall, suddenly not so concerned with its state of cleanliness. He would’ve stepped around them if the four walls allowed a few more inches of leeway, but they were both bigger than him and the bathroom was tight since it was meant to be a quick stop between drinks and grinding more than it was a gathering space.
A quiet gasp left him when the redheaded man charged, rigid at the thought that Bartop Guy was going to take a hit for him, but he sidestepped and delivered a rough blow to the guy’s back instead, leaving Yoichi blinking in surprise. Suddenly, he was stumbling forward. The man’s grip was tight, wrapped all the way around his wrist, and he was moving before he even realized he was being taken out of that nasty bathroom. He followed right behind the man, not that he had a choice, and tried to focus on not tripping as they shoved through the crowd, out the door.
The cold bite of winter air was sobering and helped his head stop spinning, but that in turn allowed space for other emotions to well up. It wasn’t his first time dealing with jerks like that, but it still shook him whenever it happened. That twisting feeling in his stomach, the fear in his chest from lingering fight or flight, the uneven breathing and shaking hands all were the telltale signs of things almost going bad for him. They had yet to go much further than almost, but the worry of the day they would was always there. So when the guy stopped in some dark, secluded alleyway, his guard immediately went back up. He was flirting with him at the bar. Was he going to try to pull something now, too? Yoichi took back his trembling hand and sniffled.
Processing was a struggle. He was scared. Really, he was. Of that other guy and of him. But now he just wanted… What did he want? Comfort? He wanted to throw up. He knew that much. That idiot in the bathroom didn’t let him finish the cigarette that was supposed to get rid of that sensation. His eyes were heavy and fighting to keep them open only made it worse.
You alright?
He nodded his response, the motion causing tears to drip from his eyes, which he quickly wiped away with the back of his wrist.
“Yeah, sorry,” he assured him, voice small. “It’s ‘cause he bought me a lot of drinks. You didn’t have to-” Churning in his stomach cut him off, had him leaning back against icy cold brick with his hand pressed to his mouth. Shit. Was he really about to puke in front of him? “You can just leave me here. I’ll be fine.” And he wanted the guy out of there before he made a mess of his shoes.
Right, right. Miyasaki. Not Murasaki. Shoot. First, he forgot about their meeting, and now his name? Good thing he hadn’t greeted him by it. God, it hadn’t even happened and he felt embarrassed about it.
I appreciate you agreeing to meeting me; I know it was a bit of an out-of-the-blue request.
The man was right. This was absolutely an out-of-the-blue request. But it wasn’t anything he thought he’d be thanked for. He didn’t have a choice in the matter, did he? Could he have politely declined? Yoichi had no idea why they were meeting. He was certain he’d fucked up somehow and convinced himself that if he didn’t really lay it on this guy and impress him somehow, he was going to get sent home. Kicked out of school or fired or evicted or...something. Why else would a city lawyer want to meet with him so suddenly? Regardless, he was off to a rough start.
“Um,” he hummed in thought and picked up a menu. What was the right thing to do? Order a drink or decline? Better safe than sorry, right? Not wanting to be rude, he ordered something small and skipped out on getting alcohol. He wanted it. He really wanted it. A drink would’ve quelled some of the nerves, lightened up the conversation, but he’d be on his best behavior and only take whatever was offered to him. He came from humble upbringings and knew how to go back to his roots when it was necessary. Refraining from burdening someone else with a big bill in a situation like this was one of those times (though his nights out at the bar were a different case). He was a guest, whether or not the guy was rich. He wouldn’t indulge.
When the waitress finished lingering, Yoichi took a breath and looked over at the man.
“Oh, um, yeah. I go to Waseda for film production and acting,” he informed and shifted in his seat. He was used to having gazes on him. Most nights, he went out seeking attention and interest, and if he’d run into this guy in a different setting, he would’ve wanted it. But right now, it was making him nervous. “Is...that what this is about? School?”
[attr="class","dangertxt"] The man glanced down at his glass, empty, but Yoichi’s periwinkle gaze stayed heavy on his visage, sizing him up. I would ask you the same but maybe a better question would be what haven't you had.
He giggled at that comment and felt his cheeks, already pink with intoxication, warm from the teasing. The playful smirk the other gave him encouraged Yoichi’s own grin to grow, the boy happy to have gotten not only a response but a follow up to it, as well. Maybe he wasn’t so unhappy with being approached, then. Maybe he was nervous? Didn’t do this sort of thing often? He looked pretty put together - not really the type Yoichi was used to coming across in places such as that cheap, sweaty bar, which was partially what made the guy catch his eye in the first place. “You’re right. That’s probably a much shorter list,” he agreed, happy to play along, although tequila had been his liquor of choice for the night, too. “Looks like you’re empty,” he pointed out, the liquor bringing out a greater hint of the inaka twang in his accent than what he usually allowed. It was much easier to stifle when sober. He shifted to lean forward on the bar with both elbows after reaching to grab the shot glasses that had been placed at the edge. “Luckily for you, I got two this time.” Yoichi pushed one in front of the man and kept one for himself. Wasn’t his cash paying for it, so he was happy to share.
Assuming he’d partake, the bubbly blonde tossed back his own without flinching and set it back up on the edge for the bartender.
“Better to drink with a partner, yeah? Have a fun night,” he encouraged with a wink and slipped away from the sticky bartop, back into the crowd to try to locate the guy he’d been hanging on whose face he’d already forgotten.
It wasn’t too long later, only forty minutes or so, that he found himself in the bathroom smoking. Of all the bars in the area, this one had the nastiest, so he was trying to make quick work of his little break, swaying on the sink that he’d made his temporary chair. Despite the room spinning, he wasn’t going to puke - a mantra he often ended up chanting to himself on nights like that - and a cigarette usually helped him fight through the urge. A social, only-when-drunk smoker, he’d borrowed one and a light off some redhead, and after a moment of back and forth, it became evident that the smoke didn’t come free. “Ugh, hey, asshole,” he muttered, words more slurred as he moved to push past him than they were an hour ago. “I said-” The smaller boy was cut off by a forearm against his throat, keeping him pressed against the disgusting, vandalized wall with limited air. If he got some weird disease from it, he would personally hunt him down and take him out. His gross mouth moved to his neck and he was going on about him spending all kinds of money on him that night. Was he the guy whose tab he was on? “Let me-”
[attr="class","dangertxt"] “Ugh, I’m coming. I’m coming,” he assured whoever was so adamant to get his attention. He was just settling in to get his homework done for the night before going out with his friends later. He didn’t have a lot of time and he really did not want homework time cutting into have fun time. “Do I know yo-?” Oh, no. The suit. The formal greeting. Realization struck and his heart jumped up into his throat, blocking his words from escaping. This wasn’t the NHK man or the neighbor lady asking for sugar. Yoichi slammed the door, not trying to be rude but reacting on instinct. He twisted the lock and hesitated there, leaning back against the door. “Shit,” he hissed and covered his mouth, then pushed back his bangs as he tried to think. Crap! Crap, crap, crap! A glance at the calendar. No! That was this Friday? How could he have forgotten? This was the day he was supposed to meet that lawyer. Murasaki Akito, or whatever. “Uuuh, one second,” he requested of the urgent knocks at his door, lingering a moment longer before scurrying to the bathroom.
He stared at the cluttered vanity, water running as his hands hovered over all the products he was planning to use before this dinner. He could…he could wash his face. Spruce it up. Do his hair if he was fast. And then get dressed. But he wouldn’t have time to shower now. Luckily, he’d done so that morning before class, but it still would’ve been nice to freshen up a little extra. This was a big deal. Some big shot lawyer. He had to be impressive. He didn’t even know what the man wanted. What if he was in trouble?
Yoichi rushed through his routine of washing, exfoliating, massaging on some essence and moisturizer and topping it off with a little SPF for a soft, dewy glow. He tousled his hair to fluff it up like it was freshly done, tucking the rest of it back behind his ears since they were going to some fancy place and it was probably best to look more on the formal side. He checked himself in the mirror and...not bad. Onto the bedroom, where his clothes were already hanging ready to be put on. He yanked on socks, slipped into a thin turtleneck and a pair of relaxed fit slacks, did up a belt, and pulled on a slightly oversized calf length coat. A spritz of flowery cologne, one more check in the mirror, and ten minutes later, he was at the door. Ten minutes late. That wasn’t horrible.
The drive was fast. Too fast. Yoichi spent the time staring at his hands, out the window, at the driver. He was trying not to stress, silently apologizing to his friends for bailing on their plans and mad that he had to be at this dinner while they were having fun without him. And in the time he spent worrying (and being annoyed) about it, they’d arrived. He took a breath to calm himself down and stepped up to the hostess. Composed. Composed. He couldn’t come off as...how he really was. But he was so nervous, he couldn’t even tell himself to pretend it was a role.
Right this way.
Someone was taking his coat and they were getting closer, closer… He looked around, trying to decipher who it could’ve been. A couple older guys drinking together, a family, a table of women, and- Oh.
“Hello,” Yoichi greeted, very obviously surprised, from his side of the table with a polite bow. He was rigid enough that it had to have been obvious that he was anxious. With permission, he sat and introduced himself. If he wasn’t nervous before, he was now. The guy was attractive. Like, super attractive. Magazine cover attractive. And he was so well put together. Agh, shit. Yoichi probably looked so stupid. Even if he’d had all the time in the world to get ready, his youthfulness and trend-focused closet screamed student. Why didn’t he wear a suit? What was he thinking? “I’m Yoichi Amane. It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for having me.” His accent expressed that he wasn’t from Tokyo. He could change his tastes and mannerisms but he couldn’t get rid of that inaka twang. “And sorry for the wait. There was...an accident.” Not a lie. The accident was that he forgot this was happening.
[attr="class","dangertxt"] Finally. The weekend. No school, no homework, no work, no early mornings. Just freedom and alcohol. A lot of alcohol. Between classes and working at the cafe, he’d been so swamped lately that he was dreaming of going out and having fun every single second of the day - he kept checking the clock and the clock kept moving slower. So when the big hand and the small hand finally fell at that sweet spot of the analog clock in the front of the classroom, Yoichi packed up and raced home to shower.
The weekend stretched from Friday night to Sunday night, but the short break still amounted to such a little amount of free time, Yoichi had made a habit of going hard on Friday, a little less hard (but still hard) on Saturday, and took Sunday as his only real day of rest, though he still liked to go out for food or coffee with his friends Sunday afternoon before the week began again. Whatever he could do to live it to the fullest, squeeze every last minute out of his time.
It didn’t take much that night. He wasn't particularly hydrated and he hadn't eaten much, but that wasn't an accident. Just two shots and Yoichi was tingling. One more down and he was grinning freely, moving his way through the crowd as he took another. Music blaring around him (namely, Prince’s Cream), he moved in time with whoever was close, mostly guys he’d seen around there before. He was four deep when he found himself at the bar again, leaning against the counter wet with spilled drinks as he waited to catch the bartender’s eye. Once he did, he ordered two more, one for at the counter and one with tonic for on the go. He chatted the man up for the few moments it took to get his things and put it on some hopeful guy's tab, only glancing to his left when the bartender walked away to help someone at the other end and- Oh? Who was this?
“Hi~” he lilted, shifting his weight to lean on an elbow, head tilted curiously forward. Yoichi, a regular there, had never seen this guy before. Not that he could remember, at least, though that wasn’t saying much. He didn’t remember the bulk of his nights out. Taking a long sip of his fresh drink to wash down the lingering ester-y tang of the shot, he sized the guy up. He didn’t look too enthusiastic about being approached, but why else go to a bar like this? He could change his mind, he was sure. Yoichi was a good talker. He thought so when he was drunk, at least. “What‘re you drinking?”
Yoichi was born in Murakami, Japan, a fishing town two hours north of Tokyo by Shinkansen and alongside the beginning of the 345 highway. His mother an English teacher and father a restaurant owner, he lived a completely average childhood alongside them, his younger sister, Yoshie, and his nearby extended family who collectively ran a farm at the edge of town. He attended the local prefectural schools, where his performance was merely decimals above average, helped his family with work, looked after his sister, and hung out with friends. They spent the summers at the local beach and the winters in the mountains, played video games and went to karaoke and messed around. It was an unremarkable boyhood filled with completely average experiences and self discovery. [break][break] The one thing that set him apart from the rest of the town was his desire for more. Not that he disliked what he had there, but with starry eyes and a love of film, he’d always craved a different sort of life. One in the not too far off city. So when it came time to decide whether he would go to college or remain in Murakami to work on the farm and in the restaurant, he decided to leave. His family fully supported his decision and pooled together to help him afford the initial expenses, and currently he works at a coffee shop to cover the recurring tuition. He spends his time now going out, dating, sleeping around, shopping, and studying (but only sometimes). [break][break] //i hate bios and nothing has happened in his life ever :) [break][break]
Side Facts! [break][break] Height: 5’6 [break] Hair: Dirty blonde [break] Eyes: Periwinkle blue [break] Scent: Mandarin (citrus), peach + cream | Strawberry, hint of vanilla + coffee after work [break] Likes: Fruit, going out, cute things [break] Dislikes: Studying, working out, desperate clinginess [break] Clothes: Lots of pastels, very cute and trendy 10/10 fashion
