Loved the Way you Lied {YAKUZA}

by Alisa Donnikova Fri Mar 30, 2012 10:22 am

The room is heavy with the smell of cigarette smoke, booze, and paint. Half-eaten food lies scattered across the floor along-side broken bottles that glitter sadly in the edges of the lamp that was knocked over a day or two ago. There are a few sketches posted on the walls with small finished paintings resting against them. Time had lost its meaning in this messy little room that was so dimly lit and, frankly, a mess. You would almost think that no one had been in there until you reached the small bedroom that was sparsely furnished just like the rest of this little shit hole in the wall. Once you stepped into that bedroom, you wouldn't see the bed first or some dresser. No... The first thing you would see is the giant canvas that takes up the one wall almost entirely. Paint cans line the floor beside more broken bottles, cigarette butts, and crumpled paper. The bed is just a mattress with a knotted up blanket that has a stain of booze in it, the pillow ripped to shreds and spilling its innards.

The canvas is blank. As is her chest. No, that isn't right. Her chest isn't empty because its filled with such a complex array of emotions that she only half understands. Fuck that, she doesn't understand most of them. But she can't just let them roil around in there and drink them away anymore, she can't bury them behind work and death like she had been for the months (she'd lost count) since the event. Since it started, tapered, then crashed and burned to leave her in this whole fucking mess. Alisa Donnikova was sitting with her legs mostly brought close to her chest, ankles crossed as her arms laid over her knee's. Her hands hung there suspended via the muscles in her body while a cigarette burned between her lips, the smoke trailing upwards as her eyes stared at that giant canvas with the focus of a laser beam. She hadn't moved for the past three hours, just staring at that huge canvas while trying to sort out just what it was that would move her hands to paint something upon it.

Her fingers twitched, the first sign of movement in those ticking minutes that tocked right on by her. When was the last time she had painted like this? Ignored the rest of the world like this? By a therapists standards, too long probably. The last thing she had even drawn was that stupid fucking sketch on the side of the decrepit building after the last fucking war that Amestris had thrown itself into. Right before he-- The image of him stabbed her like broken glass, gritting her teeth as she grabbed the nearest thing and jumped to her feet, which happened to be an intact bottle of beer, and threw it with a roar of so many things at that blank canvas. It shattered, those shards of glass flying in different directions. But some remained locked in the canvas' embrace, sparkling in the light of the two lamps she had pointed only at the giant canvas. An artist needed her fucking light. Him. The one that introduced her to these fucking feelings, that stole them from her, brought them back, and then threw out without a look back. No... That wasn't entirely fair. She was hardly loveable, not like the little mouse that she had met in Southern Amestris. There was a woman who deserved that happiness.

Snarling as she was suddenly overcome by emotions, Alisa slammed her fist into that empty page, not caring as some of those shards stabbed into the bare flesh of her hands and cut into it. She leaped back with a hiss of pain, blood now trickling down that empty... canvas.... She paused as she raised her eyes from her bleeding hand to the crimson that dripped down so slowly. It was no longer empty. The shards of glass from a bottle of booze she hated more than the pain inside of her. Their first meeting. The blood that trickled down. Their night of passion. Or was it the war? Was it the blood they shed alongside each other? What the fuck.... What the fuck was all of this shit? This knotted, twisting, contorting ball of fuck inside of her? She hadn't felt this miserable since.... Her lips tightened as she stood there calmly, staring evenly at the beginning of her next work. Since her father had died. Her world had cracked then, and now it had shattered. Broken apart like that bottle she threw. She could now see the stains of the beer mixing with her blood to form a swirling mess of crimson and piss. Beer was piss, why the fuck had she drunk it?

Sighing heavily, she took one last draw on that cigarette and stomped it out beneath the heel of her bare foot, barely registering the pain. She was in too much emotional pain to notice the physical. Why? Why had he shown her such a world, such emotions and then go away? Was it because she hadn't been there? Had he already decided to move on after he wiped her mind? He must have. That was the only logical explanation, and logic was her only friend at this point as much as she hated it. She hated how this was eating her up, how she couldn't just make it go away like she had every other fucking piece of shit event that had happened in her life. How had he embedded himself so?! She should have moved on by now, not be stuck and trapped by his presence, his smell, his... His fucking eyes! Those eyes behind those fucking sunglasses that were always so fucking important.

That she still wanted to see. That she still wanted to touch.

For the first time since her father died, Alisa felt a tear spill out of the corner of her eye and down her cheek. "FUCK!" She screamed, slamming her bloody hand on the canvas and sliding it across the surface to create a giant streak, falling back to her knee's with a rather loud thud. It was no fucking wonder her mom had hung herself. ".... I get you mom. Ok? I finally..." She took a shuddering breath as rage, pain, and shame overtook her, "...I finally understand." Two more tears plittered to the floor, joining the mess of liquids that had now begun to gather. It was only now that she noticed just how much her hand hurt, lifting to her eyes so she could see the shards of glass that stuck out of her flesh. She pulled the first out and stuck it into the canvas in that streak of red she had left behind, placing each next shard in that streak so that they glittered a muted green amongst the red that would surely dry to a rusty brown. She took a step back when she was done, staring at what had begun to fill the empty space before her. Liquor, blood, and tears. And that was when the world seemed to fall still.

She picked up a nearby paintbrush and dipped it into a can without even looking to see what color it was, already somehow knowing that it was black before she brought it up and added an underlying, accenting line below the line of blood. She began to move like a woman possessed, knowing exactly what she wanted where, what colors, what accents. She would put the paintbrush down only to add a cigarette butt here and there, switch to a different sized brush, or smash another bottle so she had more pieces to work with. With her hand still bleeding, she would flick droplets of her life onto that large canvas, only taking a moment to consider it before she smeared her hand over the drying colors. At one point she ran over to her disheveled pillow and ripped out some of the stuffing, adding it to the collage of her pain till it was soon dyed and tinged with the colors that were filling up the space.

Time passed on and she had no idea how long it had been until the birds twittering began to poke their way into her mind, standing before the now filled canvas panting and covered in paint herself. It was a good thing she was basically in her black solid underwear and a plain black tank top then. The blood had clotted in her bleeding hand which was now definitely smeared with paint, a faint smirk spreading across her lips as she examined her handiwork.

Great streaks of black were interdispersed by bright swirls of greens, blues, and a bit of white here and there. The green was highlighted by blood streaks accented with a couple of reds, larger shards of glass placed strategically so that it glittered just like those eyes she knew so well. The black gave way to scenes splottered across the canvas, revealing the things that struck her so deeply and used to heal her so quickly. But in the bottom corner on the right was where she stood now, staring at his back while he walked away with another woman. It was very painterly, but exquisitely executed which would be surprising to anyone who only knew her as the mercenary that pretty much everyone knew. She didn't know how to connect to them on a soft level like this. It was like the different scenes were bubbles that floated in and out of the black, her own face painted at the very bottom from the eyes up while the rest swirled out of that blackness. Yes.... That was perfect.

She flopped back down on the spot she had been sitting, a giant smirk on her lips as she admired with a fresh cigarette in hand. "Good-bye Spade." She murmured softly, taking a long draw on that cigarette as she sat there in the quiet hours of the early morning appreciating the calm that had filled her entire being.

by Guest Mon Apr 02, 2012 6:17 pm

Ah, life. It was as it was lived. BUT HE WAS FUCKING YAKUZA. Therefore, Mako could follow whatever whim he wanted. Hell yeah. The night dawned and he was feeling very witty despite being an idiot, thus deciding to whip out the Drachman textbooks he had been pouring over ever since meeting that woman. Unlike the pathetic shyness of yasashii Aerugese women, Alisa possessed pizzazz, and Mako fucking liked pizzazz. That was the extent of their simple meeting, resulting in a professional relationship and nothing more. Nothing. At. All. That was precisely why Mako was now interested. Blurred black lines on a page that meant something was slowly but surely beginning to resonate in his thick, brute-like skull that he took pride in. His current catchphrase was: 'I may be praised for my hard fucking head, but even I can fucking learn Drachman.' Hell yeah. Of course, he only said it once and it was because his father gave him a weird look when he saw his son holding a book of any kind by free will. IT PISSED HIM OFF, but flipping the table would result in spilling his pudding and losing his place in the last chapter. It cost him a pretty penny to get a tutor who would put up with him long enough to get him to remember one word in Drachman since he had difficulty understanding the word in Aeruguese. And so the days blew by like Ville's pancakes as he terrorized agencies with violence while spending nights getting a headache. The more he learned, the more he wanted to remember. The slang was his favorite. He could say 'fuck a slut' in a different language! He showed it off to his buddies until the entire 3rd faction of kyoudai could fluently utter it in loud, obnoxious voices. It then became their catchphrase: 'ебать шлюха!!!!!!!!!!!!!!' The enemy, having no idea what they were screaming, scattered given Makoto's rep for destruction. Yes.

It didn't take much time until it all got old and Mako grew tired of working so damn hard for nothing. Well, he did get to kick people's asses, and fame, and fortune--that was all well and good, but... THERE WAS SOMETHING MISSING. He was bored, and having so much time on his hands made him irritated. When Mako was irritated, things got broken...including eardrums. And pride, of course. Fucking right he stripped men of their tattoos right then and there (not literally) and then when to play pachinko. Those mindless silver balls burned the buzz out of his brain, leaving him fairly happy enough not to kill anyone and make more work for his men. Edo bay was glistening with fowl play, lit up in the night with police officers just waiting for a suspicious person. Why? Well, it was because Mako was unhappy and when Mako was unhappy, enemies weren't beaten to a pulp, but more than likely killed in a gruesome way--the only way to kill a person. AHAHAHAHA. Sinking bodies in water was so easy it only took bricks and stealth, but Mako didn't like stealth, and since he enjoyed watching the 'cleanup', he perched some distance away from the dock. But no! The Yamaguchi-gumi were not the only ones currently dispensing their 'waste' in Edo Bay... This was THEIR fucking turf. The fact that others dared encroach on that was not fucking okay GODDAMMIT. Mako hissed at his thoughts, passing another night by staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Dear Insomnia, FUCK YOU. But they still needed to find out who the fuck was invading the Yamaguchi's dead body dump. THIS WAS THEIR WATERFILL--haha.

Half way through three AM, an annoying brat burst into his room declaring that his father had called an emergency fucking meeting about some shit. Mako, clad in black boxers made from silk and no shit, proceeded to the meeting without bothering to even straighten his disheveled black hair. Who the hell cared anyway?

"Good morning Waka!" They chimed in accordance, pissing Makoto off because IT WASN'T FUCKING MORNING YET GODDAMMIT IT WAS DARK OUT COULDN'T THEY SEE!?!? And then stuff happened, people talked and only then did he finally doze off only to then waken in a pool of drool by someone shaking him. WHAT!? WHAT?!?! Mako shot up, eyes ablaze and fingers have clicked to light the motherfucker on FIRE and then he remembered that he was at home. Oh. So the dream about GODZILLA invading Aerugo had only been a dream? Eh? Really? Damn. He really want to kick that shit's ass. It was a giant lizard, you see, it had scales and jagged shit coming off of it and a nasty look in its red eyes. Yeah, it eyes were red! It was as tall as Edo's metropolitan bank building and was itching for a fight--A FIGHT!!!!!!! Oh. He was strangling some guy. He apologized and stepped down, realizing that no one was left in the room and that it was now six AM according to his watch.

"You waited until everyone was gone before waking me up EHHH!?!" Once that was cleared away, Makoto learned that the rival gang in THEIR territory was the fucking Xingese Dragons. CREATIVE NAME. They were dumping bodies, but not just any bodies, but bodies from the Yamaguchi-gumi. Stupid name, fucking strong arms. GRRRRARARRRRRRRRRR. They needed all the help they could get. The Xingese Dragons were a predominant gang in the land of the fuck-you-up kinda gangstas. They were so badass that none of them had tattoos--da fuck? Therefore, Mako decided to find Alisa. Annndddd it took about two hours to locate her position and pretty much everything he had ever wanted to know about her that he didn't want to know.

Because he wanted to ask her herself in Drachma. AHAHAYES.

In his best black suit, golden-plated wristwatch, pointed leather shoes, red tie, and so on, Mako sprinkled cologne on to go visit his mercenary 'associate' named Alisa Donnikova. Messily groomed yet slick black hair was half pulled up into a pony tail, leaving his forehead bare against the cold spring breeze. Ah, the cherry blossoms would be blooming soon. Maybe she would accompany--BUSINESS. He had to remind himself. This was fucking important. Although he could mix play and work, he had to do it right or risk the lives of his dudes and those who relied on him to do what he usually did best: be awesome; a tornado of table-flipping kickass.

He arrived in a tinted Audi, his driver looking more than worried as Makoto told him to drive around the block 46 times--a random number he threw out there that didn't mean anything and had no calculation involved. By then, he hoped he'd be ready with chick in hand, but shit wasn't guaranteed when delving outside his comfort zone. Actually talking to people? Meh.

He went in through the window, head peeling through slanting sunlight to see A FUCKING MASTERPIECE. Black underwear. So perfectly fitting, accenting her hips, lacking lace and the fake lingerie shit that men loved but HATED. Only then did he see what was behind her as he climbed, grunting through the windowpane and fell unceremoniously onto the floor in a heap. He liked the blood the best.

"How much for the--?! How do you fucking say painting?!" Oh shit word. Word word word word word word WORD WORD!?!?... "Thing?" Point. Yes, he was resorting to the finger-pointing antics of a five year old. FML.

by Alisa Donnikova Tue Apr 03, 2012 10:19 am

It was time for a title now. You couldn't create a work and then leave it without a title for very long. That was how you ended up with those tortured zen idiotic names like, 'untitled 248.' What the fuck was that shit? If you are going to name a painting, then pick a proper NAME. A work couldn't be called 'untitled' since that would imply a blank slate. Or thats how she always thought of it at least. Untitled was what you called a blank work document on the computer. Not the massive canvas that was standing up before her. Which brought her to another point, you always name a work afterwards. Not before, not during, AFTERwards. If you tried to pin a name on too early, then you are fulfilling expectations and thats just fucking retarded. But she had met some really dumb people in her lifetime so she had seen it all. As much as she painted, she had never been invited to display her work in a gallery or even sell it. So she had her different paintings/sketches/whatnot scattered amongst the various safe-houses in each country. Though the ones that had been in Central had gotten pretty much destroyed in all that bombing... Meh. Whatever. She didn't feel too terribly tied to her works.

Except this one. This one was special. This was very.... personal. And as such, it needed a name befitting the nature of it. "King of Spades? Nah, I ain't giving him that satisfaction. Certainly not Ace of Spades either..." What to call it... what to call it! Then it hit her like a spark to her cigarette which she took one good draw on as the biggest goofy grin spread across her features. "The Bottom of the Bottle. Yeah... That sounds about right." She murmured to herself, extinguishing her cig in the rim of a nearby empty can as her hands slid down to the floor. Yeah.... That was perfect. Now where was that last bottle of rum? She knew she hadn't smashed that one yet.... But there was a thud that was out of place, whipping around while a hand grabbed a bottle and brandished it towards the invader of her--....

What. The fuck. Alisa stared at the figure picking himself up off the ground with all the trash, his well-dressed self completely out of place amongst the mess of her place. Fuck she'd have to clean it up. But anyways, she could hardly believe that the Wasa.. Wasu... Ah fuck. What was his name? Makoto! Yeah! That was it. What the fuck was Makoto doing here? She was even more surprised to hear what came out of his mouth next, "How much for the--?! Asoiwejf awelfaioewfj pawemkn?!" Her arms folded over her chest. Well well, he had tried to learn the language after all. "Thing?" "Painting?" She filled in for him as he pointed to her work behind her, placing the bottle that had been in her hand back down on the ground. Stepping to the side, she carefully avoided the pieces of glass that lay about, turning so she could look at her work from the side. "More than you could probably afford. No offense." It was the honest answer. While she spoke, she was careful to be slow about it so he could catch what she said. She knew how annoying it was when a native speaker just went off and you were left in the dust wondering what the fuck was just said. And well... she really was fucking surprised that he actually was learning Drachman like he said.

Her body turned slowly to face him, walking over to the matress so she could grab the bottle of rum that she now remembered was underneath the mess of a pillow. Removing the lid, she considered the yakuza-boy for a moment with this amber eyes and nice suit. It wasn't until after she took a sip of that fiery drink that she spoke again, "Why are you here Makoto? No one crawls through my window whom isn't expecting a bullet to the brain." She held the bottle out towards him, not seeming to really care about the current state of her clothes. Her black tank top was covered in flecks of brighter colors, a line of black extending down over the front of her thigh amongst other colors. Her panties did ride low on her hips, but covered everything like they should. Her muscles were taught and tense, still ready to spring into action on the odd off-chance that this was just a visit of pleasantries. Heh, fuck pleasantries. Last time she tried pleasantries, she got her being shattered. Fuck it to hell.

Whether he took the bottle or not, she walked out of the bedroom to the living room, heading over to a small circular table to pick up her Cutlasses from its surface. She did feel so much better to have them on than away from her. But when she was painting, she knew better than to keep them too close by. They could end up mangled. Which is also why she had been careful about which hand had picked up the leather. "Oh uh... Sorry about the mess." It was a complete after thought, shrugging lightly as she glanced back to him before heading to the kitchen sink to wash the paint off of her hands and clean up her wound. Which was beginning to sting. Motherfucker.

by Guest Mon Apr 09, 2012 2:47 pm

"More than you could probably afford. No offense" came the immediate response that was a bit too fast for the frazzled head of a yakuza member to fully catch in time. For a moment, he stared blankly at her, the sentence repeating again and again in his brain until finally catching on. Wait, more than he could pay? Pay meant money... DID SHE KNOW WHO HE WAS?! He fucking breathed money. He could buy her a fucking mansion made out of PUDDING!! No, she had to know of the green that followed his polished ass around. Because--because they had had that fancy dinner together that one time..................whenever it was. But that meal total was what not one, but TWO business men made in a year. AHAHAH THAT'S RIGHT HE WAS RICH. So what the fuck had she meant by that EHH!? He wanted to rage at her immediately and demand answers, but he hadn't learned how to be menacing and scary in Drachman yet. His broken sad excuse for vocabulary was limited excruciatingly to text book dialogue and the seldom slang he fitted into his mind via the internet. DONE THINKING. He shot his head sideways, giving her a crooked look while baring a bit of teeth.

"Yeeaaah, panting." Not like he had ever learned that shit anyway. If he had, OF COURSE he'd re--not remember it IN A MILLION FOREVERS. COUNTLESS HOURS WERE SPENT...on a language that typically sounded like he was throwing up while try to speak. BUT AT THE SAME TIME, it sounded...GLORIOUS. Worshiping the throne was but one of Mako's favorite practices. Drinking past a yakuza's limit was FUCKING BOSS and better fucking believe it, he was the boss. He threw up in fucking STYLE, therefore if he had to learn any language, it would be Drachman. Following her around the room with chestnut eyes, he focused dully on a bottle of rum she whipped out from under a tattered excuse for a pillow and took a swing. Mako cringed and looked away back at the painting, opening his mouth slightly in a drool stance without the drool. Oh, he wanted it. Makoto got what he fucking wanted.

"Why are you here Makoto? No one crawls through my window whom isn't expecting a bullet to the brain." ...Hanya? Was that a threat? A THREAT?! It was definitely a threat right? DEFINITELY. He winced again, picturing how she would be maimed if any of his men were present. For once in his fucking life, he felt better alone, facing this problem himself and using his own flashy guns. Hell yes. Growling under his breath like a kicked Rottweiler, he honed in on his target, grabbing a fistful of her black tank top and pulling her into him with a vicious look. A knee between her legs, he looked straight into her eyes without even a fleck of true aggression pining through their ebony hue.

"I eat bullets for sex!" ... "Breakfast. I mean breakfast. FUCK." He slammed his forehead into his free hand, looking visually displeased with himself. Mako's eyebrows furrowed together in--what was that...?! FAILURE?! Idiot by nature, there was but only one thing to do in situations like these. CREATE A DISTRACTION. He thrust his lips immediately against hers, quickly doing the hula into the dampness of her mouth, and curling around her tongue with his dragon. For just a few seconds, he buried the moment with admittance and then, gallantly withdrew...all the way across the room.

HOLY FUCK. Did he just kiss the mercenary?! He held his hands up in surrender, looking both ways as if he were expecting to be dive-bombed by Drachman ninjas. BUT WAIT. She wasn't the leader of a multi-billion dollar gang with thousands of members...!! AND THERE WERE NO DRACHMAN NINJAS. Perhaps plumbers for the retching populace, but certainly not camouflaged guards just WAITING for him to make a wrong move. And in Makoto's fucking book, it was the only right move he had ever made in his life. ...Hanya? What did he just think?! A hand traveled to his chin, eyes rolling up to the ceiling that he couldn't even describe it was so--!!!

"Sorry about the mess."

"...Eh?" That wasn't even Aerugese. Wtf come again? Where was he, Arabia?! He didn't even. Oh... Drachman~ That's right. He was supposed to be having a FOREIGN conversation. "I like making messes. Speaking of that, a monkey invaded our-- are? --t-territory." He drew closer to her with a lopsided retard smile, flipping longer strands of escaped raven hair behind his shoulders. And then! Mako whisked out the money in a clean envelope with an equally clean look. "One day I'll get Alisa to do this for me fer free." He dragged out a perfectly straight cig from his front pocket of his suit and chewed on it a bit before snapping a spark at it. "But for now..." He followed up with another one of his geek smiles, eyes brightening up at the prospect of not just her assistance in the serious matter of a gang war, but possibly getting her in his room............................long enough to convince her to play Yakuza 2 for Playstation 2: his new current obsession.

by Alisa Donnikova Thu Apr 12, 2012 2:11 am

You know how people had those instincts that told them that one had stepped on some toes? Well, she did and didn't have that. She could tell that there was a shift in the air at her response to his question about her painting, and she could tell that it wasn't exactly a pleasant response. Aw, was the little mobster upset with her lack of cooperation? With the fact that his money didn't interest her (at least with that particular item)? Ah who the fuck cared... Alisa was suddenly exhausted, as if the tension that had built up inside of her had taken more energy with it than initially expected. Sure she was always tense so that was nothing new, but this emotional tension... THAT was new. Very new. Fuck it. ARGH. Man she hated the turn that her life had made. Although... should she somehow be thankful for it? That did mean it was now over and done with in that sense. If it happened again (she would kill if it did she had decided), then she would at least have experienced before and not be completely blindsided. Hopefully. Hell if she knew how these things worked. So she merely raised an eyebrow at the odd look he gave her while baring his teeth like he was some dog. Yeah she thought it.

"Yeeaaah, panting." Jesus fuck he couldn't get it right could he? Her eyebrow twitched as she started to whirl about to correct him until... Well that was hardly fair of her now was it? His fucking language made little to NO sense to her whatsoever. It was a miracle when she got a goddamn NAME right for christs sake. She could afford to let one little word slip by. Heh... especially since it already took him such a huge effort just to get what he knew out. Poor fuck. She was rather surprised that he didn't leap at the chance for booze, weren't all mobs generally obsessed with the shit? Or was it just a Drachman thing of hers hm? What-the fuck-ever. Her place, her rules as far as she was concerned. So she just kept that bottle with her while completely missing just how taken he was with her work. If she had noticed, she would probably wonder if he just wanted it because she had told him no at first, or if he actually liked it. God fucking whore it was a real shit hole in there right now. It was surprisingly difficult to maneuver around for her Cutlasses on the table, not even expecting what came next from him.

A hand gripped her shirt as if it were made of iron, lifting her upwards by the front of her shirt. Oh no he just hadn't fucking done that. Alisa snarled as he dragged her to him, her hands already balling into paint-covered fists. Fuck no did she have the patience for this bullshit. Her tip-toes barely touched the ground as she hung there suspended with his leg between hers, which she didn't know how to feel about, resisting the urge to PUNCH HIM IN THE GODDAMN FACE. One vicious look matched another, though maybe her look did contain some aggression. She did NOT like being picked up like this in her own goddamn fucking home after the night time thing that she had been having. "I eat bullets for sex!" Her eyebrows raised as her snarl twisted into a sneer at his fuck up. Was that so? Did his pecker like bullets huh? Fucking dumbshit. "Breakfast. I mean breakfast. FUCK." As he facepalmed, she scoffed and chuckled, the pain in her one palm reminding her that she was indeed still injured. Fuck, she had probably just reopened the wound. Fucking perfect.

"Way to go dumbass." She snapped, giving absolutely no fucks about who she was talking to. Yakuza or whatever, she'd take him on. Her words were promptly eaten up by his sudden movement, her eyebrows raising high as her eyes opened wide at the sudden kiss that she received. His tongue was in her mouth, and they danced together even as she hung there dazed and really fucking confused. .... What the fuck was this shit huh? HUH?! WHAT THE FUCK WAS IT WITH HER AND MEETING RANDOM MEN?! There was no way in hell she was going to have things repeat themselves. FUCK THAT. The calm that had finally settled over her was sent back off-balance as he practically threw himself to the other side of the room, allowing her feet to regain their balance on the ground. What. the. Fuck.

Her arms visibly trembled at her side from how tightly her fists were clenched as she glared daggers and fire at him, not even realizing she had shattered the neck of the bottle and had glass stabbing into her palm. With a hiss and a curse, her brown eyes tore downwards to both of her hands that were now injured, whirling about to get to that sink much faster. God. Fucking. DAMMIT. She had noticed that he had held his arms up in surrender, but that hardly mattered to her. She was still trying to figure out if she liked that that had happened or not. Once more, she found herself debating whether she wanted to deck him or not. This time though? She could probably do it for sure. If her palms weren't FUCKING BLEEDING. "Dammit." She distinctly muttered under her breath as the grumbling curses finally became intelligable.

The water burned against the bleeding cuts, the temperature not even mattering in that regard as the paint fell away to reveal the flesh beneath. She plucked the glass shards out of her hand, narrowing her eyes as she didn't even care to hear an answer to her apology. No. Fuck that shit. He had just kissed her out of the fucking blue. And she wasn't even shwasted like the last time! DAMMIT. "I like making messes. Speaking of that, a monkey invaded our-- are? -t-territory." She could hear that his voice was closer to her now, turning the faucet off while finding a paper towel nearby to dry her hands and staunch the bleeding somehow. It would stop. Eventually. Her eyebrows raised again, though the steely hard sharpness of her gaze hadn't faded as she turned to face him, leaning her lower back against the counter. So, the yakuza needed help huh? She made no comment yet, but instead just reached for a slightly crumpled pack of cigs and popped one in her mouth, finding a nearby lighter before taking a deep breath inwards.

Ah nicotine... how you could cure so many things.... Exhaling a puff of smoke, Alisa scoffed again and seemed to appear almost bored, the rage completely gone. "Monkey's huh? Are they throwing around too much shit? Getting your fancy suits dirty? Whatever will you do." The words dripped acidy sarcasm, her gaze following his movements as he drew ever closer to her. One wrong move, one more attempt at a kiss, and she'd knock his lights out. When he began to reach for something in his coat, she was already moving to grab one of her Cutlasses-- Money. She froze with her hand almost on the handle of her gun while her eyes remained glued to that pretty little envelope. Money. That had to be it. She could practically smell it. "One day I'll get Alisa to do this for me fer free." Oh was that right? Keep dreaming. Alisa straightened up from the counter and took another deep puff on her cig, taking one slow step and then another until she was within snatching distance of the envelope. This still left at least a few feet between them which she wasn't about to cross so quickly.

"But for now..." What the hell was he playing at? Her eyes flicked from the ~~handsome~~ mobster in front of her, to the envelope he held and back again. She had to weigh each option very carefully since despite her sarcasm, she knew exactly what he was asking her to do. He was asking her to help his group with a gang war. And gang wars were always fucking messy. There was just no way around it. Her teeth grinded together a little as she slid her jaw from side to side in thought, her cigarette perched between her fingers as the smoke drifted ever upward, her eyes glancing about one more time between each item before settling upon his goofy features with that geeky smile. It wasn't like she was doing anything else right now....

Slipping her cig in between her lips for another draw, she sighed out the smoke as she started to reach one hand forward for the envelope, the movement easy, casual. "Fine. Though," and without any warning as the tip of her fingers touched the yellow paper, her other hand came about in a solid fist, clocking him square in the jaw while her fingers tightened on that payement. "I swear to fucking god Makoto, don't you EVER imply I'm so easily won again. I work for money. I don't work for favors unless I'm really desperate or I'm just that fucking bored. The chances of someone being that special are basically non-existent." Her voice was firm, completely no-nonsence, and contained a strained calm. Stepping back from him, she slipped the money down her shirt and folded her arms over her chest, tilting her head slightly as she considered him now that she felt significantly better. A rather wicked grin spread on her lips as she pulled the cigarette from between her lips, "So who are we fighting? What fucking retard pissed off the yakuza? Because that is a particular branch of stupid."

by Guest Thu Apr 12, 2012 9:58 am

The driver that Mako had unwittingly commanded to circle around the block a ridiculous amount of times was indeed none other than half-awake, slightly-dishevelled, and completely exhausted Yakuza saiko-komon Marcus Frostbrook, or to give him the apparently correct moniker, according to Mako, 'Mars'.

Ever since Mako had joined the Yakuza, Marcus had felt like that tiny stochastic part of the organisation that kept the chaos from falling apart. Without the order to glue it together, without people like himself and those in his exact occupation, the Yakuza as most knew it wouldn't nearly be as intimidating or threatening a prospect as it actually was. People called the Yakuza an organisation, but without the administrators, they were just another street gang.

The stuff that filtered through Marcus' system day-to-day was horrific. Murders, robberies, racketeering... he'd known Makoto was a shady character from day one, but things seemed to get worse day-to-day. Marcus had decided that the best way to deal with it was just to distance himself from it. All of it. Over and over, he'd tell himself that the ends justified the means. That Leon was waiting for him at the end of all of this. Everyone had to get their hands dirty to find the gold from panning in the river.

He was the tiny bit of chocolate in the Easter egg that bound the two halves together, except that here, one half was typical Yakuza insanity, and the other half was just the ridiculous exuberance and presence of his direct superior, Makoto. Since joining, he'd taken it upon himself - silently, at least - to ensure that Mako... well, didn't die. Despite everyone's predetermined views of a Yakuza underboss, aside it all, Mako was really... alright. Sure, he'd burnt down Marcus' apartment, but what were a few pitiful piles of smouldering ash between friends?

But Mako... Mako was headstrong. As an ex-connoisseur of the entertainment industry, Marcus had seen far too many movies and read far too many books to know that without someone exactly like himself at his side, Mako would end up walking into a trap, a police sting, or, really, not paying attention and just swan-diving off a bridge. With Mako, all three seemed equally possible.

So Marcus wasn't really a defender in the most physical of ways. He didn't carry a gun, and the Walther pistol sitting in the ajar glove compartment of the Audi that he didn't dare to shut kept drawing his eyes was making Marcus rather uncomfortable, but he sure as hell did his bit. He was analytical, he was calm, and most of the time, he was level-headed. This was a stable job, with stable income, and like any other occupation, its potency fluctuated a little from time to time dependent on environmental factors. But he had an apartment. He had a few suits, as Mako had ensured he acquire at least three - and he was taking to them, really. And above all else, he had friends. Some of the most dangerous, neurotic, psychotic, and generally insane individuals he'd ever caught a single glimpse of, but all the same, he knew that he'd be defended should it come to that.

He'd been there, this morning, in the meeting, fifteen minutes before Mako. He'd been the random schmuck who'd stumbled down the stairs and into the cab of Mako's car as the man ordered him wildly around the streets as Marcus sipped from a coffee and tried desperately to catch some sleep. And he was now the one wrenching the wheel back into a safe position as the Audi darted around corners like a snake in the urban grass of Edo.

"Jesus..." He muttered in his own language, raising a hand from the leather-clad steering wheel to rub his eyes. "I wonder just what the hell he's doing...?" He shook his head and remembered Mako muttering something about an Alisa. For a moment, the name and its syllabic similarities to one a little too familiar to him drew a pang of guilt and a deep moment of sombre silence from the Yakuza administrator, but he did his best to shake it off.

The ends justified the means. He'd see Leon again eventually.

((Hey guys! Sorry I jumped in here, just thought I'd kickstart Marcus again seeing as he's not really been active + I was waiting for the Yakuza thread in the mission which I think is no longer happening any more. Hope it's alright!))

by Guest Wed May 02, 2012 11:41 pm

"Way to go dumbass." Yeah, he was used to hearing that word, but in a foreign language, fuck was he lost. He couldn't exactly tell if that was meant to be offensive or a compliment. In order to avoid previous mistakes, Mako chose the high road of silence. On second thought... why the fuck should he submit to her language? There was no reason to swallow discrepancies!!! He gave no shits. This was business and this was war. Brown eyes narrowed masculinely in the dim-lighting. His mind continued to buzz until he was sure it would burn out, but Mako was fucking made of flames. He felt drained, and empty, but at the same time, words were being translated, connected, and sentences were happening. Late night gambles with text books, fleeting black on white, blurred with exhaustion, war regents busting his ass with homework all paid off for this moment.

"You like dumb guys up the ass?" ...but somehow maybe he said that wrong. He shrugged and let her take the envelope from him, trusting she wouldn't bolt...for obvious reasons. And what she said about his appointed task didn't really make sense to him, but he nodded dumbly anyway with a stupid retard smile to emphasize the fact that he had no idea wtf she was talking about, but okay. It sounded like she agreed? It didn't matter, for a fist flew and connected to his jaw, forcing his head to turn sideways and all possible thought to fall out his ears. He turned his head back around the right way and touched the spot where she connected. His eyebrows slumped into his eyes, but he was grinning like a schoolboy in love, massaging the forming bruise with excitement. HELL FUCKING YES THIS WAS WHAT HE WAS TALKING ABOUT. BUT WAIT. ...Hanya? What was that? He cocked his head to the other side, not hearing a word she was saying. He tone sounded like a threat, but it wasn't like that shit mattered anyway. SOMETHING ELSE WAS MORE IMPORTANT. The moment Makoto was able to catch a glimpse at her hands, he let out an exasperated sound that was half a growl and half a gasp. Such as strange mean-sounding surprise can hardly be expressed through description. He grabbed her wrist and pulled it back towards him, turning her hand over with wide eyes. Such a wound marring her pearly skin felt like...it felt like losing at pachinko. IT WAS A FUCKING DISASTER. He looked around himself, the room, and stopped trying to figure out what to use and just fucking did it. With his teeth, he tore a long rip in the sleeve of his nice...expensive suit. Not thinking nor caring, he managed to tear off the piece of fabric and tie it tightly around her palm. Doing the same for the other, he took off his suit jacket and tossed it into a garbage bin hanging out in the corner. Flipping himself back around, he looked at her seriously, gritting his teeth in horror.

"You could fucking d--You...could fucking die from--illness?--INFECTION!" He cracked his knuckles and popped out the collar of his dress shirt with a sneer. "Take better care, ne." With that, he looked sideways, arching one of the frumped brows, and sighed loudly. People had to take care of their bodies or they really would just fucking die. He stared down at the broken bottle and then at her wrapped hands. No, fucking band aids wouldn't do. He kicked at the glass with one foot while then feeling the crunch under his other dress shoe when he shifted his weight. Wonderful. Smooshing it into the floorboards was totally fucking safe for her bare feet. Fuck it. He was carrying her out of here before she cut her foot off. Of course, her adorning footwear like a normal human being did not even occur to his intensely thick skull. But this was Mako, the fuck did he care?

"So who are we fighting? What fucking retard pissed off the yakuza? Because that is a particular branch of stupid."

"I told you...monkeys," he replied in a thick accent, emphasizing 'monkeys' with utmost fluency. But wait! Monkeys? He shot a hand to his chin and scanned the ceiling for basic textbook vocabulary. Unfortunately, his cheat sheet notes were not pinned to Alisa's appartment ceiling. DAMMIT. With no table to flip in frustration, he dug the heel of his shoe into the already diced glass and slammed his teeth together. "Aa! Not monkeys: Xingese! Called Dragons. On our turf. Fucking retards...definitely. Bastards. Fuck 'em up yyeeeaaahh!" He winked, grinning maliciously like a fool before sporadically scooping her up into his arms. "Agreed, okay? Dangerous." And proceeded to carry her to the door that he didn't bother with figuring out. He let her lock it or whatever; he wasn't paying attention; he was just standing there until she was done. He proceeded to the street-side and stopped, not putting her down.

"MARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" He screamed, summoning the car he knew would soon be turning around the corner. When it did, he stepped into the middle of the street, walked around the car before it came to a stop, slid Alisa gently in, and then flung himself in next to her. "This is Alisa. His name is Mars." Mako ran a hand through his hair, slicking back the stray hairs that broke free from his superb half-ponytail and then let it fall in his lap. The disheveled coffee-guzzler drove them the distance back to base, parking in the discreet underground parking lot filled with ghost license plates, shiny black skin, tinted windows, Mercedes, Benz, and more. Mako dragged his eyes away from the smooth surfaces of said cars, polished to perfection and got out, offering Alisa his arms once more. It felt right that way.

"Mars, fucking wake up everyone. We're gunna wreck their turf and take that shit as our own."

by Alisa Donnikova Thu May 03, 2012 12:36 am

"You like dumb guys up the ass?" .... What... the fuck... Grrrrrrrrr, she hated this fucking discrepancy between languages! It made things so much fucking harder than they had to be. It meant he said idiot things like that (as amusing as they were), that he CLEARLY didn't understand a word she was saying about being an easy catch, and that she had to try to piece together whatever he said in Aerugese. Which STILL just sounded the same to her. Her eyes burned into him as he stood there touching where she punched him, the look in his eyes making all sorts of alarms go off in her head. No.. no she knew that kind of look... NO SHE COULDN'T GO BACK THERE. Faces were overlapping, the color of the eyes switching between that melty caramel to green. One smiling at her with a cigarette between his lips, the other staring at her in awe and attraction. One was Xingese, the other Aerugese.

Alisa drew back in her alarm, her eyes flickering back and forth from the room with its painting to the yakuza boss in front of her. No... Stop... STOP FUCKING WITH HER HEAD. Gritting her teeth, she tried to hide the discomfort in her eyes, knowing how fucking weak she must seem right now if he was even paying attention. Guy hardly seemed to be able to focus on things for more than two seconds, or retain it for that matter. Or thats what she thought until he suddenly grabbed her wrist and pulled it to him. "Hey! What the fuck!" She snapped as all her frustration escaped with the words, pausing as she watched how he reacted to the sight. Wh-what... Wh-what the hell was this? No... stop... Seriously fucking stop.... Why was he giving two shits about her?! She was not in control of this, she could barely even process this, and so she could not properly react to him. She just stood there dumbly as he ripped his jacket, that looked really expensive, and bound her injured hands with it.

"You could fucking d--You...could fucking die from--illness?--INFECTION!" Alisa just stared at him with wide brown eyes, taken completely aback by this sudden turn of events. Her expression was a hard one to describe because it wasn't quite fear, it wasn't relaxed, and yet she almost seemed like a cornered animal trying to decide what the fuck this was. She didn't even realize her hands were trembling in the slightest. "Take better care,ne." Her wrists hung there even as his hands moved away to fix his collar, slowly lowering back to her sides as she resized up the man in front of her.

What was his deal? Seriously? He had met her once. He had shared an expensive dinner with her. He had lit HER cigarette. He had snuck in her window. He wanted to buy her painting. He was offering her another job. He had begun to LEARN her native tongue because she preferred it. He had just french-kissed her out of fucking nowhere, AND he was concerned about the state of her hands?! Why. He couldn't possibly like her that much. It wasn't possible. It wasn't possible that he lo- FUCK THAT WORD. It made her twitch and lower her gaze, her brows furrowing as her teeth pressed tighter against each other against the lump that had built itself like a ninja in her throat. And what the fuck was up with HER? Huh? Why the hell was she getting so fucking worked up about this? NO. SHE WAS NOT GOING BACK THERE. It was still too painful... He had to stop pulling her like this. Her eyes darted to the sound of ground glass, taking a deep draw on her cig before putting it out on the rim of a can of... something. Hell if she knew anymore.... She just wanted today to be over already. To not hurt. To not... see that fucking face anymore.

"I told you...monkeys," Forcing herself to look up, the expression of annoyance was back, an eyebrow raised in a completely unamused manner at his emphasis. He had so much to fucking learn. At least he was trying. More than Spade did. They at least had had two languages in common--ARGH NO FUCK OFF YOU FUCKING MOTHERFUCKER CUNTBAG! She was about to snap at him again, but Mako was stumbling through the words. "Aa! Not monkeys: Xingese! Called Dragons. On our turf. Fucking retards...definitely. Bastards. Fuck 'em up yyeeeaaahh!" Chinese gang.... What in the world did that Aerugese word mean? Not monkeys given his frustration with it. So... Dragon? It was one of the few other creatures most common that was so stereotypically the name of a gang. But Mako was clearly pleased with himself as he stood there grinning at her, the wink making her withdraw a little into herself against the odd tug it have. She couldn't... DAMMIT FUCK OFF LIFE AND YOUR STUPID BULLSHIT ARGH.

There was no way she could have predicted his actions, and so let out a roar of angry surprise as she was suddenly in his arms, flailing against the contact and the fucking flushing of her fucking cheeks. NO. STOP IT. STOP FEELING ATTRACTED. Look at what lo--THAT WORD did to you, you stupid fucking cunt! DON'T FALL FOR IT AGAIN. It didn't even cross her mind that maybe this was the opportunity she needed to finally push Spade out of her mind, and out of her soul. "Agreed, okay? Dangerous." "NO NOT AGREED. PUT ME DOWN YOU MOTHER FUCKING--!!!" She didn't really finish the thought as she knew full well that broken glass was her biggest hazard at this point. So she sort of lost all fight and instead hung there glumly in his arms. At least she had her guns. AW FUCK. She'd need new shoes though. And her gloves were in there. FUCK ASS TITS. Well, she wouldn't be bending any fucking aluminum then. Fan-fucking-tastic. Least she had her lighter on her. Maybe she should just get those transmutation circles tattooed onto her like the others were. Then she couldn't get separated from them like this.

She did, in fact, lock the door quickly, resuming her still glumness as they descended the stairs to the streets. She gave no fucks about the looks they got, her arms crossed like a childs over her chest as he shouted for his driver. "MARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" .....Ow. Was that really fucking necessary? Argh, now was NOT the time to notice the warmth of his body, nor why in the world he was going to these lengths for the billionth time. No, stop treating her tenderly! She stared out the opposite window as he got in the car, trying her best not to look at the man that was causing all sorts of issues within her right now. "This is Alisa. His name is Mars." "Pleasure." She muttered, deciding to instead distract herself with her guns, checking that they were loaded with enough bullets. She didn't bother worrying about the spare clips since she had no doubts the yakuza had plenty that she could use. Especially since she was their hired help.

The ride seemed to take far too long and let Alisa think far too much on matters, managing to achieve a very fine calm as they pulled into their massive parking lot. So many fucking cars..... Well... that was the yakuza for you. Mako slid out first and offered his arms which only made her raise a singular eyebrow in question. She took one arm alright, to help slide herself out of the car and onto the cool asphalt. Meh. She had run around on worse things in her barefeet. Drachman snow was particularly unforgiving. Smoothing out her hair, she pulled a hair tie from her pocket and smoothed it back into its usual ponytail, hands falling to either side as she stood there next to him. "Mars, aosfjawe aonfejfpw oeajf ijpoje iowejiofajs doifaijwefn." Fucking Aerugese.

by NIN Thu May 03, 2012 3:10 am

NIN was snuggled up in the upper floors of the ancient house. It had been a few days before she had gotten used to the cars and the lights flashing outside, but like all children she adapted quick. Now in her mind she wouldn't be able to fall asleep without those large flashing lights and the deep throb of a base turned up too high. Her chubby pale cheeks squished against her sushi pillow and breathed softly in the dancing lights, as if she was resting beneath the Aurora Borealis. She dreamed of being apart of her own gang, but all children. She imagined herself in a snazzy expensive suit of pure white with shoulder pads that made her look tough. She had rings on her fingers (one of them a ring pop candy) and sun glasses like Mako on one of his drinking days. She broke legs and collected money from people she deemed evil. She even took out a whole gang using nothing but...but a sushi roll! Mmm..... She shot them straight to the star of deliciousness. That is, until she woke up trying to eat her own pillow. Her ruby red eyes opened up like the sun from a long day in the underworld and felt her stomach growl. There has to be some leftovers in the fridge, that is unless those other guys ate them all. They didn't even like curry!

NIN looked around. She had her own room with little things. A futon, a small box of clothing, and her backpacks full of her possessions she had before she came into the care of the Yakuza. She crawled out of her kiddy futon and rolled onto the tatami as if she was dodging bullets. NIN started walking down the hallway and remembered that she had been quite a help. She taught some of the lower class gang peoples how to make drain-o bombs and how to also time exploding shrapnel. Though she wasn't able to teach them how to hack yet. Why did they drop out of middle school and not learn how to hack yet? She was beginning to think the gang peoples were stupid. She looked down in her arms and noticed she was still carrying her sushi pillow. It was of a shrimp and a ball of rice underneath it with the black band keeping them together with a cute face. Maybe that's why she picked it with Naka-nee.

She looked at Naka-nee's room and quietly tip toed past it. Though she needn't do so. It was loud enough with people going up and down the hallways that she could even go sprinting down the tatami's; but she wanted to pretend to be on a heist too. She stole down the stairs, her feety pajamas making a small "foof" sound every time she pressed her foot down. She then made it to the kitchen where there was an unguarded fridge. Her mouth watered as her stomach urged her on. She pulled open the heavy door and spotted the most miraculous thing. A tuna fish salad sandwich complete with a celery stick. Yum!

NIN pulled out the sandwich and proceeded to climb up on the bar stool where she ate next to a crying man with a shot of whiskey in his hand. As she nommed, she patted his arm with her pajama'd hand. " It's okay, Mr. Fingerslice, you'll be able to be a pianist. Who cares about the left side of the keys?" She took a wild guess of what he was crying about, because she had to comfort him last time too, but last night he tried to hug her and she bit his arm. She was glad these Yakuza people forget so easily. After finishing half of the sandwich, she put it back in the fridge and was about to go to bed until she heard a familiar voice.

"Mars, fucking wake up everyone. We're gunna wreck their turf and take that shit as our own."

Her ears perked up and her eyes shined. She darted past the crying man, past the living room and into the greeting hallway in a flash of yellow. She had long forgotten her uneasiness with Mako and had become quite attached to Naka and the leader of the gang. She still hadn't told him a lot of things, and the same thing with nee-san. She hadn't told him that she remembers where her old home was, that she can extort money, that she can blow up things, and that she know Drachman. All Waka knows is that she is a smart albino girl that can kill without blinking one of her white eyelashes. She ran so fast that her hoodie fell from her short hair, but she then suddenly stopped. Who was the girl he was carrying? Why did she look so weird? And what was a turf?"

" Daddy, am I gonna come? Should I change outta my Pikachu PJ's or should I keep them on so I can get them by surprise?" She was thinking that if they had a few minutes, she would be able to make a good shock rod and yell CHHHUUUUUU!!!! as they get electrocuted. That would be fun. Though she wasn't sure on the woman. NIN stared at the lady and noticed she had purple hair just like Kean! Kean looked weird too but no so much because he was a kid. So is this what Kean was going to look like when he grew up? If that was the case, NIN wanted to make a medicine to keep him young forever. Maybe she knew Drachman. " I miss lady, are you going to hurt the dragon people too? Or are your feet too hurt? We can make you a rocket wheelchair!" She was getting excited with all the things she could make now. So much in fact, that she forgot she didn't want to speak Drachman in front of Waka.

by Guest Thu May 03, 2012 4:31 am

The loud roar of an engine deafened the city streets as she drove from Kyoto all the way to Edo, in just under 3 hours, only because her car ran out of gas halfway to Tokyo. The Aerugese Law enforcement had a set speed to chase or not, and as long as she exceeded that speed vastly...she was not bothered. To do so she picked the baddest toy in her collection, the Bugatti Veyron. Hardly classified as a sports car, it was more akin to a professional race car. Had it been stock it might have been street legal, but as it stood she customized the beastly pink rocket car from interior to exterior. She had abandoned her childish disguise and sported a mid-twenties look. Her long blonde hair in curls, her once red eyes a more resilient blue, and her body...my god. She was a Femme Fatale if there ever was one. Dressed in nothing more than some beige four-inch high-heeled boots, beige denim jeans, held fast with a vibrant orange belt, and a matching beige blouse. She had skipped wearing a bra nor an undershirt, fastening the blouse with only two buttons near her breasts to keep them 'in check'

She exited the last of freeway she needed to get to the supposed destination. Some mercs place. She was coming up to a light. What the hell was Maki thinking dragging her into some random clean up job again...if he wanted them dead then all he needed to do was ask her to do so. And not involve this many from the group, she wasn't happy about this ordeal at all. He was cutting into her research time, and Villetta was not one you wanted pissed off. People died when she was pissed off. Not just killed, but brutally tortured until death rescued them from her sadistically evil hands. You try crucifying a man with 82 ivory stakes and keeping him alive for 36 hours, it's no easy task. Shit the light was changing, and she would be stuck behind the light FOREVER. Wait...fuck the light.

She accelerated and down shifted into second gear with plenty of room to rev the engine. She pushed down on the clutch, flicked the steering wheel to the inside of the left turn, and then yanked on her handbrake hard. She immediately put pressure on her gas pedal, and let off her clutch, and proceeded to counter turn into the slide, while using the throttle of the engine to control her drift. As she cleared the turn, she eased off allowing the car to return to its normal path, and then mashed the clutch once more shifted into third gear and took off down the street again. She noticed several Aerugese people applauding her technique as well ogling the foreign car, it would be the first and last time they ever saw a car like it in their country.

She flicked open her laptop, and looked at her instrument panel...everything was still in the green. She hit alt and tab, and opened an e-mail which contained the mapped location of this parking lot. It was two blocks up ahead, and began to slow down as she parked inside. She merely waited an hour before they finally arrived. As the car pulled up and Maki exited she did so in turn. As she opened her door, the sound of music flooded the lot. It was a pure and simple rock and roll, and as quickly as it started it ended, as she pushed the button and removed the key. As she stepped out the car she was not pleased to see a woman shortly behind Maki, especially since said woman was still conscious.

"Oi, Makato...who's the new bitch? Don't tell me we got another recruit?" She looked to NIN who was on the scene now too. Damn he even brought her? She was too young to be on the battlefield, but whatever she was no babysitter. She was beginning to get fed up with a lot of things lately. It seemed that gentle childish nature was beginning to fade into a void. She approached Alisa and looked her in the eyes. "I don't like her. Can I kill her?" Villetta was raring to kill something. She was in a foul mood and it shown clearly upon her face. Her aura and even Qi was in a rampage, thrashing about wanting to relieve itself of it's pent up fury.

by Guest Thu May 03, 2012 10:02 pm

From afar, there were the seagulls crying welcoming a new day. Her eardrums were in harmony with the quite waters of the sea calmly visiting the shores coming and going, listening to an everlasting soothing symphony. A small red dot was rising above the infinite horizon and reflected crimson on crystal blue. The beach was solely for hers, dressed in an ever modest black that showed non of her pale skin except only for her bare-feet that stood firmly on Okinawan sand as wind flirted with her moon-like avatar and played with her long dark raven hair while the waters courted her roots. Tomoe knew she was dreaming and truth to be told, she didn't want to wake up for the scenery reminded of a home long lost. Oh, the daughter of Okinawa loved her mother dearly as she relived the same dream recently in a daily basis. But something unexpected happened, something that didn't occur in everyday repetition of seagulls crying. The lady dressed in almost all black heard a very familiar voice calling out her real name.."Ai" Tomoe turned around for the voice came from behind and then she saw him and just one word parted her red shy lips.."Otousama"

The lady with midnight hues opened her eyes to the reign of reality. It was Edo, specifically on this round earth 'the yakuza headquarters' where she had small room for her own use. Tomoe kept staring at the ceiling for about five minutes contemplating if she was suffering homesickness. Regardless, she mustered the energy letting aside the very light blanket to sit on her very bed as her feet taking the mantle of a white Tabi rested on the ground. Then the one with fake name that meant 'friend' stood tall and reached her drawer with a mirror that reflected a woman in her mid-twenties in her sleeping garments. Opening the drawer, she got what was needed and entered the bathroom within the same room for a quick bath. And quick one, it was indeed.

Once the cleansing finished, Tomoe returned from where she came before which was eventually her room but the destination was that small refrigerator. The mirror saw a kyoudai dressed in school sailor outfit as she passed. Grabbing a bottle of water to drink in turn grasping a chocolate of her choosing. Later on, she found her way to the desk with a sketch over it. It showed the designs of her new addition of melee weapons, Nadeshiko and Yamato. Why being so confined in her room? Because believe it or not, she didn't like to mingle a lot with the male society and for the sake of a very comfortable privacy.

But before the lady in black and white select a pen to complete the prototype design. Again, she heard a familiar voice but couldn't ascertain what was said and told. So, Tomoe stood tall equipping her customs hiding them beneath her sleeves, the holsters within her thighs and lastly her knife beneath her blouse, she went out..

Kyuubi saw many figures with her dark black pearls of who she mostly knew. Waka-sama dressed in a very expensive suit with torn sleeves. A woman with attractive proprtions who looked of the same age as the Aerugese vixen, definitely has some roots of oriental origins, a well drawn tribal tattoo giving away a feral aura of savage. The mangaka took note that lady Choco-loco hands were wrapped with shreds of a very expensive suit and that her feet were naked bare.

Hrmmmm.. Tomoe rubbed her chin in thought with right hand was the whole arm was supported at it's elbow with her left. What does that entail ? Regardless, there was an excited albino with ruby eyes. And whoa!, a fired up shateigashira clothed in all daring with a boiling Qi coursing through her veins like rampage Yabai.. and of course within the background, there was this man which the surrounding environment didn't blend well with him yet. Mars, the one who they lit his home into fire and oblivion, currently the newest addition of Saiko-komon ranks.

The Aerugese Kitsune in all cunning remained silent, for everything were soon going to be crystal clear. Who is the new Onna? why she was there to begin with? Would she survive the encounter with the lady of plague and pestilence?

by Michael Reed Fri May 04, 2012 4:49 pm

Michael had been awake even before Mako arrived. He had tendency to wake up early to do some more menial stuff. Like doing some modding on few of the sites they were running. Most of the people running those places seemed to be more interested on the content rather than modding. And that mistake was impossible for Michael to make, so that worked out fine.

So when he heard the car driving, Michael quickly closed both the site being modded and the incognito-window to get dressed to go outside. Some cars had distinctive sounds. Or you would just start to recognize the sound of certain cars. What I'm saying here is that Michael knew that that car was Mako's car. And that usually meant work. So, in order to save time, he dragged himself outside before a reminder.

After getting to the outside, Michael was quite fast to notice that he wasn't the only one who had found their way outside. There were that little albino girl, the mysterious woman and monochrome assassin. Along with them was Mako and some new person. The new woman even looked like a criminal. Michael wasn't very keen to judge people from their appearance. Mostly because he himself looked extremely suspicious. However, seeing that she was hanging around with criminals, she probably wasn't he most innocent one either.

"Is this going to be another assignment?" Michael didn't want to kept in secrecy for long. Hopefully Mako was in mood to answer.

by Guest Tue May 15, 2012 7:15 pm

"MARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" The all-too-familiar Kansaiben shriek pierced the veil of silence hanging over the block, and Marcus snapped into action immediately. Fumbling for the steering wheel, he anxiously propped up his glasses and moved into gear, sliding the pistol away with a nervous series of nudges and hitting the accelerator as aggressively as he could, a grin widening on his face as the Audi carved through the city streets in a matter of moments, pulling up in front of Mako and some chick.

He pulled the car to a squealing halt in front of the pair of them, looking intently up to his suit-clad auburn-haired 'superior'. Technically, as an administrator, they were on par, but Marcus still far considered Makoto his would-be mentor, even if only in spirit or in terms of experience. They were both just a rung below Hideto, Mako's father - the boss of the Yakuza himself. "You called, boss?" The Cretan looked, almost perplexed, from him, to the girl, and back again. "I swear, if this is you with just another one of those street girl-" He began to make an off-hand comment... then, he saw the girl's pistols.

Oh.

"This is Alisa. His name is Mars." Marcus nodded, scratching his head with a free hand as he looked up to Makoto and Alisa, inclining his head and hoping she hadn't heard the offhand Aerugese comment... if she'd understood it, anyway. That had sounded like an off-hand mixture of broken Drachman and Mako's usual sharp, yappy Kansaiben tones.

"Pleasure." Yeah, Drachman. Marcus nodded, and turned to offer a hand, but, before he could, Makoto had thrown her into the car and slid in next to her. Marcus grinned, shaking his head and looking in the mirror at Alisa. "Myself too. I'm Marcus," It was rusty, and a little clunky, but nothing too bad. "Where to, boss?"

"Mars, fucking wake up everyone. We're gunna wreck their turf and take that shit as our own." Alarmed, Marcus spun around in the Audi's leather seats, and rose an oppressive black eyebrow towards his comrade. Snapping a hand to the back of his head, and calming down, Marcus exhaled slowly... 'wreck their turf'? Greeeaaaat. This sounded just like what he needed. Plus, Alisa was visibly armed, and seemed to be vibrating like a powder keg juuuust about ready to set off. Great.

Sidling over to the basement level intercom, on Makoto's orders, the Cretan sighed, and pushed up to it, nervously pressing one of the buttons and speaking into it in hushed, gentle tones. "Uh, guys...?" He looked anxiously from the perforated metal speaker guard, back to Makoto and Alisa, and then back to the box again, cocking his head gently. "Boss wants you down here, soon as you can,"

Quickly enough, they arrived, without two moments of Marcus pondering, once more, if this was truly the right career choice for him. Though, he supposed he didn't have anywhere to go; Makoto had turned his home into a pile of smouldering rubble, and the Yakuza was a significantly more lucrative deal than the monthly royalty checks he remembered so fondly - still, that was more than plenty to live his luxurious lifestyle, but this was just... more risk, more gain. Marcus had played it safe for so long, that everything flying past his head so quickly was... beginning to get agitating.

" I miss lady, are you going to hurt the dragon people too? Or are your feet too hurt? We can make you a rocket wheelchair!" Huh, Drachman too. Someone else knew it... odd, was Makoto the only one that didn't pay attention in those Yakuza crash-course language classes he'd definitely been trying to set up?

Either way, the little girl that had just arrived was NIN. Marcus didn't know what it stood for, or why she was even here, but Mako had taken a shine to her. She was more lethal than Marcus... oddly enough, those Pikachu PJs had been the last sight of many a men, though they were incredibly cute. Maybe he'd introduce Leon to her, once he-

...no.

"I don't like her. Can I kill her?" Blatant simplicity from another short-ass, Villetta. Marcus had done his best to stay well away from her, Mako's protection or not - she was... rather insane-seeming. Though, then again, the Yakuza was practically a well-armed, suit-garbed asylum set loose upon the world, with Puddingmeister Makoto at the head of it all.

Tomoe arrived, soon enough, as well; Marcus knew her from the assault on his very own home, back in Amestris. She'd been integral to the, uh, burning of all his important shit. He hadn't taken too kindly to that... though, it did land him with some very swanky new kit, like the black slimline suit he was wearing currently. It had reminded him of something Maria had bought him, around half a decade back. He hung his head for a while, backing up and deciding to be quiet, until another voiced pierced the uncomfortable veil of silence hanging over the room, jolting him awake from that depressed, repetitive, oh-so-familiar stupor.

"Is this going to be another assignment?" Michael Reed. Marcus had seen the name, but never the man in person. He seemed... quirky enough. The administrator scratched his head, and pushed off from the wall, stepping up to the mark alongside the others, if only sheepishly, his frame gaunt and thin, and his non-combatant presence minuscule alongside the other serial killers and madmen he was lined up with. Alisa seemed marginally more sane than most.

"Reed's got a point," Marcus sighed, raising his somewhat feeble voice above its usual threshold, not used to hearing it with such a vociferous quality; truly, he had changed. With every day, there was more enthusiasm, more force, more meaning; more considerable pressure behind that smile, behind that face, behind those mellow tones of his. Marcus was still a peaceful man, but a peaceful man amidst the stochastic chaos of an organised ring of... crazies. "What are we doing, boss?"

by Guest Mon May 21, 2012 2:02 pm

She only took his arm, which was okay, but at the same time it worried him about the customs of other countries. Not like he fucking cared, yet...? The simple act made him feel like a gentleman and Mako was not a goddamn gentleman; he was a brute who whisked women into his arms when he damn well wanted to. It just so happened that in this case he had offered, which meant that there was a possibility of being refused. AND HE WAS REFUSED. ...Hanya? Refused? THIS WAS REFUSAL!? He bewilderedly blinked at the entire scene unfolding around the warm embrace of Alisa's arm in his, and-- She wasn't wearing pants. Fuck. He forgot about her not having pants on. He should probably handle that as soon as they got inside. Cursing under his breath, he separated himself from her, trying not to look down at--at the lingerie. DON'T LOOK AT THE LANGERIE. He stared at the parking garage ceiling, noting how unmarringly smooth the concrete was. Smooth like... DON'T LOOK. Makoto slammed his eyes shut, concluding in his mind that there was no way he could look if his eyes were closed. And he wouldn't look because this was work. His father always told him to focus during work. To Mako focusing meant to be less selfish. Somehow eating pudding while lighting people on fire wasn't really appetizing anyway.

"Uh, guys...?" Mako snapped his head around, opening his eyes. Black. They were normal black silk still accenting her hips just as before, but one side had slid down just slightly, revealing the bone of her hip... FUCK, HE LOOKED. He just happened to look in the opposite direction of Mars' voice exactly where he didn't want to open his eyes. Quickly he averted his gaze to Mars and the speaker he was currently using to inform base that they were about to fuck some shit up YESSS.

"Oi, Makoto...who's the new bitch? Don't tell me we got another recruit?" He turned around to see someone he didn't recognize. Who the fuck was that and what was she doing in his fucking garage!? He growled under his breath and took some heavy steps toward her, cocking his head to the side viciously. ...DA FUCK. Why did she look like Villetta EH?!?! He titled his head to the other side and cracked his knuckles, hearing plain rock n' roll drift boringly outside from the intensely pink sports car that belonged to Villetta and he help pay for. WHO THE FUCK STOLE HER CAR. He squinted his caramel blazing eyes at her and something suddenly occurred to him. That was Villetta. The hell was she doing in here waiting for him? And why did she look like that?!

"Boss wants you down here, soon as you can," Mars announced timidly through the PA system in the background. Mako rolled his eyes, but was too horrified by Villetta to say anything to the recently recruited man.

"You curled your hair!?" Mako retorted in shock, back-pedaling to stand closer to Mars who seemed safer at the time. Of course, he didn't exactly hear what Villetta was saying about Alisa, but rather took note of the strange appearance that she suddenly held before him. Used to the little girl, seeing a full woman ahead of him WITHOUT A BRA and WITH CURLS was too overwhelming a change in the morning. God, he needed a cig and/or a pudding pop in order to get through this alive.

"I don't like her. Can I kill her?"

"No," he answered immediately, not really knowing what she was talking about, but he didn't want to see anyone die before the showdown. Blood before blood was bad luck. Yeah, he just fucking made that up, so? "The fuck are you calling me Makoto for; it's creepy." He brushed his shoulders off as if to dispel the extra bits of creepy that dripped off her tongue. His eyes grew hard and he gave and exasperated sigh. "Where have you been?" HE SENSED A PRESENCE. Spinning towards the encroaching shadow, his eyes completely changed to a greater intensity of surprise. Pikapu. Or whatever the fuck that yellow thing was--it was all over her pajamas. NOT JUST THAT. But she was holding a pillow that looked like sushi. His mouth watered. Why the fuck... Who would want to sleep on food sporting an electrical creature that shocked people?! Kids these days. Not like he fucking knew.

"Daddy, am I gonna come? Should I change outta my Pikachu PJ's or should I keep them on so I can get them by surprise?"

"Yeah you can come, but lose the Pika; it's a good target. I'll give you a suit. I need to get pants and shoes for Alisa anyway. I will get ya shoes and clothes to wear," he finished, looking at Alisa to finish his perfect Drachman sentence. Funny how it worked when he wasn't fucking thinking about it. Oh and there was Tomoe. Good, she was here too. Without her, fucking up shit was a bit problematic.

"Is this going to be another assignment?" IT WAS MIKKI. He grinned sheepishly and fastened a quick look at the guy who looked more awake than anyone in the vicinity for a few miles. It had to be a secret method of coffee that made him so... AWAKE. Mako would never know, and he'd never ask because like hell he wanted to fucking wake up early.

"Obviously," Mako growled, eyeing up everyone before suddenly hearing another language not dictated in Alisa's voice or Mars' choppy attempt at Drachman--WHAT!?

"I fjshf lady, are you jdshf djh hurt jdhaj khfska people jdshfj? dhf are your jsdha jdfh hurt? We can make you a skhfas fjshsdfa!"

"EHHHHHHHHH!?!?! Nin, Drachman you can speak?!" She was like what 5 and a half or some shit? How the fuck did she know another language already? It just--it just...!?!? Mako grit his teeth and kind of wanted to slam his head into that wall over there. Instead, he opted with lighting one of the cars on fire. One of the ones he didn't necessarily care about. He snapped his fingers and boom. The flames were orange and now they had some more light to work with in the dark garage. Mako shared with them his crazed smile and turned to the door inside almost calmly. "I may be a fucking idiot, but I can at least learn a language. You have confidence in Mako to learn Drachman, right Alisa?!" Fucking right. He'd gotten this far.

He disappeared through the door, not bothering to wonder if the others were following him or not. As they walked, he explained. "You all know about the Dragons fucking invading across the Sumida. Not fucking happening. We're taking them out tonight. Gather your weapons and assemble the men; we're going to throw a fucking party!!" He boomed through the hallways and then reached a door. He opened it revealing a bunch of randomly sized suits, shoes, and random assortments of clothes. They had everything in this joint and they had it for times like these. He motioned inside and looked at Nin and Alisa silently. "Have whatever you want. Take stuff." The annoying part was fucking waiting for everyone to get ready. He hated that. UGH. But his suit was kind of ripped... Mako threw off his suit jacket and grabbed another from a hanger, slinging it over one shoulder and feigning a yawn. How many more hours until dark?

[We can fast forward in your next posts to night]

by Alisa Donnikova Thu May 24, 2012 3:37 pm

Aerugese. Thats all she was fucking surrounded by. From the fucking driver before she even got into the goddamn ride, to- "Myself too. I'm Marcus." "Oh thank the fucking gods." She muttered, rubbing her eyes as she tried to give up all of the frustration that had built up within her. What a fucking day this was turning out to be huh? Dealing with issues that she barely held any understanding of (and still hadn't worked through), to a surprise visit from a man she thought she wouldn't see again, to said man kissing her so suddenly, and now this fucking shit.... AND COULD SOMEONE ELSE PLEASE SPEAK HER FUCKING LANGUAGE. She felt like she was going to be repeating all of those thoughts repeatedly for the rest of the goddamn day. Maybe she would get lucky. Maybe someone besides Marcus and Mako could actually speak a language she fucking understood.

It seemed like their driver could hardly believe the orders he was receiving from his boss, but he obeyed like a good little underling. Testing out her hands a bit, they still hurt like hell but at least the bleeding had stopped for now. Shit, she wanted her boots and gloves. How the hell could she feel so naked without them? It hadn't even occurred to her that she may be lacking in anything else. Mako seemed as confused as ever now that they had arrived, her eyebrow raising as she stared at him. "What?" She muttered, glancing down to notice that her shorts must have fallen off at some point. Fuck. Well whatever. Least they were solid panties, if low-cut. Hehehe.... it was too fucking priceless though how hard the mob boss seemed to be trying to ignore her lack of clothing. Back and forth, open and closed, the dear Waka was like a fucking bobble-head! She couldn't help but laugh at how wide his eyes got to see her hip bone, readjusting her panties as she slid her arm out of his.

Just in time to see that others of his gang were arriving. What the-.... What the fuck was a kid doing here?! And what the fuck was she wearing? She was the first to address her, and much to Alisa's surprise, it was in Drachman. " I miss lady, are you going to hurt the dragon people too? Or are your feet too hurt? We can make you a rocket wheelchair!" She was absolutely stunned. Had Mako demanded his people learn Drachman so she could understand them? She wiped around to look at the ~~handsome~~ beside her, but blinked and shook her head. FORGET THAT THOUGHT ALREADY YOU STUPID FUCKING WHORE. Yeah, she yelled at herself in her mind a lot. "Damn right kid. I'm going to give them fresh assholes to shit out of. Heh." Her eyes narrowed at the scantily clad woman who approached Mako, glaring daggers right back at her. Argh, FUCKING AERUGESE. Well, whatever the hell Tits was saying to Mako, she didn't like it. Thats it, she was now dubbed "Tits" forever in Alisa's head.

Now for the little shit, "My feet are fine. Just need some-" "I will get ya shoes and clothes to wear," Oh. Mako was speaking Drachman again. "Good." She responded simply, falling quiet as she looked around at all these... odd... folk. A fucking kid, Tits, a non-descript man in black, and... WOAH WAIT. Where the hell had that other chick come from? Arrrggghhh...... Drachman you can speak?!" Oh. Brilliant, he had FINALLY NOTICED. Guess he hadn't ordered that after all. God she was so fucking lost... What the hell kind of yakuza gang did he run huh? His fingers snapped and all of a sudden one of the cars lit up with a loud BOOOM!! that echoed all about the garage. Her only reaction was to raise a single eyebrow and scratch an itch on her arm. Fuck, her smokes were in her pants too. AND HER LIGHTER. FUCK. "SON OF A FUCKING WHORE!" She roared, turning and almost kicking the car that she had got out of except... she wasn't wearing boots. And it was the yakuza's car. Yeah she'd rather just snarl and clench her hands tight than deal with any of that fallout.

"---You have confidence in Mako to learn Drachman, right Alisa?!" Her body turned to face him, almost lost for a single moment as her anger had to subside for things to make sense. Right. Makoto asked her something. "Pfft. About as much confidence as one would have in a stone. "ARGH DID I SERIOUSLY LEAVE THEM THERE?! FUCK!" She stormed ahead of him into the building, almost punching one of the guys who tried to stop her and instead shifted so she punched the wall instead. FUCK OW. Her palms were definitely bleeding again, sighing heavily as she leaned against the wall with little to no energy left. Man... Right now she just wanted some smokes... She started to turn to ask the security guard for one, but then Mako breezed right past speaking rapid gibberish as far as she was concerned. She immediately fell into step beside him, her brown eyes staring ahead in utter dejectedness. She forgot her gloves, her smokes, her lighter, her shorts, and her boots. And her hands were bleeding. Fan. Fucking. Tastic.

Soon enough a new door was opened and Makoto went inside, his shpiel in foreign finally done. Good. She really fucking hated not understanding a single word that was said. "Take stuff." That part was directed at her for sure. Raising an eyebrow, Alisa nodded once and weaved through the rows of clothes. She avoided the fancy wear and instead went to the more street worthy clothes instead, reaching a hand down her shirt to remove the envelope of money that was hid there. Yeah, she could probably change shirts. For all she knew, there was probably paint flecks on her black tank top anyways. She quickly found a fresh black tank top, ripped jeans, boots, and even a pair of biker gloves that she decided would do. When it came time to pull off her shirt, she made sure she was turned away from Makoto since... well... she wasn't wearing a bra. Pulling the holsters for her guns back on, she removed the makeshift bandages and tore up her tank top to make fresh ones, sliding on the gloves over them and flexing her fingers to give them a test. Yeah she'd be fine. The envelope went back into her shirt, held there by who knows what.

"Alright, now I need smokes, a drink, and a fresh lighter. It'll kill time." Turning about, grabbed Mako by the arm and headed down a hallway without any knowledge if it was the right one or not, not really caring about the looks she must be getting. What, was he really going to stop her or complain? He fucking kissed her suddenly earlier, this was her payback. He dragged her into this job, like hell was she not going to at least enjoy herself.

--TIME SKIP--

It was hours later and Alisa was sitting off on the side in a room double checking her Cutlasses with a cigarette dangling from her mouth. Someone who actually had a medical degree tended to her hands so the gloves fit a helluva lot better now. She even took the liberty of carving her transmutation circles into them so she could actually perform all of her fucking alchemy. It was weird to actually have full pants on, taking a break from her guns to look at the flared bottom jeans with their various holes. Least it was ripped. Heh. With a final 'click,' her guns were reloaded and ready to rumble, sliding back into their holsters under her arm as she took a good draw on her cig. Muuuuch better. Could they go kick ass now? "Do we have a plan? Oh, and what do people speak here huh? Besides Aerugese? Xingese? Cretan? Amestrian?" She looked around at the room full of odd yakuza people, waiting to see just how certain people responded. Especially Tits over there. "Anything I can fucking understand?" She muttered low under her breath, almost looking rather bored as she sat there with her cig dangling from her mouth.

by Guest Fri May 25, 2012 6:47 am

Villetta looked at the woman once again. So she wasn't actually part of the Yakuza, just an affiliate. But her link to Maki was quite unpleasant in her mind. She reached up and pushed on one side of her neck, the air pockets in her vertebrae popping loudly. She raised her right arm and forced a skinny rectangular bone from her palm. As it slid free, she grasped it and then tugged on the perforated back end. Revealing a long chokuto, she examined the blade. Making sure her body clearly performed to her minds specifications. She then looked over the slightly bloody sheathe at Alisa. The final click of her weapon, and of course her loud mouth went into high gear already.

"Do we have a plan? Oh, and what do people speak here huh? Besides Aerugese?" Villetta listened as she listed languages. Xingese caught her ear, the second did not, and of course she knew some Amestrian. Makato's recent fascination in learning Drachman provoked Villetta to devote some of her time to picking up the language herself. But now she could see why he had taken such an interest. It was because of her. "Anything I can fucking understand?" Villetta sighed heavily.

She hated the way Drachman sounded. It was the complete opposite of Rouenian, rough, unrefined, and sounded like complete shit. She felt like she was a retard trying to talk while suffering from a stroke. "We all speak something you could understand." Villetta spoke in her near perfect Drachman, although her Rouenian accent was heavily tied into it. "As for the sche...p..plan, you follow what Maki says and you might live another day." Villetta cursed in her native tongue. "Bullshit fucking language." she muttered. She glared at Maki, she was quite displeased by her. More irked than usual, even on a bad day. "I hate this shit" She spat out as she sheathed the blade and walked toward the door.

Aizen quickly stepped up and she glared him down. He hesitated before pulling out a couple of dutches, a butane Zippo lighter, and trading her sword. She reluctantly traded and proceeded to exit the room. She walked up towards the roof and sat down, near the edge of the building. Aizen trailed her, as did a few other's that actually respected her. "Are you okay, Ville?" Aizen asked. She lit the dutch, and blew out a large plume of smoke. "I'm fine Aizen, mind your own fuckin business" Villetta withdrew. Her mind was set and she wasn't budging. She looked across the way and soon she would be able to satisfy her rage and frustration. She sat there and looked at the sky. What the fuck did Maki bring her for? Why was she so mad over it? Slowly her personal subordinates filed back down into the room, looking quite unnerved. Well at least she didn't kill anyone...yet.

Villetta didn't even want to be here. To make matters worse, Maki had forgotten that he even asked her to tag along. What the fuck was his problem? Even that greeting he gave her. Fuck him. Fuck everything about him. She tossed the small end of the dutch over the side, and reached for the next one. Her head began to swim, as an euphoric feeling washed over her. She lit the next one and drew deep from its splendor. Fuck it all. She should just stop caring. What was she expecting? As old as she was, and she still cared about the whims of humanity. Fuck. Them. All. "Le monde est fragile ... Je vais le regarder brûler ... réduire en cendres"

by NIN Tue May 29, 2012 12:30 am

Everything was going along great! A whole bunch of people grouped together in such a fast amount of time, as if the plight of the Yakuza willed itself together to kick the butts of the bad dragon people. Though a few things she caught onto.

EHHHHHHHHH!?!?! Nin, Drachman you can speak?!

After that, Waka-sama lit up a car behind him. It looked pretty against his angry eyes. NIN knew that he wasn't mad but frustrated. She stopped being scared of Waka a long time ago, but she still felt a chill up her spine as she smelled gasoline seeping from the trashed car.

I may be a fucking idiot, but I can at least learn a language. You have confidence in Mako to learn Drachman, right Alisa?!

"djkdjd right kid. I'm going to give them fresh dkjdshjd to shdhd out of. Heh."

She didn't understand a few of the words, but she would look them up later. She wasn't allowed to wear her PJ's but she knew something that she could wear...but Waka was about to say something...

You all know about the Dragons fucking invading
across the Sumida. Not fucking happening. We're taking them out tonight.
Gather your weapons and assemble the men; we're going to throw a
fucking party!!

Through the speech, NIN's blood red eyes shined and that same fiery gut-feeling rose into her chest and into her throat to let out a high pitched cheer. She smiled ear to ear as she jumped in the air. She would do her best to rip the heart from every XIng that Waka wanted dead. She would make him, Vila-chan, Mike-man, Naka-nee, Marsy, and Marc-man proud too! Waka motioned for her to walk with him and the other lady too. Mako bent down and opened a big box of stuffs. NIN's orbs glowed as each silk and leather piece of matter shone with the blood and sweat of the Yamaguchigumi itself. " Mob suits...." She struck gold.

She turned around and hugged Waka. " You read my dreams!!" She pulled back and looked up. " Tell me how to do that later." Her serious eyes turned back to joy as she literally jumped into the box, snatched up the tiniest clothes and went off up the stairs like a bandit with a sack of goodies, giggling the entire time.

---during the day-----

NIN put on the white suit with the red trim and small tiny brown dress shoes. She looked around into the underling's rooms. She saw them cocking their guns, practicing and even having a one-last drink of sake before the good fight. As NIN trotted along she picked up seemingly random things. She took her backpack and filled it with these things: A hair drier, sunglasses, a car battery, a small cell phone, the kitchen toaster, one of Mako's puddings, a wheel chair, a piece of the car that blew up, and a few generators she pulled from a few old bikes. She even took some of her own yoyos and uploaded an app for figuring out the identity of a person.

One by one, she loaded those things into her room along with a toolbox. She used the generators, the car parts, half of the toaster, the cell phone, a piece of the bikes and the wheelchair to make a self-automated wheelchair with rocket boosters for emergencies. This was for the Drachman lady. NIN was tired after that so she took a nap and woke up. She ate the pudding and made two weapons for herself. A high-voltage tazer twice the capacity than the legal ones and then an electrical yoyo. She used the car battery to hook them both up, but with the yoyo's it was a bit more tricky. She kept on getting electrocuted in the test runs, though it was good that she used a resistor to lower down the voltage. She thought for a second.

She remembered the first episode of pokemon where ash got his pikachu. What did he use to not get electrocuted? Ah! NIN barreled down the stairs again and took the yellow gloves from under the sink and put them on. After she did so she tested out the yoyo. An electrical charge followed up from the battery, up the cord and sparked into her hand with her metallic yoyo. She let out a roll at one of the underlings that was watching her, having the rest of the sandwich. It caught him on the side of the arm. Several volts of charge circled through the man's body and collapsed within seconds, a nasty black burn on his right arm. NIN jumped in the air and cheered. "Yay! it works!" She walked back up the stairs to get a plastic bag by using a piece of the shower curtain and have it line her ducky backpack.

After that was finished, she rolled down the wheelchair down the stairs and pushed it out front. She didn't know where the lady was, but she would find it there.

Tonight would be awesome.

---at the promised time-----

The darkness bit at NIN's lungs. The cars were revved up and the whole gang was almost ready. It was almost time. She gripped her ducky pack, filled with her new set of temporary weapons. She also had two small accessories in her pocket. She pulled out a pair of sunglasses... and a candy pop. She saw that a lot of the Yakuza smoked and had tattoos, so she had her tootsie pop and drew pictures along her wrists and neck. She hoped that Naka wouldn't find them during bath time. If she did, she wouldn't know how she would react. All she knew, was that she was one of the guys now.

by Guest Thu May 31, 2012 8:46 pm

"No" it came out like a fierce Rohirrim charge bringing swift justice over that feral pack of Uruk-hai. Indeed, the king of the golden halls would be pleased, but that king only lied within the books written by a mastermind. However, in this world there was no king but the queen of the frozen halls. Naturally, she was not present there but further to the north and that insinuate as well that neither the Waka nor the Shateigashira were the forces of Rohan or Saruman, the white. It was his just his 'No' was very quick like the aforementioned charge , which brings us to the new guest, the Xingese woman who came along with him and the Saiko-komon.

How Tomoe knew she was Xingese? Actually that would be very clear later on. And there was NIN in her cute Pikachu wares speaking in drachman. Oh, yes. The kyoudai eventually knew about the very northern language even before their Waka would show his interest in it, thanks to her unofficial underling who sometimes spoke a word here or there in that tongue non-Aerugese. So again naturally, she went in the process in learning Drachman and decided to self teach herself. This time thanks to her waka, she remembers this one time when she tried to say 'I want to eat breakfast' in drachman to a drachman chef and the results were catastrophic. And to her dismay, it turned out to be 'I eat sex for bullets' or maybe it was 'I eat bullets for sex' Well, she doesn't remember and would not try to,for the sake of reliving the embarrassing moment.

"Damn @@@ %%%. ^^^ !!!! $ &&& *** ### assholes !! shit %% **. ###." the drachman-Xingese spoke, Do you understand now why Tomoe was trying to self-study? On a side conversation between the Aerugese dragon and Pikachu, The dragon decided to unleash fury of rage and fire towards a very innocent looking car parking in their garage lot. There was this explosion, flames and a flying rod at great speed which lunged at the lady in black and white, which was masterfully dodged by a single side step. Luckily, she was a little away from the group.

"SON OF A FUCKING WHORE!" At last, something Tomoe could finally understand. It seemed that the oriental guest lost many things in her way. For insance, She had no shoes and no shorts, quite indeed miserable. Another cultural exchange of drachman words between badass and sickass, something about confidence and stone that she couldn't interpret. What confidence had to do with stones, Really? "ARGH DID I SERIOUSLY LEAVE THEM THERE?! FUCK!" Well, it seemed that Alisa. Oh, yeah. Her name is Alisa unless the word meant something in Drachman and it seemed she was a brujah as well. Anyway, The very logical Mr. Reed inquired why they were meeting that day? and then Mars, the newly appointed Saiko-komon followed stressed on the importance of Michael's point.

The answer came quick as their boss turned and walked to the very door leading to the mansion where nightmare creatures resided, The lady in black and white followed the whole group from the rear to be the last one in the trail of different ranks, newcomer and a child. With the mentality of 'I see you but you don't see me' of course after nodding to another two shatei with the 'get to it' shook. Then quickly, they went to do their business of firefighting. And just before she would disappear into the door following the group insane, she glanced a small droplet of blood at the side wall. Ah, the work of witchcraft, suddenly Tomoe had these vibes of the black templars 'Smite now the scions of the Witch!' Quite content of her deal of eye-ordering and a Templar hype, she followed and heard.

"You all know about the Dragons fucking invading across the Sumida. Not fucking happening. We're taking them out tonight. Gather your weapons and assemble the men; we're going to throw a fucking party!!"

In short...Shoot first, ask never. Later at night, they would begin ending some people dreams. So Tomoe found her way to her own room placing her famous note of 'Disturb and die' on her door knob. So, yeah. After getting hyped and having her mind blown up over some game trailers, watching an episode or two of an anime, reading ten chapters of manga, three or four cups of Nescafe, a bowl of ramen and perhaps being lazy doing nothing, the hours passed.

-----Time Skip-----

The landing zone was hot. And, no. They weren't yet at the triads place. Actually, they were still in the mansion of dark and evil. Alisa asked in Drachman, Xingese, Amestrian and Cretan. Tomoe's mind shifting gears, actually not. It was rather easy to figure out what the Drachman-Xingese was inquiring. So Tomoe in her nurse outfit with kitsune-meme over her head was just about to say something, the lady death began to perform an artillery bombardment of Drachman words which the Yamaguchi-gumi's Kyuubi was only able only to understand two words in the whole conversation. 'Fucking' and 'bullshit' or rather 'Fucking bullshit' since the two words came after each other, then she - the Rounian foreigner- disappeared in no time. The lady in black and white who became somehow the lady in white -may the patience forgive- who was ready to kill bill stepped near the Drachman witch from behind.

Nice tattoo.. Tomoe leaned a bit closer, closing her distance more with the Waka's new interest, giving Alisa the 'I know your trickery, witch. Trying to bewitch our Waka, by writing magical scripts in blood just outside the mansion' wink, if the latter would bother to turn around, she would feel how terrifying it would be for a placid doll-face trying to make this kind of long meaningful wink. So, later on, the crazy wildflower of the yakuza would leave her guests behind using a hidden door disguised as a bookshelf after nodding to one her underlings to attend the meeting and see what would Waka-sama say. She found her way to where the Shateigashira went off, it was no hard ordeal to find lady death. She sat on the roof, while a small black cloud raining over her head. Taking some silent steps from behind as she left her medical looking shoes just the rood entrance walking only with her white leggings that covered well her legs.

The target was in front of her and the Kitsune-meme was in her hands. The objective was clearly simple, just dress lady death with the Kitsune-meme. Indded, it was time of great transformation. Of course, she double-checked that there was no one around while performing her feat of cute headband ambush. A made Shateigashira is a deadly Shateigashira.

So, whether succeeding or not..

Do you know something, I really feel cold for you. The Aerugese vixen said in her cute tone of voice. She didn't know how lady death was intending to fight. But she went for the fight that way, the dragons would die from excessive nose bleed. I think the men would be ready by now, that means my ice cream truck is ready as well. Wanna eat ice cream? Tomoe took two steps behind in a playful manner while still facing her superior.

By then, it was up to the Shateigashira to decide what to do? Perhaps, she would join in for an ice cream party. However, somewhere NIN was performing her wizardry of skin coloring. Couple of minutes of later, Tomoe - after her medical shoes - would find herself in that nice ice cream truck of hers with her NIN who decided to become yakuza which deserved a one Tomoe chuckle, and underlings - and perhaps lady death, if she wanted to join the fun - in the back of the truck to have this short party of ice cream munching until their arrival to the target's destination. One of her underlings would fill her what happened in the meeting and how marvelous Waka's plan, whatever it was..

by Michael Reed Thu Jun 07, 2012 6:30 pm

Once all of their "merry folk" had gathered to the front of the base, Makoto confirmed Michael's guess. They were given an assignment and it would be tonight. He would have personally hoped a better way to spend an evening, but he really couldn't complain. It had been a voluntary decision to come here, after all. But there were a lot more going on as well...

-WHACK-

...like that angry foreigner who had just hit her hand into that wall. That would probably mean that someone would have to tend it. Someone who would know how to do it properly and would probably have to know some language that she spoke. "Well this seems quite obvious". Michael decided to go inside with others to prepare, like the others had decided to do.

//Time skip//

Michael was pretty much prepared. He had his gun checked and prepared, along with his clothes. His reasoning for his change from his usual outfit was very simple: red wasn't that great color for this kind of thing. Everyone would just automatically target the one wearing red. Instead, he went with black, practical clothing.

"Do we have a plan? Oh, and what do people speak here huh? Besides Aerugese? Xingese? Cretan? Amestrian?" So now she was interested in that? Well, better late than never. "I do sp..."

"Anything I can fucking understand?"

...

"...I do speak those. So we should have a bridge* here" After making that fact clear, he simply started to wait for instructions.

//*having a connection of some sort//

by Guest Sat Jun 09, 2012 5:42 pm

Marcus let out an all-too-womanly shriek when the explosion sounded off, courtesy of Mako, jumping a good three feet into the air and leaping behind cover as the last ringing of the shockwaves echoed in his ears, slumping down against the pillars as he- "ARGH DID I SERIOUSLY LEAVE THEM THERE?! FUCK!" Well, the new girl was certainly... loud.

Marcus let his eyes fall shut and slammed his head back against the pillar, exhaling. Why did he even bother? This was no place for him, now, even if he was a Yakuza administrator... he should've been... administrating something! Running numbers, talking over fees, liaising with certain unscrupulous individuals... NOT BLOWING UP CARS. "You all know about the Dragons fucking invading across the Sumida. Not fucking happening. We're taking them out tonight. Gather your weapons and assemble the men; we're going to throw a fucking party!!" Great. One of Mako's infamous parties.

*****

Marcus Frostbrook, number one pacifist, watched with wide and trembling eyes as Alisa pulled back the slide on her cutlass pistols, scratching the back of his head and sighing. It still got his heart pumping a little fast, the sight of actual, real guns... it wasn't right. He still felt out of place in the Yakuza - and definitely out of place here, but there was nothing he could do now. With Mako's plans set in his heart for the night's festivities, they were more or less bound to the path of violence now. "Do we have a plan?"

Marcus stared at her dumbly. "It's Mako. Of course there's no plan," He rubbed vigorously at his temples with folded knuckles, bowing his head and muttering an addendum. "Unless you count the whole random-explosions-and-sea-of-gunfire gig as a plan," In that case, they were just about fucking set.

He looked to his side as Alisa spoke again. "Oh, and what do people speak here huh? Besides Aerugese? Xingese? Cretan? Amestrian?" Marcus smirked, and his glance fell back upon the tattooed woman with the pistols, still smoking, drawing a pack of his own and propping a cigarette up to his lips. He didn't like smoking around the Yakuza. He didn't look badass, and he certainly didn't look classy. "Check, check, and check."

He pulled out his Zippo, cheap and cheerful thirty-Cen model, and flicked the top open, lighting up his own smoke and inhaling a long drag of the chemical vapours, grimacing as he did so, extinguishing the flame and once more pocketing the lighter - the pack, too. "Esparian, too, whilst you're at it," Being a polyglot did have its high points. A smile, and he crossed the cigarette into his hand, looking back down to the bench once more, a sight he'd up until now ignored promptly causing a bead of sweat to form on his forehead and begin trickling down.

It was black. Well-polished and maintained, as far as he could tell. The calloused lettering carved into the side of the slide read 'John Browning, Hi-Power 9mm'. It was something one of Mako's low-ranking lackeys had left for him without a second thought. A pistol. 13-round box magazine, another two clips off to the side. A nine-millimetre death sentence for anybody with half-decent aim and the balls to pull the trigger. And something he'd never, ever wanted to see himself carrying.

But now, he was involved in a gang takeover he couldn't rightly back out of. And the pen sitting heavy in the pocket of that leather jacket was going to do him a fat lot of good, aside from possibly irritating the Dragons even more. The more he stared at it, the more he grimaced, the more his stomach churned, and the more he feared the consequences of picking the firearm up. For everyone else here, it would've been a trivial, menial task. But for him? It was another step down the path of the villain, a path he didn't want to take - a path he couldn't take, for his sake, and for Leon's sake. And for every step he took down, he was every step closer to getting his son back, maybe, but he was every step closer to falling to temptation, and into the trap of the criminal that Makoto had so unwittingly laid out in plain sight for him. And for this, a tiny, minuscule part of Marcus despised the man, for giving him an ultimatum he couldn't turn down, for shunting him further down, but the only other way out of this situation with any certainty was in a Tokyo coroner's body bag.

So for that reason, and that reason alone, Marcus gulped, flicked the safety on the pistol on, and tucked it into the back of his waistband, pocketing the clips, butterflies fluttering by in an infinite spiral in his stomach as he grasped his leather jacket nearby, and pulled it on, digging around for his tinted-lens prescription glasses.

Fuck. He'd walked himself into this one.

by Shula Brighton Sun Jun 24, 2012 8:22 pm

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