Ichikawa Kiyohito was the first of two sons. Their father worked on a fishing boat that hauled in a daily catch from the sea. Their catch competed for attention in a huge market that catered to high-end chefs from Tokyo. Kiyohito cleaned fish from an early age in order to provide fleshy samples to the would-be buyers. His mother was a cook and ran a modest food cart outside the fish market that primarily catered to the workers more than anyone else. Eventually, Kiyohito would learn his father’s trade, and by the time he was ten, his fileting skills were remarked upon by everyone in the market. He dreamed of becoming a chef.

A commotion pulled Kiyohito’s attention away from the tuna occupying his focus these last few minutes. The fish market was at the height of its selling hour, and Kiyo had been busy carving slender samples of the fleshy fish to sample. His knife skills were not to be overlooked. For a boy of ten, he could dismember a fish almost to the standard of any chef. A crowd of black suits made its way closer, eventually settling in front of Kiyo’s little stand. His father’s best fish was packed on ice on display. He’d been dreaming about schools of fish emerging from the silt of the ocean floor. When he saw the men in suits, a strange sense of familiarity overtook him.

He bowed his head for the men and offered a perfectly carved piece upward. 
“Sample?” A moment later, the napkin was lifted from his hand and sounds of chewing followed. A man with a face of stone swallowed the meat raw.

“Did you do this?” a voice asked. Kiyo nodded. There were a few thoughtful murmurs and words spoken among themselves, and the men in suits purchased all their lot. 

Next day

The sky was still black when Kiyohito snugged his cheeks against the folds of his scarf. Plagued by nightmares lately, he’d slept poorly and stifled a yawn. The ocean breeze smelled of brine and vinegar this morning. The oddity of the combination reminded him of his mother’s sour soup, which in the chill air he was suddenly craving, but despite the twinge of familiarity, it still smelled off.

At his side, his eight-year-old little brother yawned and sank to sit on the dock planks.
“Get up,” Kiyohito told him. “You’ll soak your pants, be miserable all morning and have to sit in school with a soggy bottom,” he added. But despite the warnings, Ayo stubbornly rested his face on his knees like he was about to go back to sleep. Kiyohito let him sit there without further protest, remembering the difficulty of transitioning to these before-school hours. He quietly wished for some more sleep himself, but getting used to the routine now would only help Ayo get used to it sooner. Kiyo let his brother rest anyway. Their father’s boat should be only minutes out.

Every morning before school, Kiyohito met his father at the dock as the boat arrived. By 5 AM the market would be bustling with would-be buyers brokering fish for fancy chef clients in Tokyo. Kiyo had never seen the city for himself and was content to stay away from it. If he was going to apprentice to a sushi chef, it would be in their city. Tokyo was too much. About then, a thunder rumbled in the distance, and Kiyohito’s frown surveyed the dark, empty horizon. No lightning illuminated the sky, but thunder was unmistakable. At his feet, Ayo whined about pending rain, but Kiyohito was too distracted to correct his brother’s shameful attitude.

That was when he realized another sound changed, or rather, disappeared. The ocean’s rhythmic lapping against the dock had softened to nearly nothing. Kiyo walked to the edge and lowered his flashlight over the side to survey the water, but there was none. He frowned with growing worry. Then the thunder rumbled again and he hurried to the end of the dock, chasing after any hint of the ocean, but in his heart he knew he became increasingly afraid he would find none.

Instead, the sea floor was a soggy bed of sand and lost crabs. A word rumbled in his mind and seconds later, sirens sounded. He dropped the flashlight and sprinted toward his brother.

Two weeks later, Kiyohito picked through the mud and muck left behind by the tsunami to find his life in ruins, and he was not the only one. While the horrific disaster decimated the coastlines and left their part of Japan in darkness and despair, he came to realize the scale of destruction was bigger than his young mind could comprehend. Earthquakes followed for days. Fires, flooding and nuclear meltdowns threatened the whole land. He grieved alone at night for the family he lost, but it was hunger that drove him to a makeshift shelter for the children of the lost. Relief workers wrapped him in blankets and fed him soup not unlike that his mother once made.

Voices streamed day in and day out, but young Kiyohito closed within himself a filter that excluded the pain from reaching too deep within. It was only when there was a break in the noise – a touch of strength amid the pattering endlessness of despair – that he glanced up. He recognized the man immediately. He looked down as he had when he offered the sample of tuna belly at the market, but the face followed him. It was filled with sadness, he slowly came to realize, but not pity. Kiyohito and another boy were adopted that day, one who would come to be like the little brother he lost to the sea.

Twenty years later

The Tokyo restaurant was full. A crowd lingered in the hall as Kiyohito and his adopted younger brother emerged from the elevator. It took a moment before the first person saw the two men. Dressed in matching black suits, both had their hair styled conservatively, although Kiyo’s was longer around the ears than the man at his side, and both were in their mid to late twenties. Awareness slowly spread and the chatting softened ever so subtly, and a path opened to allow them passage. Kiyo nodded his head respectfully for those nearest him, but Haruto flashed a smile that was met by more than one attractive woman. Kiyo had warned his shatei about his behavior before, and he only half-heartedly prodded the other man onward.

“Do not get distracted, Haruto,” he said with a head shake, knowing the warning would fall on deaf ears. “Please be on your best behavior,” he yearned.

The hostess promptly showed the two men to a private room having expected their arrival. It was surrounded by beautifully decorated screens. Water flowed from fountains and lights glowed along the walls. The place was very upscale, and with a small pang of nostalgia, Kiyo couldn’t help but wonder about the caliber of the executive chef. They were not the first of their party to arrive, but they were probably the least important of those in attendance. The table was surrounded with four kyodai – big brothers that oversaw the tasks and jobs demanded by the family. It to the high-ranking lieutenant that sat at the head of the table that Kiyohito and Haruto paid their respects before taking their places around the floor’s perimeter. The men returned to their conversation. Sake was served to them, and Kiyo only sipped out of respect for the bosses. Haruto was more liberal.

An hour passed before a job was assigned the two kobun. It was not unlike any others they had been given before.

“Let’s hurry this up so we can go out tonight,” Haruto groaned as soon as they were alone in the elevator.
Kiyohito folded his arms. “I don’t like it,” he said.

“You are in a sour mood today, Kiyo,” Haruto replied with a humph.

“Maybe I slept terribly last night or maybe a good-for-nothing swindler has shamed this very family. How many—”

“How many times do we have to do this? Come on, Kiyo. Let’s snatch the boy so the gashira can make him piss his pants and send him back to Osaka when they’re satisfied we won’t be bothered again. That’s why we have this,” Haruto pat his jacket pocket and continued, “And you complaining about sleep is nothing new,” Haruto laughed.

Kiyo grabbed his hand. “And you complaining about my mood is nothing new either. Besides, don’t even breathe a word about that,” he said. Haruto seemed to finally accept his big brother’s sentiment and nodded. He wasn’t kidding when he said he’d slept badly. In fact, the string of restless nights had been building for months now, and Kiyo knew it was beginning to affect his patience. Usually, he was much more entertained by Haruto’s humors.

But Haruto couldn’t stop without having the final word, “Even in Custody regulated Japan we do not worry about guns. Why be so concerned with this this little thing?” he said with a peek under his suit jacket. They were both carrying firearms, although Kiyohito was better with a knife, but the aerosolized pistol was something entirely different. For decades, strict gun laws kept firearms on short supply. After the Custody integration, the laws were largely unchanged even with the rise of the new Yakuza families supported by Custody Privileges and Patrons. Together, the Yakuza (and Custody) returned much needed stability to the Dominance. It was desperately needed after the disasters of their childhood. Yet the weapon Haruto mentioned was something between a tranquilizer and a gun. Just holding the thing gave Kiyo the shivers, which was why he was content to let Haruto take it.

Despite his distaste for the weapon, his little brother’s antics made him laugh, but the lightheartedness was short-lived. All traces of Kiyohito’s amusement were smoothed away when they exited the elevator. 

Twelve hours later

The flickering lights of first responders flashed red and blue across a decimated scene in a very public street. The building before them was a hollow shell now. Smoke still curled toward the night sky in a Tokyo neighborhood otherwise controlled by the family. A haze of halogen lights from signs and advertisements flooded the smoke-strewn sky. When a paramedic thrust an oxygen mask upon Kiyohito, he did not resist. His eyes still burned. It was the kind of aftermath shock that he hadn’t felt since he was ten years old, and the same lack of comprehension had shattered his reality. They had indeed found the swindler they sought, but it all happened so fast, Kiyo didn’t even know how to react. All he knew was how Haruto reacted when the confrontation clashed.

The paramedic released a pressure cuff from Kiyo’s arm, noting the lines of tattoos normally covered by his sleeves.
“Are you Yakuza?” he asked, voice a mix of reverence and fear for even bringing it up. There were more tattoos, a tradition that returned after the Custody’s laws released the Yakuza from the intense regulation earlier in the century.

Kiyo didn’t even look at him but the lack of answer was answer enough. There was no shame in his family allegiance, working legally in Custody eyes, but even in the modern world, Yakuza were still a shadow society with a sordid past. Until tonight, he’d never considered otherwise. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

The paramedic gave way to a police officer and Kiyo was promptly seen away in handcuffs.

By morning, Kiyo was bailed out of jail. Not even a kobun like himself would be allowed to sit behind bars when justice should be served by the family directly. He assumed the worst, and was willing to submit to it, as he was led inside headquarters. The Tokyo high rise was a splendid shard among their glowing city, and the powerful Yakuza family’s offices occupied the best floor. He was still smeared with smoke and his suit marred by ash when he laid eyes on their family’s highest leaders, and it took very little effort to make Kiyo submit to his knees and wait for judgment.

Instead, the oyabun himself came before him. The same gaze of steady strength, pitiless, but sad, looked down upon the boy he rescued all those years ago.

“My lieutenants think you should submit to seppuku, Kiyohito-chan. A building is bombed. There was an attack on a public street. Murdered citizens are strewn about. And your little brother is missing. Nothing like this has happened in Tokyo in a long time. Tell me what happened. What happened to Haruto.”

Kiyohito’s head remained bowed, though swimming with shock, he did not deny the claims. “It is as you say, oyabun. I take full responsibility.” Whispers erupted but they may as well have been the screams echoing inside his head that he could still hear. It all felt so familiar, yet he’d never contemplated something like this could happen. Haruto had seemed almost as surprised as himself.

A long silence followed, and finally Kiyo braved a glance upward. The oyabun’s face was etched in stone, and Kiyo began to worry that his adopted father suspected more than the admission that Kiyo had offered. It was like their patriarch could see through the false shroud of guilt that Kiyo attempted to claim for himself. Haruto had escaped, that was all that mattered, and his little brother’s secret was preserved, but neither did Kiyo want to kill himself over the matter. There was no body to claim as Haruto’s death, but they couldn’t expect much to survive the wreckage. Could they? Did they really expect him to atone with his life? 

“I give you a choice, Kiyohito. You return Haruto to me and I will accept his life as payment for this shame against us. If you do not, I will accept yours in his place.”

The declaration silenced any potential defiance among the lieutenants. Kiyo had been a favorite of the oyabun for a long time, but not even an adopted son could be forgiven so much.


About

Korii Kiyohito has had prophetic dreams since he was a child. He is almost 30, and while he is a favorite of their Yakuza family boss, he is still a child in the organization. He keeps the street businesses clean of thugs and criminals otherwise bothering their loyal community members. If a bar has a problem with regulars growing too disruptive, Kiyohito set things straight. He drops in on their business partners on a regular basis to ensure standards are being met. He is occasionally sent to deliver messages too sensitive for digital avenues.

His adopted brother is Korii Haruto. Three years his younger, Haruto was found the same day as Kiyohito from that relief-worker station following the tsunamis of the 2020’s. The man who adopted them was a Yakuza boss overseeing the organization’s relief efforts in the area. That man since rose through the ranks and some years ago took over as oyabun or patriarch of the Korii-kai family.


Past Life

Kiyohito was previously a dreamwalker and somewhat infamously stoic Shienaran warder named Vladamir. His personality is relatively the same across rebirths: serious, dedicated and honorable. He’s generally a good fighter when trained to be, but he craves peace. He is generally bound to a higher-cause and almost always duty-filled toward self-sacrifice.

Anyone else watching Rings of Power and/or House of the Dragon? I'm enjoying both.

The ROP intro was a little slow but by the time the Harfoots were introduced I was hooked. The elves feel a little off, I'm not sure why (no it's not the hair, haha). I loved loved loved the dwarves. Durin's speech on the lift thing hit me unexpectedly in the feels. I know jack-shit about Tolkien's lore, though I'm aware they've changed stuff (hard not to be aware really). I'm looking forward to the rest.

The only complaint I have about HOD is the distracting wigs >_< The dragons are freaking awesome.

Trying to make my way back here.  Sorry for the super long absence (again  ). I'm doing my best to get back, hopefully I can find my muse again.

Life had been lonely.  Elyse was still with Ricky and Marta, and she felt grateful that she and Stinging Nose had a place to stay.  Still, Elyse wasn't sure that she had found her place.  Being wolfkin by itself was difficult, but since then, her family had abandoned her.  She had been hurt.  Sierra was gone and Elyse didn't know where she was.

With thought of Sierra came guilt.  Elyse was sure that if she tried, she would be able to find Sierra.  At the very least there was the dream world.  She found herself scared to go though and avoided it.  Stinging Nose had stated his concern for Elyse.  She was a pack animal that was isolating, and that was never good.

Elyse sighed and took a drink of the scotch in front of her.  Elyse wasn't sure what it was about Kallisti, but she found the place comforting.  It wasn't the place that she would usually find herself, yet the staff was very good at taking care of her.  She knew it was their jobs, but it still helped.

Today, Elyse had found a corner by herself.  A dancer was doing a routine on the stage, but Elyse wasn't paying attention.  She stared at the amber liquid that would match her eyes had she not been wearing colored lenses.  Elyse reached out and was able to find Stinging Nose.  She sent a brief message that she was okay.  There was incredulity in Sting's response back.  Deep down, Elyse knew she wasn't okay, but she didn't know what to do about it.

Today Asc noticed she wasn't getting notifications for PMs in other accounts.

I think we narrowed it down to a setting in your Account Settings having been toggled off.

Check to see that "Alert me with a notice when I receive a Private Message." is checked to keep receiving those notices.

Cruz left Manifest in a hurry.  He wanted to be away from the glitter and glamour and settle back into his own life again.  He tired of the boys who wanted to pretend they were rich and famous.  But more importantly he had a mystery to solve.

Once he made it home to his small yet upscale apartment he took a picture of the coin and sent it off to Sage.  His friend had been offline a while and Cruz was starting to worry.  Yet not enough to send out a search party.  There was no telling where Aiden had whisked Sage off too, they were two peas in a pod and yet when they had lived with him they had been stationary.  Same as Nox, he missed his friends.  Maybe it was time to throw an old fashioned party.  But Nox was off on some mission and Sage was missing in action.  Cruz sighed.  And all he had left were the annoying snot nosed wannabe rich kids.

There wasn't much left to do so Cruz took a shower and went to bed.  Waiting for Sage could be like waiting for water to drip a hole to the other side of the world.  No point in waiting, on to other things and a clean body and sleep were first on that list.

Another two months time and the construction will be completed, Dimitri’s message flashed across Aiden’s wallet, Are you quite sure you wish to remain in the city proper?

Aiden rolled his eyes as he took a drag from the cigarette dangling from his clenched jaw. Dimitri had been badgering him since he had returned to Moscow. That was not a negative trait in a personal assistant, but the repeated question had become tiring. Aiden had explained himself thoroughly in the few days that had passed since his return and Dimitri should have been professional enough to accept that.

I need to be here, Dim. I’ve told you already. Inspiration has hit me. I’ve got to start work on the sequel to ‘Russian Dolls’ while the idea is fresh, Aiden typed back on rote. Smoke streamed from his lips, the lights of Tverskaya emanating from the spaces between the blinds to illuminate the countless boxes that Dimitri had sent over.

But what if she comes back? She will look for you here, Dimitri sent back.

Aiden put his wallet down.

Gareth Rice, Rowan’s servant, had apparently been in contact with Dimitri during Aiden’s absence. It was not an unwelcome development, but Aiden would have preferred to facilitate it under normal circumstances. Gareth, before serving under Rowan, had been a family friend. Aiden had grown up with Gareth – he loved Gareth as his own brother. But Rowan had ensnared him. Not that that would have been hard for her to accomplish. Gareth was always pining after her during their teenage years; she was just too blind to give him a chance.

Rowan was gone and had wanted nothing to do with Aiden – despite him being the entire reason she had relocated to Moscow. Rowan was gone and had severed all ties – apparently – but Gareth could not accept that. He could not accept that and he could not find Aiden and so he had gotten into the head of Aiden’s personal assistant, Dimitri Alexeev; Dimitri had been all too eager.

Aiden was starting to think that Dimitri was taken with Gareth.

An unfortunate triangle that would be – Rowan had never been one to share.

Aiden finished his cigarette with a long, deep drag and snuffed it out into the glass ashtray to his side. He grabbed for his wallet, knowing full well that he should have left Dimitri on ‘read.’

I know you’ve given Gareth this address, Dim. What does it matter? Leave me to my books and my writings, Aiden responded before putting the wallet down once more and moving to the wet bar. Ice clinked and the whiskey flowed easily into his empty glass.

Aiden poured half a glass more than he should have – but who was there to judge him? He had told Sage that he needed a few days rest and relaxation and ‘no, don’t trouble yourself. I just need to sleep this out. I’ve never felt more exhausted.’ He had left Jaxen at the door to that condo with a half-hearted hug and a, ‘No, Jax. That is your prize to take. I have the spear; I don’t want your sword. Do what you will with it, just let me do my own thing with my own thing.’

The wallet vibrated and Aiden didn’t fight the urge to pick it back up. Dimitri again.

I’m sorry, Dimitri had replied. Aiden rolled his eyes. He expected the apology, but he didn’t need it. What Aiden needed now was time. Time to read and time to experiment with his new found treasure.

Don’t worry about it. Just make sure the manor is finished before the end of the year. I’m postponing my release tour btw. Call my legal team if Tor gives you problems. We can renegotiate for the spring, Aiden sent back. He drank half of the glass before moving into the back guest room. A stream of light passed over the cracked door, casting its brilliance upon Aiden’s foot as he moved to the opening. He paused as the wallet vibrated again.

Okay, now you’re talking crazy. I’m coming to see you. You don’t sound like yourself, Aiden, the screen read. Aiden rolled his eyes and tossed the wallet over his shoulder. It landed to the ground with a loud clatter as he opened the door.

The Spear revolved upon unseen hands in the middle of the room. All overhead lights had been switched off and the blinds had been thrown open to let in the evening glow of Tverskaya. Aiden felt a strange kinship with the weapon as he stared at the shinning black blade that capped its slender rod. The emanations of Fire and Spirit had grown weaker, but not its flame that Aiden could summon with the barest trickle of Light.

That was not to mention the dreams. The dreams of the man that blazed like the Sun. It was Lugh if the snake people were to be believed. Things had taken an even stranger turn since he had brought the Spear home and he was convinced that the answer was in the books the Dimitri had sent him.

The interweb is abuzz with Netflix's the Sandman - a show based off the comic of the same name. I never read the comic. Was never into comics really. But these ones are popular. Honestly, they don't look half bad. I haven't seen the show either. Axed Netflix a while back.

But you have to be fucking kidding me that almost the exact same time I unveil Adrian's alter ego as dreamworld Sandman, the show comes out. That sounds like my luck.

Im not ripping anything off. I swear. Don't worry. I have no qualms about ripping off good work. *wink and will do so without shame. But this time, I'm not doing it.  Hah

Their car pulled up to a street that surprised Danika. She thought all the best clubs were downtown or near the Kremlin district. She had seen the lights glowing the street with sunlight. She knew which streets to avoid when she left the lab late at night. It made the commute home all the longer to weave in and out of the crowds. Such a place was where she assumed they were heading when Maria and Godric insisted she go out with them. She’d turned them down so many times, but the same old excuse of “I have to work late” simply couldn’t fly anymore.

“Where’s the club?” she asked from the back seat. Godric had pulled over along an otherwise empty curb, powered down the vehicle and climbed out. Maria just smiled and ticked her head toward the window. Danika just shook her head and followed.

Danika hugged her little beaded jacket around her shoulders. The dress she wore was short and the heels as high as she could handle without falling all over herself. “I knew I should have wore pants,” she said to Maria, voice low although she had no idea why she had the urge to whisper. Meanwhile, Godric approached a door that for all of Danika’s purposes seemed completely shut up and abandoned.

Maria chuckled, “We’ll be inside in a moment. And you look incredible, Danika. Toughen the fuck up a little, eh?”
Danika gasped at the impropriety, but a playful nudge in the ribs followed.

Somehow the door opened and the next thing Danika knew, they were ushered through a maze of hallways. “Where are we going?” she said to Maria.

Godric looked over one shoulder at the two girls. He was so excited, Danika barely recognized her technician. “This is a side-entrance into Almaz,” he said with all the expertise of one who had been here before.

Maria squeezed Danika’s arm as they emerged into an area with tables and a strange view. A flare of surprise widened her eyes, "I do not belong here," she declared as they pulled her in further.

~~~

((roc: This is a fluff piece. Anyone is welcome to join!))