01-25-2023, 08:14 PM
A man with slashes on the forearm meant he was brave enough to defend himself and skilled enough walk away afterward. There were no obvious knives about his person, which implied concealment. A man to be respected, then, but he did not think them to be Yakuza. A brawl? In honor or defense. Perhaps, given the lowly surroundings, a debt to be extracted? There was a knife lashed to Kiyohito’s ankle. Secured high, along the edge of his leg kept obscured by his sock. Another was tucked into the inner fold of his jacket pocket. Nothing more; the two were plenty. He had fists after all.
What struck him strange the most was Eido's calm as she tended to her brother. Her expression was one of doleful concern, but her manners were sure and confident. This wasn’t the first time her brother returned bearing wounds of fights past, and she was the experienced nurse. If it hadn’t been for the artful service and old-world manners, he might have considered her a professional in the field. A doctor or nurse, but it was unlikely.
He was interested, and watched Kota’s reciprocal watch of him without restraint. They spoke of passings meaningless to Kiyohito, but a picture was clearly formed of the siblings. He joined Kota as requested once the man was cleaned. He looked like an enforcer when he returned. Muscles on display. Scars of fights survived, if not won, were apparent. A small tattoo made him imagine his own swathey skin-art, carefully hidden beneath his clothes.
A jab at Kiyo’s insistence of formality stung. The slap to his honor was mild, but Kiyo would not endure insults endlessly. For now, he let it slide and sat with a mindless flicking apart of his jacket button.
To business, he slid the wallet he previously showed his sister across the table.
“I’m looking for someone. Have you seen this man?” he asked.
Kiyohito was aware that a member of the Yakuza seeking a man generally meant ill-tidings. If Haruto had friends in Moscow, and Kiyo assumed his little brother was crawling with the in-crowd, he did not want to scare them off the trail in some effort to protect. So he waited a moment for Kota to consider the image on display. In it, Haruto was standing on the street, playing around as usual. His hair was shorter than it was the last time he saw him, but the look was generally telling of his preferred style. On the night in the image, he’d traded the typical suit jacket for a leather alternative, which always annoyed Kiyo when he did that. The rest of his appearance seemed to walk very edge of what counted for their standards. He wore trousers, but the shirt tucked into them was ill-fitting for instance. Sunglasses were hooked on his collar. There was no pin like the one currently fastened to Kiyohito’s lapel.
“Your sister says you might recognize him.” He glanced briefly at Eido.
What struck him strange the most was Eido's calm as she tended to her brother. Her expression was one of doleful concern, but her manners were sure and confident. This wasn’t the first time her brother returned bearing wounds of fights past, and she was the experienced nurse. If it hadn’t been for the artful service and old-world manners, he might have considered her a professional in the field. A doctor or nurse, but it was unlikely.
He was interested, and watched Kota’s reciprocal watch of him without restraint. They spoke of passings meaningless to Kiyohito, but a picture was clearly formed of the siblings. He joined Kota as requested once the man was cleaned. He looked like an enforcer when he returned. Muscles on display. Scars of fights survived, if not won, were apparent. A small tattoo made him imagine his own swathey skin-art, carefully hidden beneath his clothes.
A jab at Kiyo’s insistence of formality stung. The slap to his honor was mild, but Kiyo would not endure insults endlessly. For now, he let it slide and sat with a mindless flicking apart of his jacket button.
To business, he slid the wallet he previously showed his sister across the table.
“I’m looking for someone. Have you seen this man?” he asked.
Kiyohito was aware that a member of the Yakuza seeking a man generally meant ill-tidings. If Haruto had friends in Moscow, and Kiyo assumed his little brother was crawling with the in-crowd, he did not want to scare them off the trail in some effort to protect. So he waited a moment for Kota to consider the image on display. In it, Haruto was standing on the street, playing around as usual. His hair was shorter than it was the last time he saw him, but the look was generally telling of his preferred style. On the night in the image, he’d traded the typical suit jacket for a leather alternative, which always annoyed Kiyo when he did that. The rest of his appearance seemed to walk very edge of what counted for their standards. He wore trousers, but the shirt tucked into them was ill-fitting for instance. Sunglasses were hooked on his collar. There was no pin like the one currently fastened to Kiyohito’s lapel.
“Your sister says you might recognize him.” He glanced briefly at Eido.