logs | (catch-all/open) hold up, i'm invincible

(catch-all/open) hold up, i'm invincible

WHO: manjiro "mikey" sano & you

WHERE: the harbors, mirth, and the hinterlands.

WHEN: november 1st till... the end of november??? probably

WHAT: mikey fixes boat things, does hella partying, has his shadow take over, and then goes for the noticeboard hinterlands quest.

WARNINGS: well. hahaha. (possible) suicide attempt mention, (possible) ideation, lack of control, dissociation, crime boss talk, death, drug and alcohol use, violence, and maybe a murder might occur. hi, he's great

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Hm? I thought the name was clever.

[ He looked up at the dark sky, thinking. ]

It's like nothing else. It makes one strong -- powerful -- unleashes the beast within them, and makes them more powerful than your average man. It gets into your veins, and makes you so dangerous a gun wouldn't stop you.

[ So maybe he had a thing about power, huh? ]

To us, it's very attractive.

... That's called cocaine. Meth?

(AND MIKEY CAN'T IMAGINE IT. it's just what he has as a reality barring him from imagining anything other than there is.)

No, it's nothing like those.

It's a liquid, purple substance. Normally people drink it.

[ He can't describe it, without... ]

It makes one physically bigger. Double their own size, normally.

... I hate that. It's fucking cheating.

(ah, it's starting. if silco can see it, if it's possible, the pupils are as big as they can be, and he taps his foot a few times.)

It's only cheating if the people you're fighting don't already have an advantage.

[ He pointed out, but his gaze focused on Mikey, on the man who was starting to move. Not erratically, but it certainly wasn't putting the man to sleep, was it?

Silco didn't take the pill, not yet, but he certainly moved it to his other hand, curiosity settling. ]

We need it, or else we'll never free ourselves from topside's influence.

I'm not fucking following, you gotta remember, I ain't from your place, Silco.

(or maybe it's because his mind is already travelling, to tokyo, and then trying to imagine zaun, which is, well, impossible with his limited information. it's just a fusion of the shadiest tokyo sites with purple pills going around.)

We live in the fissures, under a city called Piltover.

[ It's hard to describe it, even though Silco knows it so intimately, the sump lines that run down from topside down into his home, where the toxins thrive and air is unbreathable. ]

We exist to do the jobs they don't want to, like live and work in the mines and fissures, making money for topsiders. We breathe toxic air and eat food that's lived in a river so polluted... [ He tapped his eye, then, as if to point it out. ] This is what happens if you bleed in it.

They use guns where we could barely afford food.

[ He shrugged, now, and popped his own pill, satisfied that this wasn't going to kill him, and wasn't going to end up with him so high that he couldn't think straight.

He was used to microdosing shimmer too, after all. ]

... Yeah, shitty. Your place looks like it really ain't much to do but to turn to crime. It ain't like that for us. I guess we're similar and not at the same time. I didn't do any of this for survival. It was just what made most sense to me.

(but damn, that explains the eye. even a sober mikey would do what he does though, which is to come way too close for comfort to check the eye.)

Shit hurts?

[ Silco leaned back, offended by the affront to his personal space. ]

It's fine.

[ He says, but of course it hurt. It's an old hurt these days, heavily medicated over the years, but it still hurt. How could it not, when your body had exposed muscle and sinew, corrupted and darkened by time. It ate away, but Silco had gotten used to it, in the more-than ten years of pain. ]

Besides, we're all supposedly dead. What's pain, now?

Still a very existent thing. You wouldn't be happy if I just poked it.

(that said, his hands are up, as if he shows his peace in each and every moment, until he reaches to pour silco's drink. one never pours for themselves where he's from, anyway.)

Can you pour? It's a thing.

I wouldn't be happy if you touched me, period.

[ He said, and eyed his hands, as he reached to pour, before he nodded.

Weird tradition, but ok. ]

Why's it a thing? [ He asked, as he took the carafe to pour as well. ]

It's polite. Japan's full of little things like these. I didn't let you enter my house with shoes on, I wouldn't pour my own drink, but all in all, I'm pretty forgiving. I'm not a particularly strict one, even if I did grow up in a family environment where discipline and tradition matter most.

Right.

[ He said, but even so, he accommodated the request. It's a small thing, after all. ]

What do you do when you're alone, then?

Good point. We just drink in that case. Not when there's other people around.

You should get a list. Too many Japanese people up in this place.

A list of customs? So I can impress all the new Restless with my... fine manners?

[ He asked, his tone a touch sharp.

Really, it's almost Piltie. The tone in his voice says as much. Sure, he'll pour Mikey's, but, that's because they both want something out of this interaction. Then again... ]

Care to divulge more?

Let's see... No handshakes. People bow to each other to show respect. Business cards are extensions of people, so treat them with the most respect and care you can, slurping your noodles is fine, but walking and eating or smoking is considered trash. Other stuff is eating with chopsticks and table manners, but these are the basics. I don't do a lot of what tradition says, and yet, I've lived a good life.

(there's a shrug of his shoulders, a little jitter in the way his leg shakes and he stretches.)

Think of Japan as a big school of fish. Everyone does the same thing, acts the same way, wants the same thing. Tradition and expectation over feeling and potential. It's suffocating.

Hm, that's a lot of rules.

[ Silco wasn't exactly on the up and up on business cards, given that ones calling card was your work, but most of this seemed...

Ridiculous. ]

So it's filled with unspoken rules, and woe to whomever doesn't follow them, hm? I think I know a place like that. It's not a place I frequent.

[ A beat, and then: ] It sounds horrible.

Not unspoken. Taught, performed, looped.

(a quick search on google could tell anyone what they needed to know, after all.)

It's... Good and bad. I guess from where I'm standing, I can't complain much. You ever heard of yubitsume?

[ How is he supposed to hear that? ]

No?

Why would I have heard about that?

Yubi, (he shows his pinky, and then a motion of a scissor,) tsume.

Yakuza men do it to show remorse after fucking up. Send you a pinky as souvenir. Or-- maybe they don't want conflict, so they do it as proof of honesty.

Ah.

Cut ones own finger, to prove their loyalty? That's just a waste of ones grip.

[ He said, bluntly. Odd, that they would do so in some place like this Japan, where it seemed like most rules were societal. Finger-cutting was so different. ]

I can think of some people who would keep a collection.

Does it actually mean that they're being honest?

Absolutely not. Not much of a fighter, are you? It comes from an old time. Men were swordsmen. Cut off their pinky, they lose everything. Even if we ain't doing the sword thing no more, it's bad for fighting and aim. You gotta work triple without your fingers, you know.

It does. They do it themselves.

I see.

[ He isn't a fighter, but he doesn't need to point that out. Instead: ]

Resources are scarce enough for us, I suppose you could say, a pinky wasted is another body that we can't use, but I suppose just murdering those who betray us is probably no better. At least a poorly aimed bullet will hit sometimes, hm?

Maybe I should consider that.

You're tripping if you think we don't do that either. Sanzu ain't very forgiving, he might let someone cut their own pinky and then shoot them nonetheless.

[ A laugh, then.

That's more like it. ]

I like that.

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cw yubitsume

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