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Tweak says, "next stop, anywhere."

kondo kozue | 近藤梢 (anthesphoria) wrote in disappear_rpg,
@ 2010-08-25 18:28:00

Entry tags:

kozue, reizo

WHO: Kozue and Reizo
WHAT: Free (French) Food
WHERE: The Carl Ritzton Hotel, Downtown Iburi.
WHEN: Between "Reizo bailed" and "School starts". Some time.
WHY: Because free food. Or something.

The Carl Ritzton actually had four restaurants, if you counted the bar as one, but it was not a difficult endeavor to figure out which one Kozue had been referring to. Beside the bar, there was a homey, authentic-style sushi-ya, a Korean barbecue, and the Moullin De La Ritz.

Spelling error aside, it was the fanciest of the four; there was a young man in a tux and tails stationed at the door, and the fewest number of people coming and going from within.

Kozue had been in and out of it since she had checked into the hotel; mostly, she was there for the desserts, and for breakfast. Being a hotel restaurant, they were nearly-required to serve a breakfast, and it had been Kozue's choice every morning. She'd taken the opportunity to at least start getting familiar with the wait staff. Some of whom were, she was surprised to discover, actually from France, here on student exchanges or other programs, and spoke a hesitant, hobbled Japanese). It was to these sort-of acquaintances that she had turned, both in begging for comped food (which was seldom rewarded, but it was worth it when it was) and in getting seats secured for two, on ridiculously short notice.

It also helped that she was staying on one of the VIP floors, and that when she waved her key card at people, they scurried to make her happy. Not always without slightly perplexed looks—but rich people gave their teenage daughters all sorts of ridiculous privileges, after all.

So things were at least ostensibly set up for dinner/lunch/some in-between meal with Reizo.

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some_other_dog
2010-08-27 03:11 am UTC (link)

The looks the boy drew were not unusual, or unanticipated. Most people carefully avoided looking at him when he moseyed in, and others hid their surprise with varying degrees of success. The maitre d’ stood erect and at attention behind his podium, an older and dignified man whose considerable professionalism stopped the dismay rising up in him from doing much more than lifting his eyebrows twitch occasionally.

Reizo stood in front of him, big hands stuffed into his pockets, looking vaguely miserable in a dark business shirt and matching jeans. He’d spent an agonizing two minutes in front of his closet, considering the likelihood of them trying to turn him away based on his clothes, and how much trouble it’d be worth. That he’d compromised and settled on business casual was annoying him now that he was here, standing in front of a snooty old man who wouldn’t think twice about turning him away in anything else, but would probably be groveling and bending over backwards for him if he’d rolled up in a sleek black yakuza car.

But the food smelled too good, even from the doorway, and he was too wiped out to really put up much more than a marginal fight.

“Kondo should be expecting me.”

And then he swept by to wait in the wings, trying his best not to glare as he looked from plate to plate. She’d beat the hell out of his wallet on that fake date months ago, and now maybe he could return the favor.

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anthesphoria
2010-08-28 05:33 pm UTC (link)

The miniature bustle of action that Reizo's arrival had caused at the maitre d'hôtel's station did not settle down for some minutes; part of it remained caused by the tall, alarming youth, although other incoming customers added to it, creating an almost unusual length of buzz and motion in front of the Moullin's door.

It was a few minutes later that it settled down, ending with one of the under-hosts returning from the concierge desk. (The restaurant was proud enough to have one maitre d' and several assistants, enough that it seemed the assistants spent most of their time standing by and doing nothing.) It was not much longer before one of the assistant hosts pulled open the door, bowed in a slightly unnatural, unpracticed way, and ushered in Kondo. Aside from her newly highlighted hair, things were mostly the same with Kozue; she was wearing shoes a little taller than usual, but it didn't do much to close the seeming miles of distance between their heights.

"Your table, Kondo-san, is directly this way," the maitre d' supplied, gesturing, with a quick look back at Reizo; "If you will follow me." It was all stiff and professional, and Kozue barely seemed to notice it, except to nod and smile. "You and your guest," he amended.

She murmured something in thanks, and turned to look at Reizo for more than the first, passing glance she'd given him; "Evening."

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some_other_dog
2010-08-29 11:02 pm UTC (link)

Uneasiness rolled off the boy in almost palpable ways as he followed Kozue and The Snooty Bastard Who Needed His Face Smashed In to their table. He had to fight to keep his hands still and from jumping up to the top button of his shirt and undoing it. He gave in just as Kozue turned to look and greet him, his hands halfway to his own throat, and lowered them, slumping slightly in defeat. He’d put them all through some kinds of hell, though they shouldn’t of come anyway… but Kozue huddled in beside Kiriko, tears flowing and pretty face pinched in misery in that dingy little house, the doors shuddering under the angry body blocks of the wolf and thunder booming overhead like the shouts of an angry god was vivid moment, etched deep into his memory. He could remember how they’d all looked when he’d burst in, and the mixed anger and hesitance that’d fallen over them when he’d started screaming at them.

He nodded down at her, frowning gently as he replayed the encounter in his head. He felt stiff and nervous all at once. Trapped in a fancy foreign diner, surrounded by bowties and black suits worn with stuffy pride instead of the insidious sort, across from a girl who by all rational thought shouldn’t intimidate him in any manner, but there was possibility that she’d ask questions, and he’d .. avoid them as carefully as possible, but eventually have to answer out of debt to her.

“Pretty swanky place,” he rumbled, voice gone low and careful instead of amenable and pleasant. He cleared his throat, thinking of how monumentally stupid that would sound given the place that they had all met, and tried again, forcing some confidence into his words. “Food looks great, though. Hope you brought your purse.”

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anthesphoria
2010-08-31 02:48 am UTC (link)

"Purse?" Kozue stifled a laugh, and waved something she'd kept between her index and middle fingers—a small, white piece of plastic, with some sort of gold writing embossed across it. What functioned, here, for both room key and temporary all-function charge card. "Who needs a purse when they've got credit?" She swished it back and forth once more in the air, for emphasis, before they reached the table, and she dropped her hand. She'd leave it somewhere (her dress, like most pieces she owned, lacked pockets) or pass it off to the server.

Even now, the maitre d' had found their table, a two-seater by the window, offering what turned out to be a mediocre view through a set of very nice curtains. It wasn't the hotel's fault that they looked out into downtown Iburi on a quite average, dreary November day, and so Kozue wasn't sure she needed to blame them for it.

"And the food is amazing," she added, punctuating each word with a brief pause, as though to carry over the immense importance of this fact; "Do you like French cooking? Have you had it before?" Granted, her knowledge of French cooking was limited to this place, and to watching over Keiichi's shoulder while he made things from the Julie Kiddie cookbook, but it was still a knowledge. Kozue stopped at the table, taking the opportunity to look at Reizo more carefully for a moment. He had sounded—and now that she looked, realized it was reflected in his countenance—different. She wasn't sure if it was because of what had just happened, or merely because he was out of his element. Or hungry, for that matter.

Hopefully, Reizo wasn't the kind of person for whom hunger created sour moods. Kozue's imagination drifted off on that tangent, briefly, skittering away from what she'd actually been wondering: how had Paradise changed him? Had it? It certainly didn't seem to have knocked him into catatonia, as it had done with many members of the team. Maybe even herself included, she was forced to admit, thinking back on the impressive amount of time she'd spent locked up in her dorm room. How had he been holding up, in comparison? She wanted to know, but putting on a sweet, concerned face and asking directly was completely out of the question.

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some_other_dog
2010-10-15 03:38 am UTC (link)

Reizo walked along behind Kozue, eyes alert and watchful, darting from patron to decoration and back again. It was hard not to feel immensely out of place here. When he’d come to these places with his parents in official predator capacity the atmosphere was different -- tense. People watched them warily, winced away from them, and doted fearfully. It was like a wolf dining amongst sheep. Fear had cowed and kept them.

Now he was here not as a yakuza but as a teenager on what people would likely assume was a date. He was big, plodding, and had the build and look of a violent delinquent, and with that came a familiar feeling. He was still a beast to them, he could see it in the disdainful and half-hidden looks, but there was no respect hidden in that fear, and the hatred was left bare. Not a wolf here, but a mangy dog, lead on a leash by one of their own.

And Kozue was definitely one of their own. She was gorgeous, small, neat, and chic as all hell. This was her element, and watching her walk around in it was an experience. She must have cut a hard contrast with him, gentle and elegant where he was hard and rough.

The huge boy managed a small smile at her when she waved the credit card, and tilted his head as he watched her, half admiring the small girl and half acquiescing his own flub: of course a ritzy place like this wouldn’t deal with anything so common as bills and coins. He moved quickly, gracefully, and pulled her chair out for her

“No, but I am very hungry,” he said, the smile flaring up into a smirk. Even dogs could learn.

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anthesphoria
2010-10-29 01:17 am UTC (link)

"Good," she said with a smile, sinking into the chair with the kind of grace that only suggested people pulled chairs out for her with frequency. Which was true. She settled, patting the sides of her dress down and letting one hand smooth at the bottom of her hair, but other than that, she was still and pleasant-looking; it was an ever-effective mask. "I think we should get the chef's menu; I don't want to bother having to read all the French."

She could be sophisticated, but she was still indelibly lazy; why put up effort when someone else would do it for you? She watched Reizo, waiting for him to take his seat, curious to see his reaction to not only forks and knives, but multiples of each. That spoon that lingered above the dinner plate, waiting for dessert. Several wine glasses. Did he go to places like this; did his family? It fit the classic image of the yakuza, smooth businessmen, but it was utterly incongruous with her image of Shirai Reizo. He looked it now, even if he had dressed to blend in somewhat; it was in his posture and his eyes and the scar on his face that now frightened her to look at, just a little. He was, as paradise had proved so roughly, a wolf. Wolves did not dine on tablecloths and with silver.

And yet, Paradise had not-so-subtly informed her that she was nothing but a collection of pretty blossoming flowers, and what had she done with that knowledge? (The question echoed awkwardly in her thoughts: what had she done?)

So she pushed onwards. Flowers didn't particularly care, did they, so why should she? "It's also just about the most expensive thing on the menu, if you get the dessert cart, too." She was about to say something else inconsequential, when one of the waiters approached.

He was tall, familiar to Kozue, and he smiled a little less than he usually did: he gave the same spiel about the Moullin de la Ritz and dropped off heavy, leather-backed menus. "May I provide our guests with a drink?"

"Wine?" Kozue asked hopefully—but only so hopefully. She'd tried this before. He just as carefully as always shook his head.

"Kondo-sama, you're still as underage as you were yesterday." Kozue frowned down at her napkin, mostly for show.

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COMPARITIVELY SHORT POST IS SHORT.

some_other_dog
2010-11-03 09:36 am UTC (link)

The delinquent boy eased into his own seat once his dinner date was seated, and then went carefully still as he inspected the table and the army of silverware spread out in front of him. He let out a little grunt and inclined his head towards Kozue in agreement with the chef's menu, a rueful little smile twitching into place on his lips. He knew little of fine dining, despite his parents constant griping that he'd need to learn one day, and now he was desperately trying to recall the rules. Being made oyabun was going to be a piece of cake, but it sucked that rules about how to eat that cake came along with it. At least in public.

He turned his head to look at the new man as he traded words with Kozue, amusement showing through in his half-smile. He considered, however briefly, attempting to quietly throw some weight around, maybe get the girl what she wanted, but it might sour the evening, or even worse the small girl's reputation with the restaurant. Not that his presence alone wasn't likely already tarnishing it some.

“We couldn't want to do anything illegal now, would we?”

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I'M ON TEAM SHORT, TOO.

anthesphoria
2010-11-11 05:59 pm UTC (link)

Kozue sighed, and shook her head. The irony of that statement coming from Reizo was not lost on her; it was funny, if also mildly frustrating, but it also wasn't worth putting her foot down about. She wasn't actually sure how she would have gone about persuading Reizo of anything, if she'd wanted to put in the effort.

The waiter nodded, half unnerved and half agreeing, and shook his head a little. "I'll bring you a ginger ale, Kondo-sama. And you, sir?"

"They have good soda," Kozue noted, shifting in her chair and resting her head on one hand. At least if Reizo was going to throw down on the side of the law and the waiters, he was stuck with soda and water and juice, too.

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