[Log] Back and Forth Who: Shiranui Genma, Gin Charlie When: October 14th Where: Gin Charlie's Office What: Genma has questions. Gin Charlie has answers...but he's not giving them away easy. Warnings: Swearing Open or Closed: Closed Observable: No
“Well, I suppose. It’s a lot of work on you, though, isn’t it?” A deep rough voice, ruined by gin and fighting and shouting.
“No! It’ll be fun! I’m glad you’ll help.” A sweet young voice, a child’s clear treble.
“Of course.” Gruff, softened tones, affection and tenderness. “You’ll be at the dead celebration?”
“I will! All the fun and treats! Will you wear the same old costume?” Delighted giggling.
“What other have I got? Ye’ll know me well enough, biddie.”
Genma had already raised his hand to knock on the office door when he heard the voices inside. He paused, though, listening for a few seconds. It was that sound of affection in the voice of a man he’d been warned so about that caused the hesitation: a sort of reclassifying that happened in his mind.
Not that caring about someone made anyone less deadly. In fact, the opposite was often true. But there was a certain amount of amusement to hearing that tone in Gin Charlie’s voice.
The ninja dropped his hand away from the door instead, leaned back against the wall beside it, too curious to interrupt if he hadn’t already drawn attention to his presence with his footsteps.
“I will! I’ll look for you. Oh! You have a visitor!” Giggles again, and silence.
Not more than five seconds later Gin Charlie opened the cracked door and peered outside his office. “You, then. What do you need?”
“My friend said you’re the man in charge around here,” Genma said, the senbon between his lips bobbing cheerily as he pushed himself off the wall and took a step toward the door. He reached up to pull the bandanna on his head down a little in the back, adjusting the metal plate there to a more comfortable position.
“Do you have a moment to help a newcomer out with a couple of things?”
“Sure.” Gin Charlie took a swig of the gin bottle in his hand. “That’s what I’m here for.”
He left the door open and headed back into his office.
Genma slouched into the office with his usual casual grace, looking around idly for the source of the other voice.
“I have a couple of things I’m running out of in my medical kit..” Genma started, his tone lazy, and then added, “And a couple of questions about these Games. If you’re the person to ask about things like that.”
He leaned against the wall inside the office just as he had outside.
“Give me a list.” Gin Charlie sat down in his chair behind the desk. There was another chair but it was full of boxes. The desk was littered with stacks of papers. There was obviously no-one else in the room. There were empty gin bottles on the desk and on the floor and on various shelves. Gin Charlie drained his current one and stashed it under the desk.
“And ask. There’s not much I don’t know about the thrice-damned Games.”
Genma took a folded piece of paper out of his pocket, held it out over the desk, and dropped it on the surface. The list written there was a rather mixed one - he’d interspersed items he needed for medical purposes with ingredients for poisons - and he handed it over without comment.
“I want to know how the matches are set up. I’m assuming it’s not truly random - that wouldn’t make any sense for entertainment value - but what I want to know is if people are ‘set up’ to gain certain types of reputations.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, chomping down a little on the needle in his mouth.
“Depends on the match. Some are set, some are random. Most are random.” Gin Charlie picked up the list and held it at arm’s length out of habit before he remembered his younger body didn’t need that to read. He reeled the paper in and examined it.
“Next time, write bigger.” The nice new eyes wouldn’t last.
Genma raised an eyebrow at the strange behavior, but said nothing about it. He wasn’t exactly working to be overly polite, but he wasn’t intentionally trying to offer insult either. Having Izumo as a contact wouldn’t do him any good if he didn’t at least make some effort to listen to his friend.
“I’ll do that.”
He gave Gin Charlie a curious look, then spoke again.
“Why?” he asked, simply.
“Why what?” Gin Charlie sifted through the papers on his desk. Finding the one he wanted, he compared the two. The second was written in the strange, rune-like writing that marked many of the boxes, and stayed untranslated by the collars.
“You want a lot of the same poisons Izumo does.”
“Oh?”
Genma leaned a hip against the desk, watching the man carefully. He hadn’t really done anything to try to hide his relationship to the other shinobi here; hell, he was wearing his uniform. Though he supposed the strange symbol on the back of his head might throw someone off a bit. Still, he hadn’t expected a direct mention of Izumo like that.
He considered for a second, then laughed softly. “He’s trying to teach me how to use them. Since I’m so green.” There was a playful smile on his lips. “And the ‘what’ is that level of disorganization. My understanding of fighting rings says that the more random they are, the less exciting for the patrons.”
Gin Charlie gave Genma a flat look over the desk, then snorted and shook his head. “Fighters gotta be ranked somehow. And maybe I ain’t comfortable giving such deadly poisons to someone who’s...green.” He smirked, but the humor behind it was not pleasant.
Genma rolled his eyes. “You look younger than me, you know that, right? Didn’t recognize you from Izumo’s description, or I’d have been... well okay I probably still would have been an ass to you, but I’d have thought twice about it.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “I need the medical supplies. The poisons I can do without if I need to, but I don’t see why it’d be your problem if I did do something stupid with them. As for the fights... it just seems off to me. If the purpose for the fighters is to make enough money to get home, some amount of control over their careers would take care of that purpose better. A good performer should have an agent, and the fights are essentially performances, for all death there matters in the long run.”
“It’s my job to make sure no-one dies outside the Games. I’ll ask Izumo how much you know about poisons, biddie, if he’s teaching you. And you’re going at the Games the wrong way. The point isn’t the money.” Well, it was in a way, but for the patrons and the sponors. The Games were big, but few of the Others realized how big. The Natives loved their entertainment, and Gin Charlie had seen it endure for many, many years. Factions had always tried to shut it down but he doubted it would collapse so easily.
“I can have what you want in two days. Good enough?”
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Genma said casually. He wasn’t all that concerned about having the supplies right that moment. Having come straight from war, he’d certainly been armed well enough to take care of himself for a while.
He let a sly smile cross his lips. “Talk to Izumo about me all you like, I don’t have anything to hide. Just don’t believe anything he tells you about my disposition. I don’t have an attitude problem, whatever certain people back home seemed to think.”
He dropped one hand to the desk, drummed calloused and scarred fingers against it, the smile still on his lips. “So what you’re saying is that it’s not in the best interests of those running the things to get us out of here quickly, if indeed that’s the goal at all.”
“I’m saying you’re coming at it the wrong way to think it’s about you or the rights of the Others.” Gin Charlie chuckled nastily. “The collars, the grounds we can’t leave.... And all the helpful Scientists, ready to get you anything you want. For a price.”
Genma snorted. “Those things are obvious enough. But what we’re looking at here is pieces that don’t add up to a cohesive picture. Whoever is really in charge of this mess has a nice little setup here, but they haven’t committed themselves enough in one direction or the other. To get full spectacle value, they could play up the Games quite a bit more, create more flash to it.”
He pursed his lips, the senbon between them pressing hard into the skin. “But if they’re holding themselves back to try to look nice, they’re not doing that well enough either. No one is really fooled that the Scientists want what is best for us, so why don’t they just go all the way in the other direction? They could make plenty more if they used those who weren’t in the fights in other ways, could do quite a bit better for themselves if they played on our personal fears and loyalties to add drama. So. Why this lukewarm approach?”
It was a calculated risk, but his bored expression was back on his face by the time he’d finished speaking.
Gin Charlie raised an eyebrow. “You’re leaving out a very important puzzle-piece, smart-ass.”
Though that wasn’t to say that the non-fighters weren’t used for entertainment. The barkeepers, the dancers, the singers, those who kept house...they were useful in these capacities but also as certain kinds of losers in various fights. Bait, Gin Charlie called it, like baiting a bear, just to see the blood. The Others had once been....more exploited, but politics had rolled in, Natives had declared Others had rights too, and thus the Ludus had begun. It had probably been a righteous idea in the beginning, but all things became twisted in human hands.
“You’re the bug in the glass trying to tell the hawk you know all there is about the world. There are better ways to get information than irritating the hell out of me. Now fuck off.”
Genma wasn’t the slightest bit concerned or upset over the man’s reaction to his words. If anything, he was a little inclined to think Gin Charlie’s response said positive things about his values: after all, Genma’s phrasing had been a criticism of what human rights were afforded the Others.
He raised his hands and spread them in a conciliatory gesture.
“I didn’t claim that I had all the pieces yet, now did I?” He didn’t make any move to leave, just stood there leaning a little against the desk. If he did make himself persona non grata to Gin Charlie, it wouldn’t be fun, but he trusted he’d find ways to work around the man too. “I’m just trying to think things through. But... are you saying that as the hawk or just a bigger bug, I wonder?”
“If anyone deserves to be the hawk it’s me. Now are you done asking me stupid things?” Gin Charlie wanted to know. He turned, reached behind him, and pulled a bottle of gin out of a crate. He unscrewed the top and took a long drink.
“No, I have one more stupid thing,” Genma said. And he dropped all pretense of boredom, laziness, or idle curiosity as he said it.
He even pulled himself up to his full height, a very rare thing indeed, placing his hands behind his back in a pose he might have used with his own - also drunken, usually- leader.
“How hard do you have to try to get out of the frying pan and into the fire? If I knew someone who might be getting themselves in trouble, what would be the best way to make sure they didn’t?”
It was a hell of a risk, but in this case, one he had to take.
Gin Charlie gave him another flat look. “Depends in the trouble.”
“We’re bugs, you said. You know what happens to bugs? They get squashed, trapped, gassed out, and tossed in the trash. But maybe...”
He gave the dorm master a long look, considering, and then slid his senbon out of his mouth, turned it around in one hand.
“If you’re a bug who is used to being a hawk, what do you do?” He paused, and then snorted. “What the hell is that metaphor even? They’re not even animals that go together”
“They both fly,” Gin Charlie pointed out, with a look that was sizing Genma up as an opponent. “You learn to be damn good here. There’s not a lot of trouble you can get into with the Scientists. Hell, if you can start trouble, let me know how it’s fuckin’ done. I like to learn new ways to screw with their ‘perfect’ theories.”
Genma laughed softly at that. “Bigger bug,” he repeated, very quietly, and his eyes slid back into their usual heavy-lidded look.
“So what happens when people try? How badly do they react?” He paused, then added. “I can be a bug. I make a fine bug, if maybe a smart-mouthed one. But it’s not myself I’m concerned about, either.”
It made him feel somewhat disloyal to say such a thing. It made him feel disloyal not to believe that Minato could accomplish what he wanted. And he reminded himself, as he spoke, to make some new friends who looked like - or acted like - rabble-rousers, in case this fellow started taking a good long look at the company he was keeping, because of this conversation.
Gin Charlie snorted. “Hawk.” He tipped his head back and tapped his tattooed neck: collarless. “Most of the time they just laugh. You don’t get far. The collars, you see.” He took another swig of his gin. Despite the smell of alcohol on his breath, in his skin, his hands and voice were steady.
Genma carefully tucked the senbon he was playing with away in a pouch, then placed both hands on the desk and leaned over it, close enough to get a better look at the tattoos without quite being in Gin Charlie’s face.
His fingers twitched against the surface of the desk.
“That’s some damn nice art,” he said, distracted by the fantastical figures. Then he caught himself and gave a sheepish smile. “So you’re saying there’s no real danger in it, either way, aren’t you? And you’re a hawk... because you have the perspective, not because you’re one of them. Because you have the hawk’s sight. Am I right?”
Gin Charlie took a long pull of his gin. “I’m saying unless he’s got a damn good army, he’s not gonna bother them a hell of a lot.” He grinned, mirthlessly. “And you’re wrong. Bugs are trapped in jars. A hawk flies away whenever it wants.”
Jesses, hoods, training...none of that mattered. If the hawk decided it was gone, it was gone, and the pretense of control was shattered.
He stayed because he stayed. Not because he was made to.
Genma blinked at that, letting the surprise show on his features. He had made some assumptions about the man based on what he’d heard around about him ,and now he was really starting to wonder if some of them were wrong.
One more puzzle piece, perhaps.
He finally reached back without looking to move a box out of a chair and slumped into it. One hand went up to the bandanna on his head, and he tugged it down a little over his face.
“Damn. You’re a confusing fuck. Everything I heard about you... and then Izumo says he failed at seducing you. My worldview suffers.”
“Suck it up, cupcake.” Gin Charlie’s smile was very much not sweet or kind.
Genma peered out from beneath the bandanna and laughed, then gave a little roll of his shoulders, more like working out tension than a shrug.
“Okay, so what do I do to get on your good side? Other than not be a smartass, because honestly, that’d be like asking you to give up the booze.”
“Do your damned homework and stop wasting my time with stupid questions other people can answer.” Gin Charlie tapped his gin bottle. “And tell Minato he needs to watch his mouth. And that if he kills Itachi again, there will be more than just an extra debt on his account. I’ll come deal with him myself.”
Not reacting to Minato’s name took every bit of calm the veteran shinobi had learned. He gave a lazy little salute.
“I’ll pass the message.”
That Gin Charlie had given it to him meant they were being watched quite closely, he thought, but he didn’t say that. He’d been fairly open about himself, but Minato was a whole other matter. That was... he didn’t have any idea, for once, what to do about Minato.
He tilted his head back a little, the bandanna falling back, the metal plate making a clinking noise against the back of the chair. And then, his eyes widened a little, as he thought of another question.
“... I heard someone talking about paying someone else’s debt,” he muttered, as if not entirely committed to asking.
“It happens,” Gin Charlie allowed.
“How would you do it?” Genma asked, quietly. The senbon he’d put away before was slid back out of his pouch, settled back between his teeth. It was the only nervousness he showed.
“Report it to Scientist. Or to me.” Gin Charlie took another long pull of his gin.
“And would the person have to know?” Genma asked. He might as well have said Minato’s name at this point, probably, but he didn’t like what a traitor that would make him feel like.
He leaned forward in his seat, smiled wryly. “Spare a drink?”
“No. Just tell me who and how. All of yours to theirs? Half? The first way is a damn good way to be stuck her for a long blasted time.” Gin Charlie eyed the gin, then Genma, before offering the bottle over.
Genma took a long pull off the bottle, his head thrown back, as if the action were one of complete abandon. It was about as close to it as he’d get in the presence of a stranger, anyway. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve before handing the bottle back with a simple nod of thanks.
He actually did take a moment to think about the question, because that was something he hadn’t considered. He knew that snap decisions could be regretted later, but part of being a shinobi was being able to put together information and make decisions quickly. And while he didn’t have the clearest view of the whole picture yet - Gin Charlie had made that painfully obvious - he knew enough about this particular person’s place of it.
“He’s already in the hole a lot further than I am though,” he mused aloud, frowning. “You said they were adding to his debt for Itachi. That’s probably a lot, isn’t it?”
He didn’t bother saying the name.
“Don’t really matter,” Gin Charlie grunted, taking the bottle back. “Just tell me how much you want to pay?”
“Ninety percent. So if he finds out somehow I can technically argue it wasn’t everything,” Genma said after a moment, with a wry laugh.
He pursed his lips, then tilted his head. “Assuming I can still get my supplies that way, and just owe more. I do need those for the Games, and if I intend to make enough money to do this... well, obviously I can’t do that without fighting.”
“Ninety percent to Minato. Done. You want anything else or to change it, come back. Now get the hell out of here.” Gin Charlie gestured with his bottle.
Genma opened his mouth to say something more, gave Gin Charlie a quick once-over, and thought better of it. Instead, he stood from his seat, offered a very low and very formal bow, and then turned for the door.
Even he could keep his mouth shut once in a while.