Of Raw Fish and Warm Sake
"Uncooked tuna on rice?"
"It's a delicacy."
"Sounds disgusting."
"France tells me your food is horrible. You should be right at home." Japan said politely, smiling.
Arthur scowled but said nothing. The smaller man unnerved him. Outright blunt rudeness aside, his quietness simply reeked of potential serial killer. Not to mention that katana on his hip wasn't just for show.
He picked up his chopsticks, letting his fingers fumble over the unfamiliar utensils. The sushi chef was rolling the rice into a roll, a knife slicing through the grain. After sliding the pieces onto a small plate, he bowed, placing the food in front of Arthur. He nodded, awkwardly thanking him in his heavily accented Japanese.
Now all he had to do was become a master of chopsticks in the next five seconds. He cast a sideways look out of the corner of his eye at Japan's hand. While attempting to replicate the position of twisted fingers, he managed to drop one of the sticks.
Honda blinked at him. Arthur cleared his throat, looking away from the small country. Once he was sure he wasn't looking. England leaned over.
And bonked his forehead into Japan's bent over head. He recoiled, clutching his bright red face. Honda slowly straightened, hand rubbing the back of his head. He placed the fallen stick on England plate and turned back to his own food.
Mentally berating himself, Arthur attempted the chopsticks again, managing to copy the hand position Honda was using. Satisfied, he tried to lick up one of the pieces. He managed only to spear the sushi on the end of the sticks. Carefully picking up the piece, he shoved it into his mouth.
Green eyes widened in surprise. The sweet rice and raw tuna was surprisingly pleasant. He chewed, enjoying the odd combination. Better than hamburgers. He thought to himself.
"You like it?" Honda asked.
Arthur nodded, swallowing the sushi. "It's very good." He noticed the small green limp on the corner of his plate. "What's that?"
"Wasabi. It's very spicy." Japan took a small portion on the edge of his chopstick and smeared it over his fish.
England reached out with his chopstick, taking half of his wasabi. Plopping in onto the fish he stabbed it. While halfway to his mouth, Japan caught his wrist. "What?" he asked, the fish hovering tantalizing in front of his mouth.
"It's very, very spicy." Honda warned, dark eyes serious, "I wouldn't recommend taking that much."
Laughing, Arthur pulled his hand out of Honda's grip. "Don't worry." He said reassuringly, "I love hot things." Placing it wasabi-side down on his tongue, he closed his mouth.
Immediately, his tongue began to burn. Tears forming in his eyes, Arthur tried swallowing, but it only spread the spicy paste to the rest of his mouth. He yelped, hand flailing for his water. His hand closed around a cup and he brought it to his lips. Bitter liquid burned his throat and mouth. Wheezing, he thumped his chest. When his breathing returned to normal he noticed there was an odd noise.
He glanced around. The costumers in the store were staring at him but they weren't making any sounds. Wondering if it was still him, he gave his chest another whack. The laughter - as he discovered - was coming from Japan. The dark-haired man had a hand over his mouth, attempting to muffle his chuckles and failing.
"Haha. I told you." Honda said, smiling, lowering his hand. "Here, drink some more tea, it will help you cool down." He picked up the small teapot, pouring the steaming leafjuice into Arthur's cup.
He took the mug, blowing on the boiling drink before sipping delicately. It still seared down his throat but at least his tongue didn't feel like it was being dipped in acid anymore.
"Do you have anything stronger?" Arthur coughed out.
Honda paused for only a moment before talking to the chef in Japanese. Arthur watched the exchange, still smacking his mouth, trying to get rid of the aftertaste of the tea. The cook placed his knife on his cutting board and reached under he counter and pulled out a small white vase-like jar and two matching cups.
"Sake." Honda said. "We'll have it warm, as you seem to enjoy hot things." He poured two cups and picked his up. Arthur followed suit, lifting his drink and dipping his head in Honda's direction.
He threw back the warm liquor. It tasted like Francis' best wine with a subtle touch of Ivan's vodka. Pleased, he hummed, placing the cup back on the counter. "That wasn't bad…" He admitted, rolling his finger along the rim of his cup.
His eyes kept flicking back to the pitcher, but Arthur said nothing, not wanted to disrupt Honda as he continued to slowly empty his mug. Glancing at Arthur's not-so-casual staring, he smiled again. "More?"
"Yes please."
As the night continued, the restaurant slowly emptied so only Kiku and Kirkland remained. Honda was still upright, managing to restrain himself from overindulging on the rice wine. His partner, on the other hand, had not elected to follow Japan's lead, choosing instead to down two more decanters and was already halfway through his third.
His cheeks were tinged with red and his words were heavy and awkward. He was currently banging the counter with his fist, making the dishes rattle as he explained the merits of fish and chips over hamburgers.
"And ANOTHER thing! He copied me! He put his shtupid mushed-up cow wishth Frencsh fries AGES after I put it wisth my fish!" Arthur said, picking up his cup and sloshing the clear liquor over the side before putting to his lips and chugging it back, "Ishulting is swhat it is! Ishulting!"
Honda rubbed his eyes, yawning quietly. "We should get home." He said, sliding off his stool. Opening the door, he glanced over his shoulder, making sure Arthur was following him and had not fallen asleep on the bar.
He was waving the bottle of sake at the chef, arguing loudly in broken Japanese. Every time he tried to walk away with it, the cook would brandish his knife, yelling angrily. Intervening before things got out of hand, Honda placed a wad of bills on the counter, explaining to the chef in a quick few words that Arthur was mentally deranged and needed the bottle so he wouldn't go on a psycho killing rage. Before the chef could question him, he pushed England out of the sushi bar.
The outside air was warm with a summer breeze. Tokyo's downtown was brimming with lights and life. Cars sailed down the street, making Arthur wobble and fall against the wall, bringing the sake flask to his mouth and finishing it. Turning it upside down, he waited for the last few drops to drip out before casting the flask aside.
"No littering." Honda said, picking up the decanter and placing it in a trashcan. "Should I call a taxi?"
Arthur waved his hand at him, struggling to his feet. "Coursh not! I know my way." He stumbled off, singing loudly.
Japan ran after him wondering if this would be a good idea. He grabbed Arthur's arm and pulled it over his shoulder. "Whatsha doin'?"
"Getting you home." Honda said, hefting the heavy body higher on his back. "My boss wouldn't be happy if I left you here to be mobbed and killed by yakuza." He deadpanned, starting towards the distant neon sign of Arthur's hotel.
People up at this time barely spared the odd couple a second glance. Some would bow deeply to Honda but most would see the sword hanging at his side and hurry by. The blond was attracting most of the attention, whether it was the loud, drunken ABBA karaoke or the stream of curses when he couldn't remember the line after "only seventeen... ooohooohooooooo" Japan couldn't tell.
His legs shaking slightly, Japan pulled England of his shoulder, sitting him against the wall and catching his breath. He breathed in, the sweet smog of the city mixing in with the pungent bitterness in Arthur's warble.
"Honda." Arthur said, poking Honda's leg from his half-crouching, half-sitting position. He motioned for Japan to lean over. He obliged so he was eye-level with the Brit. "You'sh got shome rishe on your fashce."
The smaller man frowned, fingers touching his cheek. "I do not-" Arthur lunged forward, catching Honda's mouth in a clumsy kiss. Japan tried to pull away, but hands had reached out and clutched his shoulders, bringing him closer.
"Shing with me." Arthur whispered into his mouth. He tasted like cheap sake, the kind college students made in their dorm to make cash on the side. "Honey I'm shtill free. Take a chansce on me…" He let his tongue push against Honda's lips while one of his hands toyed with the top button of the uniform.
Shaking out of the stupor, Japan scrabbled away, face beet-red as he rubbed at his lips. The blond started laughing, dissolving into gurgling giggles. Wondering if the mob would torture him that much, Honda straightened, still trying to rub his lips free out of the bitter residue. Arthur continued to hum, eyes unfocused. Sighing, Japan bent over, pulling Arthur onto his back. He was almost running down the street, eager to dump the drunken Englishman at his hotel and get some well-earned rest.
Personal-space invading Italians he could handle. Naked, wurst-obsessed, Germans he could handle. Seventies-ballad singing, piss-drunk, kissing British, there he drew the line. "We can go danshing… we can go walking… long as we're together…" His voice faded, lost within the roar of a semi-trailer and of forgotten lyrics.
"You know what, Honda?" England said, yawning.
Japan looked at the man slung over his shoulder; his cheeks still a light pink. "What?"
"You tashte like washabi." Arthur giggled, "And I alwayshed liked hot shtuff."
Author's Note
Man, it's been a while since I've written Drunk-Speak, I forgot how fun it was!