Buchou is for section chief/editor. Or so my Japanese translator friend tells me.
I
When they arrive, Club Arryn is already packed full of bodies undulating against each other to the rhythm of the pulse-pounding beat of the music from the live band and the pulsating psychedelic lights overhead. Takaba winces, already feeling a headache coming on, made worse by the nauseating miasma of sweat, smoke, alcohol, and sex that permeated the club. She had hoped her 'send-off' party would be held in some quiet restaurant, but her editor led them here, and being the 'guest of honor', Takaba could do little else but follow.
Not really an appropriate place for a send-off, considering that she can't drink alcohol — okay, her doctor allowed her two glasses a week, but still, better safe than sorry — and party too much as Takaba's about twenty-three weeks pregnant (and finally starting to really show), the primary reason she's quitting work in the first place (though she cited family matters and a hankering to go back to studying as her official reasons for quitting).
But her (soon-to-be former) co-workers, of course, don't know about that, so. Here she is.
Her editor, Hakuba Sara, must be a VIP in the club, judging from the deferential manner they are treated. A deep bow from the manager himself greeted them the moment they stepped into the club, and he personally escorted them up the winding stairs to a partially hidden and soundproofed mezzanine that overlooked the dancing crowd — the Eyrie, the manager called it.
As they settle into the plush leather seats, drinks are served immediately: a glass of deep red claret for her editor and a couple of colorful martinis for her two other co-workers, Michiko and Keiko.
"What's your drink, Takaba-kun?" Hakuba-buchou asks her, leaning back against the cushions, claret held elegantly in one slim hand.
"A virgin Bloody Mary," she mutters back. Her editor raises a brow at her choice, but doesn't comment further.
Takaba glances about, noting her co-workers' flushed, excited faces, so different from her growing exhaustion (and headache and hunger), and inwardly sighs.
It's going to be a long night.
"So," Takaba's editor drawls out thirty minutes later (and after two more glasses of claret to Takaba's still unfinished virgin Bloody Mary), an oddly intent look in her eyes. "What are your plans? Are you going back to investigative photojournalism after this?"
"Oh, yes." Takaba doesn't even hesitate. No matter what, investigative photojournalism remains to be one of her passions, her truth. "I'll probably go on a freelance again until things settle down in the family, then I'll try for a permanent post."
"I thought you'd be going back to studying," Michiko, one of their writers, says, and then lets out a sigh. "I know Iwant to. If only to shove it to my bastard of a professor who told me I don't need to get an MA because 'I'm getting married and having babies anyway'."
"What an asshole," Takaba says before she could stop herself, and Michiko laughs. "But yeah, I do plan to go back to school eventually. I've listed course I've liked so far — I'm thinking either media studies or cultural anthropology and maybe English language ones as well." She has a plan shaping up in the back of her mind, still in its bare bones, but at least something to look forward to after the baby's born and things have calmed down a little. Maybe a little optimistic of her, but it's something.
"How tenacious of you, Takaba-kun," her editor says with a strange inflection in her voice that makes Takaba wonder if she is teasing her.
"Thank you," she replies, politely enough, despite suddenly being uncomfortable, a feeling she'd been experiencing the last couple of weeks from her editor — a strange vibe from her that had never been there before. It isn't anything overtly hostile or even creepy, but has just enough oddness that it makes Takaba a little uneasy — odd because, for most part, despite their varied taste and backgrounds, she and her editor got on well.
Much to her surprise, Takaba had somewhat enjoyed working under Hakuba-buchou's fiercely demanding and exacting guidance. She isn't exactly the Devil in Prada — she prefers Chanel, for one thing (she's wearing one now, a vintage ivory and black boucle suit) — but she comes very close. Takaba's drive and willingness to accommodate and even go around her oft-times (almost) superhuman demands impressed her, and they established a solid (even sometimes supportive), professional rapport.
So it is strange, that there would be tension between them now, when she's leaving. Unless Hakuba-buchou is disappointed in her or something, for pausing her professional career to take care of family matters, but her editor never gave that impression on her. So what in the world is going on?
Her thoughts are interrupted when Keiko lets out an excited little shriek. "Ohhh, look! Look! The owner is here," she says, pulling open the sliding window and leaning so far out the railing Takaba feared she'd topple and crash down to the frenetic crowd below. "He's gorgeous!" Beside her, Michiko is craning her neck as well, with such a flush on her face it was visible even under the club's lights.
Curious, Takaba looks over, and sees Asami, impeccably dressed as always (...and wearing the houndstooth scarf she made for him for Christmas around his neck, huh), surrounded by a few of his men, an inscrutable look in his face, standing near the entrance to the club.
Oh. She didn't know this is one of his clubs. Does he know I'm here?She'll probably find out soon enough. For now, she joins her co-workers (and it seems, the rest of the club) in observing Asami.
As Asami and his men make their way through the sea of people, heads swivel fast to turn to his direction, their owners' probably suffering whiplash as a result. Amidst the wave of bodies on the floor, Asami manages to stand out. Maybe it's the way he moves, with that sleek, dangerous grace of a predator, or the way he carries himself with the absolute, domineering confidence that he is the Master of All He Surveys.
As if in response to this air, the crowd parts, as the water of the Red Sea did before Moses, giving him space even without his men needing to 'urge' the crowd. Takaba spots Kirishima close behind him, carrying the ubiquitous suitcase, while the club manager all but trips himself over behind him, babbling something that Asami doesn't seem to be paying attention to. A few pull out phones and snaps a few stolen shots of Asami, who don't seem to take note of them at all.
Feh. Takaba snorts to herself in disgust. No wonder Asami's ego got to its present monstrous size, with everyone fawning over him like that. The man really needs to be taken down a peg or two. Show off, she thinks. He could have just used the VIP entrance and avoided the crowds. But no, he had to strut through the packed dance floor like an arrogant cock.
Takaba is about to step back when Asami passes near them, not wanting to be seen, but before could they disappear out of each other's line of sight, Asami looks up, and meets her eyes with an amber-eyed, predatory gaze, his lips briefly curling to a smirk.
A frisson of (unwanted) desire shoots up from the base of her spine and spreads across her nerves at the contact, making her pulse race, her mouth suddenly dry, heat curling low in her belly. She bites her lip and looks away, and finds Hakuba-buchou watching her with narrowed, speculative eyes over her wineglass.
"He's so hot, isn't he?" Keiko says from behind her. She flops back to her place in the sofa with a dreamy smile. "Asami Ryuuichi." She says the name as if it were a prayer. "God. Men who look like that shouldn't exist."
Despite the awkwardness of the situation, Takaba lets out an amused little huff at Keiko's words. She has never really thought much about Asami's looks before; Takaba tends to pay more attention to Asami's personality and business activities more than anything else, now that she thinks about it.
She'll concede to Asami's 'hotness', though. In her job as a photographer, Takaba's seen very good-looking men before, Greek statues made flesh, with their callipygian physiques and Apollo's belts, though never quite Asami's level of…animal beauty and sensuality, or with that kind of inhuman confidence and arrogance that comes to Asami as naturally as breathing.
"I would happily suck that man's cock for a whole day." Takaba chokes a little in her drink at Michiko's bluntness. Oblivious to Takaba's distress, Michiko adds, "He looks like if you licked him he'd taste of cognac, Cuban cigars, and sex."
For a moment, Takaba's mind goes blank, and then, before she could stop herself, she mentally goes over what Michiko said (though her mind shies away from thinking about sucking Asami off the whole day — her mind can only cope with only so much amount of what the utter fuckin a day, and she'd already filled her quota with this conversation).
Asami prefers Scotch whiskey, a pricey single-malt Macallan he drinks neat and burns pleasantly down the throat. He smokes spicy-sweet Dunhills — well, not since her pregnancy, at least not in Takaba's presence. And well, sex. Well. That one she'd agree with Michiko. Why am I even thinking this?
(Privately, Takaba thinks Asami tastes quite more complex — salt and musk with hints of bergamot from sweat and sex, notes of honey and spice and fire and peat from the Scotch, and, most of all, smoke and ash from cigarettes and bittersweet of the poison nicotine — all in all, potent, addictive, and corruptive.)
"So what do you think of him, Takaba-kun?" A little lost, Takaba stares for a moment at Hakuba-buchou, who looks back at her with a strange smile Takaba is finding increasingly disconcerting. "Asami Ryuuichi, I mean."
He's an asshole, is her first thought. But of course she couldn't say that. "I didn't realize you could taste sex," she says dryly. Michiko and Keiko laugh at that. Takaba then makes a show of considering her words. "I think he's good looking enough, but he probably has the worst personality," she eventually says, as casual as possible. Briefly, she wonders if Asami has this room bugged. Well, fuck him if it is. They do say listeners never hear any good of themselves. "Guys like that always are."
"Guys like that?" Michiko says, cocking her head to one side.
Takaba shrugs. "You know the type, those guys who want to control and dominate everything about your life."
Keiko only lets out a trilling, wicked little laugh. "Oh, he can dominate me all he wants. He'd probably make me enjoy it."
He would. And then he'll make you beg for it. Takaba desperately tries not to lose her shit in front of her co-workers. No need to make things more awkward than they already are. People fawn over your lov–the father of your unborn son is a strange, strange experience.
"Sadly, he's out of our league," Michiko says mournfully, before turning to Hakuba-buchou with a wide, knowing smile. "Well, not all of us, I guess."
Shifting in her seat, Takaba gives her editor a quick (hopefully discreet) once-over. Hakuba-buchou is a rather beautiful woman, tall and willowy and graceful, with long black hair, snow-white skin and preternatural dark brown eyes, a former model with sophistication and class and wit, ambition and intelligence — just the type of woman Takaba would have expected Asami to get involved with.
Hakuba-buchou only curls her lip upward, as if to smile, but not quite. Beside her, Keiko puts down her drink on the table and stands up, wobbling a little in her five-inch stiletto heels. "Well, pining for him isn't going to do anything good for us, so who wants to go dancing? Miki-chan? Takaba-kun?"
"I'll pass." She shakes her head, grimacing. "I've been told I dance like a beheaded chicken."
Keiko laughs cheerily and gives Takaba a comforting pat on the shoulder. "Aww, you can be that bad, Takaba-kun."
"You're kind, but I am that bad," Takaba replies with a self-depreciating grin. Kinda hard to dance when your ankle and feet are a bit swollen and you have a near three-pound unborn child in your stomach doing havoc on your balance. "But don't let my bad dancing skills keep you from enjoying yourselves. Rock, er, on!"
Flashing them 'V' signs, Keiko and Michiko goes off, giggling to each other as they do, bumping each other's hips playfully. Takaba watches them leave with a smile. They weren't that bad of a company, really. Or as co-workers. Hell of a lot better than some of the guys she worked with before.
Her good mood vanishes when she feels eyes on her, making the hair on the nape of her neck stand up, and when she turns, she sees Hakuba-buchou looking at her with that odd intensity again. "Is something wrong, Hakuba-buchou?" she asks, trying to dispel the mounting tension between them. "Do you want to go dancing, too?"
"Are you sleeping with Asami Ryuuichi?"
The question comes so completely out of nowhere that Takaba, for a moment, is speechless with shock. Where the fucking hell did she get this idea– "Did Mitarai say something stupid again?" Takaba asks, with a hint of exasperation, suddenly remembering Mitarai's persistent crush on her editor. Telling Hakuba-buchou about Asami…why would he do that except only to spite her for the trick she pulled a while back with his drunken photos. God, she is going to kill that bearded asshole with her bare hands when she sees him again.
Hakuba-buchou smiles. "He may have mentioned something on that subject."
Takaba fights the urge to facepalm. "Ugh, I'm going to strangle him." She shakes her head. "Stupid rumors. Mitarai's probably just being an ass as usual to piss me off. I can't see why he has to talk to you about it."
Laughing, her editor says, "Don't be too hard on him. It's not his fault. You see," her editor then sets down her glass with a deliberate little clink, and then leans forward toward her, "I asked him about those rumors."
"Oh." Well, this is getting a bit strange. "Why?"
"Idle curiosity. I wanted to know if they were true." She tilts her head to the side, and she seems so…harmless then, if not for the gleam of speculation in her eyes. "There's been talk that the real reason for your transfer to my department is because Asami, as your lover, didn't approve of you doing dangerous investigative work."
What the flying fuck?"I didn't know that." Takaba sucks in a breath, feeling as if she'd been punched. How widespread are those rumors about her and Asami? God, that is a bit too close to the truth than she's comfortable with. "Well, clearly these rumormongers don't know the dangers of diva models running amok." Takaba shrugs. "But you know why I transferred in the first place, and that–"
"–has something to do with Asami Ryuuichi as well," her editor cut in smoothly. "That actor's stalker is rumored to have run afoul with Asami — something to do with guns, I believe — and as I recall, you got hurt in that incident." She gives Takaba a small, almost apologetic smile. "You see why I got a little curious?"
"I…see." Her editor is remarkably well informed, far more so than her news editor, or even the cops. And far too inquisitive for some sort of 'idle' curiosity. Takaba is now truly wary, and when she replies, she makes her voice sound as dismissive as possible, light, almost teasing. "Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, Hakuba-buchou, but as I told Mitarai-san, I'm not–"
"I think you're lying." The calm expression on Hakuba-buchou's face belies the sharpness of her words, cutting through Takaba's bullshit with a single stroke. "There's an adage you might be familiar with, Takaba-kun: Where there's smoke, there's fire."
"I believe there's also another adage that you might be familiar with: Believe none of what you hear and half of what you see." Takaba smiles sweetly at her editor. Oh, she could play this game, too. "You've been in this business for a long time, Hakuba-buchou. I'm sure you know this."
"That I've been in this business for a long time is why I can tell between lies and truths." Fuck, but her editor's playing hardball. "And I know you're lying."
Despite her unease, Takaba calms herself and looks at her editor with puzzled exasperation. "Why are you so invested on something that isn't really any of your business, Hakuba-buchou? Really, this sort of thing–"
"Because Asami Ryuuichi," her editor says in crisp, cool tones, "is a personal interest of mine."
It takes a moment for the words to register in Takaba's mind. Then her eyes go wide as a chill shoots up her spine, raising goosebumps. "You've slept with him?" Takaba feels suddenly queasy at the thought, her stomach twisting into knots of anxiety.
Her editor smiles like a cat caught in the cream, and leans back languidly on the sofa. "We've…fucked occasionally," her editor says, studying Takaba with hooded eyes.
Takaba wills herself not to show too much of her thoughts on her face, keeping her expression one of faint interest. "Ah." She'd wondered how many lovers Asami had before her, and how long did they last. Surely he had many, though Takaba has never met or heard anyone's name connected to Asami. Knowing him, he probably handled his affairs very discreetly.
That her editor had been his lover is a bit of a surprise. Asami never mentioned it to Takaba, in all the time she'd been working under Hakuba-buchou. No doubt he found the situation amusing, the bastard.
"I take it he's never told you about me?" Hakuba-buchou says, divining her thoughts with an accuracy of a stab in the jugular. When Takaba doesn't answer, her editor sighs. "How very like him. He probably found the situation far too amusing to say anything."
Regardless of Asami's reason was in withholding this information from her, Takaba doesn't want this conversation with her editor. "Hakuba-buchou," Takaba starts to say, but her editor cuts her off.
"Let's skip through the denials, shall we, Takaba-kun? I find them very tedious." She then regards her with a serious expression Takaba had never seen before on her face, her eyes boring into her. "You're a sweet kid, Aki, if a little naïve. And I do like you. So let me break one of my own personal rules and give you some much needed advice."
She further leans over, and her lips almost brush against the shell of her ear, breath warm and smelling of wine and roses. She speaks to Takaba in a mellifluous voice loud enough to be heard over the muffled din of the club, her fingers pressing lightly on her arm, an intimate touch that makes Takaba's skin prickle in uneasiness. Her voice is full of gentle kindness that her blunt words lacked. "Don't think you're special. You're not. He may make you feel like you are, but you aren't. He just likes to pick up little pets every now and then. In time, he'll get tired of you and discard you."
Takaba says nothing; she finds herself suddenly hyperaware of the heavy weight on her belly, underneath her heart, her and Asami's unborn son, pressing against her ribs, her lungs, making it a little hard to breathe. She wonders how Hakuba-buchou would react, if she were to know of her condition, if she would say the same thing she's telling her right now.
Takaba has never flattered herself to think she was the only one Asami's been fucking. Or ever fucked or will fuck in this world. So maybe she isn't special, but she'll be damned if she lets Asami treat her as if she's inconsequential. She wants say that to her editor, but she held her tongue.
There's also this dark, possessive part of her that wants to tell her editor that yes, she's sleeping with Asami, she's living with him, and that she's carrying his child, and no, while Asami is bastard, he's not completely pure evil as people think he is if only to see the look on her face. Melodrama, unfortunately, isn't one of Takaba's forte.
Hakuba-buchou slides back to her seat, and Takaba breathes a little easier. "Don't get yourself too attached and expect too much from him." Her lips curve up to a strange smile. "Do enjoy the time you have with him, but always keep what I told you in mind."
"Is this what happened to you?" Takaba couldn't help but blurt out. "Did you expect too much?"
Hakuba-buchou laughs, but Takaba thinks her laughter is touched with a strange sort of bitterness, the kind of laugher from someone very wise and weary of the world. "No, Takaba-kun. I knew exactly what I was getting into."
"So are you still sleeping with him?" Takaba asks, surprising herself with the boldness of her question.
There's a pregnant pause, and for a brief moment, all Takaba could hear is the blood rushing in her ear and the rapid beat of her heart as she waits for Hakuba-buchou's answer. But she wills herself to meet Hakuba-buchou's eyes with a steady gaze, and not flinch away no matter what her answer is.
"No," Hakuba-buchou says abruptly. It makes Takaba wonder how truly deep her feelings for Asami had gone, despite her assertions. "We're not."
"I see." Takaba firmly resolves to ignore the relief she felt at the answer. "So. Aside from discarding me when he's finished with me, what other terrible things do you think he'll do?"
Hakuba frowns at her lighthearted tone, and makes a moue of discontent. "I don't think you have any idea what he's capable of, Takaba-kun. He could ruin every aspect of your life — your career, your relationships."
Takaba chokes back the urge to laugh hysterically. Fuck but that really pisses her off, that people assume she doesn't understand. Of course she does. Maybe there are things she doesn't quite get yet or finds difficult to acknowledge, but she's seen and experienced enough to know and understands the consequences of being with Asami. "Well, um, if you say so. Thank you for your advice," she says, sucking in another calming breath, "but I think you're mistaken, Hakuba-buchou."
Hakuba-buchou raises her brows. "Mistaken?"
"I'm not his new pet," Takaba says with a firm shake of her head. This one she will makesure of. "I don't know who has told you that, but that's not true."
"Takaba–"
She holds up her hand to silence her. Takaba's had enough of this. "No. Listen to me, Hakuba-buchou. I understand your concerns. I understand them very well." Gods know, she's spent many sleepless nights thinking about them. Leaning forward, Takaba continues, voice low and intent, "Look, trust me. I know how much of a terrible man Asami Ryuuichi is. You have no idea how fucking well I know that." Her lips curl into a grim smile, remembering that those early months of their…acquaintance, letting her pent-up issues and feelings on that bleed into her words. "You'll find no greater ally in thinking he's an asshole than me. I have no intention of letting a man like that get the better of me."
She leans back on the sofa, rolling her eyes in exasperation. "I don't even know why people would think he'd be interested in me, anyway. I'm not exactly supermodel gorgeous here, you know, or have any sort of social standing."
For several moments, her editor doesn't speak, and they stare at each other, both intent and determined. Finally, to Takaba's relief, her editor is the first to look away, her attention going back to her glass of wine. Takaba wills herself not to slump too hard on the sofa. Fuck but this conversation is draining the energy out of her, not a great thing for an already hungry pregnant woman.
But there's no respite, as apparently her editor isn't finished. "You may think I'm doing this out of spite and jealousy, but that's not why." Her editor gives her a long, steady look, her eyes steely. Oddly enough, despite everything, Takaba doesn't think she's lying. "You have a lot of talent and promise. It would be a sad thing if were all derailed by…this."
"I would be very disappointed in myself if I let some guy derail me from my plans," Takaba says, with a faint smile. "Thank you for your concern, Hakuba-buchou, and if he ever does approach me, I'll ask advice from you on how to torment him. But I really, reallydon't want to fucking talk about him, and I'm sick of people asking me about him. I also do not appreciate my name being dragged through the mud with him. The gods only know how much trouble that's going to cause me."
Then Takaba stands up, brisk and steady and ramrod straight, chin raised. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have need of the bathroom." Then, without waiting for a response, she heads for the door, sliding it open. The near-deafening sounds of the clubs roars in her ears as she does, and she inwardly flinches. Belatedly, she realizes the Eyrie has its own private bathroom, but fuck it if she's spending another minute in the same room with her editor.
She's barely out of the Eyrie when her editor calls out, "I still don't believe you, Takaba-kun."
Takaba doesn't look back, and firmly closes the door behind her.
Notes:
amor et melle et felle est fecundissimusis Latin for "love is rich with both honey and venom."
I wrote this way, waaaay before Sudoh entered the scene or the latest chapter. To be fair, Sara does have good intentions in mind. She likes Aki, and knows Asami fairly well enough to worry about her. She just wants to look after Aki. Too bad she's way, waaaay too late. I know this is so cliché, ahh but fuckit.
But really I just want to have Takaba have awkward!turtle times as women around her lust after her lover/the father of her child. And her and Asami to have hot sex. #ImshallowOK
The Eyrie and Club Arryn gets its name from George R.R. Martin's epic and brutal fantasy saga, A Song of Ice and Fire (known also as HBO's Game of Thrones).
(805): OH DEAR GOD. He looks like if u licked him he'd taste like bourbon, sex and sunshine: I owe this from Texts From Last Night. Obviously sunshine is not a trait associated with Asami.
Bergamot is one of the ingredients of many, many colognes and perfumes. In hoodoo rootwork, bergamot is used to control or command, and for this reason is used in a variety of spells and formulas in which a practitioner might wish to subdue another person.