Tactics
By: Psychotic Tanuki
Chapter One: The Lights of Tokyo
Makimachi Misao loved the bright lights of Ginza District, Tokyo. The bright baby blues, hot pinks, yellows, oranges and any other highlighter worthy colors attacked her eyes and the loud, noisy chatter of Tokyo dialect invaded her ears. Misao grinned cheekily and shifted her denim blue duffel bag on her shoulder. With the Aoiya's bankruptcy in Kyoto, and Jiya's recent death—it only seemed natural for Misao to pick up her things and leave for the prosperous capital city of Japan.
Holding her head up high, Misao marched through the streets, ignoring the stares of prissy business men, whores, greasy haired yakuza members and the general populace. She was aware of her scruffy clothing and unkempt appearance. With all the mishaps in her life, Misao found that she hadn't had the appropriate time to take care of appearances. Her waist length, bluish black hair for example, was in a state of tangled disarray. Despite her feeble attempt to tie it in a ponytail at the nape of her neck, it had a ratty appearance as random strands stuck up in different places and straw-like knots were clearly visible. Her shoes were an old pair of sneakers that desperately needed to be replaced. The sneakers were scraped until the tips of her dirty socks poked through the front of the shoe and the soles were almost worn through. Her long, lanky legs were shrouded in tattered jeans with gaping holes at the knees and her white shirt had turned into a dingy off white color. More or less, she looked more like a long haired hippie boy in dire need of a shower—which wasn't too far from the truth.
Wiping the sweat off of her skin, she paused in the streets. She had 50000 yen with her, and that would not last a week in the ever expensive Tokyo, hell it would barely last her two days. She had absolutely no intention of becoming a homeless beggar in the streets and was seeking to double her funds. Of course, she had no time to get a job—which only paid every two weeks, she was not going to beg and she most definitely was not going to steal from innocent people. Thus, the fastest way to win or lose money was to gamble. She needed money, and lots of it. And she needed it fast—it was the only way to be able to find a certain Shinomori Aoshi. Henceforth, this was the reason why Misao was in the Ginza district, which was littered with casinos and nightclubs alike.
Dark green eyes narrowed in frustration; she was in dire financial need. She would have to win whatever games she played but the odds of that happening were very few—but she'd have to risk that anyway. Warily, she eyed the specially marked yakuza clubs and casinos, and quietly inched away. Grimacing at the heat, she wiped her soaked forehead, a dark, grungy teahouse catching her attention. Misao fought to keep her jaw from dropping to the ground as she read the teahouse's name—The Beshimi. It had to be more than mere coincidence that this teahouse was named after her childhood mentor—it had to be a sign from the gods.
Palms sweaty, Misao stalked into the whore infested drunkard's paradise. As soon as she stepped into the teahouse, she noticed its freaky cleanliness despite its shoddy rundown appearance. No one seemed to have noticed her entrance, and she was all the more thankful. It was a strange place, the sounds of drunken laughter, loud talking, twittering whores and the clinking of beer bottles invaded Misao's ears. The air stank of cigarette smoke, booze and sex, and Misao cringed. Quickly, she scanned the room. The people were sparsely distributed, and many tables were left empty until she noticed a quiet group of card players—obviously engaged in a game of black jack-- sitting in the back. Clutching tightly to her duffel bag, she headed toward the card players. She smiled—she had always been able to outwit Aoshi-sama at poker. Steeling herself, she sauntered to the small group of three card players, a confident smile on her face.
"Can I join?" The establishment had an eerie effect going for them; the whole teahouse was bathed in dark blue light. The light also happened to tint the skin a bluish color, and Misao felt as if she were on a distant planet instead of earth. This was most clearly apparent as she smiled at the dealer of the table—a man with dark flowing hair and dark piercing eyes. He wore a dark headband of sorts and vaguely reminded her of Raiha—her favorite character from the Flame of Recca manga she had read a few years back.
"Sure, entering price is 50 yen." Stuffing a hand down her pocket, Misao tossed a fifty yen piece onto the table and sat down in the extra chair. The dealer stared at her with a stony face as he placed two cards in front of her and Misao found herself wishing she could see what he looked like without the blue light distorting all color.
"Hit me dealer boy." A rich alto voice interrupted Misao's thoughts. She carefully eyed the woman sitting next to her, and found it hard not to stare. Even in the blue light, she was obviously beautiful with long, dark hair and dark, glittering eyes. Her face was most pleasing; as she had a prominent nose accented by high cheekbones and lightly upturned lips. She was adorning a classy black blouse and pants, with a Chinese silk-like belt decorated with flowers hanging stylishly off her hip. She couldn't really tell the color of the belt, as like everything else in the room, it had been tinted a deep blue. Misao found herself jealous of her feminine looks and felt even more conscious of scruffiness.
"Hey weasel boy, hit or stay?" She had a six and an ace, which gave her a total of seven. Forgetting to get angry at the insult, her throat felt dry.
"Hit me." A jack—she had a total score of 17 out of a possible 21. This was good, and she'd stay with the seventeen.
"I'll stay." A slightly nasal, but masculine voice declared and Misao found herself to be surrounded by beautiful people. While the dealer and woman were beautiful in a dark, mysterious way, the man next to her was clearly beautiful in a feminine way. His hair was tinted a light blue, and she figured he had to have almost white hair for it to look that way. His eyes were shrouded by John Lennon like glasses, and he seemed to radiate pale unearthly beauty as his skin and obviously white suit reflected a blue sheen.
"Alrighty then, show your cards." Misao gagged—the dealer had a score of twenty, the woman a score of twenty one and the man, a score of nineteen. All of them had higher scores than her, and the woman had actually won—what rotten luck. Still, it couldn't be mere coincidence that she landed here at the Beshimi, so she bit her lip and fished out some more yen to bet. She'd make her fortune yet.
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Well, Misao frowned, that was a complete waste of time and money. She had stayed in the grungy tea house for nearly two hours and her money had dwindled down from 50000 yen to a mere 25000—half of what she started out with. Shifting her bag on her shoulder, she huffed her way out of the room. She had barely enough to cover expenses at a cheap motel and breakfast, and then she was broke.
"Stupid, stupid…GOD, you're so STUPID." Halfway through the first hour, the woman had left, claiming that she needed to get home before her husband found out she was gambling. Misao had crinkled her nose in disgust but kept her mouth shut. The lady took her winnings and for the next hour and a half—the pale, white haired man had won every single round until Misao left the table in a frustrated huff. How the hell did he keep winning like that? He couldn't have been cheating—there were only so many aces, tens, jacks, queens and kings in a deck before the dealer would shuffle.
Misao groaned as her stomach rumbled. She hadn't eaten dinner—but her squandering money supply could only support motel expenses and breakfast.
Screw breakfast—she was eating dinner. She'd starve in the morning. Dragging her heavy feet, Misao trudged towards the quaint, but cheap restaurant she had eaten lunch in—a sukiyaki place called the Akabeko on the outskirts of residential Tokyo. That was still a good way from Ginza District and begrudgingly she walked into the subway station. It was 10:15; the subways would be running for another hour or so.
The subway ride was a blur and forty-five minutes later, Misao found herself in front of the place that would serve her dinner. Her stomach growled with hunger and she dragged herself into the almost empty restaurant.
"Welcome, can I help you? Oh you're the young man from this afternoon—you must be hungry—I'll get you some nice hot sukiyaki." The waitress rambled on and on, but Misao didn't pay attention as she buried her face into her hands. That was the millionth time today someone had called her a boy—she should've been more insulted, but she was just too tired to care anymore.
"—made a killing today playing black jack with Katsu; poor fool doesn't know he just got hustled." Misao froze—she recognized that voice. Peering through her fingers, she found herself sitting in a booth across from a young woman with long black hair tied in a ponytail with a blue ribbon. Misao didn't recognize her—but that voice was oddly familiar. She perked an ear and continued to watch from between her fingers.
"Hmm it seems that there would be lots of suckers at the Beshimi. I should try going there sometime." The ponytail-ed girl commented and Misao paused; her voice was different. She shook her head, she was imagining things.
Plunk. Misao smiled feebly as the waitress shot her a strange look. Dunking her spoon into the beef pot stew, she quickly gobbled down the delicious food.
"Che, Tanuki—you're hardly the type of person to hustle poor drunkards. You know you like it in the casinos, after all Mikagami Naoko's legacy was meant to be spread outside of sleazy tea houses." Misao's spoon froze in mid-air, the stew dribbling back into the bowl. Where had she heard that voice before?
"Hit me dealer boy."
Her spoon clattered into her bowl. It was that woman! She was a hustler?! Misao shook with rage, her precious yen were stolen by some greedy, selfish bitch and she wanted it back. How could she have ever thought that she was a beautiful woman? Delirious from hunger and fatigue, she plunged a hand into her duffel bag and pulled out her most prized set of kunai—Aoshi had given them to her. She was going to get her money back, and if it meant threatening someone, she would. If it meant killing someone she would. Nothing was going to get in the way of finding Aoshi—not poverty, not starving hunger, not homelessness, and most certainly not some bitch who stole other people's yen! Misao stuck a kunai between each of her fingers, and began thinking of cool poses and or phrases that she could use to stun that hustling maniac into submission.
"So why'd you leave early?"
"I left before I got hustled by this white-haired guy—this weasel boy stayed though. Fool, with the way that white haired man was playing, he didn't stand a chance. I almost felt bad."
"That good?" The pony tailed girl's eyes widened in shock and Misao froze—she had been hustled by the white haired man too? How could I have ever thought he was hot?
"Yeah, he kept winning. If I didn't leave I would've lost quite a bit. I already lost 3000 yen to him out of the 15000 yen I had won from Katsu."
"That's bad news…Crap—its eleven thirty, I'll see you tomorrow." The ponytail-ed girl waved and dashed out of the restaurant.
"Take care Tanuki." Misao stood abruptly, her appetite gone.
"Could I have this wrapped?" Misao snarled to a timid little waitress, a pang of guilt tugged at her heart for the frightened look on the girls face, but pushed it out of her mind. She was going to kill that white haired man when she found him, and then demand her money back, but first…
"Hey you, you stole my money and I want it back!" the startled hustler woman turned to face a superhero like Misao, eyes widening in surprise.
"You heard me, now give me my money!" Well…scratch the cool phrases…at least I got some cool poses. Misao had propped her right leg on the table of the fifties style sukiyaki restaurant, and her right arm posed right in front of the woman's face while her left arm was held at a farther distance.
"Well if it isn't the weasel boy. I guess you've figured out that you were…hustled?" Misao rolled her eyes and gripped her kunai harder.
"No duh. I want my money back you gold digging money grubber!"
"No can do weasel boy."
"I'm a freaking girl," Misao plunked her kunai into the wall, barely missing the woman's head, "and I challenge you to a fair game to win my money back!"
"I have a better idea." The woman's brown eyes held an amused glint and Misao snarled.
"And what would that be genius?"
"I'm Takani Megumi, weasel girl. How would you like to be my partner in crime?"
What the hell?
AN: -_________________-;; I must be on crack to have written this. Anyway, review and let me know if I should continue or quit while I'm ahead. I know I'm supposed to do In the Shadow of the Vampire and Insecure…and rest assured…I will continue those. I'm having too much fun not to.
Sessha did her research and the Ginza district is supposedly the 'entertainment' district of Tokyo, with neon lights, pachinko machines, whores, night clubs, smoking men and bad fifties style haircuts. I don't know…I got that from a website—if any of its wrong let me know.
Asked my dad about yen to American dollar conversions since he's a businessman and all, and he said it was about 118 dollars per yen. Huh, those big yen figures don't look so big now do they? Yes, feel bad for Misao, feel very bad for Misao. Once again, if my dad's freaked up the conversions let me know.
This fic was inspired on one chapter of the Cowboy Bebop manga that just stuck in my head. I know absolutely nothing about hustling other than that of what I've researched, have done on my own (^__^;; if you've played cards with me, then all I have to say is "No…of course I didn't hustle you when we were playing cards the other day…") and what my friends have told me. If you are a hustler, or have hustled someone, please—let me know and tell me nice tips to help me write a decent, realistic fiction. (Even failed attempts are welcome) Card tricks in shuffling, or just plain cool moves are appreciated as well—what I mean is if you know how to do them, briefly describe how.