Note: now that Coronavirus is ravaging our Earth, I have time to write insufferable asshole.
working from home is weird asf.
It was 6 in the morning and Rock Howard had woken up early to get some exercise. The hotel was mostly quiet at this hour, and Rock had only encountered a couple of maids (who were busy polishing the wall ornaments) as he wandered about looking for the gym. The tour had taken a significant toll on his body thus far. He'd been eating like garbage. He hadn't been getting enough sleep. He was under nearly continuous stress. He weighed himself this morning and he had lost 7 pounds.
They'd been on tour for a little over a week, and he'd lost seven pounds. That was almost a pound a day, and given he wasn't looking particularly ripped- that was muscle mass he was losing. Not fat. Rock wasn't super concerned about his figure. He was more concerned with functionality, specifically tournament-fighting functionality. But hell if he was gonna sit still to wither away on a diet of stress and junk food. No way.
Seven pounds of muscle! God.
Rock grimaced as he wandered down yet another ornately decorated hallway in search of something to lift. The carpet was dark red, patterned and too plush. The hallway windows were all heavily curtained, and it was gloomy out. Rock was beginning to think he was in some sort of luxurious maze. It didn't help that every sign was in Chinese, and Rock didn't speak a lick of it. Did so few foreigners come to this place, that they didn't need anything in English?
I already hate this country.
Up ahead was a four way fork. There was a gilded sign hanging from the ceiling with Chinese characters ornately printed on it. Rock stopped below it and tried to read it until he went cross eyed. It was a pointless exercise, but he tried it anyways. It made him feel better that he was at least trying to figure out where to go, as opposed to what he was actually doing - which was guessing.
Ugh… is there an app that will read this stuff for me?
Rock huffed, shrugged, and tugged at the towel slung across his neck. He took a few moments to judge which hallway looked the most athletic before turning right and striding with purpose. He briefly considered just running down the hallways to get his exercise, but quickly dismissed the idea. He'd get weird looks from everyone, and maybe get arrested… or something. He had no idea how China worked, and frankly he wasn't very interested in learning their punitive system. He mostly wanted to be home, but he didn't want to bail, and he didn't want to be a scrawny wretch either.
Boss also looks terrible… but he always looks terrible. He's off doing setup today I think… I won't have to deal with him.
Last night, Iori had dedicated himself to being as insufferable as possible. They had gone over every note in every song they were planning to play on the airplane - and once they landed, Rock was subject to four more hours of one on one rehearsals with his lunatic employer. He finally was allowed to totter off at midnight, and upon hitting the mattress, he slept like a baby until his alarm woke him. There were many times in the past months where Rock was 'abosolutely fucking done' with Iori Yagami - but last night was one the worst to date.
Did I play that badly? Sheesh… I mean, I did miss some notes… but he's probably overreacting. Right?...
Rock grumbled to himself. He had unintentionally set his mind on a worrisome path and was now mulling over his potentially ruined performance so intensely, he nearly didn't realize he had walked past a sign with a dumbbell on it.
Dumbbell.
Weights meant Gym.
Gym meant a workout and endorphins.
Normally, Rock was never this excited to excercise, but today was different. His body needed it, and his mind needed to soak in some happy chemicals. For him, this trip had been nothing short of an emotional rollercoaster, on adderall. His boss either loved him or hated him - and Rock was convinced that he flip-flopped between those extreme positions on the daily. Whip was cute, strong, funny and probably a vicious dominatrix. Athena had a massive stick up her ass, and she would probably turn him inside out if she heard him say that. Kensou was her bitch, so he was no better. Shermie and Yashiro were the only people who seemed somewhat normal and borderline helpful - but they were dead, and according to his father, supremely dangerous.
Well if Dad thinks Boss can take them, isn't Boss the dangerous one? Bleah. Shut up Rocky. No more conspiracies! Let's do some supersets!
Rock browsed several workout playlists as he slammed his way through the Men's locker room, startling a tattooed man with a pot belly and a pressed suit. Rock didn't pay much attention to the man, but if he did, he would have noticed the man was a textbook Yakuza member.
He also would have noticed the man reaching for the gun under his waistband upon his intrusion. The Yakuza member was obviously guarding the door, and Rock Howard's twin defects of vanity and tunnel vision all but blinded him to the danger he had just stumbled upon.
Should I do circuit? Nah… I need to put on some gains. Chest and shoulders today - back if I've got time.
Rock was staring down at his phone when he reached the gym door and shouldered it open. He was seriously conflicted about some of the songs in his chosen playlist. Normally he didn't need music because his gym always had something on the radio, but this hotel gym was going to have Chinese, if anything.
So, if Rock wanted to listen to his native tongue, he was stuck with pre-created lists - 30% of which were actually Iori's tracks. He winced as one started playing, and that terrible voice yelled at him in some foreign language.
" なんてこったい?!Howard!"
Ugh, it gets to me even when he's not here… wait… did he just say my name?!
Rock frowned. That was an anamoly. He stopped in the doorway, plucked out his ear buds and looked up. The gym was small, carpeted - and clearly just some extra room the hotel decided to throw excercise equipment in. It was unremarkable besides for the bench press in the corner, which had one lifter and two extremely well dressed spotters. The spotters had machine guns tucked badly beneath their stiff blazers. One of them was speaking Japanese in a threatening tone, but was quickly drowned out by a much louder, more familiar, and understandable yelling from the red-haired man laying flat on the bench press.
"Howard! My gym. Out!"
Rock huffed, dismayed even having to see his boss today.
"Are you kidding me? There's like ten machi-"
His phrase was cut short by the sharp *ka-chack* of the machine guns being cocked and pointed at him. He was shocked, stunned, offended and a little bewildered. His complaint fizzled off his tongue, and he took a stumbling step back. Iori didn't seem to notice. He continued rambling as per his usual fashion.
"I don't give a damn if there's a (huff) hundred machines here. I don't wanna work out with you. (huff) And you're here on my dime, I fucking own you. (huff) So go away."
The men in suits glanced briefly at each other, and seemed to shrug in resignation. They clearly didn't understand what Iori was saying and continued pointing their guns at the intruder. Rock grimaced.
"O-okay… okay! Can you, uh call off- (ah!)"
He was startled as a meaty palm landed on his shoulder and a pistol muzzle was pressed into the back of his neck. His heart dropped and he began to stutter, frozen. He raised his hands and showed his palms. The spotters stared intimidatingly at him for a few moments, before one of them leaned over Iori and began muttering something. The other spotter rolled his eyes.
If Rock didn't have three guns pointed at him, he would also have rolled his eyes.
For a few long moments, Iori was too busy hooking his weights back on the rack to notice his student's predicament. When he finally did, he huffed and didn't even bother sitting up before starting to yell at his… 'bodyguards'.
(Put your fucking guns down, or I'll shove them straight up your asses. The brat is mine. Touch him and you die… Oy Kurasawa, get back here and spot me.)
Rock didn't understand a word, but all the guns were withdrawn and the fat Yakuza man turned him around and escorted him through the door. Iori hollered from his bench.
"If you wanna gym, come back in two hours. You can do whatever you want today, but rehearsal's at eight tomorrow. If you're late-"
The locker room door slammed shut, but Rock could still hear his employer clearly through the walls.
"I'll really kill you. Don't be late. Last chance Howard, take it seriously."
He's definitely gon be late lmao
