mOBSCENE 01
-By ReddAlice
Author's Note: mOBSCENE is a musically inspired (SERIES), but as everyone who has read my song fics, they are much more like STORY fics oppose to the usual SF; a fic with a few lines here and there. I also severely took the song out of context and was inspired to write this fic by a quick glance at the title on my song list. I love me so Manson. Mmm... of course....
POSSIBLE Warnings: NC, YAOI, Violence, Angst, DF. Different kind of romanji for the Japanese, romanzi!
Disclaimer: The song mOBSCENE is copyrighted to Marilyn Manson and his recording label Interscope Records. This song can be found off his album The Golden Age Of Grotesque. Gundam Wing, as we all of us Yaoi-GW-lovin' fans should know..... Shin Kidousenki New Mobile War Chronicle Gundam Wing A.C. was created by Hajime Yatate & Yoshiyuki Tomino and is licensed to Bandai Entertainment and Satsu Agency. -...If you think I own any of the prior ... seek medical attention immediately! ...Or maybe I should join you...
YAKUZA – Japanese mafia
TONG- Chinese mafia
Oyabun – Family head
mOBSCENE a song by Marilyn Manson a fic by ReddAlice
mOBSCENE
We are the things and shapes to come
Your freedom's not free of dumb
"The money's inside the red envelope to your left Yui-san... you know what we expect of you." Came the confident savvy voice from behind the black marble desk. His English unmarred by a Japanese accent.
A challenging smirk was passed from character to character inside the room, surrounding Heero in what seemed to be whirlpool of anticipation. Was he supposed to rock the boat with some flippant remark? Or cheese crusted speech? They probably expected it, they had heard of the man called Wing, the infamous pilot who killed thousands during the war. What they hadn't expected was a twenty-two year old 'boy,' especially one as lithe looking as him.
"Along with your fee, there are instructions, names, places... descriptions... and pictures. I ask that you ask no questions, you'll be told what you need to know, and do this as discretely… as possible." Make everything disappear.
Heero nodded approaching the envelope with caution, noting the carefully placed seal and the remarkably modern kanzi, and swung a glance back to his current employer, the boss of the New Yakuza, or Neo Yakuza depending on which part of Japan you lived in. Heero wanted a good look at the man in charge of this group, so if anyone turned on him, made his job difficult, he would know who to come after first.
Kin Yukio was the youngest man Heero had seen in the room, he was also, beyond a shadow of a doubt the man in charge. He was the unmitigated image of a healthy, successful, and young Japanese businessman except for those otherworldly gray eyes. His black hair was clean, his complexion fair, his height moderate for a modern Japanese man, and his build somewhere perfectly place between masculine and androgynous.
Yukio leaned close to the man on his right, a tall foreigner with dyed red hair and three studded earrings in his left ear. The man bowed his head slightly and began to usher the other occupants out the sliding rice paper door on the Far East side of the room. "Yui-san." He concluded before sliding the door shut and his silhouette disappearing.
Unable to murder his curiosity, Heero watched after the foreigner. Who had that been? He allowed himself to wonder momentarily.
"That was Ustine Sacha, my right hand man, he was born in Russia." Yukio supplied with a possessive smile.
That explained a lot about his unique appearance. Most likely, he was a spy for The Yakuza on the Russian mob, or maybe Heero just speculated too much. Paranoia was great company for those who lived to kill.
"I have one inquiry." Heero stated slipping the small bulk into his jean jacket.
Yukio shook his head, "Tsk. I said no questions."
"Are you the Oyabun of this family? Or just another underling."
The expression of pleasurable arrogance on Yukio's face froze down to the sharp edge of his eyes, "Why do you ask?"
Heero rested the pads of his fingers on the textured groove of the sliding door finally ready to leave, "Because, if anyone interferes with my mission, I want to know who to hold responsible, and then who to kill."
"I am an honorable man, Yui-san. Do not make enemies of me, I am no one to be trifled with." He said simply.
Not taking the respectful time to look considerate, Heero shrugged. "You have henchman to screw up your jobs, Kin." He stated abruptly cutting off the polite suffix. "I do the job myself, and never leave a mess."
"Then we are on common grounds. Don't make it a war zone, Yui-san."
A few moments of silence traversed between the two like rippling waves of static, before a more conversational Yukio pushed forth. "I would like us to be friends, Yui-san. It would make any future interactions... easier. I know you don't keep company, but as business associates, it would serve both of us well. Eventually, it may become very beneficial. I am the neck of Tokyo."
"Who is the head?" Heero boldly pursued.
Yukio laughed, a sound rich and erotically throaty, "My father."
"Hn."
Cocky his head up proudly, Yukio graciously provided more information. Trust needed foundation. "All Oyabun... through the history of The Yakuza, back to the machi-yokko, have been Japanese through and through. I will be the first to have tainted blood." Heero listened carefully to ensure he didn't miss any double edged swords. "My mother's mother was an American, a shame on the family.... Americans are so... underhanded, their strength lies in what they can crush and conquer, not what they can win and become. They wallow, even in this new age of world government, in their dead hardships. They have no tradition, no culture to call their own, they are dirty with no loyalty to family, or respect for other customs... and I am marred by that woman's eyes."
"Why are you telling me this?" Heero finally asked with a monotone deadness.
"I can tell by just looking at you, that you may be Japanese in name, but you are not fully so in blood. We have something in common, and I have respect for you solely on that basis. However, I like to know a little about everyone who works under me."
Raising his chin up slightly, Heero starred assessively at the face-first entrepreneur and future Oyabun. The slight emphasis he had laid on 'under me' was going to complicate they're touch base working relationship. Over the years, Heero had had his fair share of relationships, heterosexual and homosexual alike.
First the very short tryst with Relena, which never developed after his last birthday present. She proved to be nerve grating and overly obstructive in his work with her ceaseless ivory tower prattle of pacifistic peace. In notion it was sweet, and truly she was a good person, but in the over-all-picture, the last time he saw her he was fighting a loosing battle in wanting to wring her highness's neck.
Afterward by a year, was Duo, the longhaired somewhat non-stereo typical effeminate pilot of Gundam Death Scythe. Their relationships fell in and out over the course of 13 months, in the end, Heero just didn't have the heart and tangible passion that Duo had for life. However, the day Duo disappeared leaving a note in chicken scratch on his apartment door at the age of 18 truly killed something inside the born soldier. If there had been love, Duo, not Heero, gave up on giving it a chance. They had been boyfriends in name, but Heero wondered occasionally if they weren't just best friends with sex tying everything into a complicated knot. Maybe he wasn't lovable like the object of his affection, maybe he hadn't been man enough to cope and learn to be real and live the way Duo had known to all his life. Just maybe, you can't teach has-been pilots new tricks. Nevertheless, Heero didn't want to be under any rock hard boss. Especially one he was obligated to by contract, something he didn't take lightly, and never broke.
"With, not under." Heero stated matter-of-factly.
A glint of something sparked inside Yukio's eyes. Touché. A challenge. "The contract is for an American parading around our streets and tearing out the silk threads of our home, Yui-san. That alone is not favorable in my eyes, but the person is also involved with the Tong, a mistress of one of their more powerful colonial associates, and has been making a mess of business not belonging to either party, but my affairs. There was a time when both the Tong and the Yakuza could coincide peacefully, diplomatically, but that time is over, and this is a start of a new war. One underground. This may very well decide Japan's fate, for if Chinese have political sway in our own country-."
"I'm done listening to your conspiracy theories. All other information is within, is it not?"
Yukio nodded curtly and turned away dismissively, as though he had ended the conversation. "Good Day, Yui-san, be in good health."
Heero bowed his head inconspicuously, and slipped out.
"Ustine?"
The dark red headed figure materialized next to his pledged master, "Yes, Kin-sama."
"Everyone is gone."
"I apologize, Yukio-sama." He said swapping the surname for Yukio's first.
"If all goes well on this, and the target is eliminated efficiently. I will have my own circle, my own family, when my father leaves us soon. I want him conducted into that family, and under me, not my father."
Ustine's eyes narrowed dangerously, protectively. "Why him?"
"Because..." Yukio purred turning and engulfing the larger man's waste in his embrace, "I like him. Nothing to worry about thought, Ustine, you will always be my favorite, my first. My right hand associate, my equal."
A smile curved the disciplined stoic Russian's angular face, but deep within his brown eyes were the green fires of envy.
This depression is great
The defamation age
They'll know my name
Waltz into scum, and base a marriage of the pain
To BE Continued