Disclaimer: Jet Set Radio Future is the property of Sega/Smilebit - everything you recognise belongs to them.
Note: On the Outside Looking In, the first drabble, is PG-13 - the second, By The Light of The Moon, is R, pushing on NC-17 - I don't think it is NC-17 - that's why it's here, but still. (On The Outside Looking In was written in late December or early January, which is why it is in fact about The New Year.)
Title
On the Outside Looking In
Rating PG-13
Word Count
893
Notes/Summary
Clutch isn't having a good time of things this Christmas/New
Year.
"But it's just the fucking New Year!" Clutch sat up properly on the sofa and threw his hands up in frustration, "It's just New Year, but Rhyth's running round with a mop 'n' broom like a housewife on crack, every whore and her auntie's suddenly turned into Shintoists or whatever the fuck and everywhere you turn it's all 'Happy New Year! Happy New Year!'. Happy my ass."
Rhyth was actually passing by at this point, but as Clutch's ranting was in rapid English, she barely seemed to realise he'd mentioned her. It was nice being one of only four English speakers in the gang (and Corn and Jazz could only speak classic Engrish, which was worth more as entertainment than deep conversation material).
"Well, if you took Rhyth and put her in America, she'd probably think we were all being dipshits about Christmas, right?" Boogie said; Clutch refrained from telling her that Christmas was just as damned stupid; let her think she was being all diplomatic.
"I mean, she prob'ly doesn't know who Jesus is, just like you and me know next to nothing about Shinto." She leaned toward him and spoke quietly – pretty useless seeing as how no one else in the Garage understood what they were saying, "About a week ago, she asked me if Christmas was Santa Claus's birthday."
"You are joking." Clutch blinked and stared.
"Nope. Then when I sort of staggered away, trying not to laugh my ass off right in front of her, she went back to her little 'Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus, right down Santa Claus lane!' thing."
There was a short pause as Clutch marvelled at the weirdness of it and Boogie hummed the 'Here Comes Santa Claus' tune. Finally, Clutch stood, really wanting to get out of the Garage now.
"C'mon," he said to Boogie, who amiably allowed herself to be dragged to her feet and pulled off toward 99th Street. On the way out, Clutch swiped at the snow hung over the rails like tinsel and threw it – he'd meant to hit Yoyo, but managed to impale the stuff on the snowman's carrot nose instead. Couldn't've done that if he tried.
Boogie ran ahead of him, laughing – his gut wrenched, but in a good way – as Yoyo stormed over toward him, slipped on the snow and landed flat on his back, cursing all the while. Clutch sauntered off, sniggering, and joined Boogie on the Highway.
99th Street was the kind of place that just never changed. It was like one big party all year round; no stupid Christmas decorations (they'd get stolen), no Shinto (the shrines would get vandalised, puked on, smashed in drunken rages), no nothing. Just non-stop, twenty-four hour fun. What kind of fun? Anything you wanted, but if it was rated 18 or above, you went to Highway Zero – plenty street corners there.
Clutch's plan for the night had been to go to a nightclub, forget all this holiday crap, drink himself stupid and stagger in the general direction of the Garage before falling flat on his face and using the snow as an impromptu pillow. That had sounded quite good.
Boogie, though, wanted to just stand on the tower and do nowt, and… that had been his second choice, so he kicked the snow off the top end (there was a wet thud and a yell from down below) and they sat down, dangling their feet over the edge and watching the little people – looked like ants from all the way up here, just take a magnifying glass and poof – scurrying about. There was a companionable silence.
It had been pretty weird at first, finding out Boogie was American as well – it was like they had something in common, although as it turned out, Boogie had lived at the opposite end of the country. Still, it'd been kinda nice to know that when he got sick of having to rack his brains for this and that Japanese phrase, he could just talk to Boogie and be relatively 'normal'.
And Boogie was really cool when you got past her stupid habit of stating the absolute obvious. Hell, she was just plain cool; if you took away the stupid habits, would she still be Boogie, anyway? Clutch didn't know.
He looked at her again; she was sitting up properly now and looking across at the river – it sparkled and glowed in the street lights and so did she, and she just looked so… He kissed her. Something in his head clicked - I really do like this chick – and he had to struggle not to smile.
He hadn't been going to go all creepy on her or anything – kiss her once and then see where it went from there – but before he could even think about what to do next, she pulled away from him.
"Huh?"
"Sorry, Clutch." And she really did look sorry – somehow that just made it worse, "But… no. Just, no."
She got up and dusted herself off – if she wiped her lips, he didn't see her do it.
"I'll see you back at the Garage, 'kay?"
She was gone. Clutch glared at nothing, just for a moment, and got up.
"Fucking hate New Year." He jumped off the tower and made for the nearest club – getting hopelessly drunk was back on the agenda.
Title By The Light of The Moon
Rating R
Word Count 645
Summary Because nothing is ever worth the hype.
On 99th Street, beside the river and close to the area that got all the power cuts back last year, there was an abandoned apartment building – people in the area either thought it was haunted, the Yakuza used them or both and wouldn't go near it.
In truth, neither was true – and Saturday nights would see drunks crawling around the first floor, throwing up blood and weeping harshly, guys sticking four syringes into each arm and running around laughing (and if you really wanted a freak show, one guy on the second floor would stick two into his forehead for a hundred yen), prostitutes doing business on the lower floors.
And the third through fifth floors? Most of the time, nobody had the mental coordination to get up there. They fell back down to the second floor and the cracks would echo up the walls.
Perfect, Clutch'd said. No one would come up here, too far up for anything to be heard. No interruptions, he'd said. For some reason, that didn't make Jazz happy.
They'd broken into one of the rooms on the top floor – a couple of power cables went right past a smashed window – into a corridor and straight into one of the rooms, one the renegades sometimes dossed in because it had a half way decent mattress, a working bathroom and a lock. Clutch locked the door and turned to grin at her. Jazz told herself he wasn't trying to be as creepy as she was seeing it.
First just kissing – kissing was familiar, nice, didn't make her gut wrench and maybe if she was good enough at that, being nice, he would… take pity on her?
Course not. He thinks I want this just as much as he does.
I do.
Right?
Right.
Sitting on the mattress now, knees drawn up, trying to enjoy the closeness even while her stomach throbbed in her throat. Kicked her skates off – better, but the floorboards felt splintery.
Clutch moved in closer, started to pull at her top-
No. I don't want this, do I?
Could she back out now without Clutch being angry?... Not really. In for the penny, in for the pound, as Boogie said.
Boogie says stupid things.
Naked. Cold air. Lying back on the bed and resolutely staring out the window at the clouds and full moon even as she was kissed again, even as he did other things that made her back arch and her breath come in gasps – but she didn't want to pay attention any more.
Just get it over with and you can tell him you're allergic to his sperm or something.
Short pause - God, he's even brought condoms!, in which Jazz self-consciously pressed an arm over her tingling breasts and looked down. Hazy moonlight draped itself over her thighs and sex, better than what's going to be there in a minute; she lay back and closed her eyes.
Kissed again, just once. He was saying something, she didn't hear but gave a noncommittal 'mm-hmm' just in case he wanted her to do something other than panic and squeeze her eyes shut like a child in the dark.
Sharp sting between her legs – "Ah!" – then it was hot, fiery.
I didn't know that moonlight could burn, she thought, and smiled. Nicer to think it was still just her and the moon.
Still some pain, but… nothing sensational. Nor was the pleasure, nor the orgasm that sliced through her gut, nor even the searing kiss that under any other circumstance, she would have relished.
Later. Clutch was asleep, leaving her safe to sit on the toilet in the cool semi-dark, thinking alone.
That was… nothing. Nothing worth being afraid of. Nothing worth getting hyped up over.
It didn't even hurt that much. Just a little prick.
At that, she laughed – and didn't stop for a long time.
