Chapter 9: "Clean Up Good"
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As the drive to their unknown destination dragged on, evergreen trees dusted with golden pollen rose high beside the highway, spearing the blue arch of the sky like black needles through fine silk. Kurama watched them with appreciation. The trees in this part of the country had always served to fascinate—so much younger than the trees of Demon World, and yet still so tall and well-established. It had surprised him, the first time he saw a forest in Human World, that the trees were not some pitiful assortment of dry kindling, but living, breathing giants that perfumed the air with the force of their flowing life energy.
Before his rebirth, Kurama had always thought of Human World as a pale imitation of Demon World. Now, though, he knew that in his arrogance, he had misjudged the realm. A pity he had not spent time more there before his transformation…
Kurama expected the trees to thin when they entered a town, but yet again the world of the humans took him by surprise. As the road dipped, drawing their car into the cup of a valley amidst the vast forest, a wooden sign swam from the trees, blotting out their trunks with its white-painted face.
WELCOME TO TOKOMACHI, NIIGATA PREFECTURE, read the sign in tall black lettering.
POPULATION 53,333, it said in smaller letters below.
So not an enormous population center, then… but neither was it a tiny hamlet. Satisfaction brought the barest curl to his lips, smile reflecting back at him in the polished window beside his seat. Behind him, Yamato's breathing rasped beneath the rumble of the engine, a whisper of gentle air nearly beyond the edge of hearing.
"Tokamachi?" Yusuke's head turned, following the sign through the window until it disappeared behind them down the road. "What's out here?"
"Uh… some onsen, I think?" said Kuwabara. "And I think there's a snow festival in the wintertime…"
"But it's spring," Yusuke said, disgruntled. "So what'd she drag us here for?"
"Beats me." Kuwabara twisted, peering over the back of his seat to look at the third row, where Kurama and Yamato sat beside one another in silence. "Also, been meaning to say… isn't it a little weird that she wanted to come with us for this? Isn't a bachelor party supposed to be just guys? That's what I thought when I planned your party the first time…"
"Yes, you're both right." Kurama kept his voice low, eyes on Yamato in the reflection, watching in case she stirred. "But something tells me Yamato isn't terribly concerned with adhering to tradition."
Yusuke turned around to look at Yamato, too, the three men staring at her sleeping form in silence. Kurama had spent the better part of the car ride regarding her out of the corner of his eye or in the window pane, dissecting his memory of her behavior as the car ate up the miles one by one. She had spent the two hours before they left on the phone, secretly making calls to parties she would not name. Kurama had graciously allowed her the use of his personal laptop so she could research their evening's activities. He'd made her a temporary guest account so as to protect his privacy, of course… and Yamato had protected hers in return. She had cleared her search history and wiped her guest account clean before giving the computer back to him.
Annoyingly clever of her, he had thought at the time, and by the time they pulled into the town of Tokamachi proper, this opinion had not changed.
The town rose from the depths of the forest much the way the sign had, enormous and ancient trees butting up to the structures that formed the town itself. The city began as a collection of sleepy residences with small acreage dedicated to tiered crop production before transitioning to loose clusters of homes and businesses. These became more tightly packed the deeper into the town they drove, eventually turning into what appeared to be a downtown district with a large square, picturesque art galleries, and signage for restaurants and onsen. Nothing at all like Tokyo, of course, try though it might to look cosmopolitan. It boasted only a few buildings taller than a few stories, with smaller offices and shops filling in the spaces between. The only truly modern building in the area loomed high above the rest, its sleek, glass-covered face reflecting the distant trees and the lights of the rest of the city like fireflies on a summer night.
It was to this modern structure they drove. The car navigated the circular driveway (complete with a bubbling fountain in its center) in front of the building before coming to a stop before a bank of a dozen glass doors set at the top of a grand stone staircase. Potted trees and flowers decorated the steps, glimmering silver handrails tracing a path over stone to the crystalline entryway. Beyond the glass Kurama spotted a large atrium replete with sparkling lights and crystal chandeliers, understated opulence making the modernly appointed space shine.
Yes. No doubt this was the nicest hotel in the area. Yamato had certainly made her choice of accommodations without sparing expense. But who was paying for…?
As the driver exited the car, Kurama reached for Yamato's arm. A few gentle shakes and she stirred, rousing from her slumber with a groan and a yawn. Somehow her auburn wig hadn't shifted during her nap. Kurama wondered how she'd managed it, but he knew better than to ask.
"We here already?" Yamato said, sliding up in her seat with another yawn. "That was quick."
"Quick!?" Yusuke's head turned like it had been placed on a swivel, brown eyes glaring. "That drive took hours!"
Yamato grinned. "Told ya you'd wanna take a nap."
As the driver of the car opened the door at the very back of the van, she began to rummage in her coat pocket. Soon she gave a triumphant laugh and hopped onto her knees in the seat, draping herself over the back of the bench so she could hold something out toward him: a small paper packet sealed with wax, a braided cord swinging from the top. It looked like a charm you'd purchase at a shrine, if Kurama was not mistaken (and he very rarely was).
"Driver, you've been absolutely fantastic. Didn't feel the road at all," Yamato said. "Now, I know tipping isn't exactly common in Japan, but would you accept…?"
She offered him the envelope. The driver took it with a raised brow, but he pocketed the item without a word, smiling as he unloaded their suitcases.
Kurama and the others exited the vehicle, collecting their baggage from the curb as the driver tipped his hat and climbed back into the vehicle. Yamato waved after the car, smiling to herself as she watched the car skimmed down the driveway. Unable to help himself, Kurama stepped toward her, lingering in the space just behind her elbow.
"What did you give him?" he murmured, watching the car disappear around a corner.
"Money and a fortune." Yamato shrugged. "Says I read his and predicted good luck."
"And did you?"
"Hell no. But if he believes it, and he's better off for believing it, what's the harm?" She winked. "Not to mention I slipped in my business card."
Kurama tried his best not to look amused. "A pity you don't read fortunes in Tokamachi…"
"It's called a phone, sir," Yamato told him—and then she patted her pockets, an expression of delight creeping into her dark eyes. "Speaking of which, do I get reception now? Oh, sweet cell phone, how I love thee. Let me count the ways…"
Yamato did indeed get reception in Tokamachi, judging by the way her fingers flew across the phone's screen once she wrested the item from her pocket. Kurama watched in silence as she skipped up the hotel's steps, humming to herself, noting that Yamato apparently didn't not feel badly about lying to their taxi driver. But no conclusions to be drawn from this information availed themselves, so he filed the observation away for another time.
Inside the hotel, the lobby foyer proved itself an atrium at least four stories tall, mirrored sides stretching upward into chandelier-topped infinity. Windows in the second story overlooked the check-in desk and a host of plush couches scattered around the space; a sweeping grand staircase led the way upward to the windows, where Kurama could only surmise lay a restaurant. Below it, tucked beneath the shadows under the stairs, he spotted a hotel bar obscured by frosted glass, red lights glowing behind them with understated menace. Fountains, greenery, and a tower of elevators in the middle of the lobby spoke of elegance and amenities aplenty—which more than likely accounted for the rather odd surplus of gaijin milling about. At least twenty of them sat upon the couches in the lobby, chatting to one another in English. For a moment Kurama wondered what they were doing in a town so remote, but soon a Japanese man speaking English held up a small sign, calling for them to follow him out of the hotel. Tourists, then? Kurama could only assume as such.
Yamato didn't pay the gaijin even a glance, however. She cut through their ranks and headed for the lengthy desk set perpendicular to the hotel entrance, striding to the first unoccupied hotel worker with quick, purposeful steps.
"Hello," she said as she stopped in front of a man clad in a smart black suit with golden 'manager' badge on his chest. "We've booked two rooms under the name Urameshi."
Her voice sounded higher than usual, tones clipped and professional—a far cry from Yamato's typical, casual manner of speaking. Odd. Kurama filed that bit of information away for future study, too.
"Ah, yes." The hotel manager typed something into the computer terminal beside him. "A double and a single? We've been expecting you." He nodded toward the gaijin in the lobby. "You called at a great time. We're booked with tourist groups, and we got word of an early check-out just before we heard from you. You're in our only open rooms."
"Is that right?" said Yamato. "What lovely cosmic timing!"
"Yes, ma'am." The manager typed something else before dipping a short bow of apology. "Apologies, madam, but we're still cleaning your rooms after the former guests' late checkout. We can hold your baggage here until they've been cleared if you would like to take in the sights of the city in the meantime."
Yamato didn't seem phased by this in the least. "It's no trouble on our account. But is there any place we can get freshened up?" she asked. "We have a reservation shortly elsewhere."
"Of course." The manager bowed again. "If you'll follow me…"
He led their party away from the desks and toward an outcropping of wall covered in gold leaf, behind which lay two doors marked as a matching set of men's and women's lounges.
"There are baths if you're interested, as well as private dressing rooms should the need arise," the manager said. "Please drop your bags at the front desk at any time, and have a wonderful evening."
"Thank you," said Yamato—and the second the hotel clerk disappeared around the corner, her odd vocal affectation disappeared. Stretching her arms high over her head, she said, "I dunno about you guys, but I've gotta wash off the dust of the road."
Yusuke nodded. "Same."
"I could use a moment for myself, yes," Kurama softly agreed.
"Great." She jerked a thumb back the way they came. "Did all of you see the bar? How about we meet there in half an hour? Shouldn't be a far walk to our first stop of the evening, and we'll be right on time."
"Time for what?" Kuwabara said, looking at her eagerly, but Yamato held a finger to her lips.
"All in good time, my friend," she said, walking backwards toward the women's lounge. "Oh, and before I forget—wear your suits, with the ties and the nice shoes." Here she shot a razor glare at Yusuke. "No exceptions."
Yusuke dug a pinkie into his ear and huffed. Yamato vanished into the lounge with a laugh. The rest of the group followed suit, walking into the men's lounge with a swing of its well-oiled door. The lounge proved as richly appointed as the lobby, and as they settled onto the couches contained within, Kuwabara and Yusuke idly chatted about what to expect from the night to come.
Kurama did not join in on their talk, however. He was too busy mulling over what had transpired at the front desk. It had not escaped his keen notice that they had somehow booked the last two rooms at this hotel. Had Yamato, perhaps, used her powers of precognition to secure their lodging? It would seem within the realm of possibility, considering the nature of her powers… but then again, the afternoon's events with the teacup had proved she still lacked control over her abilities. Was she even capable of using them to predict a hotel vacancy?
Like so many things regarding Yamato, Kurama could not be certain.
"I mean, it's not like she knows what you like," Kuwabara was saying when Kurama's attention drifted back to the present. "So it's probably gonna be… I dunno, generic bachelor stuff, right?"
"Maybe," said Yusuke. He had removed the garment bag from his suitcase and spread it over the back of a chair, unzipping the bag to find the suit and tie held within. "But Keiko said no strippers, so it can't be that generic of a party. Plus she said we had to wear these suits, so there's at least a dress code, right?"
"Which means we're going someplace fancy," Kuwabara said with obvious consternation.
Yusuke's lopsided grin gleamed in the lounge's low lights. "Think your pompadour will fit in?"
"My pompadour is amazing, thank you," said Kuwabara with prim assurance—but then his face fell, and he got up and walked over to the mirror above the nearby sinks. "But I really gotta fix it, because it's kind of falling apart!"
Indeed, Kuwabara's hairstyle had suffered during their long trip, strands escaping the hold of his thickly layered pomade. Kuwabara and Yusuke jockeyed for the mirror, roughhousing and lobbing insults that felt totally out of place in the fancy lounge with its velvet carpet and crystal-dripping lights. Kurama only chuckled, however, and slipped into one of the lounge's dressing rooms to change into his suit.
Yamato had told them to bring suits, of course. She had rigorously inspected their chosen attire, selecting their shoes and ties with what Kurama could only assume was an expert eye (she was certainly picky enough with their sartorial allotment to pass herself off as an expert, at least from Kurama's point of view). For him she had chosen a charcoal suit with a crisp white shirt and a gold tie—"To bring out those eyes of yours," she said, "even if I'm the only one who will appreciate them."
She'd winked when she'd said it. She winked quite a lot. He wondered if she winked at the others as much as she winked at him, and if it meant anything if she didn't.
Beyond donning the suit, he did not spend undue time on his appearance. Kurama passed a brush through his hair before pulling it back and out of his face, leaving Kuwabara and Yusuke to fuss with their relatively more high-maintenance hairstyles. They barely noticed him leave, but this was to Kurama's credit; he moved on quiet feet, slipping from the lounge and into the lobby without a sound, where he dropped off his luggage at the front desk. The only thing he took with him was a book, a novel his mother had suggested he read, before he headed for the bar underneath the lobby's grand staircase.
The bar, true to form, was as handsomely appointed as the rest of the hotel. All smoked glass and dim lights, the establishment's leather booths and sleek stools gave an impression of minimalist affluence, as did the enormous selection of liquors and wines sitting on airy glass shelves behind the mirror-encrusted bar. Most of the booths in the bar housed patrons holding crystal glasses of liquor, and as he scanned the bar for a place to sit—
"Damn." Someone let out a wolf-whistle. "You clean up good, Red."
Yamato sat alone at a nearby table, a martini glass in one hand and her cellphone in the other. Kurama's eyes widened when he spotted her. How had she gotten ready even faster than him? He had expected she'd be the last one dressed, given the attention she seemed to pay to her appearance, but…
"So do you." His reply to her statement felt too delayed to be natural, and yet he pressed on regardless. Scanning her as he approached the table, Kurama said, "But I have to ask…"
Yamato beamed. "Yes?"
"Yamato…" He looked her over again, brow arching high. "A suit?"
Yamato wore a suit—most of one, anyway. Navy fabric cut in perfectly tailored lines hugged her legs and torso, trousers cut thin at the ankle above a pair of sleek black pumps. Gold cufflinks winked at her wrists; the top of a golden pocket square peeked from her front pocket. But it was the waterfall of necklaces spilling down her chest that caught Kurama's eye, their metal catching the lights of the bar with scintillating pinpricks of gold. He started to study them, pick out just how many she wore, but he averted his eyes before he could make that determination. Yamato wore a white button-up under her suit coat, yes, but she wore it unbuttoned nearly to her navel, curve of her breasts just visible beside each of her jacket's satin lapels. Quickly Kurama affixed his eyes on her face and hair, instead—or rather, on her face and wig. Unlike her softer, more natural wigs, the one she wore then was quite obviously not her real hair, mainly owing to the fact that the strands were bright, electric violet, hair parted down the middle in a zigzag pattern. She'd styled the wig with loose curls and adorned her eyes with smoky shadow with a subtle sparkle—a striking ensemble, if Kurama were to be honest, and one he could not help but observe in detail.
Kurama suspected that Yamato looked trendy, although if pressed, Kurama wouldn't be able to name any of the latest trends. Or perhaps Yamato was simply stylish. He remembered his mother saying true style didn't depend on trends, after all.
Yamato smiled over the rim of her martini glass, lips painted brilliant red. "Well, if I'm gonna be one of the guys tonight, I thought I'd at least dress the part."
"Except I'm sure if Yusuke left his shirt unbuttoned," Kurama said, slipping into the chair across from her, "you'd levy at least some protest."
She shrugged. "Depends on the state of his abs."
"Oh?" said Kurama. "And are yours in an acceptable state?"
"I'm quite the regular at my local gym, actually." Yamato hummed as she took a sip of her drink, long and slow. "What're you drinking, Red?"
"Nothing, for now."
"Spoilsport."
But she didn't seem concerned at his lack of libation. On the contrary, Yamato lifted her cell phone and studied it, tapping her thumb against the screen. Ah. So she was one of those humans—too distracted by their technology for conversation. Kurama hadn't pegged her as the type, but…
He opened his book across his lap. He wasn't one for idle chatter, anyway.
But Yamato wasn't about to give him any peace. "Man, it's nice to have reception again." Yamato beamed at her phone, eyes bright with glee. "I know you have satellite on that laptop, but I don't know how the others get by without their phones! That temple really is a black spot for reception…"
Kurama tried to ignore the way his estimation of her fell at that remark. "You're shockingly relaxed," was all he said, watching as she took another slow sip from her glass. "I thought you would be reticent to appear in public—wary of being found by those demons, no less."
"Not really." Yamato shrugged, still staring at her phone. "They knew I was in Tokyo, but then I went to the temple, and I doubt they tracked me all the way there since they never showed up to try and eat my eyeballs. And that means there's no reason for them to suspect I'm here. It's not like I've ever been here before, nor to the temple for that matter. Whatever powers they've got, tracking me halfway across Japan seems pretty unrealistic, so…" Black eyes flickered upward, brows lowering above them. "Something funny, Red?"
Kurama stifled the chuckle that had sprung unbidden from his chest. "Nothing," he said, smothering his smile with a hand. "It's just that the only reason I allowed this evening to happen is because I share your opinion."
"And because I don't need your permission to do anything," Yamato said, grinning like a shark. "Also that."
"True enough, I suppose." Lacing his fingers, Kurama rested his hands atop his bent knee, one leg crossing smartly over the other. "So, Yamato. What can I expect this evening?"
She held a finger to her lips with a smirk. "It's a secret."
"If we're supposed to keep you safe," Kurama countered, "I would appreciate at least some forewarning as to the environments we'll soon encounter."
Her lower lip thrust out, but she didn't argue. "Fine, but you can't tell Yusuke anything." A beat passed. "And you can't tell Kuwabara, either. He looks like a blabbermouth." When Kurama nodded in agreement, she at last admitted, "We're going to go to dinner, and then we're hitting up a club. Nothing too out of the ordinary."
"What kind of club?" Kurama asked.
"A dance club. Mostly electronic stuff."
But Kurama cared far less about the club's favored music than he did the location itself. "Not an advantageous battleground, should it come to that," he said, eyes dropping to the table in thought. "Too many exits, and—"
Yamato swirled her glass, idly watching the liquid in it dance. "You won't have to worry about that where we're going," she said. "Trust me."
Kurama stared at her. "Oh?"
Another shark-smile, shrewd and cunning over the rim of her martini. "Let's just say that to get into this particular club, you have to have an invitation," she said with slow, deliberate language, "and there's only one door to speak of."
"One door? And an invitation?" Kurama repeated, confused—and perhaps impressed, though he tried not to indulge himself. "Do you have one?"
"Of course," she said, offended (though the glitter in her eye told Kurama she was only playing the part). "Give me some credit."
But this didn't quite add up. "Earlier you stated you had never been to Tokamachi," Kurama said. "But was that true? Have you visited this city before?"
"Never," said Yamato.
"Then how—?"
"Connections, babe. Its pays to have them." She winked, tipping back her glass for the final sip of her martini. As she set down the glass, her eyes caught on something over Kurama's shoulder; she stood up and whistled as footsteps approached, clicking against the marble floor. "Well, well, well. You two also clean up nicely, for the record."
It was Yusuke and Kuwabara, of course, who'd walked up behind Kurama. They looked sharp in their suits (and with their doctored hairstyles), Yusuke popping his lapels for effect while Kuwabara's chin jutted upward with pride.
"What else did you expect?" Yusuke said, fiddling with the knot in his blue tie. Brown eyes traveled down Yamato's body and back up again. "And I gotta say, Yamato—you look better in a suit than Kuwabara, that's for damn sure."
Kuwabara turned toward Yusuke with a stomp of his enormous foot. "Hey! Screw you, Urameshi!"
"He's kidding, doll." Yamato slipped around the table and straightened Kuwabara's tie with her manicured fingertips, smiling up at him with genuine affection. "You're handsome as hell and don't let him tell you any differently."
"Thanks, Yamato. I—" He stopped talking and sputtered, eyes bulging from his face as he stared down at Yamato's chest. "Hey, wait, your shirt's not buttoned!" he yelped, stumbling away from her with exaggerated horror.
Yamato looked down at her chest, feigning surprise. "Well, would you look at that. Whoops," she said, as if she'd only just noticed her outfit. She made no move to fix it before heading for the door. "Now c'mon, you three. Follow me."
Yamato didn't bother hailing them a cab before setting off into the twilit spring evening. Their destination was just up the road, she said, on the other side of the town square past a few blocks of shops (all closed for the night) and some eateries positioned beneath myriad blossoming cherry blossom trees (at which a certain tour group of gaijin unabashedly stared). It only took them a few minutes to find a small stone building hidden at the back of a plot of land, nearly hidden behind a blooming garden Kurama took a few moments to stop and admire. Eventually he hurried forward to catch up with his friends, who had forged ahead to the restaurant's large and intimidating front doors. Hewn of heavy wood and flanked by flicking gas lights set into the building's stone façade, Yamato pushed through the doors like a battering ram, not flinching or even reacting at all when a trio of waiters in tuxedo jackets swarming her the second she walked inside.
"Urameshi," she said, feet spread wide below her in their tall heels—a stance of confidence, and power. "Party of four."
The waiters bowed in unison. If they were at all off put by her hair or clothes, they gave no sign (quite a feat, considering this place no doubt had a stringent dress code).
One of them said, "We've been expecting you."
And another said, "Right this way, madam."
Any normal person, human or demon, would balk in the face of such deferential treatment—but Yamato was not phased. She just gave them a nod and started forward, walking quickly with heels snapping against the rich hardwood floors, not at all self-conscious in her attire or brilliant wig. An impressive show of confidence, for sure… but she walked so quickly after the waiters, she missed Yusuke's reaction to the exchange.
Urameshi Yusuke, just like Yamato, didn't flinch at this treatment. In fact, it rather seem to galvanize the man. His head rose in subtle increments, eyes narrowing as he took a single, self-assured step after Yamato. In contrast, Kuwabara floundered, glancing around the restaurant with wary nerves. Given their normally similar demeanors and behaviors, the contrast in their reactions was striking indeed.
However… Kurama knew why they responded in such different manners. He just wondered if Yamato would notice—if not now, then later.
The dimly lit restaurant boasted an array of tables draped in white linen, candles adding a soft ambiance complemented by the chandeliers, low string music, and delicious aromas wafting from some hidden kitchen. Refinement and taste—that was the impression the restaurant gave thanks to its high ceilings and the waiters in their black jackets. Yamato strut through the place like she'd done so a hundred times, paying no mind to the exquisitely dressed patrons sipping champagne from flutes and laughing in low voices over sumptuous entrees and decadent desserts. A few of them stared at Yamato, eyebrows raising at her hair color, but she paid them not even a glance. Kurama's nose—sharper than most, owing to his true nature—picked up the scents of truffle and chocolate, succulent meat and crisp vegetables, all blending together in a mélange of pure indulgence. He'd smelled cooking of this level only a few times before, mostly during business meetings hosted by his stepfather's company; by the time they arrived at the back of the restaurant to enter a private room as finely appointed and dimly lit as the rest of the restaurant, his mouth nearly watered at the scents.
Luckily waiters converged the very instant they sat down at a round table draped in white. As two men closed the elegant glass doors of the private room, others offered wine (of which all but Yusuke partook), hot hand towels, and small plates of amuse-bouche (bites of salmon roe seasoned with lemongrass in a rich, but light, yuzu sauce—delicious). If Kurama hadn't been impressed by the restaurant already, the single bite they'd given him certainly did the job, whetting the appetite like a stone sharpening a sword.
And he wasn't the only one feeling the weight of the atmosphere. "Uh… so this place seems ritzy, right?" said Kuwabara. He shifted in his seat, eyeing his untouched amuse-bouche like it might bite him. "What's even on the menu at a place like this, anyway?"
"No idea." Yamato patted her mouth with a cloth napkin before reaching for her glass of white wine, humming her enjoyment of their first course. "The menu is preset."
"What's that mean?" Kuwabara said.
"That means it's fancy." Yusuke grinned and held out a fist. "Nice choice, Yamato!"
She bumped her knuckles against his. "Don't mention it." A faint smirk tilted up her delicate chin. "I did mention why we were here, though, and that you seemed like a carnivore, so…"
Yusuke's eyes lit up at once. "Steak?"
"I may have mentioned you would enjoy a good fillet mignon," she wheedled, smirk transforming into an outright grin. "Also lobster. Good ol' surf and turf!"
Yusuke faked a swoon. "Where have you been all my life?"
"You can't say that. You're about to be married," Yamato shot back while wagging a finger—but then she grinned again, beckoning with a hand. "But do continue to tell me how great I am. That never goes amiss."
"Seriously, though," said Yusuke, eyes alight with mischief. "Best friend bracelets are girly as hell, but I'll wear one if you're game."
"Hey!" said Kuwabara. "What'm I, chopped liver?"
"He's just overly excited about the steak, baby-cake," Yamato assured him. "Don't take it personally." She encouraged Kuwabara to try his food, and once his eyes widened at the delicious taste of salmon and lemongrass, she said, "And besides. I'm sure whatever you had planned blows my little shindig out of the water."
But Kuwabara did not appear to agree. "I guess," he grumbled with eyes downcast. "If you say so…"
"I'm serious!" Yamato pressed. "You're the best man, right? You know Urameshi better than anybody. I just had to guess at what he might enjoy. But you?" She chucked his musclebound arm. "You've got the inside scoop."
"Speaking of which, Kuwabara," Kurama said. "Can you tell us what you had planned, now that there's no hope of us ruining the surprise?" Kuwabara had hinted at his plans many times over the past weeks, and Kurama thought it was high time to learn the truth behind Kuwabara's many cryptic clues.
Kuwabara rubbed the back of his neck, radiating self-conscious inelegance. "Well, first it was a fancy dinner…"
Yamato raised her glass in a toast. "Great minds."
"… but at a bunny girl café."
Yusuke sat up straight in his chair with a yelp. "What?! That's awesome!"
Encouraged, Kuwabara's hand dropped from his neck. "And then we were gonna hit up a humidor for cigars…"
"Awesome!" Yusuke repeated. "That's awesome!"
Yamato chucked his arm a second (and harder) time. "Dude, that's amazing!"
Kuwabara drew himself up, beaming. "Why, thank you!"
Kurama, observing the prideful glint in Kuwabara's eye, said, "I sense that's not all you had planned, however."
"There might've been a grand finale in store, yeah," Kuwabara admitted. "The next bit was embarrassing to track down, but…" He started to scratch his neck again, angular cheeks flushing red. "I kind of found this bar out in the boonies, and…"
"What?" said Yusuke, leaning toward him across the table. "What was it?"
Kuwabara flushed harder, then admitted in a rush: "It was ladies night, and they were doing jello wrestling!"
"WHAT?" Yusuke bellowed, shooting to his feet with a clatter of chair leg on floor. "JELLO WRESTLING!?"
"You mean we're missing that?" Yamato slapped the table in frustration. "Fuck!"
Kurama's sharp ears picked up a murmur of conversation through the glass doors of their private room; other patrons stared at them through the crystalline panes in curiosity, a woman in a mink stole whispering something to her dinner companion behind a hand. Yusuke sat in his chair again with a grumbled apology. Yamato, however, only had eyes for Yusuke. She turned to him with a ghastly expression, hands on her cheeks in horror.
"Oh my god. Oh my god!" she said. "I am so sorry all over again for wrecking your bachelor party, because..." She shot Kuwabara a look of apology. "I mean, my thing is good, don't get me wrong, but that is just…"
"That's made for me!" Yusuke pretended to wipe a tear from his cheek, staring at Kuwabara in misty-eyed appreciation. "This man. This man, he knows me."
"What were we saying about friendship bracelets?" Yamato pretended to look around for their waiter. "Oh, garcon? Garcon? We need to get these two some bestie bracelets. Are there any jewelry stores open this time of night?"
"Yeah, are there!?" Yusuke said.
Kuwabara's flush deepened, bordering on purple. "Well, you are my best friend," he said to Yusuke with his trademark earnestness. "Of course I planned you the best party I could! You deserve it! You—" And then Kuwabara actually did turn purple. His forehead descended to the table with a thunk. "Urk."
"Aww, Kuwabara!" said Yamato, clearly touched. "That's was sweet!"
Meanwhile: "Ew!" Yusuke stuck out his tongue and pretended to gag. "Ew, gross!"
Kuwabara lifted his face enough to glare. "Oh, shut up! I was just bein' nice, is all! Don't make fun of me for getting mushy, because—"
"Pal, I'm way ahead of you." Yusuke's eyes grew distant, and idle smile playing on his lips. "Still. Jello wrestling. Man!"
"Well, it's not all doom and gloom." Kuwabara twiddled his thumbs, coy smile creeping across his face. "They do it every few months, so…"
"So we'll go next time. No big deal!" Yusuke's grin lit up the candlelit room like a firework. Snatching up his glass of water, he raised it in the air to say, "In fact, this calls for a toast, because it looks like I'll get to have two bachelor parties."
"That's the spirit!" Yamato crowed.
Glasses rose around the table, crystal rims tapping with musical intonation. As he sipped from his glass of mellow red wine, Kurama came to the rather unexpected realization that he was enjoying himself—far more than he'd likely enjoy himself at a jello wrestling event, though he would never admit as much to the enthusiastic Yusuke.
Still… when Yamato sat back in her chair, Kurama caught a glimpse of a devious glimmer in her coal-dark eyes, and he had to wonder just how long his enjoyment of the night could last.
X
I said shorter chapters and promptly birthed this 6k monstrosity, I hate myself
Tokamachi is technically a real place but I've never been there and I made up a lot of shit about it so no fussing at me for not getting the details right MMKAY?
I'm doing Nanowrimo for the first time in EONS, and I'm using it to work on this story, so you should get a lot of good (ish) content this month
I think one of the themes of this story is "Don't judge a book by its cover." OCs are like onions. They have layers. And Yamato hides hers under a lot of bluster. So don't go judging her just yet. Kurama's already made that mistake, but he'll have to eat crow soon enough.
I didn't update for months and that means a lot of people lost track of this fic, and I don't fuckin' blame 'em. Just really grateful that Cezarina, Sorlian, RachelM96 and a Gertrude (guest) still tuned in for chapter 8. Y'all're good people.
