Chapter 10: "Kiss Your Royal Ass, My Liege?"
X
Many courses later, Yusuke leaned back in his seat and sighed. Before him sat an empty bowl, whisked away only a few seconds after his spoon settled at the bottom of the vessel.
"Oh man, I'm stuffed!" Yusuke said. "This place was seriously good, Yamato."
"Lobster and steak, just like you said," Kuwabara added with palpable appreciation, "and that custom soufflé for dessert…"
He and Yusuke let out twin groans of satisfaction. The chef had come out to take their soufflé orders personally, offering them at least three dozen flavor options and the ability to customize combinations as the diner saw fit. After a delicious dinner of steak, lobster, truffled foie gras as an appetizer, the knockout amuse-bouche, one of the most delicately perfumed and intricately assembled salads Kurama had ever eaten, an herbed risotto with figs and fresh, seared scallops... it was almost absurd, how good the food had proven, and that was saying nothing of the accompanying champagne and wine. Kurama only regretted that the restaurant wasn't located closer to where he lived.
But still… satisfied though he felt with his meal, something didn't sit right with him. Kurama waited until they left for the evening to investigate the reasons for his disquiet, heading back out into the humid spring darkness where he slipped beside Yamato and murmured in her ear.
"Forgive me for being gauche, but Yamato… who paid for all of that?" he said.
She tossed her violet hair. "I did."
"Wait." Yusuke, walking ahead of them, stopped cold and turned toward her. "You did?"
"I mean, who else would've?" she said, grinning. "And besides. I had to make up for your cancelled party somehow."
"But that—that had to be expensive as hell!" said Kuwabara, who had also paused beside Yusuke. "That meal—"
"Was expensive, yeah. But you deserve it." She dipped a frilly western-style bow (one that had Kurama nearly reaching for her on reflex, concerned about the state of her gaping shirt). "Consider it payment for all you've done for me at what's probably the most inconvenient time of your life. And don't sweat the cost, really. Just make me ramen sometime in return. Keiko mentioned you're good at it."
"Heh. The best. Yusuke jerked a thumb at his chest while he grinned, challenge writ across his face. "And you're on. My ramen can take on a fancy restaurant any day of the week!"
"I'll bet," said Yamato—and then, counter to everything Kurama had seen from her so far, she hesitated. Her eyes darted down to the pavement and back up to Yusuke's face, lips rolling together for a moment in silence. Eventually she seemed to find the will to speak, asking in rushed words: "But I gotta ask… you run a ramen stand, which seems normal enough, but a friend of mine mentioned you have a bit of a reputation." (Kurama tried not to look guilty at that, face arranged into purposeful neutrality. He noted Yamato did not so much as glance his way, her poker face commendable indeed.) "A reputation with demons, specifically. Wanna tell me what that's about?"
"Oh." Yusuke's shoulders sagged. "That."
Yamato crossed her arms, one hip cocking out. "Not the reaction I was hoping for," she muttered before giving Yusuke an upbeat laugh. "But don't sweat it, we don't have to talk about it if you don't wa—"
"It's fine." Yusuke nearly snapped the phrase, chin ducking with embarrassment when Yamato gave a small, startled gasp. He hung his head like a scolded child after that, agitated and downtrodden at once. "Just… I dunno." Another shrug, words coming softer than before. "You were being normal with me. Apart from these guys—" (he nodded at Kuwabara and Kurama) "—that's not something I get a lot. And it was nice, so…"
"Intriguing." Yamato waved a hand, though, like she wanted to swat away an annoying gnat. "But, again, I'm not one to pry. So if you don't want to tell me, that's—"
"I'm kind of a king, Yamato."
Kuwabara tensed. So did Kurama. The pair of them exchanged a look behind Yusuke and Yamato's backs, silent but nevertheless tempered by anticipatory urgency. Despite her abilities, Yamato was new to the world of the supernatural. How she would react to this news, Kurama wasn't sure… and he felt a small tremor of guilt at being the person who had set her on this path of inquiry. He had told her to ask Yusuke about himself directly. He just hadn't thought she'd do it now, of all times.
But it was no matter. Exchanging a subtle nod with Kuwabara, the pair braced themselves for the fallout that would inevitably come when Yamato learned the truth, subtly placing themselves behind her in case… she wasn't the type to faint, nor was she the type to run. Burst into tears? That seemed fittingly dramatic, but…
And yet Yamato did none of the above. She just blinked at Yusuke for a second, then said, "A what?"
"A king. Y'know. Like with a crown, and stuff." When she did not react, he offered a clarifying detail. "I'm the king of Demon World, specifically. Or at least I was until a few months ago."
But Yamato wasn't buying it. "Oh, haha," she said, rolling her eyes and tapping her foot against the pavement. "Very funny." With a longsuffering sigh she leaned into a walk, traipsing down the sidewalk and away from the restaurant. "Let's all have a laugh at Yamato. Ha ha. How very droll…"
"I'm not joking," Yusuke called after her.
At the sincerity in his voice—because that was all Kurama could read within his tone—Yamato stopped walking. She'd heard it too, it seemed. In increments she turned around to face their group again, her dark eyes wide pools of glassy midnight amid the bronze mooring of her smooth skin.
"I'm sorry," she said, "but I think I just hallucinated. I thought you just said you were a king of Demon World."
Yusuke shoved his hands in his pockets. "Yup."
"A king," said Yamato.
"Yes," said Yusuke.
"Like a crown and scepter, people bow when you pass, literal actual king?"
"The bowing isn't as cool as you'd think it is, for the record." Yusuke grinned. "Talk about embarrassing!"
Her jaw dropped. "Oh my god!?"
Yusuke sighed, head tipping backward on his neck. "And here it comes," he lamented. "The bowing and the scraping and—"
"Not my style, actually," Yamato said, voice as unyielding as granite. "I'm just going to freak out and repeat that you were a literal king!?" Her voice rose high and cracking in the night, punctuated by the click of her heels as she stalked back over to Yusuke across the pavement. "You were a literal, actual KING!? Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"It never came up!" he said as she came to a stomping halt before him. "And it's not the kind of thing you just tell people out of the blue, right?"
But she wasn't listening, eyes roving in their sockets, mind working a mile a minute to process this new information. "Wait," she said after a moment's intense reflection. She trained her gaze intent upon Yusuke, eyes pits of burning black tar. "And what the hell do you mean, you used to be a king until a few months ago? What happened, did you abdicate or something?"
"This is going well," Kuwabara said out of the corner of his mouth.
"Have any popcorn on you?" Kurama murmured back.
"Nah, nothing like that," said Yusuke, ignoring them both (or perhaps he hadn't even heard them speak). "It's actually a system I convinced all the bigwigs in Demon World to stick to a few years back. Basically demons are all about who's the strongest, so every three years we get together and…"
To a stunned yet fascinated Yamato, Yusuke explained what Kurama and Kuwabara already knew: That every three years, the demons of Demon World threw a winner-takes-all fighting tournament with a seat on the throne as the grand prize. Yusuke had won one such tournament a little over three years prior, granting him temporary kingship over the land of demons. As of the recent New Year, however, he was no longer in power, surrendering his seat to the next winner of the tournament of succession. Per Yusuke's own design, a former ruler of Demon World could not enter the succession tournament immediately following the end of his or her rule—a so-called "breather term" to prevent any one demon from monopolizing the monarchy. Yusuke had been enjoying his breather term by wedding-planning with Keiko and reigniting his ramen stand and supernatural PI business, which had to be put on pause when he won the succession tournament. For now, Yusuke enjoyed the life of a civilian, and it was an experience he enjoyed immensely.
Kurama enjoyed it too, of course. Acting as Yusuke's most top-ranking advisor had certainly eaten into his life in Human World as well. Now they were both back in Human World to stay (for a while, anyway), and life could resume where it had left off.
Well. For the most part. But Kurama did not want to dwell on certain feelings of malcontent that he had recently begun to harbor about the current state of his life. However, rather than brood, he put these thoughts from his head as best he could returning to the present just as Yusuke wound down his tale of thrones and kings.
"Being king was cool, not gonna lie," he was saying to a slack-jawed Yamato. "But it was hard, too, and I'm glad to have a break, y'know? Plus, demons don't kiss my ass quite the way they used to, even if they still do it a little… and I gotta say it's pretty nice, being normal again." A light sparked in his brown eyes, flickering and warm. "And the best part is it that I finally get to marry Keiko! Didn't want anyone targeting a queen to get back at me for making a law they didn't like or whatever, so we put off the wedding until my term ended." He elbowed Yamato and laughed at his own joke. "Can't kill a queen if there isn't one, right?"
But Yamato didn't join in. Instead her eyes darkened even further, if such a thing is possible. "You—?" she said, single syllable low and rumbling, but Yusuke cut her off before she could continue.
"It's a lot to take in, I know," he said. "But—"
"You—you didn't let Keiko be queen?"
Yusuke did the smallest of double-takes. "That's what you took away from all that? That Keiko never was a queen?"
Yamato threw up her hands with a small scream of frustration. "I'm her Fixer, even if I'm on loan tonight, so yeah, that's exactly what I took!"
In a flash she grabbed Yusuke by the lapels, dragging him up to her level (she was quite tall in her heels) so she could glare directly into his face. Kuwabara started to intervene, hands outstretched to grab her, but Kurama thrust out his arm and held him back, shaking his head 'no.' Yamato was on a tear, and he got the feeling it was best they stay out of it… for all their sakes, Yusuke's very much included.
"You didn't let her have a royal wedding?" She nearly spat the words, voice rising in both octave and in volume. "Every little girl's goddamn dream? What the hell is wrong with you!?"
"Hey, hey, hey," Yusuke said, struggling against her grip. "Cut that shit out!"
"You're lucky I'm your Fixer tonight, because if I wasn't, I'd march us right back to that hotel, and you could forget about the awesomeness to come." She gave him a shake (one Yusuke allowed with good humor; Yamato couldn't have hurt him even if she tried). "You could forget it, mister!"
"Actually, I lied," said Yusuke. "I could really use some of that royal bowing and scraping right about now."
"As you wish, my liege." In a flash Yamato backed off—so she could curtsy, no less. Words now a purr of submission, she said, "Can I get you anything, my liege? Kiss your royal ass, my liege?"
"OK, I take it back," Yusuke said with a shudder. "You can yell at me again—I mean it, please yell at me again. I'm serious."
Yamato rose from her curtsy with a cackle. Kurama's earlier wariness faded at the sight of her smile, not to mention the way she slung an arm around Yusuke's shoulders and dragged him with her down the sidewalk. So she was taking this news rather well, after all. An admirable feat, considering the circumstances.
"Well, I guess that explains how you knew which fork was the dessert fork," she said. "I noticed over dinner. Makes sense; bet you threw some dinner parties, yeah?"
"Oh, yeah. Definitely." Yusuke grinned into the night. "You ain't seen a party till you've been to a demon party, that's for sure."
"You'll have to tell me about it sometime." Yamato unlooped her arm to point down the street. "Two blocks that way and we'll be at our destination, by the way."
"Cool. Do you—?"
Before Yusuke could finish speaking, a bright, chipper ringtone filled the humid air. Yamato muttered an apology before pulling her cell phone from her pocket, answering the call with a cheerful, generic 'hello.' She paused as someone on the other end kept speaking; Yusuke, meanwhile, kept on walking, Kuwabara trotting to catch up. Kurama kept walking as well, coming to a stop midway between Yusuke and Kuwabara and the spot where Yamato had taken her call. She stared at the ground with brow furrowed, then eventually rubbed a hand over the top of her purple wig. Tugged at the lacefront, adjusting.
"Great," she said. "That'd be perfect." A pause before she threw back her head and laughed. "Oh my god, no. He did not!" Yamato giggled as her conversation partner said something else. "Well, you tell him he's an asshole for me, huh? OK. OK, great. Bye!"
Kurama listened in silence, averting his eyes when Yamato looked up after ending the call and slipping her phone into her pocket. Seemingly undeterred by her high heels, she trotted forward until she reached Kurama, flashing him a grin as her stride slowed back to a walk. Together, Kurama and Yamato followed after Yusuke and Kuwabara, silent for a moment or so before Yamato heaved a sigh.
"Dinner sure was good, huh?" she said. "I'm going to be dreaming about that soufflé for weeks."
"I imagine I'll do the same." Kurama eyed her askance. She stared forward with an absent smile, oblivious. "Although… I didn't realize fortune telling paid quite so well."
Black eyes traveled to him in an instant. "Hmm?"
"That meal," said Kurama. "You paid for—"
She cut him off like a sword slashing the air. "It was literally the least I could do, Red." Yamato shook her head, purple strands brushing her smooth cheeks. "I've never been a burden to anyone. Not about to start now."
There was something in her manner of speaking that gave him pause. "Yamato," he said after a moment's time. "You must know that we don't think of you that way."
But Yamato just shrugged. "Doesn't matter what you think."
To Kurama, her implication was clear—Yamato herself thought she was a burden on them, his opinion on the matter irrelevant in light of her own beliefs. He'd told her she wasn't a burden mostly in an effort to provide her comfort, and because such an assurance seemed required by human social rules, not because he believed what he'd said. In truth, he didn't believe his words at all. She was a burden in some ways. Many ways, in fact. But to see her hang her head, stare at the pavement through hooded eyes, heels scuffing against the sidewalk, vulnerable in a way he had not quite expected…
It was interesting, to see Yamato wear such a look. Uncertainty gave her eyes the opaque quality of descending mist—a sharp contrast from her earlier bluster and bravado.
Soon Yamato put on an unexpected burst of speed. She walked a few paces ahead of Kurama before slowing again, maintaining a distance as she pulled her phone from her pocket to type something. Her nails tapped against the screen like rain on a window—steady, but arrhythmic, gentle, but purposed. Who was she texting now?
By the time Kurama caught back up with her, the phone had vanished into her pocket. The earlier uncertainty in her expression had vanished, too, replaced instead by a breezy smile that touched her eyes, seemingly genuine indeed.
Kurama thought back to her behavior the night they met. She had changed personas and attitudes that night, too. That night she'd traded bravado for vulnerability and then that breezy smile, donning and removing masks with the skill of an accomplished actress. In light of that, Kurama could not help but wonder which costume of hers was genuine, and which qualified as mere façade. How deeply did her bravado extend? And what should he believe: her bluster and quick wit, or the melancholy that had flashed so swiftly across her eyes? Did her nigh constant humor cover a hidden disquiet? Perhaps the lady doth protest too much, or similar.
Time would tell, Kurama theorized. And he—an aficionado of masks, himself—would be there to observe.
X
Yamato consulted a map on her phone, which took them in short order back to Tokamachi's downtown. String lights hung from poles and trees around the clock tower in the center of the square, but Yamato didn't take them to any of the still-open eateries clustered around this center of industry. Instead she took them toward a tall building—the second-tallest building in the city after the hotel, per Kurama's estimations. People on its rooftop several stories above laughed and chattered, their merriment a steady accompaniment to the sounds of distant bass. As they got closer, Kurama saw lights atop the building, too, reflected in the glass of other nearby structures. From the top of the building drifted the scents of blooming jasmine and women's perfume, obvious to Kurama's sensitive, demonic nose. He detected the scents of perspiration as well, undercutting the floral aromas with acrid musk. Because these things all signaled they had neared a dance club of some kind, Kurama expected that this was their destination.
However, as was her custom, Yamato surprised him. She led them not to the tall building, but rather into the alley between it and the shorter brick building next door. Canvas hung behind its windows, indicating it remained uninhabited, but this did not deter Yamato in the slightest. She strode into the dingy, dimly lit alley without a second glance, swaying over the broken pavement as if were as smooth as glass. She made walking in heels an art form, practically mincing toward the single, metal doorway set into the brick wall at the alley's opposite end.
Just as she neared the doorway, however, Yamato stopped and turned, hands alighting on her hips with impish glee.
"Now, listen up." She tossed her violet hair and stared at each of them in turns, black eyes as hard, dark an unyielding as asphalt. "We're about to enter a world quite unlike any you've ever experienced, so pay attention as I lay out the ground rules."
"Rules?" Yusuke curled his lip. "It's my bachelor party! Screw the rules!"
"Not in here, you won't."
Yamato practically growled, oddly insistent and deathly serious at the same time. Heels clicked as she marked toward Yusuke, peering into his face as though daring him to defy her—and given the hard set of her jaw, Kurama rather thought doing so would spell one's doom. The way her painted lips curled back over her teeth spoke of a lioness defending her territory. Harmless though she was in the face of demons such as Yusuke, Kurama rather feared for the man, who stared back at Yamato with defiant confusion.
"You're entering their world," she said, pointing behind her at the metal door. "You will follow their lead. Do not touch without invitation. Yell and hoot and holler, but do not cross any boundaries set by those we're about to see." Again she tossed her hair, nose thrust high with imperious obduracy. "And understand this most of all: They are not doing this for you. They are doing this for themselves, and it is only because they have graciously invited us to share their art that you have been allowed to witness it." She put great emphasis on the word 'allowed.' "You are the guest, and they are the masters—not the other way around. Understood?"
Kurama and Yusuke exchanged a look. So did Yusuke and Kuwabara, and then Kuwabara and Kurama last of all. Yamato watched their silent communication with fists clenched, measuring their reactions to her cryptic speech like a scientist braced for caustic chemical reaction. Soon Yusuke looked at her again and shrugged, probably unsure of what else he could do.
"Uh… not really, but OK?" he said. "But I'll keep all that in mind." He waved vaguely at the air. "Respect boundaries, yadda yadda."
"Respect boundaries," Kuwabara repeated, pairing the statement with a nod. "Got it."
Yamato wore a triumphant smile, but she wasn't finished. Apparently she needed agreement from all of them, explicitly. She turned to Kurama and inclined her head again, eyes once more blazing with cold fury.
"Kurama?" she said, expectant.
"I am a guest." His reply came smoothly; he knew what she wanted to hear. "They are in charge, and I am present at their whim."
"Very good." Another of her masks emerged, sunny smile eclipsing her determined stare. "Now, follow me."
Kurama, Kuwabara and Yusuke watched her whirl and walk again toward the door at the end of the alley in silence. Then Yusuke lifted a brow.
"Are we about to get murdered?" he asked.
"More likely spirited away," Kurama murmured.
Kuwabara gave a shudder. "Not helping, Kurama. Not helping!"
"Hey." Yusuke snickered, "it's better than getting shot in a drug deal."
"Are you guys coming, or what?" Yamato tossed over her shoulder, and together the three men followed her into the dark.
As far as alleys went, this one was far from the seediest Kurama had entered in his life. He rather expected the same held for all those present. Yamato certainly didn't let the dingy atmosphere slow her progress. She all but pounded on the metal door with her fist, backing up a pace when a tiny hatch opened in the middle of the panel. Two beady human eyes appeared in the darkness within that slot, looking Yamato over with inscrutable surveillance.
Soon a deep voice rumbled, "Password?"
Kurama's brows shot up at that. What kind of dance club had a password, of all things?
And yet, Yamato didn't hesitate. "Megumi sent me," she immediately replied, a smile broad across her face. "Now open up, toots."
The hatch shut with a clang. It stayed shut for one moment, then two. Kurama wondered if all of Yamato's posturing and swagger had been for naught, but then the door swung open. A tall, broad man in a black suit gestured them to enter, his bald head gleaming in the glare of the light overhead. Behind him stretched a nondescript length of empty hallway paneled on all sides with bare concrete. Light bulbs on chains hung from the featureless ceiling—austere, industrial, Spartan.
If Kurama hadn't been able to sense the man in the suit was human, he might have been unnerved by this turn of events. And he wasn't the only one.
"I don't think I like this very much," Yusuke muttered.
"Me neither," Kuwabara muttered back.
Yamato grinned.
"Trust me," she said. "You will."
And she walked confidently inside, as was her wont. The man pulled the door shut after them once they all ventured within the cool hallway to follow Yamato's quick stride down the smooth floor. No sound but the clatter of her high heels accompanied them as they ventured down the hall and turned a corner, finding themselves before another metal door. Another beast of a man in a suit stood beside this door, a small end table against the wall beside him bearing naught but a small lamp with a stained glass shade (an elaborate one that appeared completely out of place in the otherwise ascetic hallway).
But Kurama didn't pay the lamp further heed. The man in the suit had opened the door, beckoning for them to once again follow Yamato down a flight of steps. The staircase (another austere structure forged all of concrete and metal) turned twice before they found themselves before yet one more metal door guarded again by a man in a suit.
The door and the man felt familiar, obviously—but something had changed between this door and the last. At first Kurama thought he felt the thrum of some distant machine vibrating the soles of his shoes, but…
No, he thought as the man in the suit turned the massive handle on the door. That wasn't machinery. That was the feeling of music. But he was the only one who had noticed this new piece of sensory information, if Yusuke's next words were any indication.
"Are we there yet?" Yusuke whined at Yamato's back. "Because I'm gettin' a bit impatient, if I'm being honest."
Yamato tossed a grin over her shoulder—and then the man in the suit pulled the door before them open wide.
Lights and music poured over them, the sudden glare forcing Kurama's eyes to narrow as he took in the sound of an upbeat brass band and the hum of an eager crowd. Soon the sight of a massive, underground club swam into view, all gleaming brass and crimson velvet, club spread out below them in a tumble of polished wood and warm upholstery and milling people. He and the others stood atop a metal catwalk that wrapped around the edges of an enormous, high-ceilinged room. Opposite their place at the back of the room, a grand stage obscured with red velvet curtains loomed above the crowd; before it sprawled a collection of round tables and tall bar stools. A bar against a wall shined with polished crystal decanters and more bright brass. Servers in suits stood behind it, the cut of their clothes of a vintage that spoke of decades past. The huge metal casks behind the bar spoke of the same thing, an old-fashioned distillery plucked from the depths of history and deposited in a burst of reversed anachronism in this enormous basement.
But the décor wasn't the only thing to draw Kurama's eye. The people above the crowd and the bar were just as arresting, if not more so. At least a half dozen people swung from what appeared to be trapeze swings, rings of thin metal and lengths of heavy rope, posing and revolving on these supports in midair, toes of the aerialists just barely above the heads of the crowd of onlookers below, who watched with a chorus of awed gasps and exclamations. The performers hovered almost at eye-level with Kurama's position on the catwalk, one of them swinging close to tip their party a wink and a smile. All of the acrobats wore a scandalous dearth of clothing, Kurama couldn't help but notice, a few of the women clad in brassieres, garters and stockings embossed with glittering thread and sparkling sequins.
Kuwabara's face flushed crimson at the sight of this apparent wonderland of half-naked men and women; he hunkered down behind Yamato with a yelp of shock, but she didn't shield him from the apparent debauchery occurring mere meters from where they stood. Instead she let out a giggle and slipped away, entering the basement with a spring in her step, soon spinning mid-stride as she approached the railing at the edge of the catwalk. She draped her arms along it and crossed her feet at the ankle, leaning back against the rail with a grin on her mouth and a sparkle in her eye—one matched only by the lights glinting off the acrobats' scant regalia.
Kurama was certain he knew which of them smiled brighter. But he put the thought from his mind, because just then, Yamato spoke.
"Welcome to my world, boys!" she proclaimed. "And welcome to the world of burlesque."
X
Full disclosure, I fucking love burlesque and it's a fantastic art form and I refuse to not include it in this fanfic.
Cezarina is a fucking glorious example of human decency for taking pity on me and leaving chapter 9's one and only review LOL… I fucking love you Cezarina, please never change, you were my only reader and I love you.
I'm gonna start updating weekly now that I have some chapters built up thanks to NanoWrimo. Catch you on Wednesdays, people, and don't be a stranger. *finger guns
