Chapter 11: "The Safe Word is 'Mango'"
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I guess I should put a content warning on this one for, like, alcohol drinking and stripteases? IDK, something like that tho. Def a teen and up audience this chapter.
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Upbeat jazz and sparkling lights harmonized with the glimmer in Yamato's dark eyes, placing embers in their depths like a fire burning in the dark of night. To Kurama, she appeared to glow, at ease and unruffled in her violet wig below the long limbs of sweeping aerialists. Her relaxed demeanor was a far cry from the reactions of Kuwabara and Yusuke, who gaped at the spectacle in startled silence (although Yusuke, particularly, began to grin like a carved pumpkin soon enough). Yamato gave them time to process in each of the respective ways. Beneath her veneer of easy calm, however, Kurama could tell that she watched them with gaze most shrewd. Metering their reactions. Which is why she didn't express surprise when Kuwabara seemed to shake himself awake with a loud sputter.
"Wait. Burlesque?" he said, consternation evident. "I've heard that word before, but…"
"Isn't that, like, stripping—oh! Wait!" Yusuke gasped and pointed at Yamato, quite rudely. "You told Keiko there wouldn't be nudity!"
"And there won't be," said Yamato.
"But, but… aren't they going to take their clothes off?" said Kuwabara.
"They sure are!" She seemed quite happy about this arrangement, if her smile gave any indication. "But they always wear pasties and a g-string, so you don't see anything too naughty."
Yusuke covered his reddening face with a hand (perhaps to cover his lascivious grin). "But that's still—"
"They're still mostly naked!" said Kuwabara, very nearly outraged. "Aren't you just operating on a technicality, sort of?"
"Yup!" said Yamato. "Call it malicious compliance!"
She spoke with such pleased confidence, such insouciant glee, a laugh bubbled in Kurama's throat at once. He turned his face away with surreptitious care lest Yamato see his reaction to her devious grin and devilish demeanor. She didn't need any encouraging at all, least of all from him. Proving his assumption, she shrugged away from the railing and walked down the catwalk, heading for the stairs down into the throng below, on the club's lower level, with a swing in her high-heeled step.
"Oh," she said over her shoulder—but without turning, trusting that they would follow her (which, of course, they did). "And don't go calling the performers here 'strippers' unless they refer to themselves that way, first. Some burlesque performers like that word, but others don't, and you don't want to insult them accidentally. They've invited you to share their art, after all. Remember the rules." Here a single black eye regarded them over her shoulder. "You are a guest in their space, so hoot and holler and encourage them all you like, but do not touch a single—"
"Rei-chan!" a voice shrieked above the din of the crowd. "Rei-chan, Rei-chan!"
Dozens of people crowded the club's lower level, milling about the foot of the grand stage and the gleaming bar with its brass accoutrements and taps. These onlookers parted as Yamato descended to the foot of the catwalk's steps, revealing a young women wearing overalls, a pencil tucked behind her ear, a radio earpiece in her ear, and a clipboard tucked under an arm. She wore her dark hair under a baseball cap, one that fell off her head when she threw open her arms and tossed herself full-body into Yamato's embrace. She did this with a shriek, one Yamato matched as she grabbed her friend (because this could only be a friend, with a reception like that) and spun her around, sneaker-clad feet coming off the floor to swing dangerously close to Kurama's shins. He took a step back as Yamato put the woman down and held her at arm's length, another holler of happiness leaving her painted lips.
"Akemi-chan!" Yamato said, practically vibrating where she stood. "Akemi-chan, I missed you!"
Akemi grinned back, staring up at Yamato with wide, sparkling eyes (she was quite short, Akemi, or perhaps Yamato was just tall). She wore no makeup, unadorned face pleasant and young, and quite the contrast to Yamato's painstaking cosmeticized countenance. Kurama thought he rather preferred Akemi's natural presentation, but that was neither here nor there, and he pushed the thought away in short order.
"I can't believe you're really here!" Akemi was saying, grasping onto Yamato's upper arms. "When Nobuo said you called, I just—"
"Hey, don't cry!" said Yamato as Akemi's wide brown eyes filled with crystalline tears. "I know it's been a while, but I'm here now, aren't I?"
"Yeah, but still." Akemi sniffled, but then she seemed to collect herself, turning toward Kurama, Yusuke and Kuwabara with a hasty smile. "Oh, I'm sorry. Are these your friends?"
"Yup." Yamato turned toward them, too. "That's Kuwabara Kazuma, and that's—"
She stopped when her eyes met Kurama's. They held the eye contact for a moment, wheels turning behind her gaze, black irises partially obscured by the length of her enormous false eyelashes—and just as Kurama wondered if he would need to take the lead, certainty gelled behind them. She nodded once, subtly, couching the gesture with an expression of forged apology.
Kurama understood at once. Ah. So that was her game. She didn't know which name to use for him, demon or human, and was pretending to have forgotten his name entirely, letting him decide on the manner of introduction. Clever of her. Clever and thoughtful, something he hadn't quite taken her for. Seemed his opinion required an update. But before that…
"Minamino Shuichi," he said, stepping in at Yamato's behest. "My name is Minamino Shuichi."
"Sorry, Minamino-san," Yamato said, selling fake penitence with aplomb and a quick bow (really, she was quite the actress). To Akemi she said, "We only met a few days ago so I'm still learning names. But I know this guy's name!" Here she reached for Yusuke, tugging him down off the stairs and to her side. "He's Urameshi Yusuke, and he's the bachelor."
"Oh, perfect!" Akemi danced from foot to foot. A pretty young woman, she wore a smile like a favored frock, delicate features and rounded chin quivering with delight. To Yusuke she said, "You get the front-row seat."
"I do?" said Yusuke, after a quick double-take.
"Yup!" Akemi chirped.
"Oh. This is Akemi, by the way." Yamato laughed as Akemi rescued her ball cap off the floor, so she could doff it like vaudeville performer. "She's the head technician and manager of the Akai-Chou Burlesque Troupe. And she's an old friend of mine, too."
"Yes I am!" said Akemi. Her eyes were back on Yamato again, just as delighted as before. "When Nobuo told me you called, I burst into tears, Rei-chan! I've missed you!"
The pair of them became emotional in unison, wrapping each other in a shared embrace as Yamato feigned comically loud sobs into the top of Akemi's head. Akemi did the same into Yamato's chest, though her emotion appeared rather more genuine. At least one real tear beaded on her cheek, and despite the scents of liquor and the sweat of the crowd, Kurama detected the scent of salted tears. But he wasn't the only one watching their exchange.
"So you're pretty close, huh?" Yusuke said, looking between Yamato and Akemi when they pulled away from one another. "How'd you two meet, anyway?"
"Oh, well," said Akemi with a smile, "that's because Rei-chan used to da—"
"Used to date a member of the troupe, actually." She cut in over Akemi with smooth assurance—but there was something too controlled, too perfect about her enunciation to Kurama, a thorough regulation which suggested she might be trying too hard to appear natural. He couldn't imagine, however, to what end. Her odd inflection continued when Yamato added, "I dated Nobuo, specifically. He'll be in tonight's act, and he was more than happy to get us in tonight."
"Used to date?" Kuwabara asked, earlier awkwardness forgotten in the wake of curiosity. "You're not still…?"
"Nah. Just friends these days." Shoving her hands into her pockets, Yamato said, "Once you help a guy bedazzle the words 'baby slut' across his ass, the romantic spark just kind of dies."
"OH MY GOD," Yusuke said before collapsing into hysterics (and Akemi, meanwhile, covered her face with her hands and groaned). "OH MY GOD, YOU DID WHAT? WHAT!?"
"Just what kind of performance is he gonna give?" Kuwabara said, looking more horrified then even Akemi. "And do I even wanna see that?"
"Oh, trust me. You do. Nobuo kicks major ass, bedazzled or otherwise." One manicured hand flapped, dismissive. "But enough about my dating life. Akemi-chan, you wanna show us to our seats?"
"Sure thing!" A woman on a mission, Akemi spun on her heel and opened her arms to the club at large. "Now, welcome to the Tokamachi Speakeasy, everybody. This venue is permanent, but they like to fill the main stage with differing acts, and this month they've got us in the house. We just happened to be in the area with Yamato called, and boy are you lucky, because we're the best burlesque troupe in Japan… if I do say so myself, of course."
"She's being modest. They're the best troupe in Asia," said Yamato—with sincerity Kurama actually believed, this time. "Maybe the world."
"Oh, stop it, stop it!" Akemi giggled. "That's a lot to live up to, Rei-chan!"
Yamato started to say something, but just then, a man with a clipboard and an earpiece—one very much like Akemi's—emerged from the crowd. A stagehand, by the look of him. He spotted Akemi and darted over, grabbing her elbow and pitching his voice loud above the crowd.
"Akemi-san, we need you on lights," he said.
"Oh, shit. Of course." Gesturing at Yusuke, she said, "Would you show them to their seats? Front row VIP." Then she looped her arm through Yamato's and began to drag her off. "Now you come with me, Yamato-san. Everybody wants to say hello!"
"Oh, sure." Waving over her shoulder, Yamato called out, "You boys have fun! I'll be back soon!"
Yamato and Akemi vanished into the crowd a moment later, leaving Kurama, Yusuke and Kuwabara to follow their new guide toward the front of the house, where a selection of about a dozen tall, round tables had been arranged just below the lip of the stage. They were the best seats in the house, per Kurama's estimates, all decorated with tiny bejeweled placards declaring the tables the illustrious VIP section. They were seated at the one at the very front, and once they settled into three of the four chairs around the table, a woman wearing an old-fashioned flapper dress and bearing a tray tottered over in her towering shoes to deposit glasses of water and to take their drink order. Kuwabara ordered a beer; Yusuke abstained, as usual. Kurama, in the spirit of the evening and to keep Kuwabara company, asked for a glass of wine, which he planned to nurse for the next hour. Getting drunk that night was not on his to-do list. It rarely ever was.
After depositing them at the VIP table, the stagehand started to walk away, but Yusuke held out a hand to stop him before he could get far.
"Hey, sorry," he said, not looking sorry in the slightest with his rakish grin. "It's just—not that I'm not grateful, but these are the best seats in the house. Do you know how our friend Yamato managed to get these for us? She said dated a guy in this troupe, but this still seems like a lot…"
"Oh, you mean Nobuo?" said the stagehand. "Yeah, they were together for a while. He's the troupe leader so he can get anybody anything. I'm new so I don't really know Yamato, but Nobuo and the other performers seemed really happy to hear from her." He shrugged. "But then again, she was their best choreographer for a long time, so…"
Yusuke blinked. "Choreographer?"
He nodded. "And she helped with costuming and makeup, too."
"Does that mean she was a member of this troupe, then?" said Kurama.
"As far as I know, yeah."
"Whoa!" said Kuwabara. "Why didn't she tell us that before?"
But Yusuke had arrived at quite a different question. "Wait, hold on," he said, eyes widening with every word. "Yamato didn't, you know… She wasn't a performer, was she?"
"Uh… I think maybe sometimes? Sorry, that was before my time," said the stagehand. "But we've got a YouTube channel if you want to check and see. We've recorded most of our routines for a few years now, so…" He stopped, putting a finger to his earpiece with a frown. "Oh, sorry, they're calling for me backstage. Have fun and thanks for coming!"
In silence, Kurama, Kuwabara and Yusuke watched him vanish into the crowd. Then, slowly, Yusuke reached into his pocket for his phone. Kurama noticed at once. He likewise noticed the way Yusuke's lips had curled, and the way he seemed to peck at the screen under the table like he didn't want anyone to see what he was doing.
Too bad Kurama had a hunch.
"Yusuke," he said, already knowing the answer. "What are you doing?"
Yusuke didn't bother looking up from his phone, barking at his lap, "Checking to see if Yamato ever performed, duh!"
"Hey, that's gross!" protested Kuwabara. "She didn't give you permission to—"
"What's the big deal if the video is public on their YouTube channel?" Yusuke shot back. "Isn't that already permission to see it?"
"Maybe, but it's probably different if it's someone she knows," said Kuwabara (a sentiment with which Kurama wholeheartedly agreed).
"Yeah, yeah, whatever… what's this troupe called again?" Yusuke's tongue thrust from the corner of his mouth as he thought, but it retreated when the name came to him. "The Red Butterfly Burlesque Troupe… found it!" Triumph faded into dejection. "Shit, there are hundreds of videos!"
"Hey, boys," said a voice. "What're you up to?"
Yusuke (and Kuwabara, though Kurama wasn't sure why) yelped, the former hurriedly shoving his phone into his pocket and out of sight. Just in time, too; Yamato slid into the seat beside Yusuke a mere moment later, smiling her usual, enigmatic smile. Kurama couldn't quite tell if she knew what he'd been up to or not. Her face didn't give it away; neither had her tone. She watched Yusuke squirm without speaking, perhaps knowingly, perhaps with simple bland expectation, the expression in her dark eyes possessing the quality of a watching sphinx.
"Oh, hey Yamato," said Yusuke, a nervous laugh spilling from his lips. "We were just…"
"We were just talking about how apparently you used to be a member of this troupe?" Kuwabara, tone suggesting this was somehow a question, which is was not.
"Ah." Yamato stared darkly up at the stage, muttering, "So I see the new stagehand doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut. Akemi will be hearing about that…"
"So it's true, then?" Kurama said. "You were a formal member."
She turned toward the stage again—looking away from him, he noted, when she murmured, "That's right."
"Oh. Well, why'd you hide it, Yamato?" said Kuwabara.
"Did you ever perform with them," said Yusuke, "or was it just backstage stuff like that guy said?"
"He said you were the choreographer?" said Kuwabara. "Does that mean you know how to dance?"
"Like, but how well can you dance?" said Yusuke. "Is it just sexy stuff, or can you dance other ways?"
Again Yamato rolled her eyes. Shifting back toward the table, she hooked one thigh over the other and leaned back in her chair, one hand coming up to languish on the tabletop. Fingers drummed one by one against the black tablecloth, painted nails striking like hail on a tin roof. She possessed the same control as before, but something in the carriage of her head and shoulders suggested tension—perhaps impatience. The way her painted lips had thinned suggested much the same.
"Yes, it's true. No, I didn't hide it. I just didn't mention it because I don't feel like answering a million questions about it," she said without pausing for breath. Yamato smiled when Kuwabara and Yusuke hung their heads, realizing they had done exactly as she'd feared. Her tone came more gently when she said, "And I only performed with them once."
Yusuke's head jerked up, and he blurted, "Really? Can we watch it somewhere?"
"Probably." Yamato shrugged, seemingly unembarrassed—but she tugged at the front of her wig with her forefinger and thumb, once, sharply. "Akemi likes to record everything. But it won't be as good as the other performances." Settling deeper into her chair, she muttered, "Being on stage wasn't really my thing."
And yet, Kurama wasn't certain if he believed her assertion. She appeared more than comfortable in the limelight, attracting attention everywhere she went and in all the scenarios into which she'd been so ungraciously thrown over the past few days. From learning of the existence of demons to crashing a wedding to embracing her own powers, she had not shied from any of these situations in the least. Kurama rather thought Yamato would soak up the spotlight, bask in an audience's undivided attention. She certainly seemed the type to feel comfortable on stage.
"And besides," she said, drawing him out of his reverie. "I had the most fun doing costuming and choreo." Here she at last smiled. "Nothing quite like putting a performance together and arranging all those little details."
"How did you end up in the world of burlesque, Yamato?" Kuwabara asked.
"Through my ex, Nobuo," she said. "We were ballroom buddies, and when he started getting into burlesque—"
Yusuke sat up a little straighter when he said, "Ballroom?"
"Mm-hmm. We were competition partners, actually."
He straightened even further to say, "You were in ballroom dance competitions?"
"Yeah. We were pretty good, too." Her smile transformed into a grin. "Won a prefectural tournament when I was in undergrad. But then I blew out my ankle and had to cool off on the competition scene."
"Hence your transition to choreographer," Kurama said, slotting the pieces together neatly. "You had the skills and the experience, but no longer the physical ability."
"Sharp eyes, Red." She winked, so subtle even his sharp eyes almost missed the gesture. "And yet, being a choreographer was more fun than standing in the spotlight, anyhow, so it wasn't much of a loss. But enough about me."
Dodging out from under the figurative spotlight, she pointed away from the stage and to the door located in the center of the U-shaped catwalk on the club's second level. Another set of bouncers guarded that door, both clad in black suits.
"See that door up there?" said Yamato. "There's a tunnel connecting this building and that glass high-rise we passed on the way in. There's a dance club we can hit up after the show's over." She pointed at the door on the club's lower level directly below the first door, located opposite the main stage before which they sat. "And there's a karaoke bar in there if you're interested in singing. And on the rooftop of that other building there's a lounge if we want somewhere to rest and drink. This room plays jazz and blues all night, but that's not everybody's thing, so…"
"It's like three parties in one, huh?" said Yusuke, satisfaction flashing across his bright gaze when Yamato nodded in affirmation.
"I figured no matter what you like, there'd be something fun here," she said. "And my burlesque buddies can get pretty wild, too. They'll come and rub elbows after they perform, and if we stick with them, they'll be happy to show you a good time. And that's saying nothing of what they'll do on stage."
Yusuke held out his fist to bump, saying, "Nice!"
Pleased at his enthusiasm, Yamato began quizzing Yusuke about his preferred activities, which he answered with gusto. Kurama could not refrain from making the observation that conversation had turned neatly away from Yamato's past—an intentional act, or simple matter of coincidence? Yamato's happy smile and animated speaking didn't provide any clues. She seemed quite content to discuss with Yusuke and Kuwabara the merits of dancing, karaoke and the potential plans of the performers she claimed would come run elbows after the show. Watching her from the corner of his eye as he sipped his glass of wine, Kurama found himself listening with only half an ear and not contributing in the least. It hardly mattered to him how they spent their night. So long as Yusuke was pleased with his party, Kurama felt content… and besides. He was too busy putting together more pieces of Yamato's puzzling character to pay attention to the details. Humans were usually so passionate about their hobbies, and yet she did not appear to mourn the loss of an old skills of hers in the least. What did that indicate, if anything? Her seemingly confident attitude in the spotlight and apparent preference for working backstage did not align, least of all make sense.
"Hey, ma'am?" Yamato said, rising up out of her seat with hand in the air. Flagging down one of the flapper-dress-clad waitresses, she handed over her credit card (pulled from an inside pocket of her jacket) and said, "Four shots of whiskey please!" Then, with a waggle of brow, she added, "Let's get this party started, huh?"
But Yusuke did not agree, instead raising a hand in apology to say, "Oh. I'm good. I don't actually drink much."
"Really?" said Yamato, sinking back into her chair with an expression of mild shock. The look soon faded, however, and she thoughtfully intoned, "I guess you didn't actually order any wine with dinner, now that I think about it."
"Yeah." Yusuke shrugged and grinned. "Had some of that celebratory champagne at dinner, but that's all I really want."
"Ah." She hesitated, then said, "Can I ask why you avoid it? Just personal preference?" At once she held up her hands and shook her head, backing off. "If I'm prying, please don't feel obligated to—"
"Nah. It's fine," said Yusuke. "It's just that my mom is a mean drunk, and I don't wanna end up going down that road."
"Oh, shit." Yamato winced. "Sorry to rub salt in the wound."
"It's not a big deal." His smile illuminated his eyes, deep brown brightening into warm teak. "Just think Keiko deserves somebody sober, that's all."
Yamato stared at Yusuke with wide eyes, wheels obviously turning behind them as she processed everything he'd said. Kurama hardly paid her any attention, however. He was more proud of Yusuke, whose decision to severely limit his alcohol intake had occurred several years prior and showed no sign of fading anytime soon. Even though his reign as the king of Demon World, Yusuke's determination had not waivered. Kurama thought he understood why. The few times he had met Yusuke's mother, Atsuko had been embarrassingly drunk, prone to outrageous outbursts and boisterous hijinks. He saw much of her in Yusuke's disdain for convention and casual affectation, but he took comfort knowing Yusuke would only emulate his mother's positive qualities. Having her as a mother could not be easy.
Kurama might have been a bit biased, however, about Yusuke's mother. His own mother was the paragon of human behavior, after all, and a woman well worth emulating.
The waitress returned in short order with Yamato's shots, handing them to Yamato, who then distributed them around the table. One she passed to Kurama, one she placed in front of herself, and the last two she deposited them in front of Kuwabara. As an afterthought, she took her shot and placed it in front of him, too. Kuwabara began sputtering immediately.
"Three?" he said, eyeing the shots with alarm. "Why do I get three?"
"Because you're the biggest and Yusuke needs a sober buddy!" she said, clapping a hand on his broad back. "It's always awkward being the sober one, and I'm not making Yusuke turn into the DD at his own damn bachelor party!"
Kuwabara protested, something about how no one would be driving that night, but Kurama didn't quite hear. He was too busy studying Yamato's profile, watching her as she egged Kuwabara into drinking his allocated libations. She had clearly been looking forward to getting thoroughly soused in true stag-night fashion, but now she was going to keep Yusuke company in the spirit of prohibition? Another thing he wouldn't have predicted from her, but one he grudgingly respected. Perhaps he should put aside his glass of wine, as well…
Before he could make a decision, the lights at the top of the house flashed three times in rhythmic succession. As Yamato cackled in Kuwabara's face ("At least order me something yummy next time!" he cried, red-faced after drinking the whiskey), a single spotlight flared into being upon the closed curtains of the stage, turning the red velvet nearly white in its bright glare. The crowd fell quiet as the jazz band in the corner struck up an anticipatory drumroll—and then, as the horns gave a bright peal of sound, a single long, shapely leg clad in a thigh-high stocking thrust through the gap between the curtains.
The audience twittered, some oohs and aahs rising from the throng. Someone even gave a quick wolf whistle.
Then the curtains were wrenched back at the jazz band struck up a tune, revealing—well, not a woman. The shapely leg apparently belonged to a handsome man in a cutoff tailcoat and trousers, exposed arms hidden by long satin opera gloves and exposed legs clad in stockings and heels, complete with garter belt. A combination of roars of laughter and gasps of shock erupted when he wrenched the curtains apart and struck a pose, sweeping off his silk top hat before strutting from one end of the stage to the other, winking and waving at the audience (and occasionally bending over to shake his backside, grin cheeky when he bent over to look at the audience between his splayed legs). Lyrics played over a loudspeaker, too, words which the performer mouthed as though he were the one singing "Willkommen" from the musical Cabaret instead of a recording.
Kuwabara watched from between his fingers, clearly horrified.
Yusuke watched with his mouth open, stunned into abject silence.
Yamato, meanwhile, was absolutely delighted by all of it.
"Hell yeah!" she bellowed, shooting to her feet with a cheer. "Get it, Nobuo! Woo!"
"That's your ex-boyfriend?" Yusuke said after an impressively quick double-take.
"Yup!" Yamato yelled over the sounds of the jazz band. "Isn't he gorgeous?"
Indeed, Nobuo's chiseled jaw and hollow cheeks were rather handsome, even if he was done up in cherry red lipstick, dramatic winged eyeliner and glittery blush. His clothes sported an intriguing mix of masculine and feminine design, energy of his performance an unexpected marriage of cheeky and sensual that had many in the crowd laughing and cheering outright.
Nobuo only had ears for one set of cheers, however. He soon strut straight over to Yamato and bowed, extending an arm with a delicate flourish down to her. The spotlight followed him, bathing their table (and Yamato in particular) in brilliant silver. For a moment Kurama thought he would beckon Yamato onto the stage, but she did not reach out to take her ex's hand with hers. Instead she leaned upward, a sparkle in her eye, and bit down on the tip of Nobuo's middle finger with her bared teeth. Nobuo fanned himself with his other hand as she backed away, stripping the glove down his arm along with her—revealing a set of rippling irezumi tattoos, scales of a dragon and cresting waves layered atop his muscular physique.
The crowd went wild, whether because of Yamato's actions or the sight of Nobuo's muscles it was impossible to tell—but Kurama felt eyes on their table, the crowd taking a nod from Yamato's unbridled joy, the sight of which allowed them to in turn shed their hesitations. If any reservations about the act dawdled within the crowd, here they evaporated, laughter rising high when Yamato took the long opera glove and tied it around her neck like a scarf. The spotlight lingered on her actions only for a moment, soon sweeping back up to Nobuo as he continued his act. Kurama stared at Yamato for a moment longer, watching as she stuck her fingers in her mouth again to whistle when Nobuo performed a sky-high kick.
"What?" she said when she caught Kurama's eye.
"Nothing," he said, and he returned to watching Nobuo.
Nobuo's loss of clothing continued as he stripped out of his other glove, and then his coat, and finally his breakaway briefs to reveal a sequined thong and matching garter belt. The heels and hose remained on as his act finished, the man retreating to the wings of the stage with a strut before an announcer called the next act into the spotlight. A trio of women took to the stage next, each with a crown of feathers and feathered fans they used to punctuate a sensuous dance. While this performance was less boisterous than Nobuo's, even these performers punctuated their dancing with winks and nods and spots of humor, eroticism tempered with unforeseen humor Kurama had no clue to expect. A sense of levity belied the sensuous here. One woman came out wearing a balloon sculpture outfit, a bra and panties formed of long, thin, blown-up balloons. She popped these with a pin one by one, each bang accompanied by a gyration or a wink. Yet another came dressed as a popular cartoon character. A few more stripped while suspended above the crowd on ropes or metal hoops, these aerialists spinning as they tossed breakaway clothes into the crowd, actions timed to the beat of the music. The women all wore pasties on their breasts, true to Yamato's word, but some pasties bore tassels that the performers shimmied in people's faces. One woman had attached pasties to the cheeks of her ass; she gyrated on the floor, spinning them in swift circles.
"This is hilarious!" Kuwabara at one point yelled in reaction to a man's performance. At first Kuwabara had watched all of the acts, performed by any gender of performer, from between his splayed fingers, horrified at what he saw—but when a man tucked his genitals between his thighs to hide them, waddling around the stage while covering his behind with a top hat, Kuwabara's laughter rang loud and true. Tears nearly streaming from his eyes, he applauded wholeheartedly and said, "I didn't think I'd like this, but that's hilarious!"
But the humor wasn't the only element of burlesque Kuwabara, and Kurama alike, had not anticipated.
Nobuo had started the evening halfway in drag, but later on he took to the stage and actually bench-pressed some of the other performers, a total of four women stacked on a modified barbell, wearing a perfectly tailored suit. He appeared later in a more masculine tuxedo, and later still in a modified ball gown alongside a woman in a three-piece suit, each outfit more beautiful than the last, uncaring at all to play obediently within the borders of traditional masculine and feminine expression. At least one performer appeared to be transgender, as well, his act presented not with a wink or a nod, but with the sincerity of deepest respect for his identity.
The expression of gender was unlike anything Kurama had seen in Human World. Very little thought was given to gender in Demon World. You were what you were, and no issue was taken with perception much of the time. Only strength mattered. But here in Human World, others concerned themselves to an almost neurotic degree with how others portrayed themselves. It made little sense to Kurama, and he sensed it made little sense to these humans, too. They were, after all, clearly game to play with the expression of gender in myriad of ways, not making light of gender, but rather celebrating the many facets of it a person could embrace.
Gender was not the only area of diversity Kurama observed. While many of the performers in this burlesque troupe were conventionally beautiful, they were not all made equal. Two sported prosthetic limbs; still more were gaijin and people of many races; one sported extensive burn scars; some were fit and some were not, body types embraced with equal enthusiasm and the potential for sensuality. All were admirable in their own way, a conflagration of diversity it was difficult to keep from admiring.
And Kurama did not limit his admiration for them. While he wasn't the type to hoot or to holler, he applauded for each and every act, appreciative of the art form and the artists that presented it to him. He had never been shy about admiring people of any sex, and these performers were all, in their own ways, delightful.
By the time the show came to an end, Kurama understood why Yamato might not have wanted to associate with this troupe before they witnessed that of which it was capable. Not because their performances were in any way shameful, but because until you actually saw them in action, you might not understand what burlesque achieved, what it truly was past the glitz and glamor of the sequined bras and skimpy thongs. Burlesque represented debauchery at its finest, true, but it was also an art, honed and trained and perfected to elicit the desired responses, not simply taking one's clothes off with haphazard irreverence. In the end, Yamato had been right when she said these people weren't performing for the sake of the audience. They were clearly all having the times of their lives on that stage for their own benefit, and Kurama got the feeling they'd give the same enthusiasm to a crowd of five instead of five hundred. Kurama was indeed the guest here, allowed graciously to witness this art. When one patron did get handsy, he was instantly subdued and hauled out the door by one of the dozen bouncers lurking at the edge of the stage.
Yusuke, however, earned an up close and personal look at the performers without being manhandled, largely because he was invited up onto the stage by one of the performers. She wrapped a feather boa around his neck, smiling into his grinning face, and pulled him up the steps like a siren bewitching a sailor.
"The safe-word is 'mango,'" Kurama heard her say as the audience applauded (or groaned with jealousy).
"Uh… why do I need a safe word, exactly?" he replied, but the performer just giggled. She bade him sit in a chair while two more women joined her onstage, the three of them circling Yusuke with a tantalizing show of discarded clothes and swirling tassels… but the act ended by tying Yusuke to a chair while the three performers stripped off Yusuke's shoes and tickled him silly. It was amusing to watch Yusuke's face redden as he struggled against his bonds—especially since Kurama knew full well that Yusuke could break free at any moment. He was clearly enjoying himself, and when they at last let him free so he could collapse into his chair beside Yamato, he looked at her with the largest of grins.
"Did you know they were gonna do that?" Yusuke said, chest heaving with labored breaths.
As the music rose for the night's final act, Yamato yelled back, "Who the hell did you think told them this was a bachelor party, huh?"
"Nice!" Yusuke exclaimed. "Forget Keiko, can you be my fixer forever?"
"Not a chance, Urameshi!" she retorted. "So enjoy this while you can!"
The final act involved the entire company, aerialists spinning overhead while the rest of the performers danced on the stage below. It was the grandest of finales, music blaring and bodies twirling, each performer given a moment in the limelight before they lined up for a choreographed company number. By the time the curtain fell shut, the entire audience had climbed to its feet, Yusuke leading the charge of the standing ovation; their yells of appreciation turns to roars when the final curtain call began, doubling in volume when it at last came to an end. When the lights came up, Yusuke looked both disheveled and delighted as he collapsed back into his seat, tugging at his askew tie to loosen it around his throat.
"OK. Now that was cool." Offering a hands for Yamato to high-five, he proudly proclaimed, "I'm gonna go ahead and say this bachelor party has been a huge success."
"Ah, but the night is young, good sir," Yamato said. "Just getting started, some might say."
From behind the curtain a new voice called, "I agree!"
Yamato turned toward the curtain, crying out the name "Nobuo!" even before the velvet panel twitched aside to permit the aforementioned man. He wore a silk robe patterned with sakura blossoms, face clean of makeup as he sat down and then swung off the stage's edge. Yamato hopped out of her chair and went to him immediately, giggling as he slipped his arms around her waist and planted a kiss on her cheek. Kurama felt like he'd witnessed something intimate and almost looked away out of obligation, but when Yamato began to try and peel Nobuo out of his robe, Kurama turned back to them in uncertain, but growing, alarm.
"OK, man, you've been holding out on me," she said as she attacked his pendulous silk sleeve, trying to lift it back and out of the way. "You have definitely had work done on your ink since the last time I saw you naked!"
Nobuo's teeth flashed when he smiled. "It's been too long, clearly."
"Oh, stop it," Yamato said with a roll of her dark eyes. "Just show me the tattoos already!"
"Your wish is my command." He shrugged out of the robe on one side, pulling it down around his waist to reveal an arm and one half of his bare chest. "And you're right, by the way. Finally finished up those lotus blossoms."
"God, that's pretty." Yamato ran her fingers over his chest without reservation—another intimate act that made Kurama want to look away. And yet, he didn't, watching carefully as she traced the petals of the flower curling across Nobuo's chiseled pectoral, a wistful sigh slipping from her full lips. "And I'm not just talking about the tattoos. Why'd we break up again?"
"Irreconcilable differences," Nobuo told her with gentle, good-natured humor.
"Damn. Forgot about those." Yamato threw back her head and laughed before gesturing at the rest of the table. "Anyway, Nobuo. These are my new friends, Urameshi Yusuke, Kuwabara Kazuma, and Minamino Shuichi. New friends, this is Nobuo."
"Nice to meet you." To Kurama's surprise, Nobuo gave them all a deep bow, respectful formality unmistakable. "Thanks for taking care of my girl."
Yamato swatted the back of his head. "Your girl?"
"Ha! I'm just kidding." To Yusuke he said, "So you're the one getting married soon, huh? Yamato mentioned it on the phone."
"At the end of the week to the love of my life, yeah," said Yusuke.
"Well congratulations!" said Nobuo, smile broad, eyes curving into genuinely pleased crescents. "I married the love of my life about two months ago."
"I can't believe it." Yamato shook her head in feigned disbelief. "You and Akemi. I had a feeling it would work, but still…"
Kuwabara looked at Nobuo and Yamato and then back again. "Wait, Akemi the stage manager? You're married to her?"
"Yup." Nobuo slung an arm around Yamato's shoulders. "Yamato actually set us up a long time ago."
"You did?" said Yusuke, just as surprised as Kuwabara.
"Yup." Yamato shrugged. "I thought her grounded presence would help this asshole get shit done, and he keeps her on her toes. I… foresaw it would work out, I guess." Another of her subtle winks, made where Nobuo couldn't see. "Also Akemi is a sucker for irezumi tattoos, so…"
"And I like women in overalls, it turns out," Nobuo admitted, rubbing the back of his neck as a blush stained his cheeks. "Plus, I'm the jealous type, so dating another performer was out of the question."
"Huh." Kuwabara crossed his arms, a smile breaking across his craggy features. "Sounds like you're a good match, then."
"The best." Spotting someone over Yusuke's shoulder, Nobuo cupped a hand around his mouth and shouted, "Hey, Akemi! Over here!"
In short order Akemi emerged from the crowd, slipping under Nobuo's other arm opposite Yamato. She'd lost her earpiece, ball cap and clipboard after the performance, her black hair worn long and loose around her shoulders. She was pretty, but not particularly striking—unlike Nobuo, who gazed down at his bride with undisguised affection. An unusual couple, but then again, Yamato had a way with her predictions. It seemed that unlike Nobuo, Akemi wasn't the jealous type at all. She clearly saw Nobuo's arm around Yamato, but no jealousy marred her brown eyes. Most humans were possessive of their spouses, and Nobuo and Yamato appeared close. Almost too close. Was Akemi simply too naïve to think there might be something between them, or was Nobuo simply that trustworthy? It was impossible to say anything for certain beyond the fact that Akemi was clearly happy to see both of them.
"You guys ready to get really wild?" Akemi called over the noise of the nearby jazz band. "Because it's our last night here, and the girls are ready to party!"
On cue, the curtain wrenched open on the stage above them, and members of the Akai-Choi Burlesque Troupe in various states of undress poured forth as if they'd been waiting for a signal. One still wore shreds of popped balloons hanging from her brazier and panties, while another wore nothing but sequined pasties and a glittering thong. Still others had changed into robes, like Nobuo, or into plainclothes like jeans that seemed completely out of place upon the bodies of this otherwise extravagant troupe. Along with them came people from the backstage crew dressed all in black, the entire mass of giggling performers descending upon Yamato and her table of companions like a hoard of glitter-dusted buzzards. Arms wound into Kurama's, and Kuwabara's, and Yusuke's, and not least of all Yamato's, whisking them away toward the speakeasy's gleaming bar for drinks. One woman soon grabbed Yusuke by the tie, shamelessly flirting with the subject of the bachelor party, while still more ordered drinks, some of the men arm-wrestling for the right to not buy the next round.
Another of the men slipped away from the others, stealing Yusuke's attention away from the flirtatious woman in the red dress.
"Hey, Kuwabara and Urameshi, right?" he said, smiling with friendly apology. "Sorry to creep, but you two are jacked as hell. Wanna talk fitness?"
"Heh, sure!" said Kuwabara. "What do ya bench?"
Hands alit on Kurama's arm, then. He looked to the side to find the woman who's popped the balloons standing beside him, shyly
"You're Minamino?" she said with shy hesitation. "I apologize if this is rude, but what do you use on your hair? It's gorgeous!"
His lips twitched, trying not to smile. "Well…"
"Yamato, Yamato!" someone called out, grabbing Yamato by the wrist and tugging her away. "You gotta help me! I can't get this one kind of pique turn right, and the choreo for my new number is…"
Suffice it to say, the two groups meshed well indeed, the performers of the Akai-Chou Burlesque Troupe overflowing with the same enthusiastic energy that Yamato exuded so often when she chose to socialize. Perhaps this was an aura all performers possessed? The possibility was something to consider. If you're a performer, you need to be able to act, and Yamato—not to mention the members of her former troupe—certainly appeared to be good actresses, indeed.
This wasn't to say Kurama wasn't having a good time. Despite his musings on the nature of performance, and the possibility that these friendly overtures were all an act, Kurama felt welcome enough to relax, sipping his glass of wine with contented patience. Yusuke and Kuwabara felt much the same way, if their easy smiles and loud laughter was any indication. The only incident that gave Kurama true pause was when he spotted Yusuke taking a body-shot of bright green liquor off of one of the performers, determination slipping a fraction—but when he caught Kurama's eye, he gaze a sheepish shrug, not upset about this momentary slip. He didn't take another shot for some time, apparently enjoying himself, so Kurama didn't intervene. He merely watched in distant amusement as the crowd eventually wandered into the karaoke room, where Yamato dedicated a somewhat tone-deaf rendition of Lorde's "Royals" to Yusuke on the eve of his wedding.
"To the man who's a true king," she said before singing—and, of course, she followed the statement by the slyest of winks.
She also backed up Yusuke throughout the evening, availing herself to the intercept shots of alcohol so many tried to buy Yusuke over the course of the night. These she dutifully passed to Kuwabara or another member of the troupe, not imbibing a single one. As a result, Kuwabara soon grew quite red in the face, alcohol catching up with him despite his large frame. He grinned and hiccupped into a pint of beer, accepting another shot from a performer without thinking. Kurama kept a close eye on him in case he fell, attention affixed loyally on his tipsy friend…
…but although he kept a close eye om Kuwabara, Kurama didn't fail to notice when Yamato slipped off and way from their group, heading toward the doorway she'd earlier told them lead to the other building, high-heeled footsteps quick and purposeful—and face buried in the small, glowing screen of her phone.
X
people wink way to much in this fic omg, I swear I don't wink this much IRL, wtf why do I write this way
the burlesque troupe I run with is incredibly body positive, sex positive, gender-affirming, and all around fan-fucking-tastic group of people on earth who eagerly celebrate diversity in all its forms. Modeled the Akai-Chou (AKA the Red Butterfly) Troupe after them. Consider this a love letter to burlesque as a whole.
the empress of the dead, cezarina, Sorlian, GinaLiz and Lady Skynet are fucking brilliant for reviewing and giving me the strength to go on despite the state of the world LMAO I LOVE YOU, PLEASE NEVER CHANGE BECAUSE YOU'RE FAB
