Evening, readers. As the hilarious Mr. Tinkles of Cats and Dogs fame would say, "Our day has come!"
Short disclaimer: if you don't remember how the hell Hancho is played, I recommend you briefly revisit Chapter XIV. I know I had to. Enjoy Chapter XXIV.
It was evening, about five-thirty, when it came time for everyone to assemble.
The sun had disappeared behind the edge of Da Chao, casting the Scarlet Monastery into shadow. Its lights shone out like beacons from its windows, welcoming weary travelers or people with something more high-stakes in mind.
Like all extremely high-class restaurants, the Scarlet Monastery had valets. You pulled your car or vehicle up to the entrance and they went and parked it for you, like little cogs in a machine. Sometimes you tipped them for their service, sometimes you didn't. It was not often, though, that a valet was afforded the chance to not only get tipped generously five times in one night, but by high-ranking biker gang lords, ex-military officers, old strategic geniuses, and infamous foreigners as well.
Zhong had worked as a valet for about five years. He was good at it, polite enough. He knew how to ride a bike, which gave him an advantage in the business, though he'd never consider joining a bike gang.
It came as a surprise when Makoto, leader of the Shinsengumi, rode up on his white-and-blue motorcycle, dressed in a formal kamishimo outfit bearing the same colors, looking for all the world like some god of the warring states resurrected on a metal mount. Clinging excitedly to his back was a young geisha, dressed in an exquisite kimono with a pattern of clouded mountaintops and forests running along its length, the twists of the rocks mirroring her curves.
"Take her around back," Makoto said without giving Zhong half a glance. "Here, for your trouble." And he dropped a five-hundred-gil coin in Zhong's hand.
"Yessir!"
The valet gingerly mounted the Shinsengumi leader's bike and felt its engine roar throatily as he goosed the throttle. Wow. Driving with extra care, Zhong took the bike around to the back and parked it, secured it, and moved back around front to wait for the next patron.
Up came a sleek, black car, and it did not escape Zhong's eyes, even in the poor light, that it was obviously armored. The passenger stepped out, opening the door rather than having his driver do it for him, and Zhong was staring at the craggy features of Sub-General Karsk. The man wore his variation on the old military uniform, freshly ironed until its edges looked sharp enough to cut.
"Take her around back, please," he said. "My driver's accompanying me inside. Arcturus?"
A positively enormous man folded himself out of the driver's door and dropped the car keys in Zhong's hand.
"And don't forget to tip him."
With a nod, Arcturus fished into the pocket of the too-small suit he was wearing and pressed another five hundred gil into Zhong's other palm, then disappeared into the restaurant after his commander.
Zhong tried to keep from grinning and drove the car around back, then returned, thinking this night could not get any better.
He was wrong. A small, midnight-blue sports car rolled up and disgorged an old man that Zhong recognized from his school's history books as Souta the Cunning, the great strategist who had refused to help Wutai against the Shin-Ra. Nobody blamed him, though; as a result of his foresight, he'd survived the postwar economic depression and helped the government back onto its feet. The strategist was wearing a simple scholar's robe, matte black, that swirled around him and looked oddly fitting, despite its anachronistic nature.
"My keys," Souta said, handing them to Zhong. "And take this as well."
Boom. Four hundred gil.
Another trip to the parking lot, another silent spree of jumping around and pumping his fists in joy, and then back to the front of the Scarlet Monastery. With the way things were going right now, Zhong wouldn't be surprised if Seiryū himself showed up and handed him a bag of gems.
The last great event of the evening came shortly afterwards, at about five-fifty. Zhong had thought the excitement was finally starting to die down when a pair of men came roaring up on two bikes that looked like they'd been pulled right out of the manliest, most testosterone-ripped action movies known to humankind. Both of them dismounted smoothly, one helping his plainly dressed Wutainese girlfriend off of his bike. The two of them exhibited an aura of debonair assurance, heightened by the stylish zoot suits they wore – not to mention the broad-brimmed black fedoras and black leather gloves they sported. The red-haired one looked oddly familiar to Zhong, but between the outfit and the long, glossy black cane, with the curving, smooth white handle he gripped it by, recognition evaded the valet.
"Evening," the redhead drawled. "Take our rides around back, will you? And keep this; I'm feelin' generous tonight."
Seven hundred gil. Oh yes. This guy was loaded.
Zhong hummed a happy tune to himself. Whatever all these people were here for, it had to be big. At least five bigwigs in one place, apparently up to something very important… Twenty-one-hundred gil was good, but the Shattered Hand would pay even better for intel like this.
Time to take a break.
"We're here for Lord Godo's… soirée," Reno told the receptionist.
"Of course," she said, obviously making an effort not to gawk at Reno's and Rude's attire. "Lady Kisaragi, I take it?"
"Yeah," Yuffie said.
"You'll need to get into a betrothal robe. Lord Godo has a lady waiting for you in the other part of the back room." The receptionist gestured at a small door down the wall from a large set of ornate, red double doors. "As for you two gentlemen, might I see your invitations?"
With a flourish, Reno produced his own from his sleeve and handed it to her. Rude simply withdrew it from his breast pocket and then did the same.
"Very good, Mr. Reno and Mr. Rude. Please follow me."
"See you in a bit, Yuffie," the redhead said, stretching. He and Rude followed the receptionist towards the double doors, Reno affecting a swagger that somehow swung his hips around in the suit while keeping his walk straight.
"I love you," Yuffie called to his back.
He turned on his heel and grinned. "I know."
As they passed through the double doors, Reno commented to Rude, "You know what the difference is between you and me?"
"What?"
"I make this look good."
The person in attendance in the small dressing room was a short, middle-aged Wutainese woman. She looked Yuffie up and down disapprovingly and then spoke in Wutainese. "Well, there's not much we'll be able to do about your hair. So unattractive."
"Yeah, up yours too," Yuffie replied.
Obviously feeling maligned, the woman threw up her hands with no small amount of staged exasperation. "This is what I go through. How utterly terrible." She jabbed a finger at the closet on the other side of the room. "Your betrothal robe is in there. Try to look as ignominiously ratty in it as you do in those rags. After you change I'll help you adjust everything properly." Giving a final huff of indignation, the woman moved into the larger back room adjacent where the Hancho game would be played.
Yuffie drew in a deep breath and then moved to the closet and opened it.
"Hello," Deman Jobs said.
The ninja-girl nearly screamed in surprise, but she caught herself. Jobs had somehow gotten inside and was standing, ramrod-straight, next to her betrothal gown, an overlarge thing made of crimson silk and decorated with gold trim.
"What are you doing in here?"
"Listening to that loquacious woman and her abhorrent linguistic quirks."
In spite of herself, Yuffie snorted gently at that. "You're a stupid mean bastard, but you have a good sense of humor. You understand Wutainese?"
"Yes. And it's not that difficult to imitate that poor old creature – stressing syllables out of place is easy in any language."
"'Course. Mind letting me change in private?"
"Of course." Giving her an only slightly mocking bow, Jobs stepped out of the closet and let himself into the back room. There were no audible shouts of surprise following his entrance, so Yuffie assumed that everyone was losing their voice or nobody was surprised, one being more likely than the other.
She changed as quickly as she could, though getting into the robe was no mean feat – it was a large piece of fabric, and it had only one place for her to cram her slim body through. How fat girls would ever manage she had no idea. She made sure to conceal deep in her sleeve the extra article she'd brought along – call it backup.
After about five minutes, the woman came back in and gave Yuffie one hell of a stink-eye – she probably blamed the ninja-girl for the sudden appearance of a mysterious foreign stranger that didn't have an invitation. The woman sat Yuffie down in front of a mirror and painted her face white, her lips ruby, and did her best to smooth out her hair. She slipped ornate golden fingernail guards, modeled after Seiryū cresting through an ocean wave, onto both of Yuffie's pinkies, and then as a final touch placed a golden tiara with a single white diamond in it on her head.
The damn thing was heavy, heavier than Yuffie liked, and it didn't fit her very well – but she had to admit, looking in the mirror, that she looked a hell of a lot more refined than she could ever recall feeling.
"There. Now at least you look like a princess," the woman muttered. "Your other outfit doesn't do you anything remotely resembling justice." She turned Yuffie around in her seat and helped her stand. "Now, when you enter the room, kneel at the nearest end of the mat, place your hands demurely in your lap, and don't say a word until you've been won."
"Sure. Cool," Yuffie muttered, moving with some difficulty towards the door.
"Have a nice life, Princess."
Silence fell across the back room like a stifling blanket as the door swung open and Yuffie entered. Reno suppressed a whistle, thinking that the occasion would render it inappropriate, and watched her walk to the edge of the mat and kneel.
The back room was large, rectangular, at least twenty-four feet by twelve feet. It had a rich mahogany floor, on which was laid a single, long series of tatami mats that stretched across the room's center line and provided the area on which to play Hancho. Yuffie was seated on one end; on the other side sat Grandpa Souta, Rei, Rude, Arcturus, and Jobs, who had been allowed to stay.
At the center of the mat there were four lines of ink, originating at one point on the north side and spanning out like rays of a sunrise to the opposite side, spaced so the areas between the lines were about three feet at their widest point. Sitting so they corresponded with these marked areas were Reno, Makoto, and Karsk.
Sitting at the origin of the lines was Godo, dressed in severe, midnight warlord's robes, wearing a single red headband with the characters of Wutai inscribed on it in gold, as was customary for a transaction like this when he was involved. In front of him sat three cups with two dice each, three cho-han stamps with accompanying ink pads, and nine sheaves of fine kozo paper.
"Let those gathered witnesses – Souta the Cunning, Rei, Rude of Shin-Ra, Arcturus, and Deman Jobs – note our gathering with interest," Godo intoned. "Before you sits Lord Godo the Great Tiger of Wutai. He presents his daughter, Princess Kisaragi Yuffie the Single White Rose of Wutai, to the winner of this solemn game of Hancho – Makoto, leader of the Shinsengumi, Sub-General Karsk, or, in the event of Reno of Shin-Ra's victory, Rufus Shin-Ra."
"So noted," Souta and Rei both said, with Rude, Arcturus, and Jobs following suit a moment later.
"There are three suitors," Godo continued. "One round for each. At the conclusion of our game, there will be no violence amongst you. The winner will have my daughter, and will pledge his support to my government."
"As agreed," Reno, Makoto, and Karsk responded.
"Additionally," Godo said, and his eyes glinted at this, "there will be some modifications to the game rules, in the interests of... celebrating the occasion." Nobody spoke, wondering what the hell was up now. "Non-voided choices are hereby allowed to be applied to any player, including the owner of the choices, immediately. Furthermore, there will be a maximum of one bonus point gained from each player if they should have one or more inapplicable choices. Is this understood?"
"Yes," Reno, Makoto, and Karsk said. Reno narrowed his eyes slightly in thought; obviously these changes had been made to seal off possible avenues of exploitation that hadn't even occurred to him. Yuffie's father was going all-out with this.
Expelling a deep sigh, Godo gave a gesture, and the three men in front of him leaned forward, each taking a dice cup, a stamp and its ink pad, and three sheaves of paper.
"Prepare!"
Reno had gone over what to do with Makoto moments before Yuffie entered, and was more than ready. He placed the dice cup directly in front of him so its open top was pointing at the ceiling, opened the ink pad for his stamp, pressed the cho into the ink and left it there, and laid the sheaves of kozo paper out so they did not overlap. Makoto and Karsk did the same.
"Ready!"
The three took hold of their dice cups.
"Tanka o kiru!"
Zhong took his own car. No sense in taking one of the customers' and possibly getting in trouble for it later. Not that the Scarlet Monastery would survive a direct attack by the bike gangs, but then again, you couldn't be too careful.
With the money the gang would no doubt pay him for this information, Zhong could move to a better part of the city and get the job he'd been offered but unable to take due to travel time from his current apartment. Things were finally looking up.
He pulled up near the Shattered Hand headquarters, got out, and ran up to the entrance. Two surly-looking bikers stood there, and it was oddly quiet.
"Hello! I have information for your gang!" Zhong shouted.
The bikers exchanged glances with one another and then the older-looking one said, "How generous. I figure you'll be wantin' cash."
"Not too much," Zhong asserted. "But I can tell you where to go to take out Sub-General Karsk, the Shinsengumi leader Makoto, and – get this – that foreigner who made the speech to the Council." Zhong was particularly proud of that last bit; he'd figured it out by running down a mental list of foreigners he would know for some cosmic reason and arrived at the redhead on the television.
Another exchange of glances. "Well, well. Why don't you come inside?"
Reno flipped his cup and slammed the dice to the mat just as Makoto and Karsk did. Going on an instinct, he took the stamp, marked down two cho, then flipped the switch to bring around the other side of the stamp and put one han. Afterwards, he flipped the paper face down – a detail Makoto had forgotten to mention back in the Kanbe-ya but had remembered now – and slid it forward to Godo. Makoto and Karsk also slid forward their paper.
Godo took them into his great hands and squeezed them into tiny, crinkled wisps before letting them drop, haphazardly, to the mat.
Before Yuffie had come in, Karsk had explained to Reno the symbolism behind the crushing of the paper. You went into the business world with certain ideals, he'd said – the markings you made on your paper – and then had them chewed up and crushed by the machine. When you finally managed to get them back, they were almost always radically changed, and you had to eliminate one or two to stay competitive.
Or, at least, that was what the men who had invented the game had gone through.
One piece landed in each of their designated areas. Reno snatched his up and pulled it back flat. Two cho, one han. Might have been his, might not have – didn't matter. Deciding to play it safe for the first round, Reno voided one cho.
"Display!" Godo barked.
The three men revealed their dice. Reno had cho, and both Makoto and Karsk had han. Yes. Awesome. Makoto also had a paper with two cho, one han, and he'd voided a cho. Karsk had been unlucky, getting a three-cho paper. He'd voided one, but it would still hurt him.
"Declare!"
"Cho to me, han to Karsk," Reno said.
"Cho to Reno, han to Karsk," Makoto said.
"Cho to Reno, other cho inapplicable," Karsk said.
"First round set," Godo barked. "Reno: three points. Makoto: three points. Karsk: no points. Commence round two!"
Reno flipped his cup, tossed his dice inside, and slid his used paper into the center of the table, as did Makoto and Karsk. Godo placed the papers beside him on the floor.
"Tanka o kiru!"
Down went the cups. Dice rattled. Reno thought about it; he'd go two han, one cho this time. Paper crinkled as it slid face-down across the tatami, then gave a crackly death cry as it was engulfed in Godo's iron grip and let drop again.
One was allotted to Reno. He took it and opened it up.
Shit. This time he'd gotten the three-cho paper. Makoto or Karsk was being very cute, and he was about to get his ass burned for it unless he was lucky. He quickly voided one of the cho.
"Display!"
Not good. Three han, just like that. Reno was stuck with two inapplicable cho, while Makoto had gotten two han, one cho and luckily voided the cho. Karsk had gotten three han – someone was being very cute indeed – and hadn't voided any of them, taking a chance. He was looking relieved.
"Declare!"
"Both cho inapplicable," Reno said, trying not to spit the words.
"Han to Reno, han to me," Makoto said.
"Han to Reno, han to Makoto, han to me," Karsk said.
"Second round set," Godo declared. "Reno: one point. Makoto: six points. Karsk: four points. Commence final round!"
Reno suddenly felt very hot in the previously comfortable zoot suit. He resisted the urge to tug at his collar and focused on arranging everything for the final round. It didn't really matter who won, of course, since they had all agreed for different reasons that they'd find a way to get Yuffie out of this, but it was still important to Reno. He wanted to win, dammit.
And there was what had happened the night previous, of course.
You know, Reno had said to Yuffie as they lay together in the aftermath, soaking up the warmth of one another's bodies, some things really are too good to be true.
It had just been a sort of cosmic observation, but Yuffie had taken him up on it. Like me?
Nah. I'm afraid to say anything that might tempt fate and make you go away.
Let's take a chance, then, she'd said. If you win the Hancho game tomorrow – and this will be for you, not for Rufus – I'll run away with you if Dad won't come off of the marriage thing.
That's exactly what you've been avoiding, though, Reno had said, confused.
Yeah. But if you're willing to give up your job for me, I could give up my home. It's… equal, kind of. And you winning would really mean that it's meant to be, you know?
Yeah, I know. He'd drifted off for a moment, considering it, and then sealed the pact with a kiss.
Screw losing.
"Tanka o kiru!"
Reno flipped the cup and ground it into the tatami. He was not going to lose – not going to lose the game, not going to lose this battle of ideologies, not going to lose Yuffie. And it was time he stopped toeing the line when it came to these things and went all-out.
Three cho. If Karsk and Makoto were going to be cute about this, he'd damn well be cute too.
He slid the paper to Godo and stared at it for a moment before the Lord of Wutai took it into his hand with the other two and crumpled them up, then dropped them.
Two of the papers came to rest, but one bounced, rolling right up to Reno and stopping just short of his dice cup. Karsk and Makoto took the other two.
Fingers trembling with trepidation, he smoothed out the paper and stared at it.
Three cho. Reno had gotten his own damn paper back.
"Display!"
The bikers in the Shattered Hand headquarters were all injured or recovering from injuries. Zhong was led straight to the second-in-command, who was still recuperating from having his bike blown out from underneath him by a rocket – unpleasant, to say the least.
"How gen'rous of you to bring us this valuable info," the biker laughed, clutching at his side where it was bandaged with his right arm, as his left arm was wrapped in a cast. "We'll give you a tip for it, but not the usual rate – the Shattered Hand likes guys on our side, but not guys who give us outdated stuff."
Zhong frowned. "What do you mean? Where is everyone, and why would my information be outdated? It's happening tonight!"
Laughing even harder, the biker slapped his thigh and exclaimed, "That's what's so damn funny. Nobody has any idea. But… we know all about this, see. Our supplier was way ahead of Godo on this. So much for the location of this thing being 'secure' – we have everyone, who wasn't trashed yesterday raiding the Shinsengumi headquarters, en route to ruin some shit."
Reno, Makoto, and Karsk displayed.
Three cho.
Something inside Reno gave way, and he sagged in relief. He hadn't voided any of his cho, figuring that if he was going to go out he would go out with a bang. Karsk had gotten two cho, one han, and voided a cho, and Makoto had ended up with the ultimately damning paper – three han. He'd voided one, but it wasn't enough.
"Declare!"
"Cho to me, cho to Makoto, cho to Karsk," Reno said.
"Both han inapplicable," Makoto sighed.
"Cho to Makoto, han inapplicable," Karsk said.
"Game set," Lord Godo declared. "Reno: six points. Makoto: four points. Karsk: five points. Reno has won the game, and Yuffie will marry Rufus Shin-Ra."
Here goes nothing.
Reno stood, dusted off his shoulders, and said, "I don't think so, Mr. Godo."
The man's brow creased. "There's nothing to think on, Mr. Reno. Yuffie will wed Rufus, and the government will receive Shin-Ra support."
Stubbornly, the redhead shook his head. "Nope, not happening. Yuffie, tell him what you told me last night."
Smiling at Reno, Yuffie turned to her father and said, "Dad, last night –"
She couldn't say anything else before the sky fell in on them.
There was a monumental explosion that shook the building wildly, throwing all of them to the ground. A second one went off, much closer by, the volume deafening. Reno laid flat and pulled his hands over his head, thinking the roof would fall in on them. There was another roar, different from that of an explosion but barely audible to Reno's stunned ears. A bright light exploded behind his eyes and he lost consciousness.
It seemed only a moment later that Reno felt himself being shaken back to consciousness by Karsk. He cracked open an eye and winced as pain began to radiate steadily from his ears.
Karsk's lips moved; no sound came from them, or maybe Reno just couldn't hear it. He focused on the Sub-General's mouth and said, "I can't hear you!"
The brow creased and the mouth formed the word "what."
"I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"
Pulling Reno to his feet, Karsk staggered back a bit and then helped Rude up. "THE BOMBS WERE NEARBY!" he shouted, barely audible. "WE'VE BEEN TEMPORARILY DEFEANED!"
"WE'RE FINE!" Grandpa Souta yelled from by Rude, Rei, Arcturus, and Jobs, all of whom were conscious, though obviously uncomfortable due to their ears. Makoto and Godo were also up. "WHAT ABOUT EVERYONE ELSE?"
Reno quickly surveyed the area. The room was in shambles, but everyone looked fine. "LOOKS LIKE WE'RE ALL INTACT… Wait!" He looked around again, turquoise eyes widening and searching desperately.
"Where's Yuffie? YUFFIE!"
Godo slammed a fist against the ground and spoke more quietly now that they were beginning to get their hearing back. "They must have taken her while we were out! Damn it all!"
They all stood in impotent silence for a moment before Rude summed it up: "You should have taken the master of ceremonies' advice and moved this to an auspicious date."
Nobody argued.
