Chapter 92 - Casting On

Nobuhiro needed a drink. A large one, preferably.

His nerves were getting the better of him. And that wasn't to say he was nervous, hell no, he wasn't nervous. He was just pissed off. He had been pissed off for a while, really. But unable to do a damn thing about it. Because manners.

And why wouldn't he be pissed off, anyways? Having to share a table and a meal with that creepy, smiley yellow-haired Hokage ninja guy? And Tensho wasn't enjoying himself either, which only made things worse.

(Yeah, so Yuki was having fun, but he was only having fun because Kiine was having fun.)

And besides, Mikan had suggested against ordering alcohol at the table. "We don't want to forget this delicious food, do we?"

Which, of course, meant, "I don't want you getting drunk and raising a fuss, Tensho." And of course Nobuhiro was included by proxy.

And with the night over, with Yuki excusing himself to be with Kiine in her room (and probably Kou too; even Nobuhiro noticed them getting along better, which was a small relief), and Mikan working at getting Tensho de-stressed, and Shin doing… whatever it was he did in his room, Nobuhiro saw absolutely no reason not to go off and reward himself for his patience and good behavior.

He left for the lounge after slipping on a light jacket over his night kimono, tucking his knife in his belt. It had been almost torture leaving the thing at home, on Tensho's order.

(Which of course meant it was really Mikan's order.)

So damn much out of his control, pissing him off.

He hoped the bar had a good selection.

The inn had nice décor, at least. Though the majority of the rooms were traditional, all sliding doors and tatami mats, the lounge in the west wing, as well as the kitchen and larger dining hall, had more modern sensibilities. But the warm yellow lanterns of the rooms still remained, in their dark brass fixtures, filling the room to the softly-defined walls with amber light.

The bar was mostly empty, at that hour. The only other people that seemed to be present were the bartender and a woman at the bar, her dress black and low-collared, leaving her shoulders and shoulder blades nearly bare.

The bartender was a slim man with a neatly-kept gray mustache, and he wore dark glasses. Nobuhiro got himself a seat, leaving some space between himself and the woman, and said, "Whiskey, no ice. And not the cheap stuff, all right? Charge it to the Phoenix Suite."

"Of course, sir," the bartender replied, and made himself busy with the fixing of the drink.

He hunched over himself, folding his arms on the surface of the bar, while he waited. The woman to his right, out of the corner of his eye, didn't seem to be moving much, her fingers poised at the rim of her martini glass.

"Your whiskey, sir." The drink was pushed his way on a white napkin, and Nobuhiro took it with the tips of his fingers and began to sip it, carefully, almost like a cup of tea. The scar on his lip made him a careful, slow drinker. Gulping things down without much care resulted in alcohol spilling out of his lip and onto his face, both wasting the drink and shortening his temper.

He put the glass down after a few sips, rubbing the taste with his tongue. The thick smell of the whiskey filled his nose and the whole of his mouth, and he closed his eyes for a moment to savor it. Well, at least this bartender knew what he was doing. He picked up the drink for a few more sips.

But before he could finish it, he noticed movement in his peripheral vision, and glanced sideways to see the woman in the black dress looking at him, her head propped up with her left hand. She was smiling.

Nobuhiro frowned, not exactly scowling, and took another sip of his whiskey, and then another. When he looked again, she was still smiling, though her head had slipped down a little and was propped against her wrist, coquettishly.

She was obviously drunk, though she looked a bit young to be the predatory sort, and too pretty to be terribly forward. Not with a guy like him.

Nobuhiro finished his whiskey, and ordered another. The bartender took the glass and went about his work.

"Two whiskeys, straight-up? Wow." The woman was speaking, now. She had a high, girlish voice, with an edge of roughness to it.

Nobuhiro tried to give her only a second-long look in return, but ended up speaking as well. "Yeah, what about it?"

"I'm just not used to it, that's all. Most guys where I come from are more interested in appletinis and cosmopolitans than whiskey."

He grimaced a little, in processing this. "What, you live with a buncha fruits or somethin'?"

She giggled. "Excuse me?"

"You know. Guys into… other guys. They're kinda… I dunno." He took a long sip of his drink, to look away from her, though he returned to her anyways. "Fruity."

"Oh, no, no, goodness no. She was waving her hand. "It's… a cultural thing, I guess. It's more of a turn-on for most girls if a man is pretty and delicate and stuff, in my neck of the woods. And you should see how the girls behave." She sighed, leaning forward with her arms on the bar. "They're the ones ordering scotch and beer."

"The hell kinda place do you come from?" Nobuhiro said.

"Land of Earth," she replied, "glittering product of generations of matriarchal clan rule. Ya-ay society." She waved her finger mockingly, like a celebratory flag, before returning to her slump.

"Matriarchal… that means… women run the place, right?" Nobuhiro said. His hand waved in a small circle as he tried to think.

"Not s'much any more, but that's how it was for centuries, before they started founding nations and… blah, blah, blah, sorry, it's stupid." She waved her hand dismissively, resting her head on her palm again. "Just something that bothers me, you shouldn't let me ramble about it."

"Sure, okay," Nobuhiro replied. He took another sip, but didn't hesitate this time in looking back at her. "But you're being serious, right? Is it really so weird for a guy to get a stiff drink where you come from?"

"Well, anywhere else I'm sure nobody cares," she replied. "I guess that's why I like traveling abroad so much, because of that. A man can be tough, a woman can delicate, or whatever the heck they want. Not exactly attractive back home, though." She sighed. "Lots of people denying who they are just to look normal."

"The heck even is normal, anyways," Nobuhiro said. His face was beginning to feel pleasantly warm, the tension in his back uncurling. "If a guy can't be manly there or whatever, why doesn't he just move away where nobody gives a shit?"

She smiled, shaking her head. "Ties to home are stronger than personal discomfort for a lotta people, you know."

He thought on this, and ended up nodding. "That's damn true," he replied. "Damn true."

"Besides," she continued, "there's lots of people trying to change that. So people aren't so anal about gender roles and whatever."

"You use… a lot of big words," Nobuhiro replied.

She giggled, fingers on her lips. Her nails were painted a flawless lavender-pink, and they shone like seashells in the bare illumination of the bar. "Big words, huh?"

"You some sorta scholar or something, I mean?"

"Nah, this is just stuff that bothers me," she replied. "I tend to just go on about it if I'm not careful. It's the sorta thing that gets a girl too much attention."

"What, the talking or the stuff you're talking about?"

"Both. Girls aren't s'pposed to be chatterboxes, much less about cultural bullcucky. Doesn't get me many dates."

"Hey." Nobuhiro leaned forward. "I don't care. Talk all you want, if you want to. You're away from home, so talk as much shit about it as you want. People ain't like that here." He paused. "I think."

She tilted her head, and her golden-brown hair, shiny and curling around her face, fell slightly away. "Would it embarrass you if I told you that you're one of the most rugged men I've ever seen, and how much I like that?"

"Jeez, you're… forward," Nobuhiro said, his face growing hot. "Well you're not too hard on the eyes yourself."

"Thanks," she said. "But really, now. You're gorgeous. Craggy face, big eyebrows, and I'm guessing you're not terribly scrawny under those clothes. And that scar. That's like the strawberry on the cake, there."

Nobuhiro paused, trying to work through the fluttery feeling in his chest, and he ended up running his finger over the puckered flesh of his mouth, his fingertip touching the exposed teeth. "Funny," he said, "most people say it's scary, not… pretty." He quickly reached for his drink and sipped down the rest of it, and stared at the bottles of liquor behind the bartender instead of her, his mouth drawn tightly.

"It's beautifully intimidating, is what it is. How'd you get it, if you don't mind my asking?"

He was quiet, staring, now, at the wooden surface.

"Got into a knife fight when I was a kid," he said, almost mumbling.

"Oh, wow," she replied. She was resting her head on both hands, now. "Tough childhood?"

"Yeah. My folks weren't around so I… lived with my sister. She worked and used the money to take care of me. But I sorta ran around unsupervised, ran into some bad types. Went around pickin' on people much bigger than me."

"And I'm guessing someone didn't like that."

"Nope." He reached for the knife in his belt, and held it in his hands under the bar, but did not open it. "Sliced my face up good. My sister managed to patch me up, but the rip on my lip never healed properly. An' there you have it."

"You get back at the guy who did that to you?"

"Huh? Nah, I… never did." He brought the knife up to the counter, and stroked the case with his thumb. "My sister asked me not to, so I never… bothered. She, uh. She gave me this knife, later. So I could protect myself next time."

"Sounds like she's a pretty good person."

"Yeah, she—was." Nobuhiro exhaled quickly.

(What he didn't tell her was that the knife had been her last gift to him. After that, she was gone.)

"Oh, I'm… sorry."

"Not your fault." He opened the knife. Slide. "She was taken away when I was a kid by some freaky… doctor. I never found out what happened to her." Closed it. Click.

"Oh… um, well, wherever she is, I hope she's happy…" the woman replied.

"Yeah," Nobuhiro said. "Me too."

He stared at his empty drink glass.

"Need another?" the woman said.

"Yeah, that'd be… nice."

"Another whiskey for… this gentleman here," the woman said, waving her hand to get the bartender's attention. "On me."

"The name's Nobuhiro. Inaba… Nobuhiro," he said, as the bartender took his glass.

"I'm Kohriza," she replied. "Sorry if I brought up any painful memories, I understand."

Nobuhiro waved it off. "S'fine. You could always make up for it by talkin' about how gorgeous I am, or whatever." He snorted.

She giggled in response. "Hm, well, where did I leave off? Ah yes, your face, and those big hands. Mm, I could stare at those for hours." She cupped her chin in her hands, her clear eyes gleaming like fine hard candy.

Nobuhiro snorted again. "You're really not shittin' with me?"

"Oh, trust me, you're like a breath of fresh air after nothing but pretty boys that spend more time on their hair than I do," Kohriza replied. "Another reason I'm not too popular," she added, punctuating her point with her finger. "Guys typically don't like it if you're prettier than they are. Call it a woman's curse."

"Sure don't sound like guys I'd wanna hang out with," Nobuhiro said.

"They're a bit much, basically," said Kohriza. "Divas, mostly. The artists are the worst."

"Sound like it." Nobuhiro's third whiskey arrived, and he took a shallow sip from the top. "Guys like me ain't common, huh?"

"Eh, they're here and there, but they usually don't have much interest in girls like me," she replied, and then thought for a moment, tapping her chin with her fingers. "I suppose if I had to put it this way, it'd be like wanting to date a girl that acts like a guy. Not exactly everyone's thing."

Nobuhiro chuckled deeply. "I know a few people like that, but yeah, I get your point." Another sip, an immediate return. "Okay, even with the home loyalty thing—I get that, I get that—why don't you just find a guy from another country to date?"

"The problem is making it last, since my trips out never last long," Kohriza replied, glumly. "Not too many guys interested in long-distance girlfriends."

"Ah, I get your point," Nobuhiro said. "Well, that sucks. I'd think that most guys would be lining up to date a girl like you."

"Eh, you'd be surprised. But whatever," Kohriza said, shrugging lightly and giggling again. She suddenly seemed to realize that she had a drink of her own, and swirled the pink liquid in the martini glass before finishing it.

"What's that y'got there?" Nobuhiro asked.

"Strawberry-kiwitini."

Nobuhiro motioned to the bartender. "Another one for my friend, here."

Kohriza giggled, her breath laced with surprise, as the bartender took away her glass.

"What, you bought me a drink," Nobuhiro replied, shrugging gruffly. "Only fair."

"You consider me a friend already?" she said.

"…drinkin' buddy. We've been havin' some good conversation, is all," Nobuhiro said. "F'you wanna be friends, though, hey, I'll go for it. Sounds like you could use one, anyways."

"I think we could both use friends," Kohriza replied.

Nobuhiro smiled as the bartender presented her with another drink, causing her to squeal.

"To friends, huh?" Nobuhiro said, raising his glass. "And, uh. And really big hands."

"And really big hands," Kohriza replied, giggling again, and their glasses touched.

The night continued with the pattering of conversation, punctuated by denied attempts at flirting, and the warmth of alcohol.

Kohriza tired first, yawning like a cat. Her cheeks were flushed pink with pleasure and alcohol. "I'm gonna get some sleep. See you tomorrow night?"

"What, you want there t'be a tomorrow night?" Nobuhiro said.

And she leaned in closely, her lips so close to his ear.

"If I don't see you at the bar, I'm in the Black Tortoise Suite," she whispered. "Night, Nobuhiro."

"Night, Kohriza," Nobuhiro said, trying not to look stupid.

She left the bar with light, dancing steps, though her image remained in his head for far longer.

Nobuhiro, eventually, managed to shove himself off the bar stool, and out of the lounge, then back into the lounge once he realized he'd left his knife on the counter. The bartender nodded courteously at this, and his second departure.

Either he'd just gotten very lucky, or the world decided to fuck with him even more than usual, that night. All things considered, he'd probably be waiting alone in that bar the next night for a girl that would never come.

Yeah, he was… considering it. A lot.

No girl had ever shown so much interest in him. Much less called his scar pretty.

…okay, so she hadn't called it pretty. But she still liked it. Like, it was a good thing to her.

…yeah, but was that only due to the fact that she'd come from some weird messed-up place where guys acted like girls and girls acted like guys or whatever? Was that for real? Or was she just trying to mess with him?

If that's real, it would sure explain a few things about Boss Shin, Nobuhiro thought to himself with a chuckle in the middle of the hallway. Since he lived close to the Land of Earth, right? Yeah. Psh, girly-men. If that was what Kohriza had to deal with, day after day, he sure as hell didn't blame her.

Man, the guys where she came from must have all been blind or something. Kohriza was pretty. She was pretty. Not his scar. But she thought his scar was pretty.

Hell, whatever. He'd wait for her the next day. If it meant getting at least one good thing out of this stupid fucking trip, he wouldn't mind if it was this sort of thing.

He managed to find his room. Yuki was already curled into his futon, his face made even more delicate from sleep. Nobuhiro took off his coat, put away his knife, and got into his own bed. The whiskey had made his head and eyes heavy, but his thoughts were still somewhat active.

Whatever happened with him and Kohriza, it probably wouldn't last. Long-distance girlfriends and all that. Besides, maybe she was just a bitch and she was fucking with his mind, and it didn't even matter, anyways.

He turned over.

He'd make up his mind the next night. Hell, whatever. If he had a chance, maybe this was worth fighting for.

Yeah.

Who could give a shit about ninjas when he had something like her to look forward to?

Not him.