Haven't read over this so apologies in advance for any typos/inconsistencies. And without further ado.. here we gooo!
part two. You can't judge a song by its title, either
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With Katsura around, everything is a whirlwind of activity.
"I'm so glad," he says, dabbing at his eyes with a sleeve. "This is the most screen time I've had in ages. Even if it's not the usual screen time. I was out cold for half of the Joui Reunion Arc, but I am unashamed to reveal that I have only been on standby all the time because Sorachi-sensei finds it too difficult for his mortal hands to capture my lustrous hair."
There is a brief pause for effect. Takasugi looks bored; Sakamoto claps appreciatively; and Gintoki goes back to massaging his nostril.
"And next, we will go eat and catch up on the times. I know a fine establishment for our bonding session, and I have the perfect disguises for all of us!"
He has already fished out four shiny red balls to clamp onto their noses. Gintoki sighs and takes the Ben cosplay. "Anything is fine, as long as I can get out of this dress right now."
After changing back into their regular outfits, our four heroes step out onto the streets with shiny noses that capture the attention of everyone in the vicinity. Evening has fallen, and on a cool midsummer's night like this one, the streets of Edo are lit with a multitude of colours, the crowds restless with a pent-up energy that is soon directed to four weird men dressed up for the holidays of the completely wrong season.
"I don't know them," Gintoki vehemently tells a mother of two sons; she shrieks and pulls her sons away, and Takasugi gives her his patented evil, pupil-dilated glance as he passes. He'd already been declared as a terrorist of the highest level, so what was deriving a little bit of amusement from terrorizing the citizens?
Sakamoto is walking at the back of the group, eyes shining with mirth as he watches his friends wreak havoc on the streets. "Ahahaha, haven't had Earth food in a while!" Then Sakamoto's good humour dissipates as he realizes – "you aren't going make me pay again, right?"
"Do not worry, it will be my treat," Katsura beams. He comes to a stop at a certain establishment and whirls around to face them. "Ah, we're here~"
Gintoki gets the last shove in the light brawl he'd gotten into with Takasugi, and his raised eyes meet the sign lettering Snack Smile.
"This is your idea of a fine establishment?!"
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"I sent Elizabeth here earlier to save us a table," Katsura says, scanning around the room for his trusty companion. When he doesn't see a white flipper waving him over to a table, he flags down the nearest hostess to ask.
Of course, it's inevitable who the nearest hostess happens to be. Shimura Tae stops in the middle of hauling a drunken guy across the room and presumably tossing his ass out the back door to face them, expression morphing into annoyance when she sees the quartet that had just entered.
"Oh? The incompetent Santa fool is letting his reindeer run around like wild animals again… let me put them back to their places…" She cracks her knuckles and walks towards them in the steps of a true hunter towards her prey, lips stretched in a sadistic smile.
Katsura waves his arms frantically. "Wait, wait, Otae-dono, it's us. Look carefully: a reindeer would never have a natural silver perm."
"Oi, what's that about my hair? A reindeer with a natural silver perm would be the envy of all of the other reindeer in the world! He'd be the new Rudolph!" Gintoki snaps, vein visibly ticking on his forehead. "Besides, reindeer would not wear a wig either, Zura."
With mild surprise, Otae looks them over and, with recognition dawning in her eyes, relaxes her pose. "Oh my, what bright noses you have, Gin-san, Katsura-san, Oryo's-stalker-san. And a new face… How nice of you to bring a friend over for Dom Pérignon."
Gintoki shifts to a nervous smile. "Ah, Otae, we got lost, Zura can't read maps, you see, actually, we were just leaving –" He gulps when the air around Otae starts to sizzle and quickly backs down. "I mean, Dom Pérignon it is!"
"That's four Dom Pérignon, help yourselves to a table and someone will bring it to you eventually." Otae is about to turn her attention back to the drunken guy lying in an undignified heap on the floor when she seems to remember something else. "Oh, Katsura-san, you should train your pet better. It came here all by itself without bringing your wallet along."
"It's not a pet, it's Elizabeth," says Katsura, brow furrowing.
"Your pet is in the dumpster in the back," Otae's unwaveringly bright smile is chilling to the bone, and she continues on as if Katsura hadn't spoken. "We have a no-pets-without-their-owner's-money policy here at Snack Smile, Katsura-san. Please kindly remember that next time."
There's no room for interpretation about what would happen the next time Elizabeth shows up sans cash. "Right, Otae-dono." Katsura salutes and heads to the back to pick up the remains of poor Elizabeth.
"Well, I will be personally dealing with any rowdy customers so don't cause any trouble. Enjoy your drinks and make sure you still have enough left to pay my brother, Gin-san." Otae is half turned away when she's stopped by a hand half-shrouded in silk of purple and gold.
"I'll have a Yakult," the governor of the Kiheitai demands in typical governor fashion.
"Unfortunately, this is not your typical establishment," Otae starts to explain with a strained smile; a withering look in Gintoki's direction that tells him all he needs to know – get the ever-picky Bakasugi seated and stop bothering Otae, pronto. "This is your first time here, so let me tell you about our wonderful menu. We serve Dom Pérignon, Dom Pérignon on Dom Pérignon, and Dom Pérignon in Dom Pérignon with a side of Dom Pérignon. Now, what would you like?"
"Yakul-mmphh." Takasugi finds his mouth mashed against certain warmth, nose breathing in a certain sweaty, musky scent of a hand he could identify blindfolded. He jabs his scabbard into the soft part of Gintoki's stomach and relishes in the oomph he makes as the air is knocked out of him.
"Maa, Takasugi-kun, wanted criminals shouldn't make a scene," Gintoki reasons without relinquishing his hold. He's right, though, for the noise in the cabaret club has settled down and most of the eyes are on their ragtag little group. "Come on, let's sit your highness down."
Meanwhile, Sakamoto has spotted the girl of his dreams standing by the corner. "Oryo-chan!" he screams happily, and rushes forward, only to be knocked back by an Otae in bodyguard mode.
"Mm, your table is this way, and for the disturbance you've caused our customers I'm sure you will be willing to order another two rounds of Dom Pérignon, hm?"
Sakamoto nods enthusiastically and waves her away, somehow having procured Katsura's wallet earlier on. When they've finally settled down, Katsura's Joui funds in liquid form arrive by the dozen.
Gintoki lounges back and takes one, downing it in a second. "Don't rile that woman up, she's really a gorilla, I'm going to have to face that gorilla woman later." He's already starting to blab, this being unsurprising to anyone who knows Gintoki's meagre-at-best alcohol tolerance. A faint flush stains the normally pale pallor of his face. "Gin-san can't die already. This is only the second chapter, oi."
Contemplating the fizzling yellow drink resting in the palm of his hand that is evidently not his favourite beverage, Takasugi's eyes are oddly tight as a smile without warmth plays on his lips. "Does it matter?" he asks with a voice deceptively calm like the swirl of the glass in his hand. "I'll be killing you anyway."
The glass shatters in his grip, and the gentle atmosphere vanishes to leave a sudden chill in its wake.
"Takasugi…"
"Ahaha, I hope you have not been having fun without me and Elizabeth! Hey, Sakamoto, that is a nice wallet. Vintage, if you consider our timeline. I have the very same one." Katsura, pet duck-penguin-thing in tow, barges into their table and forces Takasugi to scoot over. Maintaining a serious aura around you isn't very easy to do when you suddenly find yourself squished out of any decent personal space.
Idiots couldn't read atmospheres. Hn. They also infected the atmosphere with a liveliness that lifted the deadening pressure on Gintoki's chest. Wait, no; that was just Elizabeth. Their booth was rapidly becoming too cramped for them. He doesn't think Otae would appreciate it if they asked for a bigger one.
So he settles for grumbling instead, chancing a glance at Takasugi's expression hidden beneath long bangs. Gintoki'd always been a coward; always too damn afraid, always choosing to run away from his problems when it came down to it. "Jeez, you're so high maintenance, just like Oogushi-kun." Gintoki grumbles, still decidedly sulking over the blow to his sensitive stomach. After all, Gin-san's stomach is a vital part that should be handled with care. "The Mayora would have mayonnaise decreed as the drinking water everywhere."
Still, he's surprised when Takasugi, the bastard, goes along with it.
"Every place should have Yakult," he acknowledges, absentmindedly kicking the broken shards of his glass under the table. Which Otae was definitely going to find later. Bastard was really trying to kill him. "Move your hair out of my face before I slice it off, Zura."
And like that, they're back to a precarious truce. Their relationship had always been this way; genuine moments of friendship tinged with genuine moments of animosity, sometimes lashing out – they were both stubborn assholes not lacking in pride and eager to contradict each other in every way - but always bouncing back together in the end. Gintoki had thought that he'd lost him for sure this time, their parting in Benizakura not exactly desirable, and when he'd fought the amanto with Zura's familiar form at his back, the convictions had been to never change. And as the adrenaline of the moment masked the ache of his muscles from the long day, he'd felt disappointment instead.
(But with this, my sword ... anywhere it can reach, is part of my country!)
Takasugi had finally gone somewhere his sword couldn't reach. There had been no need to feel anything but indifference at the revelation, because Gintoki had been expecting it to happen all along. Katsura had been more hopeful and less prepared, but in the end he knew full well that they'd chosen separate paths since the start.
But even separate paths could wind up joining again, forks in the road converging to one singular, wider trail; and perhaps Takasugi hadn't changed as much as they'd initially thought. In any case, he was still a stubborn, self-righteous asshole addicted to Yakult.
The first loud sigh of the evening ends up coming from an unlikely source. Sometimes, Sakamoto doesn't know how he got stuck with such a depressingly mopey bunch. "Come on, guys," he sighs, and picks up another glass from the table where rows upon rows of champagne glasses still stand upon. They weren't going to be finished drinking any time soon, so they may as well get started already. The sooner they were through with it, the sooner they could upchuck it back up with the cool press of a toilet bowl on their foreheads and report back to their respective mother-figures at home. Eh? How did they all end up with one, anyway? Mother-figures, Sakamoto begins to reason. Then he forgets what he was reasoning about internally, and raises the glass in his hand. "Let's all toast and start the getting drunk portion of this, ahahahaha.."
Four glasses clink and four heads tilt back, letting the fizzling sting in their throats fill the chasms between them.
"And I realized," says Katsura, pouring another glass of champagne for himself, "We don't have a name for our group."
Gintoki blearily raises his index finger to the air and watches amusedly as he ends up with four identical index fingers spinning around. "Gin...-SakaTakaZura…" He hiccups and then is already out cold before the other three can get in a remark.
"Well, that solves things," Katsura says lightly. "Gintoki should be refrained from naming things. You too, Shinsuke. Neither my hair nor I have ever forgiven either of you."
Ah, it was a bright day under Shouyou-sensei's tutelage when certain vocabulary words were brought forth into the lesson of the day. Words like dango, and dragons, and wigs. And their short forms.
To be absolutely fair, it had been Katsura himself who began the association.
"Hey, Takasugi, lend me your notes on wigs this morning, will you? Katsura won't lend me his anymore." a young Gintoki requests in a whine, having fallen asleep in the back corner of the classroom again.
"Maybe you should start paying attention in class," are the words Katsura had wanted to say. "It's not Zura, it's Katsura," was what came out instead.
Two pairs of mischievous eyes snap up and twinkle – not unlike a rather festive ornament, and fittingly so. This was the defining moment that would mark a friendship with nicknames that they could call, even when they're all old farts and their backs are no longer straight.
"Right, Zura."
"It's KATSURA!"
In the present situation, Katsura is fast at work pondering a name that none of them could ruin. "It has to be sweet and cute, like... like those school girls!" He exclaims, having gone through the motions of a eureka! moment. And then he blushes, "N-not that I like them. Matured women who also happen to be someone else's woman are more my type. School girls are just cute, like... paws."
"Ahahaha, do you have room for another lolicon in your Kihentai, Sasuke?"
There are so many things wrong with that statement, Takasugi doesn't even dignify it with an answer. He sips at his drink mutely, glaring at anyone looking at the group as a stress reliever while he keeps a rough tab on the conversation at their table.
"It's not a lolicon, it's Katsura," says, well, Katsura. "And if school girls are cute at school, they are cute after school, when they go to eat a bowl of ramen with their friends and bring business to the landlady of a Joui patriot."
"Landlady or lady, Zura?" As smoothly as always (which, of course, is extremely not smoothly), Gintoki joins the conversation at the table, having returned from emptying out the contents of his stomach (merely Dom Pérignon of Dom Pérignon) into the toilet a bit more sober.
"I AM NOT IN LOVE WITH IKUMATSU-DONO," Katsura all but screams. The noise in the room dissipates as the quartet become the center of focus again, effectively negating all of Takasugi's hard work.
The latter sighs. His temples are beginning to hurt. He takes up another glass of not-Yakult, but alas he is much better at handling his alcohol and even the temporarily relief it could offer does not come easily.
"Hey, I got an epiphany, ahahaha, what about Houkago Happy Hour? Houkago, for 'After School', and Happy Hour because that's the best time to get drinks on Earth!" See, Sakamoto has these moments of genius sometimes. He's rather bashful about them, ahahahahahaha...
"And that is relevant exactly how?" Gintoki wants to ask. But then he decides it's not worth it, and he's on his way to insobriety again anyway. A group by any other name would still be just as dysfunctional, he figures.
"Ooh, I like it!" exclaims Katsura, nodding fervently, "As samurai, it is our duty to promote the country's economy and boost their happy hour sales. Ramen shops can have happy hour sales, too."
"If they have Yakult," is Takasugi's extremely unbiased contribution.
"I'll speak to Ikumatsu-dono about adding drinks to the overly long menu," Katsura promises.
And so, having won Takasugi over, the newly crowned Houkago Happy Hour (and Elizabeth) make to finish the rest of their drinks, an odd silence having settled over them again. It's not quite uncomfortable, for they've been through too much, together, for the connection to stop lingering over their backs. Still, it's been ten years since they've last gathered together, and the enormity of catch-up they have to do with no clear point to start begins to sink in.
"...'Sup?" tries Katsura. There's no telling if the curious lingo of the youth of Edo would've helped any.
Because the table to their right blows up in the next moment. Eh, maybe it was his "'Sup"..? Katsura's eyes widen in disbelief at the power that was at every hipster's disposal. Was such the weapons of today's time, while he'd fallen behind by focusing on old techniques that, while they were tried-and-true, lacked the upgrade, the innovation of the times. He's glad he pulled everyone into this arc; the resistance movement could fight for a future again while minimizing bloodshed, with all of the new intelligence he's gained!
Meanwhile, Gintoki jumps up with a stumble, having caught the slight movement from the person sitting across from him even in his inebriated state. "You didn't."
"Ahaha, Kintoki, I'm sure he didn't. You didn't, right?" Sakamoto echoes nervously.
HE DID, signs Elizabeth. I GIVE UP, signs Elizabeth, and exits the building with so much class that time seems to freeze in place. Or maybe it's the director today.
It resumes as the doors swing shut. "Didn't I say? I will destroy this rotten world... beginning with this rotten establishment."
The room is silent, the shock dissipating in the air with the billowing smoke and smell of barbequed guts from the debris that used to be a table and maybe two guests. Then–"Not going to disagree with you on that part but NO YOU ARE NOT GOING TO OTAE IS GOING TO KILL ME TAKASUGI YOU BASTAAAAAAR–" bursts out to mingle with "IF I GET BLACKLISTED CAN I STILL VISIT ORYO-CHAN, oh, maybe she can come onboard my ship instead, hahahaha..."
"Eh? It wasn't my ''Sup'?"
And the rest of the bombs go off, cutting off any screeches and sealing their fates. Well, time to run. Ah, Gintoki realizes, he should've had more alcohol before the asshole blew it all up. At least they still remember how it goes: north, east, south, west, scattering in the four cardinal directions with one rendezvous point and time in the back of their minds.
See you guys later.
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The lights are out in the apartment of the Yorozuya by the time Gintoki slips back in. He's careful to be as silent as possible, but Kagura slides her closet door open the moment he steps into the main room. One does not attempt to out-stealth a Yato.
"Where'd you go, Gin-chan?" Kagura rubs at her eye blearily as watches Gintoki head into the kitchen to drink the last bit of strawberry milk from the carton. "Mother didn't raise you for you to go out past curfew. I'll punish you tomorrow-aru, don't think you can get away." The part where she was worried (because even though Gintoki had left behind a short note, he could be out doing something dangerous again, and what if he never came back with the sunrise?) goes unsaid.
Kagura's still young, though, and her emotions flit across her face in plain view to anyone who cares enough to look. With a soft smile, Gintoki reaches out and musses her hair while the events of the past day play in the back of his mind. "I told you I was out with Zura and not to wait up for me, hm?"
"Yeah," she nods, and then sniffs the air, finally burrowing her nose into Gintoki's shirt. "Ew, Gin-chan, you smell like disgusting old men with sunglasses who spend all their money on drinks. How could you and Zura go drinking and leave your mother and leader hungry at home? Huh? Did you spend my wages? Give me back my wages, you disgusting old man!"
Before she can begin a physical assault on her, he takes out the carton of eggs in the fridge. There are five eggs left; that should tide her stomach over for a few hours. "Relax, relax, it was Zura's treat." He pauses to look at her carefully, azure eyes chasing out the darkness in the room as they stare back at him with trust, and he can't stop the smile from reaching his own eyes.
"Fried rice?"
Kagura positively squeals.
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On his way to his own hideout (also known as Ikumatsu's closet), a conspicuous monk passes by an old snack shop and smells fried rice from above. The hint of a knowing smile lifts the edges of his mouth and he hurries on, wanting to make it home before midnight so he can ask his host for a midnight snack, too.
She slaps him. And makes it anyway.
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Sakamoto wanders along empty streets. He turns around the corner of the street with his coat billowing behind him, for all intents and purposes looking like a man with a destination in mind who knows exactly how to get there.
"Of course I know how to get there, I just need to find where I parked my ship," he explains under his breath as he quickly rounds another corner.
"Ah, there, the wedding studio–" He sweat-drops. Right, he'd crashed it...
The Kaientai mother ship was somewhere five parsecs away, the last time he'd radioed its location.
...Hahaha.. oops...?
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Back on the ship of the Kiheitai in his captain's quarters, Takasugi raises a brush to the moon and dips it; the words flow on paper, catching every flying thought in his eloquently insane mind.
Dear Diary...
What the fuck am I doing?
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"Do we even know how to write a proper song?"
They're back at it again, two weeks after their previous disastrous meeting for what will probably be another disastrous meeting in the works.
But they're ready to get to work, damn it. "It's been a month and a half since the last chapter, and the readers have probably forgotten all about this by now, so Takasugi-kun will give you the recap," Gintoki says to the handheld camcorder in his hand before passing it along.
"Who let you delegate," says Takasugi, who smirks into the camera anyway. "I beat Tatsuma at UNO today."
He flips the camera to Sakamoto in heavy protest: "The first time you've ever beaten me, and only after teaming up with Zura and having me surrounded with the extra deck of Draw Fours you hide in your sleeve, ahahahaha-"
The camera begins recording the ceiling as sounds of a scuffle can be heard in the background. Katsura peers in briefly to make a V-sign. It's a while before the camera is lifted up to focus again to Takasugi and his vaguely smug face. Katsura cuts in to make more faces at the camera before he's pushed away.
"You guys, are we derailing this again? Mutsu has me on a curfew since last time."
Shared hair problems, shared pain. "Ka-chan shortened mine," Gintoki whines, and the two wavy-haired brothers share a touching moment of empathy and understanding.
Then Sakamoto clears his throat and calls out his opening line again. "Do we even know how to write a proper song?"
Gintoki breezily flicks away a gold nugget from his right ear. "Sure. I helped Otsu-chan write lyrics once and it became a bestseller, you know. It's really easy, you just have to write **** and ***** and add lots of ******* and random **** to it."
"Right," Katsura says, not missing a beat even though he all he gathered from Gintoki's inspiring advice was a bunch of ****s. "What should we sing about?" His mind is already running through the marvellous things they could sing about. Jackie's nose! The dawn of a new Edo! Tragic, tragic soap opera plots! How exciting they would be; how enchanted the youth would be with their revolutionary songs stirring up their ambitions and idealisms for change!
Wait… they had a concept from their photoshoot. They should probably stick to it – but that didn't mean it had to limit their creative and artistic freedoms! "We'll call it First Love," he declares. To the general populace in the room unable to grasp his deep thoughts and looking at him with amalgamations of odd looks and exasperated expressions on their faces, he explains, "We must make it relatable to the public. Who has not experienced the joys of first love? We will deliver this joy to them. The remaining otaku who have never experienced this personally, we will become their first loves and let them experience the joy and the reality of being broke after spending all of your money trying to get your first love will notice you, only to realize your senpai has taken her off of the market and he's better than you in every way and they've even taken sticker pictures together!"
He wipes away dramatic tears and gestures even more dramatically at his audience, who are on different levels of being unimpressed. "What kind of first love have you had, haah?" yells Gintoki.
"Ah, but your first love is much more tragic than mine, Gintoki," the moderate terrorist faction leader turns away and takes out something looking suspiciously like eye drops, and turns back when trails of eye drops are running down his face. "Oh, Gintoki, the tale of you and the girl in Yoshiwara was never meant to be! For Shinsuke, the prince of the neighbouring nation, whisked her away on a white horse, charming her with his purple hair that he re-dyes every month…"
He trails off when Gintoki brandishes a pair of shears. "I swear, if you don't shut up now, Zura, I won't be afraid to use these."
"Use them anyway," Takasugi suggests, eye regarding Katsura's hair maliciously as one would with an old enemy.
"Neither of you are coming near my hair. Now, let's come up with ideas before the readers get bored. Ah, we'll need to appoint someone to write them down on our whiteboard so we look productive. As the natural leader of this group because I made sure to wear red today, I say… Shinsuke, take notes for today's meeting and send it to me later with that new technology called a p-mail."
"First," Gintoki finds it in him to point out, "it's not a p-mail, it's an e-mail, and those aren't new anymore, they have these things called SMS now that hide in beeping contraptions that keep coming back no matter how you try to smash them into pieces, and they find you even when you're in the middle of taking a dump."
Katsura is flabbergasted at the evolution of what had seemed like a harmless piece of technology. To know that they would go that far – and here he was, leader of an Anti-Foreigner Faction and rallying patriots without knowing that the amanto had already slipped little electronic spies in their midst and added explosive "'Sup"s to their vocabulary. How much did they know.. Katsura had taken a nice long shit this morning before heading out to their rendezvous, could they possibly know he ate some bad anchovies last night? He bites back a shudder, and steels his resolve to push through with their current arc. It was all for the change they would lead Edo through, and once they'd garnered a following, his first move would be banning these whatchamacallit SNS-thingies!
"And secondly," Takasugi says testily, "why am I doing everything."
Katsura waves it aside; it was time to tackle their biggest problem yet. "So, to go with the lovely imagery of first love to allure the population, we need something fresh and cute. Everyone, instruments out~"
Because this is a work of fiction, our aspiring band members easily conjure their respective instruments from thin air. Gintoki pulls his guitar out of his ass. To be fair, he can probably still do this in canon if we're going by his track record. What can't Sakata Gintoki do? What can Katsura Kotarou not do? What is the upper bound of Sakamoto Tatsuma's questionable strokes of genius? How far are we until the end of this part? Here I pose these questions to you in hopes that you will be sufficiently distracted and unable to hear the noise. Hypothetically speaking. Can you imagine it, though?
You might start by imagining a person randomly banging on an instrument of choice. Add another person who's not only banging on his own instrument, but also banging it completely off-beat from the first person. Now add the last person to the mix, and let them all yell out orders to each other.
Ladies and gentlemen, we have Katsura, Gintoki, and Sakamoto.
"Tatsuma, match your drums with my piano!"
"No, match with my guitar playing and then, let's see, we need a guitar solo here."
"Hah! You call that guitar playing? Gintoki, what this song needs is a haunting piano melody. Tatsuma-"
"We're producing songs people can idolize over, Zura. Right, that means we'll need another guitar solo halfway through the song."
"How do you drum, ahahaha..?"
"No, I'm pretty sure that is two more guitar solos than necessary."
"No, I'm pretty sure that's a wig."
"It's not a wig, it's Katsura!"
"Which is still a wig."
"Drum mode activate, ahahahahaha!"
—Wait, what—Luckily, it's a soundproofed room. They manage to cover their ears in time as Sakamoto commences a drum solo louder than any other, landing critical hit after critical hit on the abused drum set. It's only after Takasugi chucks a music stand at him that he stops, having to catch it midair before it broke his sunglasses. He places the drumsticks down to grin at the other three. "Phew, drums are harder than they look. How was that? I can probably do it for the duration of the song."
"The next one to touch their instruments will..." drawls Takasugi, his tongue reaching up to lick at the corner of his mouth at his pause, "die."
"Hah, it's easy for you to say! You're the one with the microphone!" Gintoki protests. "All you have to do is sing, while we have to come up with the whole arrangement from scratch."
Takasugi graces him with a thin smile. "Alright," he says, surprisingly amicably, "did you want to sing instead?"
"No!" Katsura and Sakamoto cry out simultaneously.
"I hate you all," the silver-haired guitarist grumbles, and the group prepares for Operation Banging-On-Instruments-Like-Drunkards, take two.
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"I knew this was going to happen," says Takasugi, and he looks frustrated enough to temporarily sober the tone-deaf trio, "so I took one of Bansai's half-finished songs and erased his memory of ever writing it. The chords are all there, we just need to write the lyrics."
"Erased his memory?" Gintoki sputters. "How in Edo did you manage that?!"
"It's easy, would you like a little demonstration?" With his thumb, Takasugi slides an inch of blade out from its sheath, movements heavy with implication.
A gasp from their keyboarder catches their attention. "You didn't trust us," he points to Takasugi in a theatrical bout of hurt.
"If I did, we'd debut in the next century."
He has a valid point. It goes unacknowledged. With a lightly teasing tone and just the slightest death wish, Gintoki remarks, "Oh? Is Takasugi-kun excited about this project after all?"
"I'm excited about finishing this so I don't have to see your stupid hair again."
"Oi, I used a hair insult half an hour ago. Variety, Takasugi-kun, variety," sighs the man with the irresistible silver perm. "Fine, I'll throw you a lifeboat and save you from the raging rapids of disappointed readers. Let's get on with penning the lyrics so we don't waste the deaf guy with the headphones' last contribution to the world."
"Then again," Gintoki trails off in thought as the four of them make to gather in the center again, "it won't be much of a contribution once we're through with it."
"Blasphemy! The Joui will always remember Bansai-dono, who sacrificed himself so the show could go on to the next plot point."
Katsura produces a wad of paper and freshly sharpened pencils for all to pass around. Once everyone is settled with a pencil each and the remainders are passed back to him, he stashes them away only to withdraw another object from within his sleeve. Only a shadow can be seen as triumphant music plays in the background.
What's that object?
It will be revealed after this little obligatory section break.
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"We'll divide and conquer," proposes Katsura. "Shinsuke can write the first part, then Gintoki will take over the second part, and I'll go next, then Tatsuma, then he'll throw down a Reverse card and it'll be my turn again and then back to Gintoki who will Reverse it back to me, and I'll Skip Tatsuma so Shinsuke can wrap it up."
"Why are you narrating this like a game of UNO?" an incredulous Gintoki cries out. "And why are we - you - argh - you know what, screw my role, I haven't had nearly enough sugar today for this." He drops his head into his arms, and what comes out afterwards is rather muffled by his sleeve, but he's known these guys for long enough to know that they'll get what he's saying anyway. "Let's just do it. The best lyrics are the ones written without any inhibitions, so we'll just beep out everything afterwards."
And so Takasugi takes a sheet of paper and fills it with three lines before passing it along to the person on his right, who snarls at it and writes the next two lines furiously.
"Don't break through the paper, I'm writing next," Katsura reprimands him, clearly eager for his turn.
"Yeah, yeah. Here."
"Hey, are we actually using that?" Sakamoto pipes in, gesturing to the mysterious object still in Katsura's hands—a deck of UNO cards. The last deck they'd been playing with earlier in the day had ended up in a... less than desirable shape. And currently tossed all over the room. Not this one, the other one; if he had to tip exuberantly to warrant a room change, then so be it. Briefly, Sakamoto wonders how many decks of UNO are hidden in Katsura's sleeves. The current deck is promptly tossed over for him to do the honours of dealing their hands while Katsura pens down the next lines of their song with an almost pensive look on his face.
Sakamoto begins the game by sending a Draw Two to their old agreement of a clockwise starting direction, which pointed to Takasugi. Who, unfazed, puts down a Draw Four.
"Here, Sakamoto, the next two lines."
"Got it! By the way, who did you say writes after me again?"
"You Reverse it to me," Katsura clarifies, as he continues the trend of adding another Draw card to the pile in the middle.
A fierce battle rages as the four of them play two UNO games simultaneously. Juggling the muse-taxing components of the first game and maintaining the infallible hands of a cheater in the second is no easy feat.
"Gintoki, back to you. I will change the colour to... red! Hey, has no one incorporated the title of our song yet?"
"Fine, I'll do it...right, 'first love'... hah, take the double Draw Fours, bastard! Let's see who will run out in our secret stashes first! Who do I pass this to now—oh, Zura."
"My cards will never fail me! Here, Shinsuke, catch!"
Peeling his eyes away from the actual UNO game taking place, the latter takes the crumpled piece of paper that had fallen into his lap. It'd been folded into an airplane somewhere along the line, he notes absentmindedly while he scans through the previous lines to think of a way to wrap things up. Never before has he felt such a strong inclination to bash his head against the table. Or wall. Or both, if he was fortunate enough. Really, Takasugi'd never held high expectations of any sort for the lyrics, but it wasn't asking too much for them to actually be coherent, right? But of course, no one was going to take it seriously. After all, they weren't the ones singing it. It was all going to come out of his mouth.
But—if they were just going to write whatever they felt like, then so would he.
"And... done."
"Take care of the censoring too, and write it on that board so we can all see it," Katsura instructs him, almost bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement.
Scowling, he gives the final lyrics another run through and crosses out words every so often, expression betraying nothing as he does so. The anticipation is akin to agony for a certain youthful noble. The resident curly-haired brothers are continuing the UNO game by themselves (and secretly slipping cards into Katsura's abandoned pile at every turn).
Finally, the whiteboard is soon filled up with Takasugi's scrawl:
to the tune of: Pray (Tommy Heavenly6) TV size.
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(La la la... ah ah ah ...
La la la... ah ah ah)
Let's go out to buy groceries
Let's go a sweet Yakult story
Eleven-Seven has Yakult and horrendous pink milk
Your BEEP is domestic violence, appreciate strawberry milk
Because you don't get it that's why that's why you're so BEEP
BEEP you-BEEP BEEP BEEP-you BEEP BEEP-BEEP (Shinsengumi)
For Edo, for Jackie, we're hiring (Jouishishi)
Hey guys I thought this was supposed to be cute like my Oryo
Nothing is cuter than my Oryo-chan, hahaha ahaha
Soba at Ikumatsu-dono's is divine-
Retribution. Parfait is my first love, there I used the title
Natural permed hair is sexy - Katsurap yo, let's go
Destroy the Bakufu
Edo in flames yo Tendoshu you'll greet sensei for me now
(La la la... ah ah ah)
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Gintoki is the first to voice his complaints. "The fifth line! Why is the last word beeped out? I only called you *****, why are you censoring *****, you really have a *****-complex, don't you?"
"I'm not singing it." Takasugi levels his perfected creepy-eyeball-expanding gaze at Gintoki. "Do you have a problem with that?" He asks gravelly.
Beside him, Sakamoto's eyebrows scrunch up in thought. "But if it's like this, won't it be too ambiguous? Is Sasuke-kun **********-challenged, just really *****, or does he have ***********?"
"Sasuke-kun is in the wrong fanfiction, and why the fuck would he have hemorrhoids?" Ah, apparently his own speech does not get censored.
"Aw, I know someone who has ***********. I can recommend you the cream he likes," offers Gintoki, always the thoughtful friend.
The idiot duo shares a high-five in the background as Takasugi silently seethes, contemplating the swiftness of a strike that could kill them all. Yes, bloodshed sounded good. The image of silver hair irreversibly matted in blood, floating down crimson rivers alongside broken sunglasses brings a shiver to his spine, and for a second the beast pools out into pulsing bloodstreams and resurfaces.
It leaves a coldness in his veins when it vanishes as quickly as it came, but there is little time to dwell as Katsura picks up the pace for his next part. He'd have to stop spacing out or they were in danger of doing a retake, and he doesn't think his already thin patience can stretch much more. Dimly, he sees Katsura swallow before prodding the subject, like a man unsure of whether or not to touch the fluffy stray cat on the streets because the grooves from the last two hundred and sixty five stray cats still mar his skin. In other words, in a very un-Katsura-like manner, because Katsura would not hesitate on such fluffy matters, the long-haired man asks, "Isn't the end a bit too… intense?"
And perhaps it is. Takasugi is wholly past caring. He's been past caring for a pretty long time, now. It's probably listed in his character profile somewhere.
"Even so, I have no doubt that the Bakufu will never figure it out," Katsura allows, when no one seems particular inclined to discuss further.
Gintoki snorts. "Trust me, the Shinsengumi will never see anything wrong with this. Once Tosshi sees us, he'll have everyone in the Shinsengumi buy three copies of our album each. What was it again? One for preservation, one for—" A drumstick flying through the air misses him by only half an inch.
"My hands are bored, hahahahah, can we start playing the song already?"
And so, with a bit of grumbling, the four of them once again take to their instruments. Takasugi really does not have to do in this compartment, so he settles for switching the ON-OFF on his microphone for the umpteenth time.
"Maaaaaan, it sure has been a long time since I touched a guitar. This brings back memories of when Shouyou-sensei taught us the chords," Gintoki sighs, for once heavily nostalgic as he fingers the chords of his electric guitar.
Takasugi looks up to raise a single brow at him. "What are you going on about? We didn't have guitars at all," he grits out. Beside him, Katsura hums in agreement. Or, he's just humming to a tune as he tests the notes on his keyboard, but we'll just assume it's the former for the heightened effect.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk." Taking on the air of an exasperated teacher, he proceeds to the whiteboard for an impromptu lesson. "We obviously can't just gain musicality in a fortnight. It's not realistic. So when a character suddenly needs to be able to do something but there's no time for a training arc, we have to bring up a back story of how a young and determined Gintoki practiced guitar into the sunrise until his fingertips bled—this has the bonus effect of being a good role model for little kids while establishing that he can play the guitar in a realistic way. Are we clear? Yes? Now, Takasugi, reflect on your mistakes and go stand in the hall."
"Who's going to listen to that? It's too long," Sakamoto calls from the back of the impromptu classroom. Scene changes are such subtle things.
"As leader, I call this much-delayed practice to begin!"
"Let's begin our quest to be the Samurai King by plundering otaku who have nothing better to do than—hey, make sure I get a copy to send to Tosshi!"
"Yes, let us take back the taxes given to the tax robbers robbing our nation!"
"Let's shut up so the author can end this chapter."
And so, armed with their remarkably well-written song and hours of relentless practice until all of their fingers were strained and fingertips wastefully calloused, and further hours in a recording room that will have seen better days...
Sakata Paako. Lead guitarist.
Katsura Zurako. Keyboardist and backing vocalist.
Sakamoto Tatsuko. Drummer.
Takasugi Shinsuko. Lead vocalist and bass guitarist...
..prepare to move out!
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.-.-.
/end part two
People who left a review last instalment- thank you. While I mostly write for my own enjoyment, it is incredibly nice to know (not to mention motivating) that people are enjoying it too. If you didn't leave a review last time, it's not too late to start! :D also, there will actually be a plot. Somewhere down the road. IT IS BREWING. This thing is getting a lot more long-winded than I'd initially expected when I started fleshing out the plot bunny, but ah well…
Also, I don't know what I was thinking when I wrote the lyrics to Pray. It should fit, by the way. You can try singing it. I'm sorry ahahaha /flees before the bricks start flying
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coming up next...
"DONDAKE?!"
In which our heroes finally finish their preparations and set off for the nation's stage with their debut single and its gentle and moving lyrics! Will it be enough to pierce the flabby flesh of the otaku population and touch their hearts? Will Takasugi cure his ***********? And what horrors in the pop idol industry will await our heroes there..? Stay tuned to find out!
-04/07/14