[Log] Izuru, Gin
Title: Thank God it's Friday (Maybe)
Characters: Gin Ichimaru (lcpdragonslayer), Izuru Kira (melpomene)
Timeline: May 5, 1950
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The boys meet up at Cinq; Izuru goes through his whole bag of tricks and Gin still doesn't give him a straight answer.
Cinq was one of the last places Gin wanted to be in on a Friday night. He’d rather go down to one of the lesser-known little pubs where he could not be found and drink away his sanity. Instead, he was ‘stationed’ here, as it were, and he had to regulate how much alcohol he could drink and try not to make a fool of himself.
That, in itself, was bitter to swallow. He’d need a few more drinks before he could get over wallowing in self-pity. He picked up and examined his glass of bourbon, tilting it left and right, his gaze growing distant as he sank into thought. He could remember Ran saying once that she liked bourbon, and not scotch or whiskey. He could remember the Valentines’ Day they spent together, the ordeal he put her through with that incident with Dante, and how things had never really been right ever since.
It was all just a blur now even though, when he was in the heat of the moment, it felt like a nightmare that would never end. He placed the glass of bourbon onto the counter and ran his hand through his hair with his other hand, sighing. Things had never been this complicated before… but at least now everything was more or less returning back to normal.
He finished the bourbon and placed the empty cup back down, slipping off his seat. The atmosphere here was rigid and uncomfortable. He needed a smoke - and slipping out the back and getting some fresh air while he rolled and smoked his cigarette sounded like a good idea right about now.
It had been a long week. It had been a long day, and Izuru paused again to consider the wisdom of coming to Cinq on a Friday night. He'd worried about it all day, hadn't completely made up his mind until he found himself stepping out of a hack in front of the place. He couldn't really wait any longer. He needed to find this Gin Ichimaru and see what he knew. Izuru didn't have any other leads.
A little careful questioning of his uncles had enlightened him to the location of the club and, just as importantly, exactly what kind of a joint it was. Upscale, Robert had told him, almost painfully so. He'd laughed, because he knew perfectly well that Izuru avoided that sort of place like the plague, had asked him if he was returning to the fold so soon even without Margaret there to shove him into it. Izuru hadn't answered, had bared his teeth but somehow made it into a smile, thanked him and left.
And so here he was, less than a week later, stepping through the door in his second best suit and shoes, hair slicked back out of his face properly, gold cuff links twinkling at his wrists. Very tasteful, he noted distantly, handing his outerwear off to the coat check valet as he surveyed the interior of the club. He certainly wasn't overdressed this time. The sheer, polished sophistication of the place was suffocating, the type of atmosphere Izuru found oppressive but, ultimately, more than bearable. Hate it or not, moving through this space would be infinitely easier than the shadowy smoke-filled dive from last time.
Making his way into the bar area, Izuru scanned for Gin discreetly, face schooled automatically into the pleasant, slightly aloof mask worn for society events; it took less thought to put on than the suit. He caught sight of the pale-haired man, rising from his place at the the counter, and Izuru lengthened his stride slightly to intercept him before he could leave without looking like he was hurrying.
"Good evening," he said.
Gin’s chain of thought had been interrupted, and he turned to look at the almost ominous voice that greeted him, the look of surprise on his face instantly melding into a wide smile. It was the annoying little blond from the pool hall - dressed in style with slicked-back hair, no doubt. The silver-headed fox tilted his head a little, assessing Izuru’s face.
“Ya look better wit’cher fringe,” he finally said. It wasn’t often he spoke in his usual, rougher accent in Cinq, but he knew the ‘proper’ voice that he was supposed to put on would only be a waste of effort and come across as pretentious. His gaze wandered down Izuru’s body, down to the shoes before traveling up the blond’s body again.
“Everythin’ else looks pretty good, tho’. Ya look right at home,” he said, grinning. He shoved his hands into his pockets - he would probably reach out and ruffle the blond’s slicked back, styled hair and ruin it otherwise.
“So. What brings ya ‘ere?”
Izuru forced himself to smile, hoped it didn't look too much like a snarl, reminded himself almost absently that he knew that it didn't, even if that was what it felt like, what it actually was. The place put him on edge, a completely different sort of edge than the last time they'd met, but at least it was one Izuru was well-equipped to deal with. And while he certainly didn't appreciate being looked over like a piece of meat, it was nothing he wasn't used to. Granted, society girls had enough grace to be more subtle about it, but Izuru doubted their motives had anything in common with this man's. Gin was probably not sizing up his chances of marrying Izuru for his money.
In short, his commentary certainly didn't require a response from Izuru.
"I'm here to talk to you," he answered instead, tone much lighter than he meant; he hated this kneejerk reaction to the atmosphere, his speech and mannerisms sliding so easily into the smooth, false congeniality Margaret had spent so many years ingraining in him. He hated this place already, but there was no helping it. Izuru was obviously the supplicant; therefore he had to meet Gin on his terms.
To talk to Gin? Ah right - about that accident that happened… whenever it did, nine years ago. The kid really was persistent - it must have been something quite grave to be haunting someone’s mind until now. His hand snaked up to the back of his neck, giving it a light squeeze as he tilted his head to one side, then the other. Gin was tired today - he didn’t know if he had the energy to string Izuru along and play at his own game.
“Why don’tcha take a seat by the bar and get a drink first?” he said, and even while he was speaking he lightly shoved Izuru over towards the bar and at the barstool. “I lost my sanity somewhere outside n’ I’m goin’ ta need five minutes ta find it - I’ll be right back wit’cha later.”
His hands returned to his pockets, and he wrapped his fingers around his pouch of tobacco. Fresh air and a cigarette - and he should be able to deal with Izuru afterward.
Five minutes? Izuru's eyes narrowed slightly, but he complied, taking a seat at the bar. His prosecutor's instincts were telling him that pressing the issue might be advantageous, but he didn't want to risk angering the other man. He allowed himself a slight frown, turning to the bartender.
"Sherry," he said. "The driest you've got."
A wave of relief washed over him as he stepped out of Cinq and onto the pavement. The air felt damp - it had been raining before, and there was that scent of wet gravel and leaves floating in the air. Lingering close to the brick walls, he pulled the packet out from his pocket and started about rolling a cigarette, placing it between his lips as he patted himself down for his lighter.
A thin trail of smoke made its way into the cool night air, and Gin sighed, his shoulders relaxing a little. The crescents that were his eyes flattened out a little as they watched a stagnant puddle on the side of the road get disturbed as a car drove past. Much of the water splashed out, and what was left of the puddle was ripples, the remnants of having been disturbed moments before.
He turned to look at the door. His mood had already lightened considerably, and he was thinking on how to deal with Izuru. They hadn’t gotten off on the best footing, and sooner or later the blond was going to realize that Gin was just playing and possibly throw a fit of sorts.
And eh, well. Gin didn’t really like whiny children.
He took a drag from his cigarette and exhaled puffs of smoke into the air. A game was a game, right? And when it wasn’t fun anymore, he’d stop playing.
How long was Gin expecting him to wait? Izuru toyed with the stem of his glass, fighting a steadily mounting wave of irritation. He was starting to think he should have followed his first instinct and insisted on talking first, maybe even gone outside with the man. It might have earned him a broken jaw, but it might also have gotten a few answers out of the annoying lug.
He'd done some after hours research in the office the other day, and while there wasn't much on this Gin Ichimaru, what was there made it seem more and more likely that he really did know something; Izuru wanted to know exactly what. He needed to know. He swirled the coppery liquid around the bottom of the glass; oloroso, he thought. Not quite as dry as he liked, but not bad, as to be expected of a place of this caliber. Izuru kept himself from sneering by sheer force of will, ducked his head for a moment before he made himself sip the wine like he was supposed to instead of downing it all at once.
Manners were manners, after all.
Flicking the last bit of the cigarette on the ground, he watched it roll across the pavement and dropping onto the road, rolling a little bit further before stopping in a puddle, soaking in the water, going soggy. He sniffed, coughed a little and turned to look over at the door again. He probably shouldn’t keep Izuru waiting for too long. No plans - as of yet - but he would probably come up with something by the time the conversation got going.
He tugged at his shirt and rolled his shoulders, loosening up a little before making his way back into Cinq. He approached Izuru with one hand massaging the back of his neck and the other in his pocket. Just being in Cinq was constricting, but Gin was long used to the atmosphere that it didn’t really bother him anymore.
“This yer first time ‘ere?” he asked, turning his chair to face Izuru before taking a seat. He kept his proper posture for a whole of two seconds before slumping down, leaning back into his seat, smiling lazily at the blond.
Just like some kind of excessively large feline, Izuru reflected with no little amount of aggravation. It didn't show on his face; he was too tense to drop the mask of a proper son of society. He smiled in response instead, the bright, vacant expression spreading across his face like a second skin. Perfect, Izuru thought distastefully. Absolutely perfect.
"Yes," he said, "in this particular locale. Have a nice drag?"
“Yes I did~” he said cheerily, his lazy smile widening. “Didn’t know ya’d be so concerned ‘bout me,” he added. He propped his elbow up on the chair and leaned his cheek against his loose fist idly, looking at Izuru. If Gin wasn’t the type who smiled all the time, he probably wouldn’t be able to tell how artificial and forced the blond’s smile came across as. Having to talk to Gin was probably annoying Izuru inside to no end.
“Ya don’t seem ta be the type ta enjoy gaspers, tho’. Ya looked like a fish outta water back at the pool hall,” he commented. And, in some respects, Izuru was - he was just a boy in a place totally out of his league.
“Anyway, s’good ta see that’cher still alive. Thought someone woulda at least broken yer beezer by now.”
"Quick on my feet," Izuru suggested dryly, setting his drink down. He paused for a moment, considering different lines of attack. He doubted cajoling would get him anywhere, intimidation was right out, and beyond that he had agreed to an exchange of information. He was fairly certain that Gin wouldn't be volunteering to go first, so that left getting directly to the point and... spewing up his personal history to a man that most likely didn't give a spit.
Izuru wanted to sigh but didn't, curled his fingers loosely around the curved edge of the bar instead, looked at Gin looking at him. "So," he said. "About that incident..."
Gin had done some research into this 'incident' nine years ago. It was a car accident in which Izuru and his parents were involved in. And, well - a car accident obviously implied that it was, well, an accident. One would have thought that 9 years was ample time to get over it and move on.
He wasn't too surprised Izuru hadn't gotten over it yet, given his persistent nature. The fact that Izuru would go to a place like Genesis to source information meant that Izuru believed that the accident was not quite as 'accidental' as it was made out to be.
Even with Gin's myriad of connections, nine years ago was a long time. A 'car accident' was vague. He probably wouldn't get much further than Izuru in terms of looking for answers.
He did try, though. He should at least be rewarded for bothering.
"Yeah? What about it?" he asked, feigning ignorance with his vulpine smile.
Izuru felt his fingers tighten on the smooth wood of the bar and made himself relax them, took a count of three and let his breath out in an easy, natural exhalation instead of the muted scream he really wanted to expel. It wasn't like he hadn't expected this. Beyond that, he'd known from the very start, years ago, that it wouldn't be easy. There was no point in being annoyed at the first bit of difficulty. Okay, second bit of difficulty. But that was beside the point.
"What do you know about it?" he said, dispensing with all niceties with a snap decision, though his expression didn't change. Margaret would have been proud. "You did say you would tell me. I said I would tell you why it's so important to me, however, and I'm assuming you'll want me to go first."
He paused, not long enough to Gin to confirm or deny, just a couple seconds to screw his composure firmly in place. "My parents... were killed in that accident," he said, voice low and hard, the shadows surfacing in his eyes incongruous with the faint, pleasant smile still on his face. "I was also injured, but that doesn't really matter. The official police investigation concluded that it was an accident; it wasn't. There was another car. It ran us off the road. I remember."
He was gripping the bar again, Izuru realized vaguely. Had to stop that. He made himself let go, curled his hands into loose fists on the polished counter top. Better. "I... had a head injury at the time, and I was sixteen, so no one was interested in listening to what I had to say because they couldn't find any evidence of foul play at the scene, but... It wasn't an accident," he repeated. "It wasn't."
“Well. I can see why ya’d think that… n’ with yer father workin’ wit’ the DA n’ all, can’t say it’s totally outta the question,” Gin said. To be honest, he didn’t care one bit about Izuru’s plight. So, his father got zotzed - his wife and son happened to be in the car at the same time. Tough luck. People died all the time - and for someone like Kira Senior, it would be no surprise that the Kiras were run off the road.
“If you could find any evidence, it woulda been a real shoddy job. It’s supposed ta look like an accident. If it was intentional, target’s prolly yer father, given his reputation… He was just unlucky that his family was wit’ him,” he said. If he had been the one to issue the order on the hit, he would have expected any of his Capos to do the same.
“So. Ya work at the DA’s office too, don’tcha?” he asked, grinning. “Followin’ daddy’s footsteps? How’s it like? Ya come across as such a softie, I wouldn’t have guessed.”
The barb struck home. It shouldn't have been a surprising question - he'd given the man his name, after all. Izuru had done his own research; it stood to reason that Gin had as well. It startled him a little anyway, the remnants of his smile fading as his mouth tightened at the corners. He reigned it in, used it to quirk his lips into the sharper, colder expression he used when negotiating with a certain kind of criminal. It was probably futile; Gin hardly seemed like the sort to fold just because Izuru showed a little edge, and this was far from negotiating a plea bargain with a solid case behind him. He couldn't quite help the instinctive bristling at so obvious a challenge, but damned if he was going to rise to the bait. He shoved his at his emotions, pushed down the old pain and boiling resentment. Time to switch tactics.
"I," Izuru said, tone deliberately light, drawing on every conduct lesson he'd ever been subjected to, "am extremely soft." A quick flash of teeth and he picked up his glass, took a demure sip. "Helpless society boy, right?" He touched a rueful hand to his chest in a show of mock sincerity. "You've got me pegged."
"Of course there wouldn't be any evidence. I was simply hoping someone with an... inside view might have a bit more information, and you did say you knew something." Izuru adopted a guileless expression. He wasn't really expecting Gin to fall for it, not really, but he hoped the abrupt shift would at least throw the infuriating goon a little off balance. "Was I wrong?"
To say that Gin was just a little pleased with Izuru’s reaction was an understatement. His smile never wavered though - even if it was threatening to spread impossibly wide. He laughed a little at Izuru’s little act - the boy was far more entertaining than Gin had initially given him credit for.
“Yer so soft - ya aren’t afraid I might step all over ya? Well, anyway - yeh, I might know a thing ‘er two ya don’t,” he said casually. “Motivate me ta pull some strings n’ maybe I could find out a whole lotta things we both don’t know,” he added, accompanying his words with a teasing smirk.
“S’troublesome, tho’, havin’ ta poke ‘round. I might end up pissin’ some a’ them off n’ resort ta doin’ what cha’ did in Genesis.” He didn’t need to spell it out so that the blond would understand; he wanted - he needed - an incentive.
He wasn’t an information booth. He didn’t know everything, and if he needed to bother to lift a finger and prod around in all these squalid little places, the least Izuru could do was give him a shiny prize.
This was good, Izuru thought. This was progress. Having someone to poke around in the underworld - someone who potentially had quite a bit of clout - rather than having to wade into it himself and possibly jamming it all up was a huge step forward. There were strings attached, obviously. Gin was making that clear enough. Izuru just had to take stock and figure what he could offer. That he didn't have the slightest clue what sort of thing Gin might be interested in didn't help. It would be best for Izuru to define what conditions he had first, though. Define them, and sharply.
"I've been called 'surprisingly resilient by a number of people," Izuru said, draining the last of the sherry and setting the glass down. He smiled, brilliant and false. "I'm afraid I don't know what would 'motivate' you, but so long as it doesn't encroach on my work or any legal boundaries..."
Huuhhh. So basically Izuru would be willing to do anything that was not illegal and did not involve compromising his job? Gin was not entirely sure Izuru knew the implications of making such a statement, nor was he sure what he wanted yet. There was nothing that he really wanted at the moment - and if he ever wanted anything, all he had to do was ask.
“Well. I dunnoe either. I’ll haveta think ‘bout it…” he said, rubbing his bottom lip with his finger idly. “S’not like ya have anythin’ ta give me that I can’t get mahself.”
“Anyway, I gotsta ask ‘round. When I think ‘bout i-”
A pat on his shoulder interrupted him. He perked up and turned around, smiling lazily at the person who touched him.
“Hello Garrett~” he said. “Here for a drink?”
“No, Gin. I’m just going to head upstairs…”
“Alright. Have fun.”
The man nodded, smiled and made his way over to the stairs. Gin returned most of his attention to Izuru.
“Anyway, what was I sayin’? Oh yeah - when I think of sommin’ that I want, I’ll let ya know.”
Keep a lid on it, Izuru. Keep a lid on it. Keep. A lid. On it. Whether the irritating schmuck was deliberately baiting him or not, there was no reason for Izuru to let him see how angry it was making him. There was no reason to put his weaknesses on display, and as soon as the debilitating rage receded enough for him to think properly, Izuru would know that. He would know, and he would be grateful for the firm grip he'd learned to keep on his temper, grateful even, perhaps, to Margaret and her hours and hours of lecturing. It was certainly keeping him from embarrassing himself now.
"Wonderful," he lied smoothly, forced his ridiculous smile to even greater heights to keep from grinding his teeth. "I'm sure you'll let me know." Izuru wasn't sure what else he could say without blowing the whole thing to hell at this point; certainly not what he actually wanted to say. He wasn't sure what kind of effect dropping the curtain now would have on Gin, but the familiar 'good son' shell was insulating Izuru from his own emotions a good bit and for that he was glad. He could sort the mess out later and decide what he wanted to do, if there was any benefit in continued pursuit of this lead or if Gin was just going to string him along until he got tired of it.
Somehow, that wonderfully fake ‘wonderful’ came across as rather genuine. Izuru was definitely a better actor than Gin had initially given him credit for.
“Awh - don’t smile at me like that... Ya’ll make me feel bad,” he said, feigning the smallest, briefest of pouts before the vulpine smile returned. “Yer the one with nuffin’ ta offer here. The least ya could do s’not play the guilt card.”
He had no intention of looking up Izuru again. If the blond came to find him, perhaps he would come up with something on the spot then. If Izuru expected Gin to go hunt him down, the lawyer was sadly mistaken. Izuru was the one wanting the information, after all.
He tilted his head a little, examining Izuru’s... smiling facade.
“Ya haven’t gott’n it quite right,” Gin said. “It looks like it’s killin’ ya inside ta smile. S’real painful even fer me to look at.”
"That's part of the point," Izuru murmured quietly, letting his face relax a little. "The grand dame is always happier if she can see your suffering. You seem like you should be familiar enough with this place to know that." He shook his head slightly. Now was definitely not the time to lose focus and start babbling about things that didn't matter.
He tilted his face down, looked up at Gin through his lashes, calculating. "You're the one who keeps saying I couldn't give you anything you can't get yourself," he countered suddenly. "I can't offer anything if you don't give me an idea of what you might want."
“Huuuh? Well, can’t tell ya what I want if I dunnoe whatcha gotta give, right?” he asked with a slight tilt of his head, grinning. “’Sides,” he said. “A good lil’ boy like ya won’t do anythin’ fun fer me anyway. Gotta think ‘er sommin’ tame n’ easy… ‘er sommin’ shiny ‘er tasty… n’ the like, y’know.”
He reached out to grip on to Izuru’s chin, as if on impulse, and tilted the blond’s head up a little, subjecting it to Gin’s closer examination. Gin leaned in a little, wrinkling his nose briefly.
“Ya don’t haveta smile if ya don’t want to,” Gin said, his voice soft, low yet still laced lightly with amusement. “I ain’t the grand dame - ya don’t haveta try so hard ‘round me.”
Izuru quirked an eyebrow, considered, jaw tensing reflexively against Gin's hand. He held the taller man's gaze and didn't move away, let his expression fall with a nearly audible clunk, mouth and eyes going flat. "Better?" he asked, some sort of misbegotten amusement twitching inside him. "And that," the continued dryly, "is a completely circular argument. I don't know if this is a failure to communicate or refusal to; you could accuse me of playing my cards too close to my vest and I could say you're being deliberately obscure. It goes both ways."
Maybe it wasn't the right time to break out the analytics, what with Gin's face two inches away from his own, but Izuru didn't see how it could hurt at this point. They weren't getting anywhere anyway. "But, while I'm not going to pretend that I really know what you mean by 'something fun...' I might surprise you. Never know."
Oh? Wasn’t this turning out to be the most interesting, if not a little twisted, conversation? For a split second there, Gin thought Izuru wasn’t the doormat he so blatantly came across as. The blond seemed pretty serious about it - Izuru was probably willing to do quite a few things that he normally wouldn’t in order to find out what happened on the night of the accident.
“I don’t mind the occasional surprise ‘er two… ‘specially if they’re the good kind.”
Gin’s hand moved away from Izuru’s chin and up to pat the blond lightly on the head a few times.
“I ‘preciate it, even if I think little kids shouldn’t be playin’ with fire.” Izuru had a lot of nerve, first to just waltz into Genesis like that, then to approach Gin of his own volition, fully knowing who Gin was (or so Gin assumed) in Cinq, and then to pose a challenge like that…
He pulled his hand back and slipped it into his pocket. “Wouldn’t want yer pretty hands ta get burned, tho’, would we?”
Gin slipped off his chair and started to walk away. He might pay a visit upstairs… Get a drink there, play a few rounds; the like.
The snakey bastard. Izuru glared at his back, the anger he'd so recently succeeded in taming flaring up intensely for a few moments before he pushed it back down. He shook his head; it was pointless. He felt tired, suddenly, all the abrupt shifts he'd gone through in the past half hour crashing down on him. The song-and-dance routine was definitely not a new one, but Izuru usually didn't have to switch hats so often or so quickly. Worse, it hadn't even worked in the end.
The idea of having a proper underworld contact was tempting, but if Gin thought that he was just going to go chase after him like a dog for whatever tiny morsel he felt like tossing Izuru's way, he was quite simply mistaken. Izuru would find some way to make this work eventually, he would. But it was not going to be like that. Izuru had worked too long and too hard to just sit idly by on the pale-haired man's little power play.
He eyed his empty glass, weighing the pros and cons of having another stiff drink against the benefits of just getting away from the club's crushing sophistication as quickly as possible. The latter won out and he stood, fishing his wallet out of his suit pocket to lay a few bills on the bar. If he really needed more alcohol, there was always the wine cellar at home. Izuru had a feeling he might be paying it a visit. It had, after all, been a very very long day.
Characters: Gin Ichimaru (lcpdragonslayer), Izuru Kira (melpomene)
Timeline: May 5, 1950
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The boys meet up at Cinq; Izuru goes through his whole bag of tricks and Gin still doesn't give him a straight answer.
Cinq was one of the last places Gin wanted to be in on a Friday night. He’d rather go down to one of the lesser-known little pubs where he could not be found and drink away his sanity. Instead, he was ‘stationed’ here, as it were, and he had to regulate how much alcohol he could drink and try not to make a fool of himself.
That, in itself, was bitter to swallow. He’d need a few more drinks before he could get over wallowing in self-pity. He picked up and examined his glass of bourbon, tilting it left and right, his gaze growing distant as he sank into thought. He could remember Ran saying once that she liked bourbon, and not scotch or whiskey. He could remember the Valentines’ Day they spent together, the ordeal he put her through with that incident with Dante, and how things had never really been right ever since.
It was all just a blur now even though, when he was in the heat of the moment, it felt like a nightmare that would never end. He placed the glass of bourbon onto the counter and ran his hand through his hair with his other hand, sighing. Things had never been this complicated before… but at least now everything was more or less returning back to normal.
He finished the bourbon and placed the empty cup back down, slipping off his seat. The atmosphere here was rigid and uncomfortable. He needed a smoke - and slipping out the back and getting some fresh air while he rolled and smoked his cigarette sounded like a good idea right about now.
It had been a long week. It had been a long day, and Izuru paused again to consider the wisdom of coming to Cinq on a Friday night. He'd worried about it all day, hadn't completely made up his mind until he found himself stepping out of a hack in front of the place. He couldn't really wait any longer. He needed to find this Gin Ichimaru and see what he knew. Izuru didn't have any other leads.
A little careful questioning of his uncles had enlightened him to the location of the club and, just as importantly, exactly what kind of a joint it was. Upscale, Robert had told him, almost painfully so. He'd laughed, because he knew perfectly well that Izuru avoided that sort of place like the plague, had asked him if he was returning to the fold so soon even without Margaret there to shove him into it. Izuru hadn't answered, had bared his teeth but somehow made it into a smile, thanked him and left.
And so here he was, less than a week later, stepping through the door in his second best suit and shoes, hair slicked back out of his face properly, gold cuff links twinkling at his wrists. Very tasteful, he noted distantly, handing his outerwear off to the coat check valet as he surveyed the interior of the club. He certainly wasn't overdressed this time. The sheer, polished sophistication of the place was suffocating, the type of atmosphere Izuru found oppressive but, ultimately, more than bearable. Hate it or not, moving through this space would be infinitely easier than the shadowy smoke-filled dive from last time.
Making his way into the bar area, Izuru scanned for Gin discreetly, face schooled automatically into the pleasant, slightly aloof mask worn for society events; it took less thought to put on than the suit. He caught sight of the pale-haired man, rising from his place at the the counter, and Izuru lengthened his stride slightly to intercept him before he could leave without looking like he was hurrying.
"Good evening," he said.
Gin’s chain of thought had been interrupted, and he turned to look at the almost ominous voice that greeted him, the look of surprise on his face instantly melding into a wide smile. It was the annoying little blond from the pool hall - dressed in style with slicked-back hair, no doubt. The silver-headed fox tilted his head a little, assessing Izuru’s face.
“Ya look better wit’cher fringe,” he finally said. It wasn’t often he spoke in his usual, rougher accent in Cinq, but he knew the ‘proper’ voice that he was supposed to put on would only be a waste of effort and come across as pretentious. His gaze wandered down Izuru’s body, down to the shoes before traveling up the blond’s body again.
“Everythin’ else looks pretty good, tho’. Ya look right at home,” he said, grinning. He shoved his hands into his pockets - he would probably reach out and ruffle the blond’s slicked back, styled hair and ruin it otherwise.
“So. What brings ya ‘ere?”
Izuru forced himself to smile, hoped it didn't look too much like a snarl, reminded himself almost absently that he knew that it didn't, even if that was what it felt like, what it actually was. The place put him on edge, a completely different sort of edge than the last time they'd met, but at least it was one Izuru was well-equipped to deal with. And while he certainly didn't appreciate being looked over like a piece of meat, it was nothing he wasn't used to. Granted, society girls had enough grace to be more subtle about it, but Izuru doubted their motives had anything in common with this man's. Gin was probably not sizing up his chances of marrying Izuru for his money.
In short, his commentary certainly didn't require a response from Izuru.
"I'm here to talk to you," he answered instead, tone much lighter than he meant; he hated this kneejerk reaction to the atmosphere, his speech and mannerisms sliding so easily into the smooth, false congeniality Margaret had spent so many years ingraining in him. He hated this place already, but there was no helping it. Izuru was obviously the supplicant; therefore he had to meet Gin on his terms.
To talk to Gin? Ah right - about that accident that happened… whenever it did, nine years ago. The kid really was persistent - it must have been something quite grave to be haunting someone’s mind until now. His hand snaked up to the back of his neck, giving it a light squeeze as he tilted his head to one side, then the other. Gin was tired today - he didn’t know if he had the energy to string Izuru along and play at his own game.
“Why don’tcha take a seat by the bar and get a drink first?” he said, and even while he was speaking he lightly shoved Izuru over towards the bar and at the barstool. “I lost my sanity somewhere outside n’ I’m goin’ ta need five minutes ta find it - I’ll be right back wit’cha later.”
His hands returned to his pockets, and he wrapped his fingers around his pouch of tobacco. Fresh air and a cigarette - and he should be able to deal with Izuru afterward.
Five minutes? Izuru's eyes narrowed slightly, but he complied, taking a seat at the bar. His prosecutor's instincts were telling him that pressing the issue might be advantageous, but he didn't want to risk angering the other man. He allowed himself a slight frown, turning to the bartender.
"Sherry," he said. "The driest you've got."
A wave of relief washed over him as he stepped out of Cinq and onto the pavement. The air felt damp - it had been raining before, and there was that scent of wet gravel and leaves floating in the air. Lingering close to the brick walls, he pulled the packet out from his pocket and started about rolling a cigarette, placing it between his lips as he patted himself down for his lighter.
A thin trail of smoke made its way into the cool night air, and Gin sighed, his shoulders relaxing a little. The crescents that were his eyes flattened out a little as they watched a stagnant puddle on the side of the road get disturbed as a car drove past. Much of the water splashed out, and what was left of the puddle was ripples, the remnants of having been disturbed moments before.
He turned to look at the door. His mood had already lightened considerably, and he was thinking on how to deal with Izuru. They hadn’t gotten off on the best footing, and sooner or later the blond was going to realize that Gin was just playing and possibly throw a fit of sorts.
And eh, well. Gin didn’t really like whiny children.
He took a drag from his cigarette and exhaled puffs of smoke into the air. A game was a game, right? And when it wasn’t fun anymore, he’d stop playing.
How long was Gin expecting him to wait? Izuru toyed with the stem of his glass, fighting a steadily mounting wave of irritation. He was starting to think he should have followed his first instinct and insisted on talking first, maybe even gone outside with the man. It might have earned him a broken jaw, but it might also have gotten a few answers out of the annoying lug.
He'd done some after hours research in the office the other day, and while there wasn't much on this Gin Ichimaru, what was there made it seem more and more likely that he really did know something; Izuru wanted to know exactly what. He needed to know. He swirled the coppery liquid around the bottom of the glass; oloroso, he thought. Not quite as dry as he liked, but not bad, as to be expected of a place of this caliber. Izuru kept himself from sneering by sheer force of will, ducked his head for a moment before he made himself sip the wine like he was supposed to instead of downing it all at once.
Manners were manners, after all.
Flicking the last bit of the cigarette on the ground, he watched it roll across the pavement and dropping onto the road, rolling a little bit further before stopping in a puddle, soaking in the water, going soggy. He sniffed, coughed a little and turned to look over at the door again. He probably shouldn’t keep Izuru waiting for too long. No plans - as of yet - but he would probably come up with something by the time the conversation got going.
He tugged at his shirt and rolled his shoulders, loosening up a little before making his way back into Cinq. He approached Izuru with one hand massaging the back of his neck and the other in his pocket. Just being in Cinq was constricting, but Gin was long used to the atmosphere that it didn’t really bother him anymore.
“This yer first time ‘ere?” he asked, turning his chair to face Izuru before taking a seat. He kept his proper posture for a whole of two seconds before slumping down, leaning back into his seat, smiling lazily at the blond.
Just like some kind of excessively large feline, Izuru reflected with no little amount of aggravation. It didn't show on his face; he was too tense to drop the mask of a proper son of society. He smiled in response instead, the bright, vacant expression spreading across his face like a second skin. Perfect, Izuru thought distastefully. Absolutely perfect.
"Yes," he said, "in this particular locale. Have a nice drag?"
“Yes I did~” he said cheerily, his lazy smile widening. “Didn’t know ya’d be so concerned ‘bout me,” he added. He propped his elbow up on the chair and leaned his cheek against his loose fist idly, looking at Izuru. If Gin wasn’t the type who smiled all the time, he probably wouldn’t be able to tell how artificial and forced the blond’s smile came across as. Having to talk to Gin was probably annoying Izuru inside to no end.
“Ya don’t seem ta be the type ta enjoy gaspers, tho’. Ya looked like a fish outta water back at the pool hall,” he commented. And, in some respects, Izuru was - he was just a boy in a place totally out of his league.
“Anyway, s’good ta see that’cher still alive. Thought someone woulda at least broken yer beezer by now.”
"Quick on my feet," Izuru suggested dryly, setting his drink down. He paused for a moment, considering different lines of attack. He doubted cajoling would get him anywhere, intimidation was right out, and beyond that he had agreed to an exchange of information. He was fairly certain that Gin wouldn't be volunteering to go first, so that left getting directly to the point and... spewing up his personal history to a man that most likely didn't give a spit.
Izuru wanted to sigh but didn't, curled his fingers loosely around the curved edge of the bar instead, looked at Gin looking at him. "So," he said. "About that incident..."
Gin had done some research into this 'incident' nine years ago. It was a car accident in which Izuru and his parents were involved in. And, well - a car accident obviously implied that it was, well, an accident. One would have thought that 9 years was ample time to get over it and move on.
He wasn't too surprised Izuru hadn't gotten over it yet, given his persistent nature. The fact that Izuru would go to a place like Genesis to source information meant that Izuru believed that the accident was not quite as 'accidental' as it was made out to be.
Even with Gin's myriad of connections, nine years ago was a long time. A 'car accident' was vague. He probably wouldn't get much further than Izuru in terms of looking for answers.
He did try, though. He should at least be rewarded for bothering.
"Yeah? What about it?" he asked, feigning ignorance with his vulpine smile.
Izuru felt his fingers tighten on the smooth wood of the bar and made himself relax them, took a count of three and let his breath out in an easy, natural exhalation instead of the muted scream he really wanted to expel. It wasn't like he hadn't expected this. Beyond that, he'd known from the very start, years ago, that it wouldn't be easy. There was no point in being annoyed at the first bit of difficulty. Okay, second bit of difficulty. But that was beside the point.
"What do you know about it?" he said, dispensing with all niceties with a snap decision, though his expression didn't change. Margaret would have been proud. "You did say you would tell me. I said I would tell you why it's so important to me, however, and I'm assuming you'll want me to go first."
He paused, not long enough to Gin to confirm or deny, just a couple seconds to screw his composure firmly in place. "My parents... were killed in that accident," he said, voice low and hard, the shadows surfacing in his eyes incongruous with the faint, pleasant smile still on his face. "I was also injured, but that doesn't really matter. The official police investigation concluded that it was an accident; it wasn't. There was another car. It ran us off the road. I remember."
He was gripping the bar again, Izuru realized vaguely. Had to stop that. He made himself let go, curled his hands into loose fists on the polished counter top. Better. "I... had a head injury at the time, and I was sixteen, so no one was interested in listening to what I had to say because they couldn't find any evidence of foul play at the scene, but... It wasn't an accident," he repeated. "It wasn't."
“Well. I can see why ya’d think that… n’ with yer father workin’ wit’ the DA n’ all, can’t say it’s totally outta the question,” Gin said. To be honest, he didn’t care one bit about Izuru’s plight. So, his father got zotzed - his wife and son happened to be in the car at the same time. Tough luck. People died all the time - and for someone like Kira Senior, it would be no surprise that the Kiras were run off the road.
“If you could find any evidence, it woulda been a real shoddy job. It’s supposed ta look like an accident. If it was intentional, target’s prolly yer father, given his reputation… He was just unlucky that his family was wit’ him,” he said. If he had been the one to issue the order on the hit, he would have expected any of his Capos to do the same.
“So. Ya work at the DA’s office too, don’tcha?” he asked, grinning. “Followin’ daddy’s footsteps? How’s it like? Ya come across as such a softie, I wouldn’t have guessed.”
The barb struck home. It shouldn't have been a surprising question - he'd given the man his name, after all. Izuru had done his own research; it stood to reason that Gin had as well. It startled him a little anyway, the remnants of his smile fading as his mouth tightened at the corners. He reigned it in, used it to quirk his lips into the sharper, colder expression he used when negotiating with a certain kind of criminal. It was probably futile; Gin hardly seemed like the sort to fold just because Izuru showed a little edge, and this was far from negotiating a plea bargain with a solid case behind him. He couldn't quite help the instinctive bristling at so obvious a challenge, but damned if he was going to rise to the bait. He shoved his at his emotions, pushed down the old pain and boiling resentment. Time to switch tactics.
"I," Izuru said, tone deliberately light, drawing on every conduct lesson he'd ever been subjected to, "am extremely soft." A quick flash of teeth and he picked up his glass, took a demure sip. "Helpless society boy, right?" He touched a rueful hand to his chest in a show of mock sincerity. "You've got me pegged."
"Of course there wouldn't be any evidence. I was simply hoping someone with an... inside view might have a bit more information, and you did say you knew something." Izuru adopted a guileless expression. He wasn't really expecting Gin to fall for it, not really, but he hoped the abrupt shift would at least throw the infuriating goon a little off balance. "Was I wrong?"
To say that Gin was just a little pleased with Izuru’s reaction was an understatement. His smile never wavered though - even if it was threatening to spread impossibly wide. He laughed a little at Izuru’s little act - the boy was far more entertaining than Gin had initially given him credit for.
“Yer so soft - ya aren’t afraid I might step all over ya? Well, anyway - yeh, I might know a thing ‘er two ya don’t,” he said casually. “Motivate me ta pull some strings n’ maybe I could find out a whole lotta things we both don’t know,” he added, accompanying his words with a teasing smirk.
“S’troublesome, tho’, havin’ ta poke ‘round. I might end up pissin’ some a’ them off n’ resort ta doin’ what cha’ did in Genesis.” He didn’t need to spell it out so that the blond would understand; he wanted - he needed - an incentive.
He wasn’t an information booth. He didn’t know everything, and if he needed to bother to lift a finger and prod around in all these squalid little places, the least Izuru could do was give him a shiny prize.
This was good, Izuru thought. This was progress. Having someone to poke around in the underworld - someone who potentially had quite a bit of clout - rather than having to wade into it himself and possibly jamming it all up was a huge step forward. There were strings attached, obviously. Gin was making that clear enough. Izuru just had to take stock and figure what he could offer. That he didn't have the slightest clue what sort of thing Gin might be interested in didn't help. It would be best for Izuru to define what conditions he had first, though. Define them, and sharply.
"I've been called 'surprisingly resilient by a number of people," Izuru said, draining the last of the sherry and setting the glass down. He smiled, brilliant and false. "I'm afraid I don't know what would 'motivate' you, but so long as it doesn't encroach on my work or any legal boundaries..."
Huuhhh. So basically Izuru would be willing to do anything that was not illegal and did not involve compromising his job? Gin was not entirely sure Izuru knew the implications of making such a statement, nor was he sure what he wanted yet. There was nothing that he really wanted at the moment - and if he ever wanted anything, all he had to do was ask.
“Well. I dunnoe either. I’ll haveta think ‘bout it…” he said, rubbing his bottom lip with his finger idly. “S’not like ya have anythin’ ta give me that I can’t get mahself.”
“Anyway, I gotsta ask ‘round. When I think ‘bout i-”
A pat on his shoulder interrupted him. He perked up and turned around, smiling lazily at the person who touched him.
“Hello Garrett~” he said. “Here for a drink?”
“No, Gin. I’m just going to head upstairs…”
“Alright. Have fun.”
The man nodded, smiled and made his way over to the stairs. Gin returned most of his attention to Izuru.
“Anyway, what was I sayin’? Oh yeah - when I think of sommin’ that I want, I’ll let ya know.”
Keep a lid on it, Izuru. Keep a lid on it. Keep. A lid. On it. Whether the irritating schmuck was deliberately baiting him or not, there was no reason for Izuru to let him see how angry it was making him. There was no reason to put his weaknesses on display, and as soon as the debilitating rage receded enough for him to think properly, Izuru would know that. He would know, and he would be grateful for the firm grip he'd learned to keep on his temper, grateful even, perhaps, to Margaret and her hours and hours of lecturing. It was certainly keeping him from embarrassing himself now.
"Wonderful," he lied smoothly, forced his ridiculous smile to even greater heights to keep from grinding his teeth. "I'm sure you'll let me know." Izuru wasn't sure what else he could say without blowing the whole thing to hell at this point; certainly not what he actually wanted to say. He wasn't sure what kind of effect dropping the curtain now would have on Gin, but the familiar 'good son' shell was insulating Izuru from his own emotions a good bit and for that he was glad. He could sort the mess out later and decide what he wanted to do, if there was any benefit in continued pursuit of this lead or if Gin was just going to string him along until he got tired of it.
Somehow, that wonderfully fake ‘wonderful’ came across as rather genuine. Izuru was definitely a better actor than Gin had initially given him credit for.
“Awh - don’t smile at me like that... Ya’ll make me feel bad,” he said, feigning the smallest, briefest of pouts before the vulpine smile returned. “Yer the one with nuffin’ ta offer here. The least ya could do s’not play the guilt card.”
He had no intention of looking up Izuru again. If the blond came to find him, perhaps he would come up with something on the spot then. If Izuru expected Gin to go hunt him down, the lawyer was sadly mistaken. Izuru was the one wanting the information, after all.
He tilted his head a little, examining Izuru’s... smiling facade.
“Ya haven’t gott’n it quite right,” Gin said. “It looks like it’s killin’ ya inside ta smile. S’real painful even fer me to look at.”
"That's part of the point," Izuru murmured quietly, letting his face relax a little. "The grand dame is always happier if she can see your suffering. You seem like you should be familiar enough with this place to know that." He shook his head slightly. Now was definitely not the time to lose focus and start babbling about things that didn't matter.
He tilted his face down, looked up at Gin through his lashes, calculating. "You're the one who keeps saying I couldn't give you anything you can't get yourself," he countered suddenly. "I can't offer anything if you don't give me an idea of what you might want."
“Huuuh? Well, can’t tell ya what I want if I dunnoe whatcha gotta give, right?” he asked with a slight tilt of his head, grinning. “’Sides,” he said. “A good lil’ boy like ya won’t do anythin’ fun fer me anyway. Gotta think ‘er sommin’ tame n’ easy… ‘er sommin’ shiny ‘er tasty… n’ the like, y’know.”
He reached out to grip on to Izuru’s chin, as if on impulse, and tilted the blond’s head up a little, subjecting it to Gin’s closer examination. Gin leaned in a little, wrinkling his nose briefly.
“Ya don’t haveta smile if ya don’t want to,” Gin said, his voice soft, low yet still laced lightly with amusement. “I ain’t the grand dame - ya don’t haveta try so hard ‘round me.”
Izuru quirked an eyebrow, considered, jaw tensing reflexively against Gin's hand. He held the taller man's gaze and didn't move away, let his expression fall with a nearly audible clunk, mouth and eyes going flat. "Better?" he asked, some sort of misbegotten amusement twitching inside him. "And that," the continued dryly, "is a completely circular argument. I don't know if this is a failure to communicate or refusal to; you could accuse me of playing my cards too close to my vest and I could say you're being deliberately obscure. It goes both ways."
Maybe it wasn't the right time to break out the analytics, what with Gin's face two inches away from his own, but Izuru didn't see how it could hurt at this point. They weren't getting anywhere anyway. "But, while I'm not going to pretend that I really know what you mean by 'something fun...' I might surprise you. Never know."
Oh? Wasn’t this turning out to be the most interesting, if not a little twisted, conversation? For a split second there, Gin thought Izuru wasn’t the doormat he so blatantly came across as. The blond seemed pretty serious about it - Izuru was probably willing to do quite a few things that he normally wouldn’t in order to find out what happened on the night of the accident.
“I don’t mind the occasional surprise ‘er two… ‘specially if they’re the good kind.”
Gin’s hand moved away from Izuru’s chin and up to pat the blond lightly on the head a few times.
“I ‘preciate it, even if I think little kids shouldn’t be playin’ with fire.” Izuru had a lot of nerve, first to just waltz into Genesis like that, then to approach Gin of his own volition, fully knowing who Gin was (or so Gin assumed) in Cinq, and then to pose a challenge like that…
He pulled his hand back and slipped it into his pocket. “Wouldn’t want yer pretty hands ta get burned, tho’, would we?”
Gin slipped off his chair and started to walk away. He might pay a visit upstairs… Get a drink there, play a few rounds; the like.
The snakey bastard. Izuru glared at his back, the anger he'd so recently succeeded in taming flaring up intensely for a few moments before he pushed it back down. He shook his head; it was pointless. He felt tired, suddenly, all the abrupt shifts he'd gone through in the past half hour crashing down on him. The song-and-dance routine was definitely not a new one, but Izuru usually didn't have to switch hats so often or so quickly. Worse, it hadn't even worked in the end.
The idea of having a proper underworld contact was tempting, but if Gin thought that he was just going to go chase after him like a dog for whatever tiny morsel he felt like tossing Izuru's way, he was quite simply mistaken. Izuru would find some way to make this work eventually, he would. But it was not going to be like that. Izuru had worked too long and too hard to just sit idly by on the pale-haired man's little power play.
He eyed his empty glass, weighing the pros and cons of having another stiff drink against the benefits of just getting away from the club's crushing sophistication as quickly as possible. The latter won out and he stood, fishing his wallet out of his suit pocket to lay a few bills on the bar. If he really needed more alcohol, there was always the wine cellar at home. Izuru had a feeling he might be paying it a visit. It had, after all, been a very very long day.