Gift Fic For wintersdancer
To: wintersdancer
From: moogle_tey
SEASON'S GREETINGS!
Title: Gen, Friendship, Romance
Pairing/Group: Maruyama, Nakamaru and Junno, Ohkura+Yasuda, Ryo/Subaru
Rating: PG
Warnings: None really - AU setting (future)
Notes: Dear wintersdancer, I really hope this is something that you'll enjoy! When I saw your sign up, the first line of what you wanted to see in your fic just sounded like a good title and that inspired my entire idea. Thank you so much to my beta and to the mods!
Summary: In 150 years, there are no birds, there is no winter, and cities block out the sun as mankind builds higher and higher up with no place left to go. The landscape's different but people are still the same - and it's Maruyama's job to provide them with glimpses into their fates. If only he could figure out what those slips of paper mean.
Maruyama rubbed his hands together to warm up his fingertips and looked above, seeing the outlines of transports passing by, far away and forever out of reach. It looked like it was going to be a fairly busy day and the city's police force would be almost exclusively involved in traffic control - especially with the festivities coming up. "Winter" was something he had only ever experienced in hologram form at school, but a celebration was a celebration and he particularly enjoyed the idea of celebrating something no one had seen in the last 150 years. The problem was that no one on the mid-levels threw "Winter" parties; no one in the mids threw many parties at all. And certainly not like they did on the upper levels, or at least he assumed. His friend Yoko bragged every year about sneaking into the uppers and talking his way into their events, but he always seemed to be a bit short on exact details - forgetful when it came to the name of foods and unable to recall how people were dressed. Maruyama himself had never been up there. He just knew that this time of year, the transport traffic became a nightmare and the ground level far below became overcast under their clustered shadows.
The thermogenerators had to kick into overdrive to compensate. Maruyama jumped up and down in small hops, keeping his blood running. The temperature control wouldn't hit its normal setting for at least another half an hour - and by then, the mids would be full of people. By then everyone would be too busy making their way to work. He pulled his bag off of his shoulder and set it to the side. If he could catch at least one person before the morning rush, it'd be worth his time; and if he wanted to catch at least one person before the rush, he'd need to stop daydreaming about sneaking up into the motorized clouds. Maybe this year he'd ask to join Yokoyama, follow along; even if Yoko had lied through his teeth every time before, well, at least it would be something different. Something new in the name of "Winter." That was kind of a like a celebration to him.
He pulled out a small cube from his pocket and pressed its button, stepping out of the way as it unpacked itself and the legs popped out. It was cheap, as automatic tables went - small and flimsy, uneven on one side. But it did its job and it was easy to take down in the blink of an eye if the situation called for it. It wasn't that Maruyama didn't believe in the law. Or that he didn't want to uphold it like a good citizen - if anything, he was fairly desperate to adhere to even the most nonsensical mandates since he was sure they existed for a reason. But his particular talents weren't technically legal in the mids. They weren't technically illegal either, he supposed. But all the same, he was happy to keep his set up fairly mobile - and happier still that the uppers required so much assistance that time of year. Anyone left on the police force who wasn't attending to traffic duty would be reserved for only the worst crimes in the mids. Street solicitors need not apply.
He supposed he could always try to set up his table in the lower levels - fortune telling was definitely permissible there. Pretty much everything was. But the lowers didn't deal in credits and Maruyama didn't deal in getting swindled and beaten up. There was no sense in purposely walking into the lion's mouth; besides, he was trying to get money, not throw it away.
He quickly pulled his items from the bag and displayed them across the table: charms for sale, a small mat for people to place their hands, the incense holder his family had passed down for centuries - despite the fact that he had yet to come across anyone who sold such a thing as "incense" - the credit pad so people could pay. And that - that thing. That thing that served no purpose whatsoever, but always seemed to find its way into his bag every morning.
Maruyama half-sighed as he turned it over, giving it one last look before placing it on the corner of the table. It was a small figurine, a bronze-colored owl made out of gears and metal feathers - a relic left over from who knows when. When he had found it, he immediately took it to a dealer, thinking anything so old would be worth a fortune. Not even a single credit. The dealer told him it was probably an old toy, pieces put together like a physical version of a holograph puzzle. Aka, junk - and particularly useless junk, since the small strips of metal couldn't be salvaged for scrap.
Still, he had yet to find the motivation to throw it away. There was something cute about its round gear eyes. And he remembered learning about owls as a kid - artist renditions of the animals nesting and fighting off other ancient birds, like crows, with their colorful feathers in his holo-books. What little boy didn't love learning about birds, after all? The little figurine had become his mascot, sitting on the table every day, hopefully bringing him good luck. It seemed especially appropriate for the season - he assumed the last time anyone saw a live bird was when "Winter" started to become obsolete.
Maruyama quickly smoothed down his hair at the sight of another man coming around the corner, heading his way. He looked like a businessman, dressed conventionally and inoffensively, meticulously checking the fold of the cuffs of his sleeves. Maruyama nodded, taking a deep breath to ready himself, before he smiled sweetly and said, "I have a fortune for you!"
He cringed. The businessman kept walking, giving a polite, "No thank you," as he moved.
"Wait, wait!" Maruyama said. "I think you'll want to know your future!"
The businessman stopped. "What do you mean?"
"I can tell," Maruyama replied, confidence coming back to him, his smile returning. "You're very worried about something, right?"
The businessman nodded. "Yes, actually."
Maruyama waved at the table and invited him to hold out his hand. "Maybe I can look into your future and let you know that it'll all turn out okay."
"That'd be nice," the businessman answered. He seemed to mull it over for a moment before nodding in agreement. He undid the button at the cuff and very carefully rolled his sleeve partially up, presenting his open palm.
"Okay," Maruyama said, taking the businessman's hand in his own. He gently spread the palm flat with his thumbs and leaned forward as he started to trace the lines with his index finger.
"That kind of tickles."
"Hmm," Maruyama said, not hearing him. "I don't see a money line, maybe it's not finances," he muttered to himself, pulling the palm closer and squinting his eyes. "What does a curlicue mean?" He tilted the palm. "Oh, I see, it's not a curlicue, good. Oh, oh! Oh it's just a wave, okay so bad health-" He stopped quickly and looked up at the businessman, face frozen in panic for a moment. "I mean-"
The businessman pulled his hand away.
Maruyama rubbed the back of his neck with an apologetic expression. "I shouldn't use sale pitches with certain results."
"I don't really have time for this."
"Wait! I can...um, I can...read your aura too! Your aura is much more accurate than a palm reading?"
"What's an aura?" the businessman asked.
"Well it's like this field around your body that's a color and-"
The businessman started to unroll his cuff. "I'm sorry, I have to go." He rested his hand on top of the figurine owl as the last tuck unrolled, freeing the button. As soon as he finished adjusting the sleeve, the metal mouth on the small owl popped open - startling them both.
"It's never done that before," Maruyama told him.
A small whirring noise came from inside, the unfamiliar sound of metal against metal, and the gear eyes turned exactly three clicks to the right. A small slip popped out of its mouth, waiting for the businessman to take it.
In tiny purple writing, with elaborate calligraphy, the slip said: Gen.
"I have no idea what that means," Maruyama replied, tilting his head in confusion.
The businessman pocketed the slip and then pulled out his credit chip, thumbing it on.
Maruyama waved him off. "I didn't actually do anything so it's no charge."
The businessman blinked and looked at him, expression unwavering. "Well, for the cost of the paper then," he said, turning back to the chip.
"No really, I couldn't-"
The businessman finished thumbing on the chip and then pressed the end against the pad on the table, a green light emerging to indicate a successful transaction. He quickly put his money away and nodded as he moved from the table. "For your time, anyway." The first groan of the city's thermogenerators sounded as they clicked into place, alerting him to the fact that it was later than he realized - and soon he was around another corner, out of sight and away to work.
Maruyama frowned; he felt bad about taking money that wasn't entirely earned. Maybe he could find out the transaction number later and refund it, even partially. He picked up the payment pad and punched the balance button: a single credit. Palm reading alone was worth 30. The guilt dissipated quickly as he nodded. "That's fair."
Down the street and around a corner, Nakamaru rushed into the transit building as fast as he could, getting to the lift before it closed. He tucked in, the last person allowed, his nose almost brushing against the metal of the door. Had he not stopped to see the street vendor, he probably could have gotten to his office in relative comfort. For every new invention and modern marvel announced weekly on the holo-news, crowding at rush hour seemed to be an eternal problem. He'd work from home if he could, but doing so seemed like it was just inviting disaster.
The lift stopped and he stepped out to let people pass. Most of them had offices in mid-level buildings and the majority of his current company flooded out to get to their respective jobs. Once it had thinned down to only a few, Nakamaru stepped back in. He didn't have a mids office; the tabloids would have a field day if his client was stored somewhere as low as in the mids.
People continued to leave until finally Nakamaru was the last one, the lift stopping at the lowest station in the uppers. He had considered a few times moving up there, cutting his commute. But there was something about staying in the mid-level that appealed to him.
Or, he caught himself thinking as he opened the door to his office only to find Junno poking at his own programming once again, maybe it had less to do with the appeal of the mids and more to do with the nagging feeling that the good times wouldn't always last.
"Morning!" Junno said, not bothering to stop.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm going to endorse a new cologne," Junno replied, continuing to punch keys. "I need a smell."
Nakamaru sat down at the programming desk with a slight sigh. "Holograms can't have smells."
"Yet," he answered. "We could get out ahead of everyone else and I could have my own line of perfume." He used his index finger to write in the air, leaving a glittering gold set of letters behind that were quickly punctuated by a few sparks that blossomed into spinning roses. "Don't you want to smell like...Junno?"
"Sounds more like a state of mind than a cologne," Nakamaru replied, swatting away the holo-letters.
"That'd be a great tagline!"
"No smells," Nakamaru replied.
"Okay."
He gave the hologram a look - that was entirely too easy. "You promise I won't find you trying to reprogram yourself tomorrow morning?"
"No smells," Junno repeated.
Nakamaru nodded. It wasn't easy managing the most popular up-and-coming holo-idol in the city. It would be stressful for anyone - having to negotiate appearances, trying to stay on top of trends, making sure the uppers and the mids would put down credits for his work. But out of sheer luck, he wasn't just managing any holo-idol - he had Junno. He had problems he bet other managers never even dreamed of, even in their worst nightmares of lost data and power surges during concerts. "What are you not telling me?"
Junno shrugged as he walked away, a wide smile. "I wasn't trying to reprogram my scent."
Nakamaru turned back to the log of Junno's code, looking for the change or the inserted numbers that were completely out of place. What was it this time? Had Junno given himself a new accent? Upped the saturation on his smile to make it a bit past blinding? Another attempt at creating Junno 2.0?
"I come with my own cheerleaders now," Junno said.
"No," Nakamaru responded.
"No wait, just give it a chance," he answered. "Run the latest PV." He waited for a moment and when Nakamaru seemed unwilling to indulge him, he leaned over his manager and moved his holographic fingers through the keyboard interface, the sensors picking up the strokes as if he were physically pressing keys. Junno punched what would be the last button to start the program and stood back, the space around him expanding until he was against a holographic white background. The program's audio kicked in, with a countdown that he snapped along with until the music started, and Junno began to dance the steps he had coded in for himself. Rather, the program moved him - he couldn't have stopped even if he wanted to, not that he did. Ever since he was first uploaded he had asked Nakamaru to find an engineer who understood choreography to add to his repertoire - when no one really fit the bill, Junno decided to spend his nights figuring it out himself. It beat going offline.
His mouth moved and the words for his latest song came out. "Watch this," he said at the same time, not missing a single note. A pair of legs walked into the background frame - female, high heels, gorgeous.
And nothing else. Just the legs. "I can't release that today," Nakamaru commented. "That's disturbing."
"I didn't have time to finish her," Junno said, voice over his continued singing.
"Not only that, but when you changed the code to get your cheerleaders," Nakamaru pointed out, "you erased all of your clothes but the shoes."
The PV had reached the instrumental dance break and Junno glanced down, an amused smile. "Oh."
"I'm stopping it before you get to the freeze," Nakamaru said, hitting a few buttons. "I don't need to see that in a handstand." He made a face. "I was going to get the background ready so we could release this afternoon and beat out the competition - there are six other holo-idol PVs dropping this week."
"We could just release it like this?" Junno suggested. "It'd be my best seller."
"No."
"People would pay very good money for this."
"No."
"Alternative version for my fanclub members?"
"No."
"The commercial for my upcoming cologne - when you're wearing Junno, what else do you need?"
Nakamaru didn't answer and continued to type away at the interface. Finally he said, a smile on his face, "Get over here and help me find your virtual pants."
"Okay," Junno sang out. "You'll consider the cologne, then?"
"I'll consider not deleting you."
Junno smiled widely. "Thank you! I have an idea already - it should smell expensive, like credits, bananas, and synthetic platinum. Do credits smell good?"
"I didn't say you could have your own cologne!"
-Gen-
The thermogenerators were loud, but Maruyama supposed the alternative was worse. Every fifteen minutes, like clockwork, they shut down to prevent overheating and the chill began to creep back in. He drummed his fingers on the table, looking around for anyone still left on the streets. The people of the mids were too much like clockwork as well - only a few would be out and about after the initial rush. He moved away from the table and walked back and forth, craning his neck, looking for anything to pass the time. After a while, his mission changed - much less about finding stragglers and more about checking to see if anyone would witness him practicing his sales pitch.
He raised his fist in the air and, as his arm came down, he spread out his hand and yelled, "Palm reading!" Maruyama paused. No, something about that didn't sound right - not right at all.
"Excuse me."
"Oh, sorry," Maruyama said, nodding his head sheepishly and moving out of the middle of the sidewalk so as not to block the young boy coming his way.
Or, rather, attempting to walk down the street - as he had too much in his hands, blonde hair barely peeking over the food piled up in the bags in his arms. His pathed wavered, up and down the sidewalk, avoiding obstructions as he went; though how he knew what was where behind the groceries, Maruyama wasn't sure. When the boy got closer, he realized his mistake - it wasn't a boy at all, but a man about his age, just shorter.
"Care to have your fortune read?" he asked.
"No thanks," the blonde man said, without stopping. "I don't really believe in that kind of thing."
"Oh. I can take a look at your aura?"
"No thank you," he replied, "I don't think there's anything wrong with it."
"No, that's not what I-," Maruyama stopped himself. The blonde man was a misstepped curb away from a hurt ankle and spilled food. "Can I at least help you with your bags?"
The blonde paused right beside the table and put the bags down on the ground, revealing a soft, wide smile. "Thank you!" He took a moment to stretch and roll his wrists, leaning against the table. "Oh, are these good luck charms? How much are they?" He reached into his pocket to pull out his credit chip, slightly frowning at the balance.
Normally, 10 - or at least the ones that came out nice. Maruyama was known to sometimes charge considerably less for the ones he messed up. There had to be some karmic retribution for selling discounted, reject luck - but when people were perfectly happy to buy the cheapest possible, he could hardly be blamed in the long run. The blonde man picked up one of the best charms Maruyama had ever made and smiled at it. And then looked back at his balance and frowned.
"3 credits," Maruyama said, mentally stammering at himself for giving in so easily.
The blonde man smiled again and started to thumb at his chip, setting in the right amount. "I don't believe in these either," he said. Once he had completed the transfer, he put the small charm in his right pocket and then bent down to pick up his first bag.
"If you don't believe in them…?" Maruyama prompted.
The blonde man paused, leaning his left hand on top of the figurine owl as he answered. "It's for a friend." He jerked away when he heard the sound of metal snapping open, the small owl's beak moving and its gear eyes spinning to the left. Shortly a slip popped out that he took and read aloud. "Friendship."
Maruyama grimaced in confusion. "Maybe it's an old transcription toy?"
"Thank you," the other man cheerfully said, putting the slip into his left pocket. He grabbed the other bag from the ground and hoisted them both up, the edges right at his nose. And before Maruyama could ask if he needed help again, he was gone and around the corner, walking in a wavy line down the road.
Maruyama sighed. 4 whole credits. It wasn't going to do him a lot of good - 4 credits couldn't buy dinner and maybe his best shot at earning more had just walked away. With what looked like an amazing loaf of fresh bread, too. Maruyama's stomach rumbled.
Meanwhile, Yasuda did his best to navigate around the cement and metal roadblocks that decorated the street. His destination wasn't far and once he got to the building, he was able to quickly find the stairs that led to the basement apartments. At first, he intended to go down them like he would any other time, two to a hop. But he had just spent his last 3 credits from that month's pay and nothing would be worse than tripping and ruining the food. He put one bag on the top step and carried the other inside, setting it down in front of the door before running back to retrieve the other.
When he walked in, Ohkura was slumped in his chair, eyes staring above and mouth slack. There was some sort of faint groaning sound of frustration rolling out of him.
"I'm back," Yasuda announced. To no effect - Ohkura didn't budge, didn't blink, didn't acknowledge anything but the ceiling above him. Unfazed, Yasuda set the bags on the countertop and started pulling out items, trying his best to figure out what went where in Ohkura's kitchen.
When he pulled out a block of cheese - the most expensive thing he had purchased, so rare was it to find cheese those days in the mid-levels - suddenly Ohkura twitched, sitting up and rubbing his hand over his chin. "Oh, you're back already," he said, turning around.
Yasuda smiled in response. "Any luck?"
"Nothing," Ohkura replied, rolling his eyes. There was a blank data screen in front of him, blinking as it waited for some sort of input. He stood up, his long limbs still asleep, causing him to stumble toward the counter. "Ow," he muttered, knocking into his chair. "What did you get?"
Yasuda pulled the last few items from the bags and set them out for inspection. There were rarities like the cheese and fresh made bread, but there were plenty of common items too - sauces, synthetic eggs, mids-grown mushrooms. Scattered around the kitchen was drawing after drawing, Yasuda's own ideas sketched down as he tried to come up with a visual to inspire Ohkura's palate.
Ohkura sneered in return. "I need something to stand out." He rested his elbows on the counter and put his chin into his hands. "I should probably do something with the cheese, but they're expecting that, right? Every dish up there uses cheese."
Yasuda nodded as he listened. It was Ohkura's one shot - or, at least, that's how Ohkura saw it. They'd been working in the same restaurant in the mids for two years now: him back in the kitchen and Yasuda up front, greeting guests. It wasn't often that the management held open auditions to promote mid-levels kitchen staff to an upper-level franchise.
"Expensive restaurants demand expensive tastes, right?" Ohkura continued, poking at the block before him. His expression turned apologetic. Nothing was coming to him, but it was hard to admit that before a spread that had wiped out a month of Yasuda's salary.
Yasuda tilted his head in thought. "If you want the job, don't use good food."
Ohkura frowned. "How does that work?"
"Every dish up there uses cheese," Yasuda repeated. "The restaurants on the upper levels all probably serve the same things, but none of them serve mids' food."
"What, like home cooking?" Ohkura looked less than impressed.
"It'll be different. Besides, it's what you do best."
Ohkura thought for a moment, his face quickly crinkling up with delight at the idea. "Yasu, you're the best!" He came around the side of the counter and grabbed the other in his arms, bending over to wrap them around his waist in a tight hug. He leaned his chin against the top of Yasuda's head, happily scrunching his face up as he rubbed it back and forth.
Yasuda stiffened, partially caught off guard by the gesture but more uncomfortable with the fact that he couldn't do anything about the embrace. "Tacchon…."
"Ugh, leaning on you takes too much effort."
Yasuda smiled. "Better than leaning on the table?"
"I guess." Ohkura straightened up and rolled up his sleeves, ready to start pulling out what he needed. "Can you help me put it together?"
"No." It came out before he realized. But now that it was out, Yasuda felt no need to pretend like he had misspoken. "I don't want you to win. To be honest," he said, "I kind of want to make sure you fail." He turned his head to avoid the other's look; he was sure it was one he already knew quite well, had seen plenty of times whenever a customer complained about his cooking or the manager put him on too many late shifts in a row. That icy stare of discontempt. "If they pick you…."
"If they pick me, I could move to the uppers," Ohkura butted in. He put his left hand on Yasuda's head, dropping it with a heavy thud, but cupping his hair gently with his fingers. "And I'd need an assistant. Upper level restaurants need staff too."
"Right," Yasuda replied. "An assistant." He looked up and saw that Ohkura wasn't glaring, but had a distracted smile as he continued to survey what was spread out on the counter. The expression was a little goofy, his mind already focused on something different that Yasuda would never hear about.
"It'll be nice when we're both on the uppers."
Yasuda gave a polite smile back and put both of his hands in his pockets. On the right he found the charm he had bought - the token of good luck. In hindsight, he wasn't really sure who he had bought it for. And in the left, the fortune slip, with "friendship" written in calligraphic letters.
"I'm sorry you spent so much money on everything," Ohkura said, breaking his train of thought. "We'll use it for dinner tonight instead."
Yasuda clenched the slip in his left pocket tightly. Maybe it was okay; maybe for now that fortune was just fine. He pulled the good luck charm out and put it in the middle of the cutting board. "Do your best," he told him.
"Thanks, Yasu." This time Ohkura smiled widely, brightly, the kind of smile that took over his whole face with a happiness he could never fake.
After all, Yasuda knew, warm at the sight - today's fortune wasn't necessarily tomorrow's too.
-Friendship-
Maruyama's neck started to hurt. He oscillated from humming quietly, scoring what he assumed were motors on the transports above, to full blown notes, crescendos in his own soundtrack as he watched the traffic far above slowly moving by. The afternoon was proving to be a bust.
There was a small gap above - maybe a sign that the mad spending rushes on the uppers were slowing down - and for the first time that day a touch of sunlight hit his face. There was no change in warmth, not with the thermogenerators running - but regardless, it caused a sense of contentment to spread through his body. It would be nice to one day see the upper levels; it would be nice to celebrate "Winter," or have a party. But the only thing he truly envied was how the uppers never had to live in someone else's shadow - no one above them to ever block out the sun.
He took a deep breath and stretched his neck. He'd been staring up for far too long.
And when he returned to ground level, his gaze falling back to the table in front of him, he let out a small yelp of surprise to see a pair of eyes looking back. Another short man, this time with dark hair and no bags. He stood quietly and stared, his hands in his pocket.
"Would you like your fortune read?" Maruyama ventured.
He shook his head no.
"Aura?"
No.
"Do you want to buy a charm?"
The short man responded by picking up the toy owl, looking it over closely.
"That's not for sale," Maruyama found himself saying. If he couldn't find it within himself to toss it before, now he was determined to keep it even if someone did offer a fair price. Who knew how it worked, but so far it was the only thing making him money.
The newcomer poked the owl in the forehead, causing its beak to open and a slip of paper to pop out. The gear eyes didn't turn. "Romance," the man read out loud.
Maruyama smiled apologetically. "I'm not really sure what that-"
His customer set the owl down and turned to leave, waving a hand as he went.
"Hey, wait," Maruyama called after him. "That's your fortune for today, that's 1 credit - it isn't free!" To no avail, the other man disappeared before he had time to even get around the table.
Maruyama stood there, quietly. "Maybe I should just go home."
Two blocks away, Subaru crumpled up the slip and tossed it - the concept of fate or fortune making no bigger dent in his life than would a scratch on his cheek. He turned into an alleyway and opened the door at the end, heading into the back of a place his friend ran - a place where had the chance to make his own future.
"You're late."
Subaru made a face. This was not his friend. This wasn't even an opportunity in disguise, but a kid named Ryo who constantly hung around, trying to pick up on what he saw on stage and ingratiate himself with whomever was playing at the time. This, as far as Subaru was concerned, was a dead end.
Or a mistake. An annoyance. Subaru was trying to live out his dream every night by playing on stage, usually the last gig if that was all that he could get - just him on stage with the holo-guitar, its pre-programming gutted to let him play the few chords he knew. And Ryo….
Ryo had a real guitar. One day he just showed up with it, strap around his shoulder as the regulars cleared out. Subaru was sure he could find one for himself on the blackmarket, but for now it wasn't worth the money. Ryo hadn't gotten his from any illegal trade - he had probably gotten it from his parents, an aunt, maybe an old girlfriend. Subaru wasn't really sure and he didn't feel inclined to ask - Ryo was from the uppers, trying to slum it down on the mids with the rest of them, saying he had the same dreams of jazz and rock, wanting to play on stage instead of playing "properly" at gatherings up there.
Ryo was already on a stool, his feet propped on the rungs of the one next to him and his hand on the strings. Left hand clamped down on the frets in an E chord, the tips of his fingers on the right curled and waiting around the A string.
Subaru tried his best to ignore it. He had never felt real strings at his fingertips before.
"I got a bit of the first part figured out," Ryo told him, quickly playing softly and mumbling some words.
"Uh," Subaru said, shutting his eyes tightly, clenching them a couple of times. "I just stopped by to pick something up, I can't stay."
"Oh," Ryo replied.
Subaru looked around, his upper lip half-raised as he started to panic for something to make the lie passable. He quickly reached to his side and picked up a napkin, giving Ryo a serious nod and turning to leave. Before he walked out the door, he called to his friend behind the bar. "I'm heading home for the night."
Ryo jumped off of his stool. "To the lower levels?"
Subaru stopped in his tracks.
Ryo was already putting his guitar away, shoving it a little too roughly into the velvet lining of the hard leather. He had it up and the strap slung around his shoulder before Subaru could say a word, heading toward him with a, "I want to go." It made Subaru cringe.
He considered telling him no, but what would be the point? He couldn't stop Ryo from following him - and Ryo would do that - and it was entirely too much work to try to lose him. Subaru answered with a small nod. Besides, maybe it'd be good for Ryo to see exactly what he idolized, too.
Friends had repeatedly offered to help Subaru out, but he liked living in the lowers. He didn't look like he had any money, so the thieves and gamblers left him alone. Stick to your own business and no one bothers you, he'd say. And while for some being well below the main city level - down where artificial light was the source of daytime - life was misery, Subaru felt it was just fine.
He hopped the turnstile and headed down the stairs - it wasn't so much to make money as it was to deter lowers from coming up to the mids. At the station, ground floor was the top floor and he entered the lift, hitting a button to go down about 15 flights.
Ryo stood next to him, quiet. He seemed a little nervous, giving a fake smile. Subaru wasn't sure if he was anxious about venturing someplace new or was simply uncomfortable with less people around. He guessed the latter, given Ryo's brazen arrival onto the scene. That, and he himself understood how overwhelming it was to be in the company of only a single other person.
The more Ryo's eyes closed, the more fake his smile seemed - teeth too wide and expression cracking under the scrutiny - the more Subaru's genuine smile came out.
The lift stopped and the door opened. Subaru walked out without hesitation and Ryo followed closely behind. "So this is the lowers, it's not so bad. It's no big deal. Just darker. Smells bad," Ryo said, coughing. "The smell's worse than I thought."
Subaru shrugged. It was mostly exhaust from heating the high levels.
"It stinks! Loud too," Ryo complained. "I was expecting a lot worse."
Subaru bet as much. Ryo had probably grown up on a steady diet of cautionary tales - the boogie man for every person on the uppers - and romanticization, the intoxicating allure of danger that the lowers always offered.
"This is nothing," Ryo continued. "Hey how much is an apartment down here, it's got to be cheaper than the mids, right? Right?"
Subaru kept walking, putting his hands in his pockets. He lowered his head as they approached a group of workers hanging out on the corner. "You can be really noisy," he muttered. "Ignore them and keep walking."
"What? Them? You're kidding right?" Ryo said, thumbing toward the group and giving a sneer in return.
Subaru turned to make a face at him - a pained expression like he had just been shot. Of all the things Ryo could have blurted out, that was one of the least helpful. The group of men came to attention and started pointing and talking, inching closer as the two attempted to pass. They barely gave Subaru a glance, but Ryo...Ryo had his guitar case strapped to his back.
It only took one person laying a finger on it before Ryo reacted, smacking it away and commanding its owner to back off. The group moved into tighter. "Hand it over," one said.
"Over my dead bod-"
Subaru grabbed Ryo's arm and pulled him. "Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up and run!" He started down the sidewalk, the other in tow and trying his best to keep up with the heavy case bouncing around on his back. Sometimes people liked easy marks - sometimes, they held grudges. Subaru quietly asked whoever would listen that these idiots were just bored during their break on the afternoon shift. He turned a corner, turned another, doubled back down the other side, and turned again. Ryo was a better runner and had already matched his pace, was starting to outrun him trying to guess Subaru's next move.
They quickly passed an alley and Subaru halted, pulling on Ryo's arm so hard he almost fell over. "In here."
Ryo pressed up next to him, lowering the case gently and quietly to the ground as they waited and watched for signs of their pursuers.
Nothing. Idiots after all. Subaru sighed in relief.
Ryo looked somewhat embarrassed about the whole thing. "Good thing you know this area."
"I have no idea where we are," Subaru commented.
"Isn't your place around here?"
"I don't live here!" he answered. "I live 3 flights down from the mids!"
"Why would you take me down to the 15th then?!" Ryo barked. His eyes went wide at the thought that maybe he was giving away their position and he quickly stuck his head out of the alley, looking up and down until he was sure the coast was clear. Subaru had been in his way, blocking him from getting a good line of sight. Ryo's solution was to treat him like a door - his hands on his shoulders, chest against him, slowly pushing him out of the way as he leaned and rested more and more weight on the other. When it seemed to him that all was fine, he pulled back and gave another embarrassed look. "Thanks for helping me," he admitted.
Subaru shook his head. "I did it for the guitar."
"Liar," Ryo replied. He panicked a bit when Subaru's expression didn't change. "You are lying right? Right?" He slid down next to the case, pleading, "Don't mess with me like that, okay?"
"I'm not, all I care about is the guitar!"
Ryo flipped up the clasps and opened the case, the street light above bouncing off the polished wood of the acoustic's body. "Here," he muttered, picking it up by the neck and offering it.
"Really?"
Ryo crossed his arms as Subaru took the instrument from him. "You've never held one before, right?"
Subaru didn't answer, too busy smiling and passing his fingers over the nylon strings. It was so much different from a holo-guitar, the weight in his lap and the dents on his fingers as he automatically arranged his left hand for an E chord. He took his right hand and, with his thumb out, struck down to play the sound. It sounded terrible, fuzzy.
"You have to hold them down tighter," Ryo said, reaching over and putting his hand on Subaru's, pushing his fingers harder against the neck. "Real strings aren't like holo-guitars."
Subaru had never felt real strings at his fingertips before - or Ryo's fingertips on his hand either. How their calloused ends felt, their warmth. The firmness and ease of his touch.
An annoyance. A mistake. Dead end. Not a friend.
Subaru made a face, remembering his earlier decision to crumple up the fortune, toss it out in an effort to make his own fate. All in all apparently a useless gesture. He was surprised when he turned his head and Ryo was giving him an equally sour look.
"Fuck it," Ryo said, grabbing Subaru's collar and pulling him forward - "I didn't come down 15 fucking floors just to get lost," - catching his mouth in a kiss.
Stupid paper, Subaru thought.
When Ryo let go he looked flustered, hoping to get a response out of the other - who instead kept his face blank, his eyes blinking as he scrunched up his nose. Ryo looked like he might die of embarrassment.
Subaru paused. That stupid, stupid paper. He had been trying to avoid this for weeks. Finally, he stood and said, "Actually, the 16th floor is even worse."
-Romance-
Somehow, the bag felt heavier than it had that morning, though if anything he was short a bit of stock. Maruyama had placed the items in carefully before zipping it shut; the automatic table pulled in its legs with a shhnt noise, clattering to the ground. The evening lights were beginning to power on, brightening the streets. Oh well, Maruyama thought, there was always tomorrow.
When he reached home, there was a single message waiting for him on the holo-recorder. At first he ignored it, opting instead to turn on some lights and scroll through his menu list for take-out. He knew better - if anything, now was the worst time to spend money so frivolously. But there was a place not far, just down a couple of streets, with the best mid-level home cooking he had ever had. It was a great pick-me-up for a lousy day, even if it did exasperate the problem.
The vidscreen had entertainment news when he flipped it on - some exclusive first look at a famous holo-idol's latest release. Maruyama flopped down on his couch and punched in the numbers to order while he quietly, and somewhat obliviously, hummed along to the song in the background. Brand new release, the anchors said, sure to be another hit.
Maybe later he'd head down to his favorite bar. The owner was a friend, would let him get away with putting a few drinks on a tab when things were tight. The last few months a couple of the musician regulars had been tucked away in a corner, working on something. Maruyama smiled as he thought about how nice it would be to finally hear whatever it was.
The chime of the door rang and he jumped off the couch, grabbing his credit chip to pay the delivery person. The blinking light of his holo-recorder caught his eye and as he shut the door, food in hand, he reached over to hit play.
"Maru," said the familiar voice. A holographic image of Yokoyama appeared - he looked somewhat annoyed to have gotten the answering machine instead of his friend. Yoko hesitated, looking around himself as the message continued to record. "Guess you're not there - I've got some ideas for this weekend, so call me back." His hand reached up to switch the machine off in the hologram, but stopped short. "You better call back soon! Or I'll just do them without you!"
The image flickered away and Maruyama smiled. First dinner, then a bath, then he'd call.
He had left his bag on the floor before him and halfway through the meal, the urge hit him to open it up and pull out the toy mascot owl. Utensil in one hand, bird in the other, his cheeks full as he chewed away - he flipped it over, trying to get a closer look at what made it work. He set it down on the armrest of the couch and waved his hand in front of it, trying to get it to react. What had the others done?
The answer snapped into his mind and he laid his palm on top of its head, petting it like a robo-cat. The mouth opened, the eyes turned four clicks. A slip of paper shot out.
Maruyama grabbed it and turned it over to read the elaborate script of his new fortune.
"Everything."
He had a strange feeling seeing that word, unsure what it meant. But something about it made him happy. Something about it was exciting and hopeful.
Something about it felt right - and he set his dinner down to get up and go to his interface to call Yokoyama back.
From: moogle_tey
SEASON'S GREETINGS!
Title: Gen, Friendship, Romance
Pairing/Group: Maruyama, Nakamaru and Junno, Ohkura+Yasuda, Ryo/Subaru
Rating: PG
Warnings: None really - AU setting (future)
Notes: Dear wintersdancer, I really hope this is something that you'll enjoy! When I saw your sign up, the first line of what you wanted to see in your fic just sounded like a good title and that inspired my entire idea. Thank you so much to my beta and to the mods!
Summary: In 150 years, there are no birds, there is no winter, and cities block out the sun as mankind builds higher and higher up with no place left to go. The landscape's different but people are still the same - and it's Maruyama's job to provide them with glimpses into their fates. If only he could figure out what those slips of paper mean.
Maruyama rubbed his hands together to warm up his fingertips and looked above, seeing the outlines of transports passing by, far away and forever out of reach. It looked like it was going to be a fairly busy day and the city's police force would be almost exclusively involved in traffic control - especially with the festivities coming up. "Winter" was something he had only ever experienced in hologram form at school, but a celebration was a celebration and he particularly enjoyed the idea of celebrating something no one had seen in the last 150 years. The problem was that no one on the mid-levels threw "Winter" parties; no one in the mids threw many parties at all. And certainly not like they did on the upper levels, or at least he assumed. His friend Yoko bragged every year about sneaking into the uppers and talking his way into their events, but he always seemed to be a bit short on exact details - forgetful when it came to the name of foods and unable to recall how people were dressed. Maruyama himself had never been up there. He just knew that this time of year, the transport traffic became a nightmare and the ground level far below became overcast under their clustered shadows.
The thermogenerators had to kick into overdrive to compensate. Maruyama jumped up and down in small hops, keeping his blood running. The temperature control wouldn't hit its normal setting for at least another half an hour - and by then, the mids would be full of people. By then everyone would be too busy making their way to work. He pulled his bag off of his shoulder and set it to the side. If he could catch at least one person before the morning rush, it'd be worth his time; and if he wanted to catch at least one person before the rush, he'd need to stop daydreaming about sneaking up into the motorized clouds. Maybe this year he'd ask to join Yokoyama, follow along; even if Yoko had lied through his teeth every time before, well, at least it would be something different. Something new in the name of "Winter." That was kind of a like a celebration to him.
He pulled out a small cube from his pocket and pressed its button, stepping out of the way as it unpacked itself and the legs popped out. It was cheap, as automatic tables went - small and flimsy, uneven on one side. But it did its job and it was easy to take down in the blink of an eye if the situation called for it. It wasn't that Maruyama didn't believe in the law. Or that he didn't want to uphold it like a good citizen - if anything, he was fairly desperate to adhere to even the most nonsensical mandates since he was sure they existed for a reason. But his particular talents weren't technically legal in the mids. They weren't technically illegal either, he supposed. But all the same, he was happy to keep his set up fairly mobile - and happier still that the uppers required so much assistance that time of year. Anyone left on the police force who wasn't attending to traffic duty would be reserved for only the worst crimes in the mids. Street solicitors need not apply.
He supposed he could always try to set up his table in the lower levels - fortune telling was definitely permissible there. Pretty much everything was. But the lowers didn't deal in credits and Maruyama didn't deal in getting swindled and beaten up. There was no sense in purposely walking into the lion's mouth; besides, he was trying to get money, not throw it away.
He quickly pulled his items from the bag and displayed them across the table: charms for sale, a small mat for people to place their hands, the incense holder his family had passed down for centuries - despite the fact that he had yet to come across anyone who sold such a thing as "incense" - the credit pad so people could pay. And that - that thing. That thing that served no purpose whatsoever, but always seemed to find its way into his bag every morning.
Maruyama half-sighed as he turned it over, giving it one last look before placing it on the corner of the table. It was a small figurine, a bronze-colored owl made out of gears and metal feathers - a relic left over from who knows when. When he had found it, he immediately took it to a dealer, thinking anything so old would be worth a fortune. Not even a single credit. The dealer told him it was probably an old toy, pieces put together like a physical version of a holograph puzzle. Aka, junk - and particularly useless junk, since the small strips of metal couldn't be salvaged for scrap.
Still, he had yet to find the motivation to throw it away. There was something cute about its round gear eyes. And he remembered learning about owls as a kid - artist renditions of the animals nesting and fighting off other ancient birds, like crows, with their colorful feathers in his holo-books. What little boy didn't love learning about birds, after all? The little figurine had become his mascot, sitting on the table every day, hopefully bringing him good luck. It seemed especially appropriate for the season - he assumed the last time anyone saw a live bird was when "Winter" started to become obsolete.
Maruyama quickly smoothed down his hair at the sight of another man coming around the corner, heading his way. He looked like a businessman, dressed conventionally and inoffensively, meticulously checking the fold of the cuffs of his sleeves. Maruyama nodded, taking a deep breath to ready himself, before he smiled sweetly and said, "I have a fortune for you!"
He cringed. The businessman kept walking, giving a polite, "No thank you," as he moved.
"Wait, wait!" Maruyama said. "I think you'll want to know your future!"
The businessman stopped. "What do you mean?"
"I can tell," Maruyama replied, confidence coming back to him, his smile returning. "You're very worried about something, right?"
The businessman nodded. "Yes, actually."
Maruyama waved at the table and invited him to hold out his hand. "Maybe I can look into your future and let you know that it'll all turn out okay."
"That'd be nice," the businessman answered. He seemed to mull it over for a moment before nodding in agreement. He undid the button at the cuff and very carefully rolled his sleeve partially up, presenting his open palm.
"Okay," Maruyama said, taking the businessman's hand in his own. He gently spread the palm flat with his thumbs and leaned forward as he started to trace the lines with his index finger.
"That kind of tickles."
"Hmm," Maruyama said, not hearing him. "I don't see a money line, maybe it's not finances," he muttered to himself, pulling the palm closer and squinting his eyes. "What does a curlicue mean?" He tilted the palm. "Oh, I see, it's not a curlicue, good. Oh, oh! Oh it's just a wave, okay so bad health-" He stopped quickly and looked up at the businessman, face frozen in panic for a moment. "I mean-"
The businessman pulled his hand away.
Maruyama rubbed the back of his neck with an apologetic expression. "I shouldn't use sale pitches with certain results."
"I don't really have time for this."
"Wait! I can...um, I can...read your aura too! Your aura is much more accurate than a palm reading?"
"What's an aura?" the businessman asked.
"Well it's like this field around your body that's a color and-"
The businessman started to unroll his cuff. "I'm sorry, I have to go." He rested his hand on top of the figurine owl as the last tuck unrolled, freeing the button. As soon as he finished adjusting the sleeve, the metal mouth on the small owl popped open - startling them both.
"It's never done that before," Maruyama told him.
A small whirring noise came from inside, the unfamiliar sound of metal against metal, and the gear eyes turned exactly three clicks to the right. A small slip popped out of its mouth, waiting for the businessman to take it.
In tiny purple writing, with elaborate calligraphy, the slip said: Gen.
"I have no idea what that means," Maruyama replied, tilting his head in confusion.
The businessman pocketed the slip and then pulled out his credit chip, thumbing it on.
Maruyama waved him off. "I didn't actually do anything so it's no charge."
The businessman blinked and looked at him, expression unwavering. "Well, for the cost of the paper then," he said, turning back to the chip.
"No really, I couldn't-"
The businessman finished thumbing on the chip and then pressed the end against the pad on the table, a green light emerging to indicate a successful transaction. He quickly put his money away and nodded as he moved from the table. "For your time, anyway." The first groan of the city's thermogenerators sounded as they clicked into place, alerting him to the fact that it was later than he realized - and soon he was around another corner, out of sight and away to work.
Maruyama frowned; he felt bad about taking money that wasn't entirely earned. Maybe he could find out the transaction number later and refund it, even partially. He picked up the payment pad and punched the balance button: a single credit. Palm reading alone was worth 30. The guilt dissipated quickly as he nodded. "That's fair."
Down the street and around a corner, Nakamaru rushed into the transit building as fast as he could, getting to the lift before it closed. He tucked in, the last person allowed, his nose almost brushing against the metal of the door. Had he not stopped to see the street vendor, he probably could have gotten to his office in relative comfort. For every new invention and modern marvel announced weekly on the holo-news, crowding at rush hour seemed to be an eternal problem. He'd work from home if he could, but doing so seemed like it was just inviting disaster.
The lift stopped and he stepped out to let people pass. Most of them had offices in mid-level buildings and the majority of his current company flooded out to get to their respective jobs. Once it had thinned down to only a few, Nakamaru stepped back in. He didn't have a mids office; the tabloids would have a field day if his client was stored somewhere as low as in the mids.
People continued to leave until finally Nakamaru was the last one, the lift stopping at the lowest station in the uppers. He had considered a few times moving up there, cutting his commute. But there was something about staying in the mid-level that appealed to him.
Or, he caught himself thinking as he opened the door to his office only to find Junno poking at his own programming once again, maybe it had less to do with the appeal of the mids and more to do with the nagging feeling that the good times wouldn't always last.
"Morning!" Junno said, not bothering to stop.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm going to endorse a new cologne," Junno replied, continuing to punch keys. "I need a smell."
Nakamaru sat down at the programming desk with a slight sigh. "Holograms can't have smells."
"Yet," he answered. "We could get out ahead of everyone else and I could have my own line of perfume." He used his index finger to write in the air, leaving a glittering gold set of letters behind that were quickly punctuated by a few sparks that blossomed into spinning roses. "Don't you want to smell like...Junno?"
"Sounds more like a state of mind than a cologne," Nakamaru replied, swatting away the holo-letters.
"That'd be a great tagline!"
"No smells," Nakamaru replied.
"Okay."
He gave the hologram a look - that was entirely too easy. "You promise I won't find you trying to reprogram yourself tomorrow morning?"
"No smells," Junno repeated.
Nakamaru nodded. It wasn't easy managing the most popular up-and-coming holo-idol in the city. It would be stressful for anyone - having to negotiate appearances, trying to stay on top of trends, making sure the uppers and the mids would put down credits for his work. But out of sheer luck, he wasn't just managing any holo-idol - he had Junno. He had problems he bet other managers never even dreamed of, even in their worst nightmares of lost data and power surges during concerts. "What are you not telling me?"
Junno shrugged as he walked away, a wide smile. "I wasn't trying to reprogram my scent."
Nakamaru turned back to the log of Junno's code, looking for the change or the inserted numbers that were completely out of place. What was it this time? Had Junno given himself a new accent? Upped the saturation on his smile to make it a bit past blinding? Another attempt at creating Junno 2.0?
"I come with my own cheerleaders now," Junno said.
"No," Nakamaru responded.
"No wait, just give it a chance," he answered. "Run the latest PV." He waited for a moment and when Nakamaru seemed unwilling to indulge him, he leaned over his manager and moved his holographic fingers through the keyboard interface, the sensors picking up the strokes as if he were physically pressing keys. Junno punched what would be the last button to start the program and stood back, the space around him expanding until he was against a holographic white background. The program's audio kicked in, with a countdown that he snapped along with until the music started, and Junno began to dance the steps he had coded in for himself. Rather, the program moved him - he couldn't have stopped even if he wanted to, not that he did. Ever since he was first uploaded he had asked Nakamaru to find an engineer who understood choreography to add to his repertoire - when no one really fit the bill, Junno decided to spend his nights figuring it out himself. It beat going offline.
His mouth moved and the words for his latest song came out. "Watch this," he said at the same time, not missing a single note. A pair of legs walked into the background frame - female, high heels, gorgeous.
And nothing else. Just the legs. "I can't release that today," Nakamaru commented. "That's disturbing."
"I didn't have time to finish her," Junno said, voice over his continued singing.
"Not only that, but when you changed the code to get your cheerleaders," Nakamaru pointed out, "you erased all of your clothes but the shoes."
The PV had reached the instrumental dance break and Junno glanced down, an amused smile. "Oh."
"I'm stopping it before you get to the freeze," Nakamaru said, hitting a few buttons. "I don't need to see that in a handstand." He made a face. "I was going to get the background ready so we could release this afternoon and beat out the competition - there are six other holo-idol PVs dropping this week."
"We could just release it like this?" Junno suggested. "It'd be my best seller."
"No."
"People would pay very good money for this."
"No."
"Alternative version for my fanclub members?"
"No."
"The commercial for my upcoming cologne - when you're wearing Junno, what else do you need?"
Nakamaru didn't answer and continued to type away at the interface. Finally he said, a smile on his face, "Get over here and help me find your virtual pants."
"Okay," Junno sang out. "You'll consider the cologne, then?"
"I'll consider not deleting you."
Junno smiled widely. "Thank you! I have an idea already - it should smell expensive, like credits, bananas, and synthetic platinum. Do credits smell good?"
"I didn't say you could have your own cologne!"
-Gen-
The thermogenerators were loud, but Maruyama supposed the alternative was worse. Every fifteen minutes, like clockwork, they shut down to prevent overheating and the chill began to creep back in. He drummed his fingers on the table, looking around for anyone still left on the streets. The people of the mids were too much like clockwork as well - only a few would be out and about after the initial rush. He moved away from the table and walked back and forth, craning his neck, looking for anything to pass the time. After a while, his mission changed - much less about finding stragglers and more about checking to see if anyone would witness him practicing his sales pitch.
He raised his fist in the air and, as his arm came down, he spread out his hand and yelled, "Palm reading!" Maruyama paused. No, something about that didn't sound right - not right at all.
"Excuse me."
"Oh, sorry," Maruyama said, nodding his head sheepishly and moving out of the middle of the sidewalk so as not to block the young boy coming his way.
Or, rather, attempting to walk down the street - as he had too much in his hands, blonde hair barely peeking over the food piled up in the bags in his arms. His pathed wavered, up and down the sidewalk, avoiding obstructions as he went; though how he knew what was where behind the groceries, Maruyama wasn't sure. When the boy got closer, he realized his mistake - it wasn't a boy at all, but a man about his age, just shorter.
"Care to have your fortune read?" he asked.
"No thanks," the blonde man said, without stopping. "I don't really believe in that kind of thing."
"Oh. I can take a look at your aura?"
"No thank you," he replied, "I don't think there's anything wrong with it."
"No, that's not what I-," Maruyama stopped himself. The blonde man was a misstepped curb away from a hurt ankle and spilled food. "Can I at least help you with your bags?"
The blonde paused right beside the table and put the bags down on the ground, revealing a soft, wide smile. "Thank you!" He took a moment to stretch and roll his wrists, leaning against the table. "Oh, are these good luck charms? How much are they?" He reached into his pocket to pull out his credit chip, slightly frowning at the balance.
Normally, 10 - or at least the ones that came out nice. Maruyama was known to sometimes charge considerably less for the ones he messed up. There had to be some karmic retribution for selling discounted, reject luck - but when people were perfectly happy to buy the cheapest possible, he could hardly be blamed in the long run. The blonde man picked up one of the best charms Maruyama had ever made and smiled at it. And then looked back at his balance and frowned.
"3 credits," Maruyama said, mentally stammering at himself for giving in so easily.
The blonde man smiled again and started to thumb at his chip, setting in the right amount. "I don't believe in these either," he said. Once he had completed the transfer, he put the small charm in his right pocket and then bent down to pick up his first bag.
"If you don't believe in them…?" Maruyama prompted.
The blonde man paused, leaning his left hand on top of the figurine owl as he answered. "It's for a friend." He jerked away when he heard the sound of metal snapping open, the small owl's beak moving and its gear eyes spinning to the left. Shortly a slip popped out that he took and read aloud. "Friendship."
Maruyama grimaced in confusion. "Maybe it's an old transcription toy?"
"Thank you," the other man cheerfully said, putting the slip into his left pocket. He grabbed the other bag from the ground and hoisted them both up, the edges right at his nose. And before Maruyama could ask if he needed help again, he was gone and around the corner, walking in a wavy line down the road.
Maruyama sighed. 4 whole credits. It wasn't going to do him a lot of good - 4 credits couldn't buy dinner and maybe his best shot at earning more had just walked away. With what looked like an amazing loaf of fresh bread, too. Maruyama's stomach rumbled.
Meanwhile, Yasuda did his best to navigate around the cement and metal roadblocks that decorated the street. His destination wasn't far and once he got to the building, he was able to quickly find the stairs that led to the basement apartments. At first, he intended to go down them like he would any other time, two to a hop. But he had just spent his last 3 credits from that month's pay and nothing would be worse than tripping and ruining the food. He put one bag on the top step and carried the other inside, setting it down in front of the door before running back to retrieve the other.
When he walked in, Ohkura was slumped in his chair, eyes staring above and mouth slack. There was some sort of faint groaning sound of frustration rolling out of him.
"I'm back," Yasuda announced. To no effect - Ohkura didn't budge, didn't blink, didn't acknowledge anything but the ceiling above him. Unfazed, Yasuda set the bags on the countertop and started pulling out items, trying his best to figure out what went where in Ohkura's kitchen.
When he pulled out a block of cheese - the most expensive thing he had purchased, so rare was it to find cheese those days in the mid-levels - suddenly Ohkura twitched, sitting up and rubbing his hand over his chin. "Oh, you're back already," he said, turning around.
Yasuda smiled in response. "Any luck?"
"Nothing," Ohkura replied, rolling his eyes. There was a blank data screen in front of him, blinking as it waited for some sort of input. He stood up, his long limbs still asleep, causing him to stumble toward the counter. "Ow," he muttered, knocking into his chair. "What did you get?"
Yasuda pulled the last few items from the bags and set them out for inspection. There were rarities like the cheese and fresh made bread, but there were plenty of common items too - sauces, synthetic eggs, mids-grown mushrooms. Scattered around the kitchen was drawing after drawing, Yasuda's own ideas sketched down as he tried to come up with a visual to inspire Ohkura's palate.
Ohkura sneered in return. "I need something to stand out." He rested his elbows on the counter and put his chin into his hands. "I should probably do something with the cheese, but they're expecting that, right? Every dish up there uses cheese."
Yasuda nodded as he listened. It was Ohkura's one shot - or, at least, that's how Ohkura saw it. They'd been working in the same restaurant in the mids for two years now: him back in the kitchen and Yasuda up front, greeting guests. It wasn't often that the management held open auditions to promote mid-levels kitchen staff to an upper-level franchise.
"Expensive restaurants demand expensive tastes, right?" Ohkura continued, poking at the block before him. His expression turned apologetic. Nothing was coming to him, but it was hard to admit that before a spread that had wiped out a month of Yasuda's salary.
Yasuda tilted his head in thought. "If you want the job, don't use good food."
Ohkura frowned. "How does that work?"
"Every dish up there uses cheese," Yasuda repeated. "The restaurants on the upper levels all probably serve the same things, but none of them serve mids' food."
"What, like home cooking?" Ohkura looked less than impressed.
"It'll be different. Besides, it's what you do best."
Ohkura thought for a moment, his face quickly crinkling up with delight at the idea. "Yasu, you're the best!" He came around the side of the counter and grabbed the other in his arms, bending over to wrap them around his waist in a tight hug. He leaned his chin against the top of Yasuda's head, happily scrunching his face up as he rubbed it back and forth.
Yasuda stiffened, partially caught off guard by the gesture but more uncomfortable with the fact that he couldn't do anything about the embrace. "Tacchon…."
"Ugh, leaning on you takes too much effort."
Yasuda smiled. "Better than leaning on the table?"
"I guess." Ohkura straightened up and rolled up his sleeves, ready to start pulling out what he needed. "Can you help me put it together?"
"No." It came out before he realized. But now that it was out, Yasuda felt no need to pretend like he had misspoken. "I don't want you to win. To be honest," he said, "I kind of want to make sure you fail." He turned his head to avoid the other's look; he was sure it was one he already knew quite well, had seen plenty of times whenever a customer complained about his cooking or the manager put him on too many late shifts in a row. That icy stare of discontempt. "If they pick you…."
"If they pick me, I could move to the uppers," Ohkura butted in. He put his left hand on Yasuda's head, dropping it with a heavy thud, but cupping his hair gently with his fingers. "And I'd need an assistant. Upper level restaurants need staff too."
"Right," Yasuda replied. "An assistant." He looked up and saw that Ohkura wasn't glaring, but had a distracted smile as he continued to survey what was spread out on the counter. The expression was a little goofy, his mind already focused on something different that Yasuda would never hear about.
"It'll be nice when we're both on the uppers."
Yasuda gave a polite smile back and put both of his hands in his pockets. On the right he found the charm he had bought - the token of good luck. In hindsight, he wasn't really sure who he had bought it for. And in the left, the fortune slip, with "friendship" written in calligraphic letters.
"I'm sorry you spent so much money on everything," Ohkura said, breaking his train of thought. "We'll use it for dinner tonight instead."
Yasuda clenched the slip in his left pocket tightly. Maybe it was okay; maybe for now that fortune was just fine. He pulled the good luck charm out and put it in the middle of the cutting board. "Do your best," he told him.
"Thanks, Yasu." This time Ohkura smiled widely, brightly, the kind of smile that took over his whole face with a happiness he could never fake.
After all, Yasuda knew, warm at the sight - today's fortune wasn't necessarily tomorrow's too.
-Friendship-
Maruyama's neck started to hurt. He oscillated from humming quietly, scoring what he assumed were motors on the transports above, to full blown notes, crescendos in his own soundtrack as he watched the traffic far above slowly moving by. The afternoon was proving to be a bust.
There was a small gap above - maybe a sign that the mad spending rushes on the uppers were slowing down - and for the first time that day a touch of sunlight hit his face. There was no change in warmth, not with the thermogenerators running - but regardless, it caused a sense of contentment to spread through his body. It would be nice to one day see the upper levels; it would be nice to celebrate "Winter," or have a party. But the only thing he truly envied was how the uppers never had to live in someone else's shadow - no one above them to ever block out the sun.
He took a deep breath and stretched his neck. He'd been staring up for far too long.
And when he returned to ground level, his gaze falling back to the table in front of him, he let out a small yelp of surprise to see a pair of eyes looking back. Another short man, this time with dark hair and no bags. He stood quietly and stared, his hands in his pocket.
"Would you like your fortune read?" Maruyama ventured.
He shook his head no.
"Aura?"
No.
"Do you want to buy a charm?"
The short man responded by picking up the toy owl, looking it over closely.
"That's not for sale," Maruyama found himself saying. If he couldn't find it within himself to toss it before, now he was determined to keep it even if someone did offer a fair price. Who knew how it worked, but so far it was the only thing making him money.
The newcomer poked the owl in the forehead, causing its beak to open and a slip of paper to pop out. The gear eyes didn't turn. "Romance," the man read out loud.
Maruyama smiled apologetically. "I'm not really sure what that-"
His customer set the owl down and turned to leave, waving a hand as he went.
"Hey, wait," Maruyama called after him. "That's your fortune for today, that's 1 credit - it isn't free!" To no avail, the other man disappeared before he had time to even get around the table.
Maruyama stood there, quietly. "Maybe I should just go home."
Two blocks away, Subaru crumpled up the slip and tossed it - the concept of fate or fortune making no bigger dent in his life than would a scratch on his cheek. He turned into an alleyway and opened the door at the end, heading into the back of a place his friend ran - a place where had the chance to make his own future.
"You're late."
Subaru made a face. This was not his friend. This wasn't even an opportunity in disguise, but a kid named Ryo who constantly hung around, trying to pick up on what he saw on stage and ingratiate himself with whomever was playing at the time. This, as far as Subaru was concerned, was a dead end.
Or a mistake. An annoyance. Subaru was trying to live out his dream every night by playing on stage, usually the last gig if that was all that he could get - just him on stage with the holo-guitar, its pre-programming gutted to let him play the few chords he knew. And Ryo….
Ryo had a real guitar. One day he just showed up with it, strap around his shoulder as the regulars cleared out. Subaru was sure he could find one for himself on the blackmarket, but for now it wasn't worth the money. Ryo hadn't gotten his from any illegal trade - he had probably gotten it from his parents, an aunt, maybe an old girlfriend. Subaru wasn't really sure and he didn't feel inclined to ask - Ryo was from the uppers, trying to slum it down on the mids with the rest of them, saying he had the same dreams of jazz and rock, wanting to play on stage instead of playing "properly" at gatherings up there.
Ryo was already on a stool, his feet propped on the rungs of the one next to him and his hand on the strings. Left hand clamped down on the frets in an E chord, the tips of his fingers on the right curled and waiting around the A string.
Subaru tried his best to ignore it. He had never felt real strings at his fingertips before.
"I got a bit of the first part figured out," Ryo told him, quickly playing softly and mumbling some words.
"Uh," Subaru said, shutting his eyes tightly, clenching them a couple of times. "I just stopped by to pick something up, I can't stay."
"Oh," Ryo replied.
Subaru looked around, his upper lip half-raised as he started to panic for something to make the lie passable. He quickly reached to his side and picked up a napkin, giving Ryo a serious nod and turning to leave. Before he walked out the door, he called to his friend behind the bar. "I'm heading home for the night."
Ryo jumped off of his stool. "To the lower levels?"
Subaru stopped in his tracks.
Ryo was already putting his guitar away, shoving it a little too roughly into the velvet lining of the hard leather. He had it up and the strap slung around his shoulder before Subaru could say a word, heading toward him with a, "I want to go." It made Subaru cringe.
He considered telling him no, but what would be the point? He couldn't stop Ryo from following him - and Ryo would do that - and it was entirely too much work to try to lose him. Subaru answered with a small nod. Besides, maybe it'd be good for Ryo to see exactly what he idolized, too.
Friends had repeatedly offered to help Subaru out, but he liked living in the lowers. He didn't look like he had any money, so the thieves and gamblers left him alone. Stick to your own business and no one bothers you, he'd say. And while for some being well below the main city level - down where artificial light was the source of daytime - life was misery, Subaru felt it was just fine.
He hopped the turnstile and headed down the stairs - it wasn't so much to make money as it was to deter lowers from coming up to the mids. At the station, ground floor was the top floor and he entered the lift, hitting a button to go down about 15 flights.
Ryo stood next to him, quiet. He seemed a little nervous, giving a fake smile. Subaru wasn't sure if he was anxious about venturing someplace new or was simply uncomfortable with less people around. He guessed the latter, given Ryo's brazen arrival onto the scene. That, and he himself understood how overwhelming it was to be in the company of only a single other person.
The more Ryo's eyes closed, the more fake his smile seemed - teeth too wide and expression cracking under the scrutiny - the more Subaru's genuine smile came out.
The lift stopped and the door opened. Subaru walked out without hesitation and Ryo followed closely behind. "So this is the lowers, it's not so bad. It's no big deal. Just darker. Smells bad," Ryo said, coughing. "The smell's worse than I thought."
Subaru shrugged. It was mostly exhaust from heating the high levels.
"It stinks! Loud too," Ryo complained. "I was expecting a lot worse."
Subaru bet as much. Ryo had probably grown up on a steady diet of cautionary tales - the boogie man for every person on the uppers - and romanticization, the intoxicating allure of danger that the lowers always offered.
"This is nothing," Ryo continued. "Hey how much is an apartment down here, it's got to be cheaper than the mids, right? Right?"
Subaru kept walking, putting his hands in his pockets. He lowered his head as they approached a group of workers hanging out on the corner. "You can be really noisy," he muttered. "Ignore them and keep walking."
"What? Them? You're kidding right?" Ryo said, thumbing toward the group and giving a sneer in return.
Subaru turned to make a face at him - a pained expression like he had just been shot. Of all the things Ryo could have blurted out, that was one of the least helpful. The group of men came to attention and started pointing and talking, inching closer as the two attempted to pass. They barely gave Subaru a glance, but Ryo...Ryo had his guitar case strapped to his back.
It only took one person laying a finger on it before Ryo reacted, smacking it away and commanding its owner to back off. The group moved into tighter. "Hand it over," one said.
"Over my dead bod-"
Subaru grabbed Ryo's arm and pulled him. "Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up and run!" He started down the sidewalk, the other in tow and trying his best to keep up with the heavy case bouncing around on his back. Sometimes people liked easy marks - sometimes, they held grudges. Subaru quietly asked whoever would listen that these idiots were just bored during their break on the afternoon shift. He turned a corner, turned another, doubled back down the other side, and turned again. Ryo was a better runner and had already matched his pace, was starting to outrun him trying to guess Subaru's next move.
They quickly passed an alley and Subaru halted, pulling on Ryo's arm so hard he almost fell over. "In here."
Ryo pressed up next to him, lowering the case gently and quietly to the ground as they waited and watched for signs of their pursuers.
Nothing. Idiots after all. Subaru sighed in relief.
Ryo looked somewhat embarrassed about the whole thing. "Good thing you know this area."
"I have no idea where we are," Subaru commented.
"Isn't your place around here?"
"I don't live here!" he answered. "I live 3 flights down from the mids!"
"Why would you take me down to the 15th then?!" Ryo barked. His eyes went wide at the thought that maybe he was giving away their position and he quickly stuck his head out of the alley, looking up and down until he was sure the coast was clear. Subaru had been in his way, blocking him from getting a good line of sight. Ryo's solution was to treat him like a door - his hands on his shoulders, chest against him, slowly pushing him out of the way as he leaned and rested more and more weight on the other. When it seemed to him that all was fine, he pulled back and gave another embarrassed look. "Thanks for helping me," he admitted.
Subaru shook his head. "I did it for the guitar."
"Liar," Ryo replied. He panicked a bit when Subaru's expression didn't change. "You are lying right? Right?" He slid down next to the case, pleading, "Don't mess with me like that, okay?"
"I'm not, all I care about is the guitar!"
Ryo flipped up the clasps and opened the case, the street light above bouncing off the polished wood of the acoustic's body. "Here," he muttered, picking it up by the neck and offering it.
"Really?"
Ryo crossed his arms as Subaru took the instrument from him. "You've never held one before, right?"
Subaru didn't answer, too busy smiling and passing his fingers over the nylon strings. It was so much different from a holo-guitar, the weight in his lap and the dents on his fingers as he automatically arranged his left hand for an E chord. He took his right hand and, with his thumb out, struck down to play the sound. It sounded terrible, fuzzy.
"You have to hold them down tighter," Ryo said, reaching over and putting his hand on Subaru's, pushing his fingers harder against the neck. "Real strings aren't like holo-guitars."
Subaru had never felt real strings at his fingertips before - or Ryo's fingertips on his hand either. How their calloused ends felt, their warmth. The firmness and ease of his touch.
An annoyance. A mistake. Dead end. Not a friend.
Subaru made a face, remembering his earlier decision to crumple up the fortune, toss it out in an effort to make his own fate. All in all apparently a useless gesture. He was surprised when he turned his head and Ryo was giving him an equally sour look.
"Fuck it," Ryo said, grabbing Subaru's collar and pulling him forward - "I didn't come down 15 fucking floors just to get lost," - catching his mouth in a kiss.
Stupid paper, Subaru thought.
When Ryo let go he looked flustered, hoping to get a response out of the other - who instead kept his face blank, his eyes blinking as he scrunched up his nose. Ryo looked like he might die of embarrassment.
Subaru paused. That stupid, stupid paper. He had been trying to avoid this for weeks. Finally, he stood and said, "Actually, the 16th floor is even worse."
-Romance-
Somehow, the bag felt heavier than it had that morning, though if anything he was short a bit of stock. Maruyama had placed the items in carefully before zipping it shut; the automatic table pulled in its legs with a shhnt noise, clattering to the ground. The evening lights were beginning to power on, brightening the streets. Oh well, Maruyama thought, there was always tomorrow.
When he reached home, there was a single message waiting for him on the holo-recorder. At first he ignored it, opting instead to turn on some lights and scroll through his menu list for take-out. He knew better - if anything, now was the worst time to spend money so frivolously. But there was a place not far, just down a couple of streets, with the best mid-level home cooking he had ever had. It was a great pick-me-up for a lousy day, even if it did exasperate the problem.
The vidscreen had entertainment news when he flipped it on - some exclusive first look at a famous holo-idol's latest release. Maruyama flopped down on his couch and punched in the numbers to order while he quietly, and somewhat obliviously, hummed along to the song in the background. Brand new release, the anchors said, sure to be another hit.
Maybe later he'd head down to his favorite bar. The owner was a friend, would let him get away with putting a few drinks on a tab when things were tight. The last few months a couple of the musician regulars had been tucked away in a corner, working on something. Maruyama smiled as he thought about how nice it would be to finally hear whatever it was.
The chime of the door rang and he jumped off the couch, grabbing his credit chip to pay the delivery person. The blinking light of his holo-recorder caught his eye and as he shut the door, food in hand, he reached over to hit play.
"Maru," said the familiar voice. A holographic image of Yokoyama appeared - he looked somewhat annoyed to have gotten the answering machine instead of his friend. Yoko hesitated, looking around himself as the message continued to record. "Guess you're not there - I've got some ideas for this weekend, so call me back." His hand reached up to switch the machine off in the hologram, but stopped short. "You better call back soon! Or I'll just do them without you!"
The image flickered away and Maruyama smiled. First dinner, then a bath, then he'd call.
He had left his bag on the floor before him and halfway through the meal, the urge hit him to open it up and pull out the toy mascot owl. Utensil in one hand, bird in the other, his cheeks full as he chewed away - he flipped it over, trying to get a closer look at what made it work. He set it down on the armrest of the couch and waved his hand in front of it, trying to get it to react. What had the others done?
The answer snapped into his mind and he laid his palm on top of its head, petting it like a robo-cat. The mouth opened, the eyes turned four clicks. A slip of paper shot out.
Maruyama grabbed it and turned it over to read the elaborate script of his new fortune.
"Everything."
He had a strange feeling seeing that word, unsure what it meant. But something about it made him happy. Something about it was exciting and hopeful.
Something about it felt right - and he set his dinner down to get up and go to his interface to call Yokoyama back.