Drabble-age (1883 words, Extracurricular, Kenya + Shitenhoji Gen, G)
Title: Extracurricular
Author: Ociwen
Rating: G
Pairing(s): Shitenhoji Gen
Wordcount: 1883
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by Konomi Takeshi. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: In which Shitenhoji don't do much and wanders around Osaka.
Author's notes: Sort of written for Kenya's birthday, but including elements that had been festering in my mind for a while. Happy Birthday, Oshitari Kenya! &hearts
Chitose calls it 'Gaijin Spotting' but Kenya prefers to think of it more as 'Spot the Tourists'.
"Less racist," he says.
Chitose shrugs. "They're all gaijin, though."
Shitenhoji happens to be near one of the few cheap ryokans in Osaka. Around a back corner, past the row of gyoza restaurants that no one has been brave enough to test if they're any good or not. The tourists all flock there and claim the food is fantastic. Kenya thinks the interiors look a bit skuzzy and pre-fab.
After tennis practice-or before, or in lieu of sometimes-they sit along the cement pylons at the corner of the street. It's sort of an extra-curricular activity, but not really. Kenya yawns. Zaizen yawns too. "This is boring," he says.
"Just wait," Kenya says. "They'll come."
It's usually the same time each afternoon, about the same amount of time it takes for a lost person to make their way from Tokyo to Shin-Osaka, then through the maze of subway lines. Kenya can't figure out how the tourists get confused in the first place. Easy as pie: Shin-Osaka to Namba to Nippombashi to Ebisu-cho. He could do it in his sleep. Hell, after visiting Yuushi that one time last year, he did practically shuffle home from Tokyo (all by himself!) asleep.
Shiraishi sees them first. He nods once and a hush falls over them. Two gaijin with large backpacks strapped to their backs trudge by. Their eyes are huge and round. Their faces are tanned and the bend over like packhorses.
Shiraishi pokes Kenya in the side. Kenya frowns. It's always him. He listens. He jumps off the pylon and creeps closer. His footsteps crunch on the pavement. Koharu slinks behind him and makes the back of Kenya's neck prickle. He scowls, waves his hand and shakes his head. "Go away!" he mouths.
Koharu waggles his eyebrows. Yuuji makes angry, flapping motions. Kenya shoves those two idiots out of his mind, and then he listens. It's always the same words, similar phrases. "I think it's here." "The map shows a school there." "We're almost at the ryokan." Today is English, drawling Australian accent-he thinks. English mostly sounds the same anyway.
Kenya walks back to them. Shiraishi raises his eyebrows. Gin says nothing, like usual. The idiot just rolls his eyes and sighs. Kenya narrows his eyes. He'll find that blog address soon enough. He balls his fist. Just you wait!
"Well?" Shiraishi asks.
"Australian," Kenya says.
"Yeah, we knew that," Shiraishi says. "They had the Australian flag on their backpacks."
Kenya sniffs.
It's nothing exciting, nothing super secret, but it's their game. No better way to pass lazy, warm spring afternoons that hanging around near the school and watching gaijin get lost. The plums trees are in blossom. The air is warm and thick with the sweet grassy smells of pollen. School is almost finished for the year, and the tourists keep coming.
Chitose's cell phone goes off. It sounds like the tinkle of rain, until it segues into a chorus of lame drum beats. Kenya sinks pack down on the cement pylon beside Shiraishi. Before Chitose so much as says hello, Kenya knows who's calling, just by the sound of the screaming on the other end of the line.
"CHITOSEEEEEE!"
Kenya cringes. Shiraishi cringes. Zaizen stuffs his iPod headphones into his ears deeper and cringes, too. Chitose winces and holds his cellphone a foot from his ear. Kin-chan shouts his name again and says, "I've GOT THEM!!"
Kenya looks at Shiraishi. Shiraishi unwraps a wind of bandage from his hand and plays with it. He looks shifty. Kenya grabs the bandage and tugs. "What'd you tell the kid now?" he asks.
Shiraishi smirks. "He picked us up takoyaki."
"Nice," Zaizen says.
"Nobody asked you, idiot!" Kenya snaps. Then, to Shiraishi, he scoffs and clicks his tongue. "You did that to the kid on purpose."
Shiraishi keeps smiling. He pulls his bandage from Kenya's fingers and winds it back around his hand. "If it works…"
Chitose hangs his cellphone up. "We're supposed to meet him in Nippombashi."
"Where?" Kenya asks.
By now, Chitose is half-way down the street. His geta scuff the pavement and clink. He shrugs and says nothing.
Usual place, then.
They amble along through the arcades. The gyoza places are setting up for supper: folded signs on the sidewalks, plastic food displays lit up and flashing. English labels make Kenya snicker. Zaizen walks beside him and bobs his head to whatever he's listening to now. The idiot couple is off somewhere, possibly behind Kenya, possibly still behind on of the large hydrangea shrubberies on the school campus. Thinking about it makes Kenya shudder. He doesn't want to know.
There is a long covered arcade of electronic shops. Their blinking displays and flashing lights beckon him. Kenya falls behind the rest, entranced by a sale sign pointing to one shop. His eyes go wide and he rubs his hands together. "Excellent," he mutters.
But of course, Gin has to appear out of nowhere and grab him by the collar. Kenya whips his head around. "Oi! I'll be speedy!" he says.
Gin shakes his head. "We're not waiting for you."
"Besides senpai," Zaizen, the idiot, has to add, "it's the same sale everyday. It's just pretend."
"Idiot," Kenya mutters. He dusts off his collar. He makes a pointed effort to glare at the back of Zaizen and Gin's heads, then crush them between his index and thumb. "I would have been quick."
He gives the shop one last, forlorn look, then runs off to catch them. They take the subway one stop. It's just before the evening rush, and in the dying afternoon, the arcade between Nippombashi and Namba is quiet-relatively. Housewives and obachans do their shopping. Kenya thinks he sees Mrs Ohno, who runs the ryokan. He snickers and wonders if the gaijin are locked out of the ryokan right now.
Outside the McDonald's, Kenya blinks once. Then a flash of pink launches itself in the direction of Chitose and Shiriashi. Kenya dives, just in time, to catch the box of takoyaki balls.
"Nice save," Zaizen says.
Kenya nods. He stands up and brushes his knees off. He hitches his pants up-still no new belt for them. He spend the last of his allowance on lizard feed last week.
It's usually the same place they eat at, nothing special, nothing fancy, just okonomiyaki fried up in front of them, as they like it. Chitose walks beside Kin-chan, who swipes the takoyaki back and offers one to Shiraishi. "I got them!" he says, grinning from ear to ear. "JUST like you told me to!"
Shiraishi smiles and nods. Kin-chan's eyes glance to his bandages, then he shudders. Shiraishi keeps smiling. He pops a takoyaki ball into his mouth. Chitose walks as though nothing is going on-not that anything is, but he's too my pace for Kenya to ever be comfortable about the guy. He's so tall that he can hit the hanging fish decorations that hang from the ceiling of the arcade. In fact, his hair nearly brushes the bottom of them.
Kenya jumps up. He can barely touch the hangings. He sniffs, then he shifts his eyes. No one noticed, except maybe Zaizen. Zaizen pulls his cell phone out and starts tapping away. Kenya sidles over and leans over the idiot's shoulder, leering and peering from side to side.
"Whatcha doing?" he asks.
Zaizen stares at him. "Updating," he says. Kenya leans over further, but Zaizen snaps his cell closed. "But I'm done now."
"I'm gonna find your blog," Kenya says.
"Yeah, you do that," Zaizaen mutters.
Kenya growls under his breath. Ungrateful kouhai, he thinks.
The mama-san at the okonomiyaki place recognizes them as Shiraishi waves to her and flashes his fingers for six. They sit at the bar and watch the food start to sizzle. Kenya's stomach growls. He squirms on the stool-it's uncomfortable, but nowhere near as bad as a cement pylon. The air is filled with the smell of frying shrimp and egg and pancake and-
"Put that down, Kin-chan!" Shiraishi says.
Kin-chan sets the mayo bottle back down. He pouts. Shiraishi pulls on a bandage. Kenya laughs. That joke will never get old.
Zaizen sits beside Kenya and Kenya sighs. "Did you have to?" he asks. "You could have sat there." He nods to the stool between Gin and Kin-chan. Zaizen stares at him, long and hard, as if to say I don't think so.
Kenya swings his legs back and forth under the stool. His mouth waters. The okonomiyaki sizzle on the griddle, sputtering and oozing and wonderful. Kenya wonders, sometimes, how the hell Yuushi survives in Tokyo without real, Kansai okonomiyaki, slathered in sauce and mayo and nori flakes. Even thinking about biting into a piece of pancake bursting with shrimp and dribbling sauce down his chin makes him hungrier than ever.
One by one, the mama-san hands them plates of okonomiyaki. Kenya itches for his. His chopsticks are ready, split and waiting to dig in. He has the mayo on his left and the sauce on his right. He reaches to take the plate when it's presented to him, brown and crisp and golden, when-
Kin-chan moves.
There is a crash.
There is a bang.
Then there is a poof of a fireball that erupts right over the griddle.
Kenya shouts and drops his plate. Kin-chan starts to scream and Shiraishi says they have to stay calm. Chitose and Gin run off and Kenya dashes, the idiot right behind him.
It kinds sucks that the fire alarm goes off. Kenya hangs around for a half-hour as the fireman questions Chitose (who looks the most suspicious, Kenya agrees) and Shiraishi and Kin-chan. Zaizen keeps sighing and huffing in his ear.
"This is boring," he says.
"Tell me about it," Kenya mutters.
They escape into the rush-hour throng. Kenya turns left and Zaizen does too. Kenya slips down a side arcade and Zaizen does too. Outside McDonald's, he finally stops running and throws up his hands. "What do you want!?" he yells. His stomach churns. He's hungry, but he's not sure if he's quite the right sort of hungry for a Megateriyaki meal. It's not as much mayo as his okonomiyaki would have had.
Kenya stuffs his hands in his pockets and exhales. Zaizen looks at him. He scratches behind his ear, the one with the most piercings. "Uh, senpai, you want to get something to eat?"
Kenya looks right back at him. "Idiot," he says. "What do you think I'm doing!?"
"Running away from me?" Zaizen offers.
Kenya makes a noise. "As if."
"You want to get gyoza?" Zaizen asks.
Kenya sniffs. Zaizen blinks, then scuffs his sneaker on the tile alleyway. His headphones hang down the front of his shirt.
"Fine," Kenya says, at last.
They end up eating at one of the gyoza joints in the row of restaurants near school-the only two non-gaijin.
The gyoza end up to be pretty tasty.
"Guess it's 'Spot the Kinki Kids'," Zaizen says. He bites into a dumpling. It oozes juice down his chin.
Kenya rolls his eyes and thinks it's lame. He licks the corner of his own mouth. "Don't be racist."
Author: Ociwen
Rating: G
Pairing(s): Shitenhoji Gen
Wordcount: 1883
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by Konomi Takeshi. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: In which Shitenhoji don't do much and wanders around Osaka.
Author's notes: Sort of written for Kenya's birthday, but including elements that had been festering in my mind for a while. Happy Birthday, Oshitari Kenya! &hearts
Chitose calls it 'Gaijin Spotting' but Kenya prefers to think of it more as 'Spot the Tourists'.
"Less racist," he says.
Chitose shrugs. "They're all gaijin, though."
Shitenhoji happens to be near one of the few cheap ryokans in Osaka. Around a back corner, past the row of gyoza restaurants that no one has been brave enough to test if they're any good or not. The tourists all flock there and claim the food is fantastic. Kenya thinks the interiors look a bit skuzzy and pre-fab.
After tennis practice-or before, or in lieu of sometimes-they sit along the cement pylons at the corner of the street. It's sort of an extra-curricular activity, but not really. Kenya yawns. Zaizen yawns too. "This is boring," he says.
"Just wait," Kenya says. "They'll come."
It's usually the same time each afternoon, about the same amount of time it takes for a lost person to make their way from Tokyo to Shin-Osaka, then through the maze of subway lines. Kenya can't figure out how the tourists get confused in the first place. Easy as pie: Shin-Osaka to Namba to Nippombashi to Ebisu-cho. He could do it in his sleep. Hell, after visiting Yuushi that one time last year, he did practically shuffle home from Tokyo (all by himself!) asleep.
Shiraishi sees them first. He nods once and a hush falls over them. Two gaijin with large backpacks strapped to their backs trudge by. Their eyes are huge and round. Their faces are tanned and the bend over like packhorses.
Shiraishi pokes Kenya in the side. Kenya frowns. It's always him. He listens. He jumps off the pylon and creeps closer. His footsteps crunch on the pavement. Koharu slinks behind him and makes the back of Kenya's neck prickle. He scowls, waves his hand and shakes his head. "Go away!" he mouths.
Koharu waggles his eyebrows. Yuuji makes angry, flapping motions. Kenya shoves those two idiots out of his mind, and then he listens. It's always the same words, similar phrases. "I think it's here." "The map shows a school there." "We're almost at the ryokan." Today is English, drawling Australian accent-he thinks. English mostly sounds the same anyway.
Kenya walks back to them. Shiraishi raises his eyebrows. Gin says nothing, like usual. The idiot just rolls his eyes and sighs. Kenya narrows his eyes. He'll find that blog address soon enough. He balls his fist. Just you wait!
"Well?" Shiraishi asks.
"Australian," Kenya says.
"Yeah, we knew that," Shiraishi says. "They had the Australian flag on their backpacks."
Kenya sniffs.
It's nothing exciting, nothing super secret, but it's their game. No better way to pass lazy, warm spring afternoons that hanging around near the school and watching gaijin get lost. The plums trees are in blossom. The air is warm and thick with the sweet grassy smells of pollen. School is almost finished for the year, and the tourists keep coming.
Chitose's cell phone goes off. It sounds like the tinkle of rain, until it segues into a chorus of lame drum beats. Kenya sinks pack down on the cement pylon beside Shiraishi. Before Chitose so much as says hello, Kenya knows who's calling, just by the sound of the screaming on the other end of the line.
"CHITOSEEEEEE!"
Kenya cringes. Shiraishi cringes. Zaizen stuffs his iPod headphones into his ears deeper and cringes, too. Chitose winces and holds his cellphone a foot from his ear. Kin-chan shouts his name again and says, "I've GOT THEM!!"
Kenya looks at Shiraishi. Shiraishi unwraps a wind of bandage from his hand and plays with it. He looks shifty. Kenya grabs the bandage and tugs. "What'd you tell the kid now?" he asks.
Shiraishi smirks. "He picked us up takoyaki."
"Nice," Zaizen says.
"Nobody asked you, idiot!" Kenya snaps. Then, to Shiraishi, he scoffs and clicks his tongue. "You did that to the kid on purpose."
Shiraishi keeps smiling. He pulls his bandage from Kenya's fingers and winds it back around his hand. "If it works…"
Chitose hangs his cellphone up. "We're supposed to meet him in Nippombashi."
"Where?" Kenya asks.
By now, Chitose is half-way down the street. His geta scuff the pavement and clink. He shrugs and says nothing.
Usual place, then.
They amble along through the arcades. The gyoza places are setting up for supper: folded signs on the sidewalks, plastic food displays lit up and flashing. English labels make Kenya snicker. Zaizen walks beside him and bobs his head to whatever he's listening to now. The idiot couple is off somewhere, possibly behind Kenya, possibly still behind on of the large hydrangea shrubberies on the school campus. Thinking about it makes Kenya shudder. He doesn't want to know.
There is a long covered arcade of electronic shops. Their blinking displays and flashing lights beckon him. Kenya falls behind the rest, entranced by a sale sign pointing to one shop. His eyes go wide and he rubs his hands together. "Excellent," he mutters.
But of course, Gin has to appear out of nowhere and grab him by the collar. Kenya whips his head around. "Oi! I'll be speedy!" he says.
Gin shakes his head. "We're not waiting for you."
"Besides senpai," Zaizen, the idiot, has to add, "it's the same sale everyday. It's just pretend."
"Idiot," Kenya mutters. He dusts off his collar. He makes a pointed effort to glare at the back of Zaizen and Gin's heads, then crush them between his index and thumb. "I would have been quick."
He gives the shop one last, forlorn look, then runs off to catch them. They take the subway one stop. It's just before the evening rush, and in the dying afternoon, the arcade between Nippombashi and Namba is quiet-relatively. Housewives and obachans do their shopping. Kenya thinks he sees Mrs Ohno, who runs the ryokan. He snickers and wonders if the gaijin are locked out of the ryokan right now.
Outside the McDonald's, Kenya blinks once. Then a flash of pink launches itself in the direction of Chitose and Shiriashi. Kenya dives, just in time, to catch the box of takoyaki balls.
"Nice save," Zaizen says.
Kenya nods. He stands up and brushes his knees off. He hitches his pants up-still no new belt for them. He spend the last of his allowance on lizard feed last week.
It's usually the same place they eat at, nothing special, nothing fancy, just okonomiyaki fried up in front of them, as they like it. Chitose walks beside Kin-chan, who swipes the takoyaki back and offers one to Shiraishi. "I got them!" he says, grinning from ear to ear. "JUST like you told me to!"
Shiraishi smiles and nods. Kin-chan's eyes glance to his bandages, then he shudders. Shiraishi keeps smiling. He pops a takoyaki ball into his mouth. Chitose walks as though nothing is going on-not that anything is, but he's too my pace for Kenya to ever be comfortable about the guy. He's so tall that he can hit the hanging fish decorations that hang from the ceiling of the arcade. In fact, his hair nearly brushes the bottom of them.
Kenya jumps up. He can barely touch the hangings. He sniffs, then he shifts his eyes. No one noticed, except maybe Zaizen. Zaizen pulls his cell phone out and starts tapping away. Kenya sidles over and leans over the idiot's shoulder, leering and peering from side to side.
"Whatcha doing?" he asks.
Zaizen stares at him. "Updating," he says. Kenya leans over further, but Zaizen snaps his cell closed. "But I'm done now."
"I'm gonna find your blog," Kenya says.
"Yeah, you do that," Zaizaen mutters.
Kenya growls under his breath. Ungrateful kouhai, he thinks.
The mama-san at the okonomiyaki place recognizes them as Shiraishi waves to her and flashes his fingers for six. They sit at the bar and watch the food start to sizzle. Kenya's stomach growls. He squirms on the stool-it's uncomfortable, but nowhere near as bad as a cement pylon. The air is filled with the smell of frying shrimp and egg and pancake and-
"Put that down, Kin-chan!" Shiraishi says.
Kin-chan sets the mayo bottle back down. He pouts. Shiraishi pulls on a bandage. Kenya laughs. That joke will never get old.
Zaizen sits beside Kenya and Kenya sighs. "Did you have to?" he asks. "You could have sat there." He nods to the stool between Gin and Kin-chan. Zaizen stares at him, long and hard, as if to say I don't think so.
Kenya swings his legs back and forth under the stool. His mouth waters. The okonomiyaki sizzle on the griddle, sputtering and oozing and wonderful. Kenya wonders, sometimes, how the hell Yuushi survives in Tokyo without real, Kansai okonomiyaki, slathered in sauce and mayo and nori flakes. Even thinking about biting into a piece of pancake bursting with shrimp and dribbling sauce down his chin makes him hungrier than ever.
One by one, the mama-san hands them plates of okonomiyaki. Kenya itches for his. His chopsticks are ready, split and waiting to dig in. He has the mayo on his left and the sauce on his right. He reaches to take the plate when it's presented to him, brown and crisp and golden, when-
Kin-chan moves.
There is a crash.
There is a bang.
Then there is a poof of a fireball that erupts right over the griddle.
Kenya shouts and drops his plate. Kin-chan starts to scream and Shiraishi says they have to stay calm. Chitose and Gin run off and Kenya dashes, the idiot right behind him.
It kinds sucks that the fire alarm goes off. Kenya hangs around for a half-hour as the fireman questions Chitose (who looks the most suspicious, Kenya agrees) and Shiraishi and Kin-chan. Zaizen keeps sighing and huffing in his ear.
"This is boring," he says.
"Tell me about it," Kenya mutters.
They escape into the rush-hour throng. Kenya turns left and Zaizen does too. Kenya slips down a side arcade and Zaizen does too. Outside McDonald's, he finally stops running and throws up his hands. "What do you want!?" he yells. His stomach churns. He's hungry, but he's not sure if he's quite the right sort of hungry for a Megateriyaki meal. It's not as much mayo as his okonomiyaki would have had.
Kenya stuffs his hands in his pockets and exhales. Zaizen looks at him. He scratches behind his ear, the one with the most piercings. "Uh, senpai, you want to get something to eat?"
Kenya looks right back at him. "Idiot," he says. "What do you think I'm doing!?"
"Running away from me?" Zaizen offers.
Kenya makes a noise. "As if."
"You want to get gyoza?" Zaizen asks.
Kenya sniffs. Zaizen blinks, then scuffs his sneaker on the tile alleyway. His headphones hang down the front of his shirt.
"Fine," Kenya says, at last.
They end up eating at one of the gyoza joints in the row of restaurants near school-the only two non-gaijin.
The gyoza end up to be pretty tasty.
"Guess it's 'Spot the Kinki Kids'," Zaizen says. He bites into a dumpling. It oozes juice down his chin.
Kenya rolls his eyes and thinks it's lame. He licks the corner of his own mouth. "Don't be racist."