Fic: Soft Hearted [AU: Ohtori, Shishido, Oshitari]
Inspired by yuncyn's AU fic (and her AU in general, which revolves around the tennis teams being yakuza groups in the underworld). I generally fail at writing yakuza, but hey, it's worth a shot, right?
Ohtori, Shishido, Oshitari and very stupid brawlers.
Soft-Hearted
Some of the new members always wondered how Ohtori got to where he was amongst the elite in the Hyotei-gumi.
The stupider ones always took it into their heads to actually attempt knocking the soft-spoken man down and making him eat mud. After all, it was ‘kill or be killed’ in this cut-throat world, and favor from the oyabun won’t keep a man alive forever.
Shishido looked up from where he was wiping his baseball bat down as the door creaked open and his tall partner entered, brushing off the dirt from his dark coat. “How many idiots this time?”
“Three, and two of them completely stoned.” Ohtori smiled wryly. “The third one had enough sense in him to run.” The silver pole tucked within the crook of his arm glinted under the stark florescent light, speckled a deep red near the tip.
“Ch’.” Shishido grunted as he bunched up his cloth and tossed it over to Ohtori, who caught it neatly and began removing the traces of blood off his weapon. “They make them dumber and dumber by the day. Wonder why Atobe even bothers to take them in.”
“You know we could use the extra manpower as much as I do, Shishido-san.” Ohtori grimaced. “There’s been too many fights breaking out in the neighbourhood lately; you’d think they’d have better things to do than to attempt to attack me.”
“That’s because you look soft, ya know? Easy pickings. I don’t suppose you finished them off?”
Ohtori smiled sheepishly. “Just gave one of them a bad headache and the other will be finding it hard to sit for the next few days.”
Shishido cursed softly under his breath. “See? You are soft. Anyone of us would’ve made sure they never come within ten feet of the Hyotei-gumi once we were done with them.” He squinted at Ohtori, leaning against the door, sharp eyes picking up stiff movements in his right arm. “Hey…did they actually get you?”
Before Ohtori could open his mouth to assure Shishido that everything was fine, his partner was already beside him, prodding the sore spot experimentally. He flinched involuntarily and Shishido’s eyes widened. “Well I'll be damned, they actually did manage to-”
He yanked his arm out of Shishido’s grasp before the experienced fingers detected that it was a stab wound and not the heavy blow he had originally thought it to be. Steady now, breath as the pain washes over you, white hot. “It’s nothing really. Doesn’t even hurt much now.” He waved his hand a little, determinedly suppressing the strained expression struggling to cross his face.
The look in Shishido’s eyes told him he wasn’t buying it one bit. “They weren’t those lousy brawlers you get all the time, were they…Choutarou?”
“Look, Shishido-san, they were just another of the usual types: they thought they could get away with beating me up.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “And as usual, they thought wrong.”
The plastic door swung open again and a person in a suit walked in, sparing both of the room’s occupants an amused glance. “Shishido. Ohtori.”
“Oshitari-san,” Ohtori acknowledged as Shishido pulled the ever-present cap on his head into a cockier position and smirked at the newcomer.
“So, how were the rounds?”
The Kansai man chuckled. “Boring as usual. I’m tempted to pull what Hiyoshi does and go undercover for once. Might make life more interesting.”
“You should trade with Ohtori then. Three of ‘em this time.”
“I heard. By the way,” Oshitari glanced at Ohtori. “Atobe’s been demanding for you for the past thirty minutes. Something about the documents regarding the new shipment of guns.”
Glad for a reason to exit, Ohtori nodded, said his goodbyes hurriedly and left the room. As the door closed upon his shadow, Oshitari murmured. “Two stab wounds, one to the upper elbow, another near the wrist, shallower there. I’m guessing pocketknives.”
"Two huh?” Shishido glanced at the door. “Ohtori’s not usually so careless though. Better than your average?”
Oshitari waved his hand dismissively. “Not good enough to even work the day shifts. Slightly worse than your average brawler. I did get one of them to cough up the details though, with a little persuasion.” He leant against the wall and lit up a cigarette.
“Wait, don’t tell me; my money’s on the fact that he took those wounds so he could avoid gutting them like what they deserved, right?”
“Well, that’s Ohtori for you.” Oshitari blew a thin stream of smoke into the air. “Atobe’ll probably get Kabaji to take care of it later, so you can stop playing mother-hen. “
“Shut up.” Shishido sighed in exasperation and looked at the dark-haired man smoking. “How did a fella like him end up being yakuza anyway? He’s too-”
“Soft?” A carefully raised eyebrow regarded Shishido in amusement. “It’s a screwed-up world. He completes his jobs, doesn’t mess around with other bastards, helps with the legal work. Leave it be; some questions ain’t never going to be answered.”
“Huh.” Heaving his bat over his shoulder, Shishido spared Oshitari a scornful glance. “I’m going for my rounds now. Gonna go get Choutarou from-”
“Give it a few minutes.” Oshitari’s form was a shadowy silhouette against the wall. “Kabaji should be attending to him right about now, so try to take things slow for a change.”
“Ch'.”
As he walked into the cool, sticky night, Shishido deliberately walked slowly in the direction of the infirmary unit. Choutarou would intercept him before he got anywhere close to the place though; it would be just like him. He would also probably hide the injuries from the others until they recovered as well. Damned soft-hearted idiot.
Ah well, if he could do negotiations with a poker face, he could bloody well pretend to ignore wounds they would both pretend didn’t exist in the first place.
Maybe if they were lucky, there would be no punks with shit for brains out tonight and they’d get back early enough for Choutarou to get some rest.
owari
Ohtori, Shishido, Oshitari and very stupid brawlers.
Soft-Hearted
Some of the new members always wondered how Ohtori got to where he was amongst the elite in the Hyotei-gumi.
The stupider ones always took it into their heads to actually attempt knocking the soft-spoken man down and making him eat mud. After all, it was ‘kill or be killed’ in this cut-throat world, and favor from the oyabun won’t keep a man alive forever.
Shishido looked up from where he was wiping his baseball bat down as the door creaked open and his tall partner entered, brushing off the dirt from his dark coat. “How many idiots this time?”
“Three, and two of them completely stoned.” Ohtori smiled wryly. “The third one had enough sense in him to run.” The silver pole tucked within the crook of his arm glinted under the stark florescent light, speckled a deep red near the tip.
“Ch’.” Shishido grunted as he bunched up his cloth and tossed it over to Ohtori, who caught it neatly and began removing the traces of blood off his weapon. “They make them dumber and dumber by the day. Wonder why Atobe even bothers to take them in.”
“You know we could use the extra manpower as much as I do, Shishido-san.” Ohtori grimaced. “There’s been too many fights breaking out in the neighbourhood lately; you’d think they’d have better things to do than to attempt to attack me.”
“That’s because you look soft, ya know? Easy pickings. I don’t suppose you finished them off?”
Ohtori smiled sheepishly. “Just gave one of them a bad headache and the other will be finding it hard to sit for the next few days.”
Shishido cursed softly under his breath. “See? You are soft. Anyone of us would’ve made sure they never come within ten feet of the Hyotei-gumi once we were done with them.” He squinted at Ohtori, leaning against the door, sharp eyes picking up stiff movements in his right arm. “Hey…did they actually get you?”
Before Ohtori could open his mouth to assure Shishido that everything was fine, his partner was already beside him, prodding the sore spot experimentally. He flinched involuntarily and Shishido’s eyes widened. “Well I'll be damned, they actually did manage to-”
He yanked his arm out of Shishido’s grasp before the experienced fingers detected that it was a stab wound and not the heavy blow he had originally thought it to be. Steady now, breath as the pain washes over you, white hot. “It’s nothing really. Doesn’t even hurt much now.” He waved his hand a little, determinedly suppressing the strained expression struggling to cross his face.
The look in Shishido’s eyes told him he wasn’t buying it one bit. “They weren’t those lousy brawlers you get all the time, were they…Choutarou?”
“Look, Shishido-san, they were just another of the usual types: they thought they could get away with beating me up.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “And as usual, they thought wrong.”
The plastic door swung open again and a person in a suit walked in, sparing both of the room’s occupants an amused glance. “Shishido. Ohtori.”
“Oshitari-san,” Ohtori acknowledged as Shishido pulled the ever-present cap on his head into a cockier position and smirked at the newcomer.
“So, how were the rounds?”
The Kansai man chuckled. “Boring as usual. I’m tempted to pull what Hiyoshi does and go undercover for once. Might make life more interesting.”
“You should trade with Ohtori then. Three of ‘em this time.”
“I heard. By the way,” Oshitari glanced at Ohtori. “Atobe’s been demanding for you for the past thirty minutes. Something about the documents regarding the new shipment of guns.”
Glad for a reason to exit, Ohtori nodded, said his goodbyes hurriedly and left the room. As the door closed upon his shadow, Oshitari murmured. “Two stab wounds, one to the upper elbow, another near the wrist, shallower there. I’m guessing pocketknives.”
"Two huh?” Shishido glanced at the door. “Ohtori’s not usually so careless though. Better than your average?”
Oshitari waved his hand dismissively. “Not good enough to even work the day shifts. Slightly worse than your average brawler. I did get one of them to cough up the details though, with a little persuasion.” He leant against the wall and lit up a cigarette.
“Wait, don’t tell me; my money’s on the fact that he took those wounds so he could avoid gutting them like what they deserved, right?”
“Well, that’s Ohtori for you.” Oshitari blew a thin stream of smoke into the air. “Atobe’ll probably get Kabaji to take care of it later, so you can stop playing mother-hen. “
“Shut up.” Shishido sighed in exasperation and looked at the dark-haired man smoking. “How did a fella like him end up being yakuza anyway? He’s too-”
“Soft?” A carefully raised eyebrow regarded Shishido in amusement. “It’s a screwed-up world. He completes his jobs, doesn’t mess around with other bastards, helps with the legal work. Leave it be; some questions ain’t never going to be answered.”
“Huh.” Heaving his bat over his shoulder, Shishido spared Oshitari a scornful glance. “I’m going for my rounds now. Gonna go get Choutarou from-”
“Give it a few minutes.” Oshitari’s form was a shadowy silhouette against the wall. “Kabaji should be attending to him right about now, so try to take things slow for a change.”
“Ch'.”
As he walked into the cool, sticky night, Shishido deliberately walked slowly in the direction of the infirmary unit. Choutarou would intercept him before he got anywhere close to the place though; it would be just like him. He would also probably hide the injuries from the others until they recovered as well. Damned soft-hearted idiot.
Ah well, if he could do negotiations with a poker face, he could bloody well pretend to ignore wounds they would both pretend didn’t exist in the first place.
Maybe if they were lucky, there would be no punks with shit for brains out tonight and they’d get back early enough for Choutarou to get some rest.
owari