The Criminal
I'm in Hong Kong!
And I've never before wanted to do so much shopping.
A 2-hour bus ride to Lantau Island produced this little scene, which already has plans for an encore; possibly two.
So, here it is, the next (crazy) installment of Oddballs.
A/N: Keep in mind that this scene is from Kyouya’s point of view. Nothing like dramatic irony…
Theme: #16 Criminal
Kyouya glanced down at the slip of paper, checking one last time that he had the address right.
Number 258; looked like this was it. He straightened his tie in an old habit, and relaxed his face into a smile before knocking firmly on the door.
From what he had heard of the mediator, the man preferred gentility and being wooed, so to speak. It took cunning to get his services, which was why Kyouya had come, instead of one of the less experienced men.
Footsteps echoed inside; Kyouya gave an unconsciously self-assured smile at the peephole.
After a second, the door swung open.
Young, was his first thought, but it didn’t show on his face. Instead he continued smiling.
“Is this the residence of Fujitaka?”
For a disconcerting moment, Kyouya thought the young man was going to say no, until an irritated look crossed his features, and he motioned Kyouya inside.
“I suppose it is. Wait a minute, please.”
Kyouya followed him down the hall to a small dining room, and moved to look out the window there as the younger man left, presumably to get Fujitaka.
Stairs creaked farther in the apartment, and Kyouya noted the larger home. For a single man, Fujitaka had quite a spacious apartment.
Running footsteps prepared him, and when Fujitaka entered the room, Kyouya was smiling again.
Experience was important, he thought as a woman swung through the door.
“Oh! What a surprise!” she said, and Kyouya silently agreed. Fujitaka was a man. A man who happened to also be a cross-dresser.
From under long lashes, Fujitaka’s glance took in everything about Kyouya, the suit, the small briefcase at his side, the smile and the intelligence behind small, wire-framed glasses.
“Ootori-san. I hadn’t realized I was due such an honor,” he said, and his eyes were a calm incongruity from the question latent in his words.
Kyouya gave a small bow of respect.
“If you would be so kind as to address me as Kyouya, Fujitaka-san,” he requested smoothly, and Fujitaka gave a twinkling laugh.
“Of course, of course. And please, you must sit,” he said, and pulled out a chair, falling gracefully (if not dramatically) into the one across from him.
“Haruhi! Tea please!” he shouted towards the hall, and measured footsteps could be heard from the stairs.
A moment later “Haruhi’s” head emerged around the doorway, looking annoyed.
“Is it that hard to warm water?” he asked, and sighed when the not-a-housewife looking he-she pouted. “Fine.”
Kyouya withdrew a few papers and slid them across the table.
“I’m afraid a small situation has cropped up with the Minuti group. We were hoping you would be available to mediate a contract for us,” Kyouya said, then sat back and waited while the keen eyes read over the papers.
“Hm,” Fujitaka said a minute later, glancing up at Kyouya with unreadable eyes. “This is quite a generous offer you’re making me. Is it as dangerous as the pay indicates?”
For a moment, Kyouya allowed his surprise to show. Then he returned to smiling.
“No, the pay reflects your exalted position and reputation. We merely want this solved with as little fuss as possible. You must admit to having a reputation for peaceful settlings.”
Haruhi appeared with the tea, with little to no interest in either man until Fujitaka murmured, “I’m quite tempted…”
Suddenly, the young man, looking both harried and furious, grabbed the papers up, and read over them at a glance.
“You said you were going to quit doing this!” he yelled, and Kyouya blinked in surprise.
Fujitaka was pouting again.
“But Ha-ruu-hi,” he whined in quite the pathetic fashion, “we need money to eat, you know.”
Something like a twitch appeared in the young man’s forehead.
“I make enough for rent and food, as you know very well. There’s no reason to go back to crime to feed your ego,” he retorted.
Now Fujitaka was getting close to tears, an effort Kyouya could hardly approve of as a man, but was willing to watch for the sake of results.
The slam of a hand on the table brought his attention sharply back to this “Haruhi” fellow.
“No. Absolutely not. I’ll move out if you dare take this job,” Haruhi said, and one black brow rose.
So, Fujitaka wasn’t just a cross-dresser, but gay into the bargain; it was nothing Kyouya hadn’t heard rumors of, but a pedophile as well? He glanced at the petite young man, who was wearing baggy, well, everything, and thick glasses partially hidden by shaggy bangs.
Fujitaka’s pout turned into a frown, and the eyes with that hidden intelligence sharpened. Kyouya straightened, curious if the outcome to the argument would indeed affect his own business.
“Haruhi! How can you say such things to your father?! You’re the most inconsiderate daughter to plague your daddy! Don’t you ever think about my feelings, my …”
Kyouya’s world cracked and tilted, just a little bit. He didn’t hear another word coming from Fujitaka’s mouth, but turned instead his full attention to the sad excuse for a girl.
“Fujitaka Haruhi?” he asked, thinking to make her acquaintance, but gained instead a scowl.
“Fujioka Haruhi,” she corrected him, and a groan emerged from the other side of the table.
“And yes, this is Fujioka Ryoji, not whatever alias he’s going by today. Dad, I told you to retire. How come you never listen?” the groan dragged into a whimper.
Kyouya cleared his throat, his goal momentarily wavering in light of these revelations. He had assumed Fujitaka was a pseudonym, but hadn’t been able to find anything of his real life or identity before. To be handed such information on a platter, by the man’s previously unknown daughter…
Kyouya smiled widely, which would have been warning for anyone who knew him well.
“You are not going to take this job, Dad. I’m not paying for another hospital bill we can’t explain to the insurance company,” Haruhi was continuing, her father looking beaten.
“I didn’t mean for that last one to trouble you, Haruhi,” he tried, but gave up at her disbelieving snort.
“Excuse me,” Kyouya broke in, gray eyes smiling into dark brown ones. “If I could offer a suggestion? Fujioka-kun could probably handle this just as well as you could, Fujitaka-san.”
There was silence for a few tense moments, before Haruhi reached out and tore up the papers on the table.
“I don’t really care who you are, or which mob you’re working for, but -”
“Mafia, really,” Kyouya corrected politely.
“But, I am a lawyer. A law-abiding and law-enforcing lawyer.”
Kyouya merely looked at her. If the information was meant to impress, he was sufficiently impressed, at least at the fact that someone like Fujitaka could produce a straight-laced and stoic offspring like this one.
His silence seemed to annoy her, though, and she pushed her bangs to the side in irritation.
Another brow rose, this time in a surprise Kyouya couldn’t hide.
With those bangs out of the way, Fujioka Haruhi was attractive. And older than he had previously assumed, though ‘lawyer’ obviously indicated a certain amount of schooling.
“So, you can find your own way out,” she ended, and Kyouya noted that she had a good speaking voice, probably used to speaking in court for hours on end.
“I’ll come back with papers for you tomorrow,” he informed her, and gave a slight bow to Fujitaka, who was looking bemused. The eyes were still sharp, however, and Kyouya took sufficient note of the way he was considering him.
Fujioka Haruhi’s face looked both sour and resolute.
Before another speech on right and wrong and justice came spilling out, Kyouya slipped down the hallway and out the door.
This would be worth the extra day spent cajoling his father for a new contract, he thought, as a car with blackened windows picked him up.
And I've never before wanted to do so much shopping.
A 2-hour bus ride to Lantau Island produced this little scene, which already has plans for an encore; possibly two.
So, here it is, the next (crazy) installment of Oddballs.
A/N: Keep in mind that this scene is from Kyouya’s point of view. Nothing like dramatic irony…
Theme: #16 Criminal
Kyouya glanced down at the slip of paper, checking one last time that he had the address right.
Number 258; looked like this was it. He straightened his tie in an old habit, and relaxed his face into a smile before knocking firmly on the door.
From what he had heard of the mediator, the man preferred gentility and being wooed, so to speak. It took cunning to get his services, which was why Kyouya had come, instead of one of the less experienced men.
Footsteps echoed inside; Kyouya gave an unconsciously self-assured smile at the peephole.
After a second, the door swung open.
Young, was his first thought, but it didn’t show on his face. Instead he continued smiling.
“Is this the residence of Fujitaka?”
For a disconcerting moment, Kyouya thought the young man was going to say no, until an irritated look crossed his features, and he motioned Kyouya inside.
“I suppose it is. Wait a minute, please.”
Kyouya followed him down the hall to a small dining room, and moved to look out the window there as the younger man left, presumably to get Fujitaka.
Stairs creaked farther in the apartment, and Kyouya noted the larger home. For a single man, Fujitaka had quite a spacious apartment.
Running footsteps prepared him, and when Fujitaka entered the room, Kyouya was smiling again.
Experience was important, he thought as a woman swung through the door.
“Oh! What a surprise!” she said, and Kyouya silently agreed. Fujitaka was a man. A man who happened to also be a cross-dresser.
From under long lashes, Fujitaka’s glance took in everything about Kyouya, the suit, the small briefcase at his side, the smile and the intelligence behind small, wire-framed glasses.
“Ootori-san. I hadn’t realized I was due such an honor,” he said, and his eyes were a calm incongruity from the question latent in his words.
Kyouya gave a small bow of respect.
“If you would be so kind as to address me as Kyouya, Fujitaka-san,” he requested smoothly, and Fujitaka gave a twinkling laugh.
“Of course, of course. And please, you must sit,” he said, and pulled out a chair, falling gracefully (if not dramatically) into the one across from him.
“Haruhi! Tea please!” he shouted towards the hall, and measured footsteps could be heard from the stairs.
A moment later “Haruhi’s” head emerged around the doorway, looking annoyed.
“Is it that hard to warm water?” he asked, and sighed when the not-a-housewife looking he-she pouted. “Fine.”
Kyouya withdrew a few papers and slid them across the table.
“I’m afraid a small situation has cropped up with the Minuti group. We were hoping you would be available to mediate a contract for us,” Kyouya said, then sat back and waited while the keen eyes read over the papers.
“Hm,” Fujitaka said a minute later, glancing up at Kyouya with unreadable eyes. “This is quite a generous offer you’re making me. Is it as dangerous as the pay indicates?”
For a moment, Kyouya allowed his surprise to show. Then he returned to smiling.
“No, the pay reflects your exalted position and reputation. We merely want this solved with as little fuss as possible. You must admit to having a reputation for peaceful settlings.”
Haruhi appeared with the tea, with little to no interest in either man until Fujitaka murmured, “I’m quite tempted…”
Suddenly, the young man, looking both harried and furious, grabbed the papers up, and read over them at a glance.
“You said you were going to quit doing this!” he yelled, and Kyouya blinked in surprise.
Fujitaka was pouting again.
“But Ha-ruu-hi,” he whined in quite the pathetic fashion, “we need money to eat, you know.”
Something like a twitch appeared in the young man’s forehead.
“I make enough for rent and food, as you know very well. There’s no reason to go back to crime to feed your ego,” he retorted.
Now Fujitaka was getting close to tears, an effort Kyouya could hardly approve of as a man, but was willing to watch for the sake of results.
The slam of a hand on the table brought his attention sharply back to this “Haruhi” fellow.
“No. Absolutely not. I’ll move out if you dare take this job,” Haruhi said, and one black brow rose.
So, Fujitaka wasn’t just a cross-dresser, but gay into the bargain; it was nothing Kyouya hadn’t heard rumors of, but a pedophile as well? He glanced at the petite young man, who was wearing baggy, well, everything, and thick glasses partially hidden by shaggy bangs.
Fujitaka’s pout turned into a frown, and the eyes with that hidden intelligence sharpened. Kyouya straightened, curious if the outcome to the argument would indeed affect his own business.
“Haruhi! How can you say such things to your father?! You’re the most inconsiderate daughter to plague your daddy! Don’t you ever think about my feelings, my …”
Kyouya’s world cracked and tilted, just a little bit. He didn’t hear another word coming from Fujitaka’s mouth, but turned instead his full attention to the sad excuse for a girl.
“Fujitaka Haruhi?” he asked, thinking to make her acquaintance, but gained instead a scowl.
“Fujioka Haruhi,” she corrected him, and a groan emerged from the other side of the table.
“And yes, this is Fujioka Ryoji, not whatever alias he’s going by today. Dad, I told you to retire. How come you never listen?” the groan dragged into a whimper.
Kyouya cleared his throat, his goal momentarily wavering in light of these revelations. He had assumed Fujitaka was a pseudonym, but hadn’t been able to find anything of his real life or identity before. To be handed such information on a platter, by the man’s previously unknown daughter…
Kyouya smiled widely, which would have been warning for anyone who knew him well.
“You are not going to take this job, Dad. I’m not paying for another hospital bill we can’t explain to the insurance company,” Haruhi was continuing, her father looking beaten.
“I didn’t mean for that last one to trouble you, Haruhi,” he tried, but gave up at her disbelieving snort.
“Excuse me,” Kyouya broke in, gray eyes smiling into dark brown ones. “If I could offer a suggestion? Fujioka-kun could probably handle this just as well as you could, Fujitaka-san.”
There was silence for a few tense moments, before Haruhi reached out and tore up the papers on the table.
“I don’t really care who you are, or which mob you’re working for, but -”
“Mafia, really,” Kyouya corrected politely.
“But, I am a lawyer. A law-abiding and law-enforcing lawyer.”
Kyouya merely looked at her. If the information was meant to impress, he was sufficiently impressed, at least at the fact that someone like Fujitaka could produce a straight-laced and stoic offspring like this one.
His silence seemed to annoy her, though, and she pushed her bangs to the side in irritation.
Another brow rose, this time in a surprise Kyouya couldn’t hide.
With those bangs out of the way, Fujioka Haruhi was attractive. And older than he had previously assumed, though ‘lawyer’ obviously indicated a certain amount of schooling.
“So, you can find your own way out,” she ended, and Kyouya noted that she had a good speaking voice, probably used to speaking in court for hours on end.
“I’ll come back with papers for you tomorrow,” he informed her, and gave a slight bow to Fujitaka, who was looking bemused. The eyes were still sharp, however, and Kyouya took sufficient note of the way he was considering him.
Fujioka Haruhi’s face looked both sour and resolute.
Before another speech on right and wrong and justice came spilling out, Kyouya slipped down the hallway and out the door.
This would be worth the extra day spent cajoling his father for a new contract, he thought, as a car with blackened windows picked him up.