[Log] Gin, Izuru
Title: Pool Hall Blues
Characters: Gin Ichimaru (lcpdragonslayer), Izuru Kira (melpomene)
Timeline: April 22, 1950
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Izuru turns up at an infamous pool hall unprepared and asking for a slow, painful death. Gin regrets saving him.
This was probably not a good idea. Izuru knew that. He also knew that he was out of other options. He'd already gone through every file the NYPD had on the 'accident,' read every newspaper clipping, even tried talking to the officers who had been on scene; nothing. That meant the only thing left to do was try and find the people who'd been there on the other side of the line. Izuru was very much aware that he wasn't trained for this type of operation, that he most likely should have asked around at the precinct at least, but it was also a simple truth that it was his job to do. He had to know. He had to find out. That was all there was too it.
So Izuru took a breath, adjusted his hat, adjusted his coat. His hair was in his face, the fall of it soft and heavy; it felt strange. Izuru kept it slicked back properly during the day, out of his eyes like a proper gentleman, only ever felt it like that damp from the shower or rolling out of bed. Not even the housekeeper had ever seen it unkempt and it felt odd to go out like that deliberately. Margaret had forever been on him to cut it, but he never had, and he was glad for it now. It wasn't much of a disguise, less than poor protection, but somehow it still made him feel a bit better. Enough to face the shabby storefront of ‘Genesis Poolhall and Spirits’, rumored mafia hideout, with less trepidation than he probably should have.
Two steps in, and Izuru knew he'd made a mistake. The cloud of smoke suffusing the space was the first and least gentle clue, invading his lungs, making his muscles and heart seize like an abused marionette; Izuru was only a social smoker, never took more than a polite puff or two in the necessary company. The next was the two men rounding the nearest table, heading straight for him with less-than-friendly faces. Oh, Izuru thought, looking at their clothing as he held his calm with a white knuckled grip. He'd worn the wrong suit.
"Never seen you here before," the taller one said, leaning against his cue stick with a casual sort of menace.
"Yeah," the other one agreed, peering at Izuru with a decidedly unsavory glint in his eye. "This here is a regulars only kind of joint."
This certainly wasn't going well. "Ah, I wasn't aware," Izuru replied. "I was just looking for... someone." It wasn't exactly a lie, he reasoned. He was looking for someone. He just wasn't sure who.
"We don't like nosy people," the taller one drawled, rocking back on his heels. The shorter one didn't say anything, just leaned forward until Izuru could smell the alcohol on his breath.
Oh, Izuru thought again. He braced himself. Somehow, he didn't think this would end well.
Balls of a myriad of colours dispersed from their triangular formation, rolling arbitrarily over the smooth, green, pool table surface. After bouncing off a few walls, the striped orange ball rolled into a hole. Walking around the table, the man took a second shot, dispersing the balls clustered together. He watched the game intently whilst rubbing the blue chalk cube around the end of his cue stick. It was a game of two against two, and they were trailing behind by one ball when it came around to his turn.
Giving the table a good look-over, he wandered around to the other corner. He assessed the strategy of play before bending down, readying his cue stick. He wasn’t an expert at pool, but at least he could make white ball hit the side of the solid green one and send it rolling straight to the side pocket. Reaching up with his free hand, he took a drag of his cigarette and circled around to the other side of the table, blowing smoke into the air before getting ready to take another shot, the small cigarette hanging from between his lips.
By the time he was done, the gasper had all but burnt down to almost half an inch and they were well in the lead with 3 solids left on the table. He wandered over to the little table and snuffed out the morsel of his cigarette. Reaching over for his small glass of whiskey, he picked it up and took a drink, glancing around the pool hall. There were dim lights hanging over each of the pool tables in use, and the place was covered in a thin fog of cigarette smoke.
Glancing around the room casually, he saw someone walking in and attracting some attention. Well, that was odd. For one - no one came around to these parts in that kind of suit. Even Gin had taken off his own suit jacket and tie, unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves. Usually, he would have just ignored it - it was normally just someone cruising for a bruising, or a poor, unfortunate soul happening to stumble across the joint.
But as it were, the whiskey was gone, and he needed another drink. The bar was just by the entrance, and it was just his luck that he got to investigate. Patting his teammate on the shoulder, he told the man to carry on without him while he got his drink. What was a short walk to the bar was complicated by people stopping him on the way, wanting to have small talk with him.
So when he finally got to the bar, he placed the empty glass on the counter and ordered up another whiskey. He looked over his shoulder - now he could see the stranger more clearly. He looked young, with blond hair obscuring parts of his face.
That lazy smile on Gin’s face spread into a wide grin. The blond was obviously trying to fit in, and in doing so stood out like a nail on a plank, waiting to be hammered in.
What a boob.
He ordered another whiskey. The blond was lucky that Gin was in a good mood tonight.
“Oi,” he called out, catching the attention of the people around him. The ones playing pool went back to their games. “Lay off ‘im.”
He walked past the two men and held out the other glass of whiskey to the out-of-place blond.
“He’s with me,” Gin added, smirking.
Izuru had firm hold of his composure by then, was preparing to try and talk the goons down when the newcomer interjected. He blinked when the two men turned and left without another word, didn't so much as look at him again. Right. He took a surreptitious glance at the new guy, all shadows and sharp angles. Hm. He wasn't sure if this was better or worse.
"Thank you," he said, not quite sure if he should try to look guileless or aloof. At least he wasn't choking on all the tobacco smoke anymore. It would take forever to get the smell out of his clothes.
He gave the blond a once-over, quirking one of his eyebrows. He was really beginning to wonder if the blond had tried to fit in at all, or if he just turned up and expected a warm welcome with hugs and kisses. If the blond knew anything about Genesis, he wouldn’t have turned up… looking like that.
“What planet do you come from, bo? Upper West Side’s that way,” he said, pointing. “Finish yer drink n’ get outta here. Yer just askin’ fer the Broderick, hangin’ ‘round these parts. This joint ain’t fer pretty lil’ groomed boys like ya.”
He took in a mouthful of his whiskey and turned away. Well, that was his act of kindness for the week - all sorted out. Time to head back for the pool table and finish up the game.
All right, Izuru thought. A few things before he tried this type of operation again. First of all, be better prepared. Do a little more research. Dress properly. Take a few self-defense classes. Pick up a piece. Probably lessons for that too. In short, be less of a sap. Too late for that now, though. He could be angry with himself later.
"Excuse me," he said to the leaving man, and winced to himself. Had to work on that too. Too many manners were only going to make him look like a daisy out here. He stole another look at his erstwhile rescuer. Shirtsleeves, he noted. Whoever he was, he seemed to have some kind of clout around here - enough to call off the dogs without getting questioned. He could know something.
"May I ask you a few questions?"
His foot hung in mid-air as the stranger said his polite little ‘excuse me’. Definitely some kind of rich, ignorant kid who knew dust about how things worked around here. Maybe he should have just left the stranger alone to get beaten up - his act of kindness seemed to be causing more trouble for him than it was assistance for the blond.
He looked up, over his shoulder at the inquisitive blond. He sneered, even though it was concealed by the shadows cast over his face. That perpetual smile on his face wavered for a split second before it returned back to normal.
“No. What do I look like? An information booth? Unless ya don’t feel like wakin’ up tomorrow, do yerself a favour n’ take yer skinny lil’ punk ass outta here.”
His jaw shifted a little, and he wandered back into the crowds of pool players as he drank another mouthful of whiskey. He arrived at his table in the corner - and just in time, seeing as his partner was on the verge of losing the game for him.
“I go fer five minutes n’ ya kill the game fer me,” he commented, sniffing as he set his glass of whiskey down on the small side table. His teammate only laughed at that.
“S’your turn, Gin.”
“Good, cuz’ ya can say goodbye to yer two Cs,” he said to the other team, smirking.
Izuru grit his teeth. Definitely not his night. But it was okay. In fact, it was fucking copacetic. Because he could do this. He could. He set his jaw and stepped forward, wading determinedly through the smoke and pool tables and shifty-eyed mugs to follow the pale-haired man. It might get him tossed out of this dive on his ear, but Izuru was going to get something out of this.
He stopped just short of the table, waiting politely for him to finish his turn or the game or whatever. One of his uncles - or cousins, actually, once removed, but Izuru never called them that - had tried to teach him once, coaxing that it was 'really just an angle game' and 'you like that math baloney,' but Izuru had been preparing for his final exams and less than interested. Probably should have taken him up on it, he thought sourly. At least he would have had some type of common ground here.
"Look," Izuru said, no longer trying to suppress his irritation. "You must think I'm a complete... nance, or something, but I would like to discuss something with you."
He took his winning shot, and that smile on his face widened into a big, fat grin as the white ball jumped over one of the striped ones, hit the black ball and sent it rolling straight into a hole. He outstretched his hand, gaining a high-five from his partner along with two one-hundred dollar bills. Pulling off such a comeback almost felt better than shooting up on dope. He shoved the crumpled bills into his pocket - the extra pocket money could come in handy in the next few days.
And his good mood would have continued if it weren’t for the materialisation of that palooka from before. He leaned back against the pool table, the cue stick resting on the floor, leaning against him as the man spoke. He was honestly not interested in anything the blond had to say - and after waving on his partner for continuing the game without him, he straightened up off the table and took a couple of steps towards the blond. He didn’t know how else to say it so that the blond would understand him - it wasn’t like he was using sophisticated language or anything - and so he decided he would try saying it to his face with a menacing grin.
“Look kid. What I think about ya’s irrelevant. I don’t know ya, n’ I don’t really care what-cher problem is. Ya look like yer gon’ suffocate in ‘ere, n’ I’m prolly the one person in this room ya don’t wanna be pissin’ off, so unless ya want some lead in yer fuckin’ noodle, sneak.”
“Savvy?”
"What exactly do you expect me to say to that?" Izuru's eyes rolled before he could catch himself, but his blood was up now, face and temper heating. He'd pay for it later, probably, might die for it from what this guy was saying, and he didn't doubt it, not really. Not from the way those goons had reacted earlier. The lot of them were staring at them now, hands twitching towards what were probably well-concealed weapons. Heeled, all of them. Izuru fought the urge to laugh.
"I'm completely aware you're the wisest head in the room," he said, reckless. "That is precisely why I'd like to talk to you." Completely disastrous questioning technique, most likely. Not enough speech modification, certainly. What a wonderful way to get himself bumped off: without even learning anything! But at least he was trying. It would make a fitting epitaph. 'Here lies Izuru Kira. He tried.'
He was aware the two of them were creating a scene now. No one took a liking to the blond who decided to show up randomly at, of all places, Genesis, and the whole lot here was quite happy to get the kid cut down and gain themselves some favour with the Concavos. Gin, however, would have plugged the blond himself if he wanted to, at any point, and the blond was lucky that everyone else in the room knew that well enough to not interfere.
“Flattery won’t getcha anywhere. Ya come in ‘ere, struttin’ yer stuff, actin’ like ya own the place n’ thinkin’ ya can just nosy around n’ walk away like nuffin’ happened. Sorry ta burst yer bubble, kid, but things don’t work that way ‘round ‘ere. This is my territory - get that in yer fuckin’ dense head.”
Gin was starting to get irritated with the blond. He really should have just left the kid alone with the two men and let them have a go at him. He found himself glaring at the pool table - and he knew that unless he shook the blond off, he wasn’t going to get any peace, and nothing was going to alleviate his mood.
And, of course, the blond was incredibly persistent. Anyone with two decent sized brain cells would have walked out happily without even thinking of looking back - but no, he just had to be hounded by some whiny little kid who probably wouldn’t leave until he finished ‘asking his questions’.
He turned back to look at the blond. Somehow he managed to find it within himself to keep that smile up.
“I don’t know anythin’ the likes of you don’t already know. I’m a nobody. Happy? Now take a powder.”
"Wasn't a compliment," Izuru muttered. "I don't exactly want to be here either," he pointed out, and god, he was never going to get the smell out of his hair, much less his clothes. They could go over his list of mistakes all night, Izuru already knew he would be doing that later, but he was fine doing it exactly that way: alone, and later. Not here, buried in thugs and smoke. He didn't need whoever this tough was to point out how incompetent Izuru could be.
But still, he needed to calm down a little. It was better not to let his temper push him irrevocably into something he would regret. Slow down, Izuru reminded himself. Took a breath, shallower than he would have liked, met the other man's eyes, clear and hard. His voice was steady the next time he spoke.
"I'll breeze off if you just answer one question for me."
One question? One question, and he'd be rid of the blond? He wasn’t so sure the blond would be satisfied with asking just one question - but the blond himself had said it, and he looked like someone who was decent and would keep his word. The stranger didn’t seem like bad company - Gin was just not interested in babysitting the blond.
“One question? S’all ya want?” he asked, re-affirming the statement. If the blond had said that sooner…
“Fine. Shoot. I’ll answer any question ya want ta the best ‘er my ability.”
Progress. Good. Izuru paused. One question. Better make it count.
"What do you know about the car accident that happened on the night of July 14, 1941?"
A car accident? The kid came here to ask trouble boys about... a car accident? Oh no - not just a car accident - but one that happened nine years ago. With half the people here drunk and the other half smoking more than just tobacco, what chances did the blond think he had getting any accurate information about it?
Maybe all the smoke in the area the blond was obviously not used to was getting to his head or something.
He quirked his eyebrow a little before his smile widened. He took his time to drink more whiskey, letting it roll around in his mouth before swallowing it.
“I may know a thing ‘er two. What’s so important about it?”
Izuru's eyes went flat. That... wasn't really an answer. But at least he was talking, right? Keep a lid on it. Don't think too much, not about that, don't remember - stop. Izuru took another breath, deep. Didn't choke. Didn't look away. Cleared his throat, softly.
"It just is," he said, tried to keep his tone pleasant. "Please elaborate."
‘It just is’ wasn’t exactly an appropriate answer to his not-yes-or-no question. He may have asked the blond a question, and in that sense it was not surprising to receive that kind of response, but he did only promise the blond an answer to one question. If his response could be considered an answer, that is.
“Was a long time ago. No one else ‘ere would remember a thing ‘bout it even if they knew what ‘appened. I don’t know why yer askin’ ‘bout it. Wasn’t anythin’ special. ‘Sides, I don’t owe you any answers.”
He tore his eyes away from the blond when his teammate patted him on the shoulder from behind.
“Gin - it’s your turn.”
He assessed the positions of the balls on the table before walking around to the other side, bending down to take his shot.
Izuru pressed his lips into a thin line, blinked slowly. He wanted to close his eyes, give himself a few moments to block out the things he didn't want to remember, ignore the way the scar tissue on his back felt like it was tightening. But, somehow, Izuru didn't think it was a good idea to close his eyes here. So he waited again, took the clacking of the colored balls on the table to cover his agitation, waited until it was someone else's turn again.
"Technically," he said, he said very quietly, "you owe me one." He paused for a moment. Obviously, he had to make a trade of some kind. Equally obvious, he didn't really have anything to offer. He couldn't make his status as an ADA known, and even if he could... Izuru wouldn't compromise his job, not even for this. His father would understand.
"I... will answer your question properly if you'll return the favor," Izuru finished finally. "But not here."
He wanted to laugh. Did the blond just say that Gin owed him one? Oh, that was amusing. Gin didn’t owe anyone anything, and that wasn’t about to change because some upset little kid came charging into his territory, attracting obviously unwanted attention, asking an absurd question that had no place here or, really, anywhere else.
Not here, huh. Must be some sort of personal conviction to get to the bottom of the accident.
“I don’t owe ya anythin’, n’ I ain’t leavin’ this place anytime soon. Ya can’t give me anythin’ that I can’t get myself, n’ I’m the one doin’ ya the favour here.” He ran his hand through his hair, brushing silver strands out of his face.
“Cinq,” he said. “Rich boy like you should know where that is.” He wandered over to the table, dragging his cue stick along with him and picked up his whiskey, draining his glass until there was nothing but ice left.
“I’m there after work sometimes. If ya can find me, come talk ta me. Maybe we can talk then.”
Not here meant not now, apparently. Izuru fought off a fresh wave of frustration. He could handle this, he was the supplicant in this situation; it would obviously not be on his terms. At least the other man seemed to have some inkling of what he was talking about. At least he was somewhat willing to talk. Baby steps. Very tiny, wobbly baby steps. Better than nothing. Much better.
Cinq. Cinq? It sounded familiar. He could ask someone, probably. An uncle, if nothing else. If he could find one of them. He looked at his not-really informant again, blue eyes pale and hooded in the dim light. Well. He would be easy enough to spot with that hair, at least. Still, he would rest easier if he had a name.
Izuru took a few steps forward, not quite into the man's personal space, but close. Considered offering a hand, thought better of it. "Izuru Kira," he said, voice low to keep from carrying. "Who should I ask for?"
No handshake? Good job on the boy - or Izuru’s - part. If he were the owner of the joint, he would probably have thrown Izuru out by now. Cinq was a good place to meet - he had a feeling that Izuru would feel a lot more comfortable there, and it was certainly a more conducive environment to talk in as opposed to a place like this.
“Assumin’ that’s synonymous wit’ ‘what’s yer name’, seein’ as ya really couldn’t miss me if I was in Cinq, ya can ask fer Gin Ichimaru.”
And he hoped Izuru had enough sense not to throw his name around. It would probably stir up a lot of trouble - on Izuru’s part - if he were careless.
“Don’t try any ‘er yer stupid stunts. If ya haven’t been there b’fore, turn up dressed formal n’ lookin’ filthy rich - y’know, the stuff yer used to. They wouldn’t let ya in otherwise.”
He didn’t need to be told it was his turn again - he had been watching the game. He managed to sink two balls before leaving the white one behind the eight ball, as it were, in a literal sense.
“See ya there, Izuru,” he said offhandedly, grinning as he straightened, taking a couple of steps away from the table.
Don't say it that way, Izuru wanted to protest, but he just tilted his head instead. It was obviously a dismissal, but damned if he was going to jump at this cat's say-so. Gin Ichimaru. Now that really sounded familiar. Izuru was going to have to go and dig through mafia-related files when he got to work tomorrow.
"Yes," he said.
Izuru considered adding 'thank you' or 'good night' for a few more moments before concluding that it would be neither appreciated or appropriate. Then he shrugged and turned on his heel, weaving a brisk path back through the tables, vaguely relieved at the prospect of getting away from all the curious eyes. He paused once at the door but didn't look back before setting out into the night.
As irritating as Izuru had been for the past little while, Gin couldn’t help but pause before taking his shot and he casted a gaze over his shoulder at the retreating figure of the blond making his way back out. His gaze lingered until Izuru’s figure disappeared before he turned back and re-judged the angle of his stick, the white ball and the striped green one.
Giving it a gentle push, the white ball rolled just short of following the striped green one into the corner pocket.
“You know what he’s talking about, Gin?”
That lazy smile on his face widened and he stood by the corner pocket, twirling the cue stick in his hand idly, assessing his options.
“Nope. Not a clue. I was just messin’ wit’ him... he seems kinda cute tho’.” He bent over and took his shot, his smile wavering for just a split second when he had taken the shot too hard and the ball bounced off the walls.
If Izuru really sought after Gin at Cinq - and there was a high possibility of that happening, with the blond’s kind of determination - maybe they could play Gin’s little game a little longer. If nothing, it would provide at least a night’s worth of entertainment.
Sooner or later, Gin would get tired of playing with his new toy anyway. He might as well make the most of it while he was still having a good time.
Characters: Gin Ichimaru (lcpdragonslayer), Izuru Kira (melpomene)
Timeline: April 22, 1950
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Izuru turns up at an infamous pool hall unprepared and asking for a slow, painful death. Gin regrets saving him.
This was probably not a good idea. Izuru knew that. He also knew that he was out of other options. He'd already gone through every file the NYPD had on the 'accident,' read every newspaper clipping, even tried talking to the officers who had been on scene; nothing. That meant the only thing left to do was try and find the people who'd been there on the other side of the line. Izuru was very much aware that he wasn't trained for this type of operation, that he most likely should have asked around at the precinct at least, but it was also a simple truth that it was his job to do. He had to know. He had to find out. That was all there was too it.
So Izuru took a breath, adjusted his hat, adjusted his coat. His hair was in his face, the fall of it soft and heavy; it felt strange. Izuru kept it slicked back properly during the day, out of his eyes like a proper gentleman, only ever felt it like that damp from the shower or rolling out of bed. Not even the housekeeper had ever seen it unkempt and it felt odd to go out like that deliberately. Margaret had forever been on him to cut it, but he never had, and he was glad for it now. It wasn't much of a disguise, less than poor protection, but somehow it still made him feel a bit better. Enough to face the shabby storefront of ‘Genesis Poolhall and Spirits’, rumored mafia hideout, with less trepidation than he probably should have.
Two steps in, and Izuru knew he'd made a mistake. The cloud of smoke suffusing the space was the first and least gentle clue, invading his lungs, making his muscles and heart seize like an abused marionette; Izuru was only a social smoker, never took more than a polite puff or two in the necessary company. The next was the two men rounding the nearest table, heading straight for him with less-than-friendly faces. Oh, Izuru thought, looking at their clothing as he held his calm with a white knuckled grip. He'd worn the wrong suit.
"Never seen you here before," the taller one said, leaning against his cue stick with a casual sort of menace.
"Yeah," the other one agreed, peering at Izuru with a decidedly unsavory glint in his eye. "This here is a regulars only kind of joint."
This certainly wasn't going well. "Ah, I wasn't aware," Izuru replied. "I was just looking for... someone." It wasn't exactly a lie, he reasoned. He was looking for someone. He just wasn't sure who.
"We don't like nosy people," the taller one drawled, rocking back on his heels. The shorter one didn't say anything, just leaned forward until Izuru could smell the alcohol on his breath.
Oh, Izuru thought again. He braced himself. Somehow, he didn't think this would end well.
Balls of a myriad of colours dispersed from their triangular formation, rolling arbitrarily over the smooth, green, pool table surface. After bouncing off a few walls, the striped orange ball rolled into a hole. Walking around the table, the man took a second shot, dispersing the balls clustered together. He watched the game intently whilst rubbing the blue chalk cube around the end of his cue stick. It was a game of two against two, and they were trailing behind by one ball when it came around to his turn.
Giving the table a good look-over, he wandered around to the other corner. He assessed the strategy of play before bending down, readying his cue stick. He wasn’t an expert at pool, but at least he could make white ball hit the side of the solid green one and send it rolling straight to the side pocket. Reaching up with his free hand, he took a drag of his cigarette and circled around to the other side of the table, blowing smoke into the air before getting ready to take another shot, the small cigarette hanging from between his lips.
By the time he was done, the gasper had all but burnt down to almost half an inch and they were well in the lead with 3 solids left on the table. He wandered over to the little table and snuffed out the morsel of his cigarette. Reaching over for his small glass of whiskey, he picked it up and took a drink, glancing around the pool hall. There were dim lights hanging over each of the pool tables in use, and the place was covered in a thin fog of cigarette smoke.
Glancing around the room casually, he saw someone walking in and attracting some attention. Well, that was odd. For one - no one came around to these parts in that kind of suit. Even Gin had taken off his own suit jacket and tie, unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves. Usually, he would have just ignored it - it was normally just someone cruising for a bruising, or a poor, unfortunate soul happening to stumble across the joint.
But as it were, the whiskey was gone, and he needed another drink. The bar was just by the entrance, and it was just his luck that he got to investigate. Patting his teammate on the shoulder, he told the man to carry on without him while he got his drink. What was a short walk to the bar was complicated by people stopping him on the way, wanting to have small talk with him.
So when he finally got to the bar, he placed the empty glass on the counter and ordered up another whiskey. He looked over his shoulder - now he could see the stranger more clearly. He looked young, with blond hair obscuring parts of his face.
That lazy smile on Gin’s face spread into a wide grin. The blond was obviously trying to fit in, and in doing so stood out like a nail on a plank, waiting to be hammered in.
What a boob.
He ordered another whiskey. The blond was lucky that Gin was in a good mood tonight.
“Oi,” he called out, catching the attention of the people around him. The ones playing pool went back to their games. “Lay off ‘im.”
He walked past the two men and held out the other glass of whiskey to the out-of-place blond.
“He’s with me,” Gin added, smirking.
Izuru had firm hold of his composure by then, was preparing to try and talk the goons down when the newcomer interjected. He blinked when the two men turned and left without another word, didn't so much as look at him again. Right. He took a surreptitious glance at the new guy, all shadows and sharp angles. Hm. He wasn't sure if this was better or worse.
"Thank you," he said, not quite sure if he should try to look guileless or aloof. At least he wasn't choking on all the tobacco smoke anymore. It would take forever to get the smell out of his clothes.
He gave the blond a once-over, quirking one of his eyebrows. He was really beginning to wonder if the blond had tried to fit in at all, or if he just turned up and expected a warm welcome with hugs and kisses. If the blond knew anything about Genesis, he wouldn’t have turned up… looking like that.
“What planet do you come from, bo? Upper West Side’s that way,” he said, pointing. “Finish yer drink n’ get outta here. Yer just askin’ fer the Broderick, hangin’ ‘round these parts. This joint ain’t fer pretty lil’ groomed boys like ya.”
He took in a mouthful of his whiskey and turned away. Well, that was his act of kindness for the week - all sorted out. Time to head back for the pool table and finish up the game.
All right, Izuru thought. A few things before he tried this type of operation again. First of all, be better prepared. Do a little more research. Dress properly. Take a few self-defense classes. Pick up a piece. Probably lessons for that too. In short, be less of a sap. Too late for that now, though. He could be angry with himself later.
"Excuse me," he said to the leaving man, and winced to himself. Had to work on that too. Too many manners were only going to make him look like a daisy out here. He stole another look at his erstwhile rescuer. Shirtsleeves, he noted. Whoever he was, he seemed to have some kind of clout around here - enough to call off the dogs without getting questioned. He could know something.
"May I ask you a few questions?"
His foot hung in mid-air as the stranger said his polite little ‘excuse me’. Definitely some kind of rich, ignorant kid who knew dust about how things worked around here. Maybe he should have just left the stranger alone to get beaten up - his act of kindness seemed to be causing more trouble for him than it was assistance for the blond.
He looked up, over his shoulder at the inquisitive blond. He sneered, even though it was concealed by the shadows cast over his face. That perpetual smile on his face wavered for a split second before it returned back to normal.
“No. What do I look like? An information booth? Unless ya don’t feel like wakin’ up tomorrow, do yerself a favour n’ take yer skinny lil’ punk ass outta here.”
His jaw shifted a little, and he wandered back into the crowds of pool players as he drank another mouthful of whiskey. He arrived at his table in the corner - and just in time, seeing as his partner was on the verge of losing the game for him.
“I go fer five minutes n’ ya kill the game fer me,” he commented, sniffing as he set his glass of whiskey down on the small side table. His teammate only laughed at that.
“S’your turn, Gin.”
“Good, cuz’ ya can say goodbye to yer two Cs,” he said to the other team, smirking.
Izuru grit his teeth. Definitely not his night. But it was okay. In fact, it was fucking copacetic. Because he could do this. He could. He set his jaw and stepped forward, wading determinedly through the smoke and pool tables and shifty-eyed mugs to follow the pale-haired man. It might get him tossed out of this dive on his ear, but Izuru was going to get something out of this.
He stopped just short of the table, waiting politely for him to finish his turn or the game or whatever. One of his uncles - or cousins, actually, once removed, but Izuru never called them that - had tried to teach him once, coaxing that it was 'really just an angle game' and 'you like that math baloney,' but Izuru had been preparing for his final exams and less than interested. Probably should have taken him up on it, he thought sourly. At least he would have had some type of common ground here.
"Look," Izuru said, no longer trying to suppress his irritation. "You must think I'm a complete... nance, or something, but I would like to discuss something with you."
He took his winning shot, and that smile on his face widened into a big, fat grin as the white ball jumped over one of the striped ones, hit the black ball and sent it rolling straight into a hole. He outstretched his hand, gaining a high-five from his partner along with two one-hundred dollar bills. Pulling off such a comeback almost felt better than shooting up on dope. He shoved the crumpled bills into his pocket - the extra pocket money could come in handy in the next few days.
And his good mood would have continued if it weren’t for the materialisation of that palooka from before. He leaned back against the pool table, the cue stick resting on the floor, leaning against him as the man spoke. He was honestly not interested in anything the blond had to say - and after waving on his partner for continuing the game without him, he straightened up off the table and took a couple of steps towards the blond. He didn’t know how else to say it so that the blond would understand him - it wasn’t like he was using sophisticated language or anything - and so he decided he would try saying it to his face with a menacing grin.
“Look kid. What I think about ya’s irrelevant. I don’t know ya, n’ I don’t really care what-cher problem is. Ya look like yer gon’ suffocate in ‘ere, n’ I’m prolly the one person in this room ya don’t wanna be pissin’ off, so unless ya want some lead in yer fuckin’ noodle, sneak.”
“Savvy?”
"What exactly do you expect me to say to that?" Izuru's eyes rolled before he could catch himself, but his blood was up now, face and temper heating. He'd pay for it later, probably, might die for it from what this guy was saying, and he didn't doubt it, not really. Not from the way those goons had reacted earlier. The lot of them were staring at them now, hands twitching towards what were probably well-concealed weapons. Heeled, all of them. Izuru fought the urge to laugh.
"I'm completely aware you're the wisest head in the room," he said, reckless. "That is precisely why I'd like to talk to you." Completely disastrous questioning technique, most likely. Not enough speech modification, certainly. What a wonderful way to get himself bumped off: without even learning anything! But at least he was trying. It would make a fitting epitaph. 'Here lies Izuru Kira. He tried.'
He was aware the two of them were creating a scene now. No one took a liking to the blond who decided to show up randomly at, of all places, Genesis, and the whole lot here was quite happy to get the kid cut down and gain themselves some favour with the Concavos. Gin, however, would have plugged the blond himself if he wanted to, at any point, and the blond was lucky that everyone else in the room knew that well enough to not interfere.
“Flattery won’t getcha anywhere. Ya come in ‘ere, struttin’ yer stuff, actin’ like ya own the place n’ thinkin’ ya can just nosy around n’ walk away like nuffin’ happened. Sorry ta burst yer bubble, kid, but things don’t work that way ‘round ‘ere. This is my territory - get that in yer fuckin’ dense head.”
Gin was starting to get irritated with the blond. He really should have just left the kid alone with the two men and let them have a go at him. He found himself glaring at the pool table - and he knew that unless he shook the blond off, he wasn’t going to get any peace, and nothing was going to alleviate his mood.
And, of course, the blond was incredibly persistent. Anyone with two decent sized brain cells would have walked out happily without even thinking of looking back - but no, he just had to be hounded by some whiny little kid who probably wouldn’t leave until he finished ‘asking his questions’.
He turned back to look at the blond. Somehow he managed to find it within himself to keep that smile up.
“I don’t know anythin’ the likes of you don’t already know. I’m a nobody. Happy? Now take a powder.”
"Wasn't a compliment," Izuru muttered. "I don't exactly want to be here either," he pointed out, and god, he was never going to get the smell out of his hair, much less his clothes. They could go over his list of mistakes all night, Izuru already knew he would be doing that later, but he was fine doing it exactly that way: alone, and later. Not here, buried in thugs and smoke. He didn't need whoever this tough was to point out how incompetent Izuru could be.
But still, he needed to calm down a little. It was better not to let his temper push him irrevocably into something he would regret. Slow down, Izuru reminded himself. Took a breath, shallower than he would have liked, met the other man's eyes, clear and hard. His voice was steady the next time he spoke.
"I'll breeze off if you just answer one question for me."
One question? One question, and he'd be rid of the blond? He wasn’t so sure the blond would be satisfied with asking just one question - but the blond himself had said it, and he looked like someone who was decent and would keep his word. The stranger didn’t seem like bad company - Gin was just not interested in babysitting the blond.
“One question? S’all ya want?” he asked, re-affirming the statement. If the blond had said that sooner…
“Fine. Shoot. I’ll answer any question ya want ta the best ‘er my ability.”
Progress. Good. Izuru paused. One question. Better make it count.
"What do you know about the car accident that happened on the night of July 14, 1941?"
A car accident? The kid came here to ask trouble boys about... a car accident? Oh no - not just a car accident - but one that happened nine years ago. With half the people here drunk and the other half smoking more than just tobacco, what chances did the blond think he had getting any accurate information about it?
Maybe all the smoke in the area the blond was obviously not used to was getting to his head or something.
He quirked his eyebrow a little before his smile widened. He took his time to drink more whiskey, letting it roll around in his mouth before swallowing it.
“I may know a thing ‘er two. What’s so important about it?”
Izuru's eyes went flat. That... wasn't really an answer. But at least he was talking, right? Keep a lid on it. Don't think too much, not about that, don't remember - stop. Izuru took another breath, deep. Didn't choke. Didn't look away. Cleared his throat, softly.
"It just is," he said, tried to keep his tone pleasant. "Please elaborate."
‘It just is’ wasn’t exactly an appropriate answer to his not-yes-or-no question. He may have asked the blond a question, and in that sense it was not surprising to receive that kind of response, but he did only promise the blond an answer to one question. If his response could be considered an answer, that is.
“Was a long time ago. No one else ‘ere would remember a thing ‘bout it even if they knew what ‘appened. I don’t know why yer askin’ ‘bout it. Wasn’t anythin’ special. ‘Sides, I don’t owe you any answers.”
He tore his eyes away from the blond when his teammate patted him on the shoulder from behind.
“Gin - it’s your turn.”
He assessed the positions of the balls on the table before walking around to the other side, bending down to take his shot.
Izuru pressed his lips into a thin line, blinked slowly. He wanted to close his eyes, give himself a few moments to block out the things he didn't want to remember, ignore the way the scar tissue on his back felt like it was tightening. But, somehow, Izuru didn't think it was a good idea to close his eyes here. So he waited again, took the clacking of the colored balls on the table to cover his agitation, waited until it was someone else's turn again.
"Technically," he said, he said very quietly, "you owe me one." He paused for a moment. Obviously, he had to make a trade of some kind. Equally obvious, he didn't really have anything to offer. He couldn't make his status as an ADA known, and even if he could... Izuru wouldn't compromise his job, not even for this. His father would understand.
"I... will answer your question properly if you'll return the favor," Izuru finished finally. "But not here."
He wanted to laugh. Did the blond just say that Gin owed him one? Oh, that was amusing. Gin didn’t owe anyone anything, and that wasn’t about to change because some upset little kid came charging into his territory, attracting obviously unwanted attention, asking an absurd question that had no place here or, really, anywhere else.
Not here, huh. Must be some sort of personal conviction to get to the bottom of the accident.
“I don’t owe ya anythin’, n’ I ain’t leavin’ this place anytime soon. Ya can’t give me anythin’ that I can’t get myself, n’ I’m the one doin’ ya the favour here.” He ran his hand through his hair, brushing silver strands out of his face.
“Cinq,” he said. “Rich boy like you should know where that is.” He wandered over to the table, dragging his cue stick along with him and picked up his whiskey, draining his glass until there was nothing but ice left.
“I’m there after work sometimes. If ya can find me, come talk ta me. Maybe we can talk then.”
Not here meant not now, apparently. Izuru fought off a fresh wave of frustration. He could handle this, he was the supplicant in this situation; it would obviously not be on his terms. At least the other man seemed to have some inkling of what he was talking about. At least he was somewhat willing to talk. Baby steps. Very tiny, wobbly baby steps. Better than nothing. Much better.
Cinq. Cinq? It sounded familiar. He could ask someone, probably. An uncle, if nothing else. If he could find one of them. He looked at his not-really informant again, blue eyes pale and hooded in the dim light. Well. He would be easy enough to spot with that hair, at least. Still, he would rest easier if he had a name.
Izuru took a few steps forward, not quite into the man's personal space, but close. Considered offering a hand, thought better of it. "Izuru Kira," he said, voice low to keep from carrying. "Who should I ask for?"
No handshake? Good job on the boy - or Izuru’s - part. If he were the owner of the joint, he would probably have thrown Izuru out by now. Cinq was a good place to meet - he had a feeling that Izuru would feel a lot more comfortable there, and it was certainly a more conducive environment to talk in as opposed to a place like this.
“Assumin’ that’s synonymous wit’ ‘what’s yer name’, seein’ as ya really couldn’t miss me if I was in Cinq, ya can ask fer Gin Ichimaru.”
And he hoped Izuru had enough sense not to throw his name around. It would probably stir up a lot of trouble - on Izuru’s part - if he were careless.
“Don’t try any ‘er yer stupid stunts. If ya haven’t been there b’fore, turn up dressed formal n’ lookin’ filthy rich - y’know, the stuff yer used to. They wouldn’t let ya in otherwise.”
He didn’t need to be told it was his turn again - he had been watching the game. He managed to sink two balls before leaving the white one behind the eight ball, as it were, in a literal sense.
“See ya there, Izuru,” he said offhandedly, grinning as he straightened, taking a couple of steps away from the table.
Don't say it that way, Izuru wanted to protest, but he just tilted his head instead. It was obviously a dismissal, but damned if he was going to jump at this cat's say-so. Gin Ichimaru. Now that really sounded familiar. Izuru was going to have to go and dig through mafia-related files when he got to work tomorrow.
"Yes," he said.
Izuru considered adding 'thank you' or 'good night' for a few more moments before concluding that it would be neither appreciated or appropriate. Then he shrugged and turned on his heel, weaving a brisk path back through the tables, vaguely relieved at the prospect of getting away from all the curious eyes. He paused once at the door but didn't look back before setting out into the night.
As irritating as Izuru had been for the past little while, Gin couldn’t help but pause before taking his shot and he casted a gaze over his shoulder at the retreating figure of the blond making his way back out. His gaze lingered until Izuru’s figure disappeared before he turned back and re-judged the angle of his stick, the white ball and the striped green one.
Giving it a gentle push, the white ball rolled just short of following the striped green one into the corner pocket.
“You know what he’s talking about, Gin?”
That lazy smile on his face widened and he stood by the corner pocket, twirling the cue stick in his hand idly, assessing his options.
“Nope. Not a clue. I was just messin’ wit’ him... he seems kinda cute tho’.” He bent over and took his shot, his smile wavering for just a split second when he had taken the shot too hard and the ball bounced off the walls.
If Izuru really sought after Gin at Cinq - and there was a high possibility of that happening, with the blond’s kind of determination - maybe they could play Gin’s little game a little longer. If nothing, it would provide at least a night’s worth of entertainment.
Sooner or later, Gin would get tired of playing with his new toy anyway. He might as well make the most of it while he was still having a good time.