tampered | Log; ongoing

Log; ongoing

When; This evening, at around 8 p.m.
Rating; R
Characters; Takasugi Shinsuke (

oneeyedbeast) Sakamoto Tatsuma (

canicrynow)
Summary; Sakamoto is cranky. Sakamoto asks Takasugi out for drinkies.
Log;

It might have been that Sakamoto wasn't as familiar with Takasugi as either Gintoki or Zura were that made he think so easily that it might be, in any way, a good idea to go drinking with the other man. But he didn't like the feeling of being so alone in the city. Under normal circumstances, he preferred to be solo, but he'd been surrounded by people from the moment he arrived in the city. It was uncomfortable to suddenly realize that ticking noise was still around...

Drinking with Takasugi, at least, would make it go away.

So he made sure he at least tried not to make the man cranky, found the yukata he'd bought in wait of the new year in the back of the closet, took his glasses off and tried to do something with his damn hair. In the end, he wasn't sure if it would just piss the other man off more or not, but at least he'd tried.

'I tried' was usually good enough for him.

It was cold outside in just the robe, but he was at the agreed-upon bar soon enough, early to the point that it was obvious he was usually late, waiting outside of it and counting the bills he'd brought along as he waited for the other man to arrive.

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The invitation was rather unusual, especially from someone he'd nearly killed a few days earlier, but Takasugi did occasionally allow his curiosity to skew his judgment. He didn't quite hold the same grudge after his sword had tasted some of the man's blood, and the memory of the normally idiotic face screwed up in pain and confusion was still fresh in his mind, slaking his bloodthirstiness for now.

The pipe was in his mouth, the smoke wafting outwards to announce his presence before he even arrived at Sakamoto's side, a bamboo hat strapped to his head to hide his face –not that it was necessary in a world oblivious to his notoriety, but he preferred to be cautious.

"Sakamoto," he said by way of greeting, tipping his hat up a bit to look the other man in the face.

He smelled the other man coming before he actually got there, thin, dissipating trails of blue smoke traveling on the wind. Things always did smell sharper in cold whether. He shivered and wrapped his arms around his chest, tucking them into the ends of his sleeves. This might have been a bad idea after all. Takasugi made him feel naked in general. The lack of his sunglasses as a security blanket was making it worse.

He stared beneath the hat at Takasugi, trying to look nonchalant and like he really wasn't staring. He rarely got a chance to examine the man well. They spent as little time as possible together when they were younger. He only saw him now when his life was on the line. Except for tonight.

He supposed they were both gentleman, at least according to stuffy old classes, so it shouldn't have come to a surprise that Takasugi was capable of a cease fire if he was asked honestly for one. He truthfully wasn't wearing a sword, Sakamoto noticed.

"Takasugi, it's nice that you actually came...I suppose. Can we go in?"

Takasugi also examined the other man as well, taking in the ridiculously flamboyant yukata as well as the hair that wasn't in its usual mess. Even the glasses were absent, giving away to the blue eyes that he'd honestly hadn't noticed much before. There was a different mood the man carried heavily, one plainly obvious in his serious expression that added to Takasugi's initial pondering as to why he, of all people, had been invited for a drink with Sakamoto.

"Very well," he answered, removing the hat and heading inside, first.

The place Sakamoto had chosen was quiet, considering it was a Saturday evening, but it was better that way. The tension was lessened without people around to watch them converse, and Takasugi wasn't ever fond of crowds, anyway.

He'd expected to get more looks, dressed the way they were, but this place was like some kind of port, or the Terminal or something. Only newer arrivals looked up at them, newer arrivals like Sakamoto himself. They'd found a quiet edge of the bar far away from the jukebox and the tables where people were getting light dinners.

It was only until they were a fair ways into the first bottle of a decent but very obviously from-a-different-Japan-than-Japan sort of wine that Sakamoto finally decided he was drunk enough to get down to business. Business was something he preferred to do drunk, after all. He rested the palm of his hand over his nose, moving to push up glasses that weren't there.

"I'm starting to think I really, really hate this place. Even worse than home. I can barely say this with a smile anymore."

The tone of his voice suggested that the last part may have been the worst point of all.

A place worse than home? Takasugi was starting to agree, though that may have been the wine taking its effect on his system, considering who it was he was agreeing with. Being small in stature made it easier to become inebriated, though the words from Sakamoto's mouth filtered in more vividly this way –made a distinct impression that begged to be carefully picked apart in his mind and mulled over.

A small, half-smile made its way to Takasugi's lips as he refilled his pipe, alternating between taking drags of opium and sipping at the alcohol. It aided him in relaxing, the tension easing out of his body as he leaned heavily against the table.

"So rare for us to come to a mutual agreement, but what is it exactly that has changed your views so much?"

The hand slid away from his face and went for the bottle on the table, refilling Takasugi's cup before his own. He'd been doing it all night, out of habit. He wondered why slightly, why he was going out of his way to make the other man feel happy or comfortable or whatever it was he was trying to do-- Sakamoto was unsure himself. The heavy glass bottle sat back on the bar with a tap and he waved the smoke out of his face as he drained his cup.

The barely formed smile he saw from the corner of his eyes caught his attention.

"I've got nothing to do here. I feel useless. It seems like either everything's taken care of, or everyone's too busy worrying about something else to worry about...well, whatever."

He bit his tongue before he got too far, because 'Gintoki makes it worse' was the last thing he wanted to admit to a man like Takasugi, who played with emotions like those like he was playing a game of shogi.

Another sip found its way to Takasugi's mouth before he could formulate a popular response. He supposed men like Sakamoto who had long ago put down their swords, couldn't quite cope in this world where commerce was rather obsolete and survival depended on mental fortitude to handle the continuous curses imposed on them.

Unlike Sakamoto, Takasugi was always planning one thing or another, his mind too active to remain dormant. He liked to grasp things and mold them to his own vision, and the more and more this place began to resemble Edo, the busier his hands became, finding every hole he could to dig a niche into society where he could ignite a city-wide fire from.

"You are only as useless as you choose to be. Though… I suppose a man of your intelligence doesn't have many options before him." He hid his smile behind the glass as he stole a longer sip. "If you want something to do then create an opportunity for yourself."

Takasugi was taking his time with the stuff now-- Sakamoto was less inclined. He never really had been someone who drank for pleasure. He knew there were two types and one was the more destructive, but it didn't stop him from drinking to get drunk. If he wanted to quench his thirst, that's what water was for.

He poured more for only himself and he threw it down in one go, setting his cup down and staring beside himself at Takasugi, bottom half of the man's face hidden behind his hand as he held his cup against his lips. He ought to say something about the man calling him stupid. He ought to.

"You say that like I'm not trying--"

"You're not," Takasugi responded abruptly, emptying his glass before refilling it.

He wasn't the type to indulge in alcohol for the very reason that it made him remember things. It made him recall a past he covered up with aggression and idealism. Even worse was the fact that present company dragged him to a better time when they were still teenagers without knowledge of what they had been getting into. They'd merely fought everyday to survive, and Takasugi couldn't ever say he truly lived and breathed his teacher's ideals until the older man had passed away.

"You behave like you've been beaten …domesticated by disgusting foreigners. You're the kind of person I hope to never become." He paused again to let out a deep drag from his pipe before refilling his bottle to the brim. "You've even come to rely on them for business and profit. Where does that leave you here where nobody desires that which you have to offer."

Edited 2008-01-20 08:54 (UTC)

"I'm not some dog, Takasugi."

He kept wondering when might be a good time to push his luck; when he would get drunk enough to have the balls and when Takasugi would get drunk enough not to remember until weeks later. He kept wondering and going back for more, sometimes stopping to think if he shouldn't slow down, let the other man drink more and faster.

Would it be safer that way? What a horrible thing to have to think about another person.

"I suppose I could just get some job or something, but that wouldn't be satisfying. I could...deliver mail or something, create a courier service, but I know that doesn't satisfy me and I doubt I could last very long in a place like this. Adapting is one thing-- this place has nothing stable long enough to adapt people to it. And if I'm not away, I'm stuck home with..."

"War," Takasugi murmured, refilling his glass again after he'd finished another serving. It seemed like he was doing this all too quickly, hardly keeping track of how many he'd been downing.

It wasn't like him to have control falter outside of the battlefield and away from his sword. Perhaps it was something about the situation, the way it dredged up more of their history, the pages of his story bared out before him. It was also becoming more and more difficult to focus, the edges of everything around him shifting slightly, his state of mind definitely not assisted by the constant fumes he inhaled into his system.

"War," he repeated, deciding to finish his thought, "is the only constant. Think about it… it creates opportunities. Not just for warriors to prove themselves and for ideas to come into fruition… once the world is purged of everything, there will be a new foundation. But I suppose it's hard to reclaim what used to be…our old samurai country."

He didn't understand what Takasugi was going on about, his own lips forming the syllables against the rim of his cup as Takasugi spoke the word twice in a row, parroting it back as he simply listened. Takasugi's voice was deep, low. It would blend into the background noise of talking if Sakamoto didn't pluck it out. He set his cup down, filled it again. How many was that? They were on their second bottle. If it was Gintoki, it would have been more.

Well, he didn't want to think about stupid Gintoki.

"For just a moment," he said, hand waving away the smoke again. It was burning his nostrils and had a perfumed scent to it. "For just a moment when...that happened, I thought I could do something worthwhile here. But you can't do something like that, Takasugi, whatever it is you're planning. People would get hurt. And what the hell are you smoking?"

His lungs devoured another deep drag, Takasugi's one visible eye growing heavy and half-lidded as he released a breath soon after, letting it cloud around Sakamoto's face. It was enough to start to dull the colors of Sakamoto's yukata and stifle the sounds of bustling around them until all he could concentrate was the shift of blue in Sakamoto's eyes, following them intently.

"A special blend. Though not as good as what I could acquire in Edo."

Setting the pipe down on the table, he filled his glass again and took a larger sip, wondering if the other man was ever going to reveal his true intent. He'd been waiting for it almost too impatiently, but he doubted this meeting had little to do with Takasugi's ideas on the current state of affairs. He'd already made them publicly known for months now.

"What's your true purpose for meeting with me? To debate? Certainly not to reminisce…"

He stared at the pipe for a few moments, fingers splaying outward in the air before his hand curled back up and rested on the bar, curled between his chest and the edge of the metal. He never had gotten to try that sort of thing, perhaps because it'd never seemed quite so intriguing when strangers did it-- smoking. It wasn't his style.

And Takasugi was asking him something a bit more serious, or maybe to be a bit more serious. Sakamoto's face fell.

"Do you think you could leave me alone, so he'd stop worrying about me and go do...something better for him? I'm not asking you to leave him alone since what he did with yo-- since he seems like he might want to settle his differences with you in some twisted way. But just leave me alone for a while so he stops feeling this way. If you scratch my back, well..."

He was an idiot, he really was much of the time. But he was very capable of finding resources if he needed to, even the kind that men like Takasugi would need.

Takasugi's fingers tightened around the glass he was holding, staring at Sakamoto for a moment. Did he want him to leave them alone that badly? That he would beg over drinks? The thought of cutting all those final ties… it had been what he'd wanted, hadn't it? Of course, he'd envisioned doing so by killing them both, but the city wouldn't allow that quite yet it seemed.

For a moment, his eye fell close, and he simply threw back all the contents that was in his glass, trying not to think of the long history he'd shared with Gintoki. It had grown easier over the years to forget that past, but being in the city and constantly faced with his old friend, a lot of buried thoughts were resurfacing. Every time he saw that person, it was always the last visceral reminder of Shoyou-sensei.

"Very well," he said simply, his eye sliding back open to stare at him, his expression reflecting nothing.

Sakamoto stared back for a while, until the way the other man's face only returned the look with one good eye became a bit too unsettling, especially because it wasn't the face he was expecting to see. He had only just met the man again in this city-- the last time they'd spent any significant amount of time together, that face had been complete. Undamaged.

And it really had been a very perfect face. Very fine-featured. Very dark-haired. No bandages that seemed like a metaphor.

He tossed his cup aside and went straight for the heavy bottle, taking a heavy drink before setting it down and wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand.

"You're going to want something in return, no doubt. But don't tell Gintoki about any of this. He kept things from me, so it's fair trade."

His head nodded absently, though the request was barely being interpreted. Very little reached Takasugi's mind after he'd realized he really would have to let it go, remove the Shiroyasha from himself. That mad had long ago died along with Shoyou-sensei… along with the war.

He grabbed the bottle off the table –the same one Sakamoto had set down just then- and stole a bold sip from it, a few drops dribbling from the corners which he laved with his tongue before wiping it off on his own arm. It was definitely an unusual state for him to be him, his head feeling just as heavy as the weight in his stomach, and he rested his face on his palm, starting to mirror Sakamoto's actions.

"What are you going to offer then …in exchange?"

"Don't drink it so fast," Sakamoto said, voice only just chiding. It was still Takasugi, after all. He'd been deathly serious about certain things for as long as Sakamoto had been acquainted with him. Still, he didn't want to see one of the only people from his homeland end up dead in a ditch in the morning.

It didn't seem the right way for a man like that to go.

He hooked the wooden cleats on his shoes on the barstool he was sitting in, hauling himself up to take the bottle again. It wobbled before he gripped it, spilling some of the liquid on the sleeve of his yukata, where it turned the fabric dark.

"Damn-- ah, anything you need that I can give you, but I won't get anybody killed by my own hands. Money, information, whatever you'd want?"

There was little a man like Takasugi could want or need. Or rather, the things he desired weren't so tangible quite yet, and they most certainly couldn't be purchased with money.

Besides, the only thing he wanted out of this world was to see his teacher's dreams fulfilled once he'd covered the world in a beautiful fire in his honor and memory. That thought sounded rather pleasant at the moment, a nice contrast to the bitter memories ingrained in his mind.

Taking another swig, his head started to sink further into the wood, the bandages dragging a bit, as they caught on his arm on the way down. "I don't want anything you can give me…but only the Shiroyasha…"

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