Yakuzaverse

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Revision as of 20:22, 29 May 2018 by Wildweasel (talk | contribs) (Ruby Tadashii)
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This page is pretty unfinished. Weasel plans to get to it eventually. Probably.

The Hasegawa Family

The Hasegawa Family is a small-ish family, near the bottom rung of the Omi Alliance pecking order. While they essentially function as their own Clan, they're not large enough to be considered more than a branch family of the Omi, and as such, many of their officers serve multiple roles.

The Patriarch of the Hasegawa Family is Ryuhei Hasegawa, a man who is getting up in years. Hasegawa has been running his family since the early 1980s, and was largely spared the chaos of the Go-Ryu uprising in 2006 due to their lack of manpower. Through clever manipulation of assets, Hasegawa was able to retain the majority of his profits from the bubble economy era well into the 90s, though that ultimately didn't amount to a lot. Hasegawa owns the land deed to a small club in Shofukucho South, called Iriomote, after the mountain cats that lived near his home town. He is the opposite of the usual ruthless yakuza patriarch; his years of experience have done nothing to offset his kind demeanor.

Hasegawa's Lieutenant Advisor is Yukino Wakai, a smarter, younger man in his early 30s, easily mistaken for a salaryman due to his "timid" dress style. This relative invisibility allows him to blend in to crowds and "infiltrate" businesses run by rival families, nearly always coming back with some piece of vital intelligence. It is primarily due to Wakai's information that the Hasegawa Family has stayed afloat and independent beneath the Omi banner.

Hasegawa's Captain is Dan Kobe, a man with a mind for shrewd business. Kobe's "day job" is as a tax specialist - his intimate knowledge of Japan's taxation laws since the infamous "Lost Decade" have helped the Hasegawa Family's operations remain profitable.

The Hasegawa Family's three lieutenants are Toshi Sakamoto, Samano Kasugano, and Keiji Yoshida. Sakamoto is the non-confrontational one, always looking for ways to make things happen without unnecessary fighting. Kasugano, inversely, is loud and proud, always wanting to further the Family's agenda by any means necessary. Yoshida, meanwhile, is the man in charge of managing the Iriomote, which doubles as the Hasegawa Family Office beyond its VIP area. Yoshida's daughter, Annie, works at Iriomote as a hostess.

Hiroya Tadashii, Ruby's husband, is only a soldier beneath the Hasegawa banner, but because he is one of only a few, he still has to attend meetings and help out at Iriomote once in a while.

Iriomote

An all-sexes host club tucked away in the back corner of Shofukucho, Iriomote is not large or glamorous, but it does stand out for being the only host club in Sotenbori to serve both male and female clients, with constantly rotating casts of hosts and hostesses alike, and a policy not to refuse service regardless of who is asking for whom. Business, while not booming, has been steady enough to serve as a regular income for the Family.

Hiroya Tadashii

Hiroya Tadashii is the kind of man who doesn't initially look very tough. He has that "main character" look to him, but he's not the main character of an organized crime drama. He looks like he's the hot-blooded hero of a costumed superhero show, but his personality is mild like an office drone. His black hair goes a little ways down his neck, meeting his collar but not going much further. He shampoos it regularly but doesn't condition it, so it kinda comes out a bit bushy and soft, and doesn't quite comb right. He prefers khaki slacks, but wears them with a blue-and-green baseball jacket for a varsity team that I'm not sure has existed for a while. If you ran into him in the street, you wouldn't think he was anything but a regular joe. And that's where most thugs would be wrong.

Ruby Tadashii

Bit 1 - the demo version

"Yup. He's following me. Fuckin'...dammit," Ruby whispered to herself. Shofukucho was already not the best part of town for women, let alone foreign women, and especially not women that stuck out as badly as she did. How she found herself here was not really the problem; it was how she was going to get back out, while also losing the tail. But judging from the way the road was blocked in front of her, this was looking less possible by the second.

Before her stood two men in the loudest possible button shirts, had to be at least three heads taller than she was. The man on the left looked like he went to the gym twice a day, and used it exclusively as a means to get laid - his muscles looked threatening, but she knew they were built for form, not for function. The strain of a fight would sooner pull a muscle than stop any serious opposition. His bright orange shirt almost wasn't even buttoned - there was a such thing as showing too much chest, even for a man, Ruby thought - and his white slacks had probably been introduced to the pavement a few times too many to be called "white" anymore.

The other man, Ruby figured, might not have been as tall as his muscle-bound cohort, but probably weighed twice as much. His suit was maroon with gold trim around the cuffs, the jacket hanging wide open, and his shirt - buttoned to its physical limit - was a sickening, clashing shade of bright green. Still, Ruby had to at least (mentally) compliment him for somehow still being able to dress himself; no live-in assistant would dare let him out the door like that.

Ruby pulled a quick heel-spin to ascertain the situation behind her. Sure enough, the lanky fellow from the sushi joint was back there. His tweedy getup at first reminded her of her first physics teacher, before she realized he was closer to the Japanese equivalent to Steve Buscemi - the misshapen face, sunken eyes perpetually stuck half-open and bloodshot to show for it. "Alright, you got me," Ruby declared.

"Nice catch, Suda," said Fatso to Steve. "We gonna take her to the labor people?"

"Who says we gotta take her anywhere? She's an outta-towner, probably here 'cuz she thinks we're cuter than they got in America, heheh!" Steve punctuated his horrible thoughts with an over-the-top pelvic thrust. Ruby figured he was only halfway there - Tadashii was more handsome than most of the guys at her old college, but these men were nothing at all like him.

Musclehead opened his mouth, but what came out wasn't in Japanese. He raised a threatening fist. "How are you? I am fine, thank you."

Ruby badly stifled a laugh. That had to be not only the thickest accent she'd heard in years, but the worst possible phrase to say.

The meathead, meanwhile, noticed. "Quit your damn giggling, woman! I tried!" His flabbier cohort started laughing as well, earning a weak-looking punch to the shoulder.

"Well, if you paid any attention in English class," began the Mr. Pink wannabe behind Ruby, "maybe you'd know what you just said."

"And who says yer a damn linguist now?" Mr. Bulk swung at the air.

Ruby had heard enough. She shrugged. "Good grief," she said with a sigh. "Clearly you wanted something from me, is that right?" Were they not coming from a red-haired beanpole of a woman, the words wouldn't have sounded out of place coming from the foulest of yakuza.

"D'you know where the fuck you are?" said the sunken-eyed man. "This street's owned by one of the biggest Omi families in Soten!"

"Really? Thank you for giving me the tour, then," cracked Ruby. "I wouldn't suppose you'd be willing to let me go, though?"

"Not without seein' our boss," said the wide man. "An' our boss? He don't like loudmouths."

"I see. Well that's too bad, then, because this mouth ain't gettin' any quieter." Ruby stood sideways, so as to keep an eye on both ends of the pincer she found herself in.

The built man leaned at that forward angle so typical of yakuza intimidation tactics. "Normally we don't hit women, but seein' as it's this late out, and you're gettin' to pissin' us off..." He cracked his knuckles and put up his dukes.

"Don't fool yourself. If you're gonna fight, then fight!" Ruby had already weighed the odds. Three was more people than she usually took on at once, but her heart was already in top gear, and all that she needed focus on were her fundamentals, and which direction the punches were coming from.

The fat man didn't wait for further encouragement. With a speed unusual for a man of his considerable girth (then again, even a bowling ball is aerodynamic), he took off forward, both arms crossed in front of him. Ruby took half a step backwards, leaving a foot in front, then as he whiffed past, she lifted the foot and pushed hard on top of his back. Fattie's face crashed right into the pavement.

"You bitch!" Not Steve Buscemi was the next up; he threw what Ruby could only call a "roundhouse punch" - a right hook so over-the-top that, if he'd missed, he'd have fallen over of his own accord. But that, to Ruby, wasn't nearly humiliating enough. A couple hands on the right spots, and Steve's punch was redirected into a lit sign that read, "SEXY PUB PRISON." The plexiglass sign shattered, and Steve's fist took not only the shards, but a hundred-some volts from the shattered light bulb beneath it. Steve was down for the count, right on top of the fat man, who had enough trouble getting back up as it was.

The muscle man had yet to even make a move from his stereotypical boxer's stance about 20 feet away from the dogpile. "You're about to suck pavement, lady!" he screamed as he ran full-bore at her. There was enough distance between them, Ruby figured...as soon as he was within range, Ruby executed a near-perfect reverse seoi-nage, exactly as Tadashii had taught her in their impromptu judo lessons a year ago. Beefcake landed flat on his back as Ruby's elbow landed on his stomach.

With all three down, but still very much considering getting back up, Ruby had little time to waste - now was her chance to put as much distance between them as possible. The initial surprise she'd given them would have since worn off; they'd be coming at her with all they had, if she were still there when they'd sorted themselves out. She gave the pile of downed thugs a quick mock-salute, then took off in a sprint towards the Bishamon Bridge.

She'd rounded a few more corners and vanished into a POPPO store before she dared turn around. Out of breath, she immediately made for the magazine rack and pretended to flip through a Shonen Jump as her wary eyes peeked out the window. The loud trio were nowhere to be seen. She carefully replaced the magazine, gathered up a couple of rice balls and an instant soba, paid for her goods, and walked out. "Thank you," she said in English.

Ruby's cell phone rang on the way out. She juggled the plastic bags into her other hand to reach it, spending no time to check the caller ID as she flipped it open. "Moshi-moshi, Tadashii Ruby desu."

"Ruby, it's me, your husband? Don't you ever look who's calling before you hit Talk?" Hiroya Tadashii, the man she'd fallen in love with back in college, spoke English as well as Ruby spoke Japanese. "Anyway, I just got out of my meeting. How are you holding up?"

"Hell of a night so far, but nothing I can't handle. I, uh, oughta thank you for those sparring sessions, by the way."

"Did you get in a fight?" There was a note of concern in his voice.

"A few lunkheads over in Shofukucho. Said something about being in one of the Omi families, but I didn't see badges."

"Probably faking," Hiroya sighed. "There's been a rash of people lately who think they can get anything they want by pretending they're from some second-tier family."

"Lemme guess, that's what your meeting was about?"

"Maybe I'm remembering wrong, but I thought I asked you to stay out of my business."

"But you still care enough about me that you taught me to defend myself."

Another sigh came through the phone. "You know what, Ruby, I'd rather talk about this at home. Are you near the apartment?"

"I'm on...uh..." She glanced around - the Bishamon was one way, the Grand was the other. "Sotenbori...avenue? Just walked out of a convenience store."

"Alright, alright. Uh, don't cross the bridges until I meet up with you, okay? Let's meet by that game center and we'll walk home together. That way if those...lunch heads?...see you again, I'll be there to help."

"Sure thing. See ya soon, hubby."

"You too, uh...wifey?"

"You'll get this figured out yet." She was grinning hard enough that her face was starting to hurt. "Bye."

Bit 2 - Self Monologue

I crossed my legs beneath the kotatsu, situated in the corner of our tiny apartment. There was precious little floor space, so there were no bedrooms or bathrooms, or even a separate kitchen. A closet, a couple of futons, the tea table, and a fridge were about all the comforts of life. A lot of it was a pretty severe downgrade from Mama's old place, back in the States, but love, and my career, had brought me to Japan. Specifically, to Osaka, in a cramped, neon-lit district called Sotenbori...a spot where, if you were female, you were either on a date or you were about to be made INTO a date.

My birth name was Antonia Justine Travaglia. My father was an Irish immigrant to the States and a complete deadbeat, which is why the task of naming me fell to my Italian immigrant mother. I was granted the nickname "Ruby" in high school, on account of my ridiculously red hair. I didn't particularly like it back then, but it was catchier than Antonia, and there's a special place in hell for people who call me Toni.

I was born in the US, but the man I fell in love with during college was an exchange student from Japan...or at least, that's what he'd told me until well after the wedding. See, despite my studying for a law degree in college (and minoring in journalism), I'd somehow never figured out until after our first anniversary that my husband, Hiroya Tadashii, was actually a well disguised envoy to the States by way of one of Japan's biggest organized crime rings: the Omi Alliance. Somehow, they didn't care that one of their men had married an American girl - I guess they were more concerned over the potential leak of information than they were about the mixed race. But as long as I'd sworn to keep my nose out of the business, I was considered safe. Well, safe-ish. Sotenbori, much as it's a major epicenter of Osaka, is home to some pretty dark corners that a woman would really not want to be caught in. One moment you're wondering if you can take a shortcut around the crowds of hostesses and pocket tissue shills, the next you're being stalked by a bunch of men in loud suits who think they're being sneaky. That's part of why Hiroya takes it upon himself to make sure I'm trained in basic self-defense. He's not a master by any means, but his guidance has brought me to the point where I'm at least not likely to get snatched or killed out here. And that comes in handy, in my line of work.

Though I studied law in college, my journalism minor got me a lot more gainful employment when it turned out nobody in the US would let me practice law (something about my attitude being unsuitable to a courtroom). That's what I've wound up doing here in Japan: I'm employed by an online newsletter about the latest goings-on in Japan, for English-speakers. It also doubles as a social-network, where you can post blogs and photographs. My boss is honestly a bit of an eccentric, and often gets into trouble with strange people due to his unorthodox photography and tenuous command of the Japanese language, but the pay's fine, and the checks haven't bounced yet. It was either that or running the counter at the POPPO store...and this, as weird as it can get, is a little more my forte.

I hammered out the finishing touches on my article for today, a guide on where to find the comforts of life that you'd be used to if you came from outside of Japan. As great as the takoyaki is around here, I've heard from a few expatriates on MacSiv that sometimes, a guy just really wants a big greasy burger. And of course Japan has McDonald's restaurants, but my article is spent comparing a few sandwich places, from Wild Jackson to Smile Burger, and the handful of bars that happen to also serve snacks. Sure, it's almost never a plate of french fries, but drinks tend to go down easier with some finger food.