pugbutter — Roleplayer Guild

But that, in the end, was the difference between him and Ana, wasn't it? The way she talked, you'd think the issue at hand was the bait's efficacy. Its ... reliability. Whether it'd survive the first gulp from their first big trout. That mute smartass really, truly didn't get it. If you had to trick someone to beat him, it was plain as day that you lacked either the strength, or the guts, to beat him head-on. It completely cheapened any "victory" attainable there, besmirching not only the match, but your very skill as a hunter. Like those people who needed tree stands, musk sprays, camouflage, high-powered scopes, and hi-capacity magazines just to feel big enough to take down a deer. At that point was there even any sport in it?

Still riding the high from his first cigarette, Yūya tamped the second down into its pack. He did crack a second beer, though. A shame the rest of it was going to waste; it couldn't come home with him, and no one else seemed interested. Well, either the janitors or the day's first class-skippers tomorrow would have a good time. Even if it was warm and flat by then, thirteen-year-olds had to take what dubiously-obtained alcohol they could get.

Thinking it over again, to shoot down this plan Yūya would have to be ready with an alternative. And unfortunately, they needed too many pieces to fall into place at once: they didn't just need to stomp some brat into the dirt and deflate his ego a little. They needed to find out who this brat even was. Entrap and then catch him red-handed. Obtain a warrant for search, seizure, and eventual arrest. Forfeit his assets to the state, but not before his fair trial by judge and lay-jury ... The suit-and-tie elements in the team always had to make things complicated, like their boardroom meetings and ... uh, stock options. It's like they forgot sometimes who the rest of them were: the runoff, the dregs, drifting down and gathering in the lowest schools and seediest basement bars. The bottom of the bottle. A long, heavy sigh oozed over his tongue. No matter how he looked at it, Yūya didn't have to speak up because he had a better idea. He had to speak up because if the royalty had their way, this was gonna be goddamn boring.

He just had to pick his phrasing; he had to be ... pointed, without being provocative. Concerned, but not insubordinate.

"The important thing is this—" Ah, shit. Too late. "Sarayashiki has a boogeyman that even the Student Council is trying to—"

Yūya listened as best he could. The time for soldiering had come, quietly supplanting the era of advisors and strategists; when Ishida clammed up they could shoot the shit a little, but when he spoke, their role was to listen, and obey. Yūya thought back to his conversation with Mutо̄. Orders were one thing, but if he wanted to listen to speeches he'd go to class and take it from Oguni-sensei, and the class prez, and everyone else who wanted to lay into him for every little wrinkle in his proverbial shirt. If anything was gonna turn Yūya traitor, it was gonna be the fuckin' speeches.

By the time Ishida had been diatribing for two and a half minutes (including dramatic pauses) Yūya was just about ready for him to forget he was there. Yep: signing up for clubs, interviewing students ... the usual M.O. Maybe tomorrow he'd go on a joyride to Shinagawa; take the train up to Hasune and pick a fight with that blond punk who'd claimed the station there as his turf; or even just loaf around with Mutо̄ and Sunohara under the mulberry tree like always. Even among those who'd been mentioned by name, it sounded like only Yonaka and Li might, might, see some action tomorrow.

Waste of my damn time.

"Yūya. Ana."

Hmm? Oh. So he hadn't forgotten. Yeah, it wasn't really like Ishida to do that.

"I need the two of you on something different. Stick around for a moment. Everyone else: go home. Get some sleep. It's a school night, after all ..."

The hell did that mean? First of all, if Ishida was sending the others home before they could eavesdrop, then it was some kinda secret. Why? Yūya didn't strike himself as the secret-keeping type. Maybe that's precisely why he was picked, then? But ... no, more to the point, what kind of secret could Ishida entrust to Yūya better than all his bootlicks and sycophants? Well, him and Tamura-san ... Yeah, and for that matter, what did he and she even have in common? What were they, and they alone, best-suited for? Fighting? Everyone here could handle a weapon. Except maybe that Li character. So, what; were they the sneakiest? The most resourceful or connected? The cleverest? Even something cheesy like the most determined or perseverant? ... No. They weren't. Or, he wasn't.

I guess us two are the tallest? And thus the most intimidating? ... I dunno. That's what I got.

Tamura Ana. What did she think about being partnered with somebody with whom she had nothing in common? Jesus! Yeah, just fuckin'lookat her, dude. She's struggling not to puke right now. I bet she doesn't even know she's scowling.

So he was so gross that just the thought of being stuck with him on a stakeout churned a girl's stomach, huh?—like she'd just found shit on the bottom of her shoe—it would've been hilarious if it didn't stab and twist in his gut just the tiniest bit. Yūya snuck a sidewise glance at Akina, too, while she took her leave, as congenially as ever; if she felt the same way, then someone in the high-profile family of hers msut've taught her how to "smile for the cameras," as it were. As for the others, there was some consolation to be gleaned in seeing the same confusion in their countenances, and overhearing a few of their grievances at the door.

That Li chick ... she hadn't been there half an hour yet and she was already gloryhounding. She had guts—no doubting that—but would she still have guts after she took a punch for Ishida? Or was it gonna be her first punch: replete with the telltale head-spinning, ass-dropping, jaw-rattling disbelief of having just been hit in the face? 

Too small to intimidate her inevitable tormentors into backing down; too small to follow through on a threat or keep a hastily growled promise ... She wouldn't last. But if she did, at least she wasn't wearing a damn tie. There had to be some solidarity in that.

Li had been the last one out; she and Yūya had made eye contact. He wondered whether he, too, wore an involuntary expression, betraying the confusion and ... slight sadness which Li stirred in him.

But to Ishida went his eyes next as the door closed behind Li. "I admit you've got a way with intrigue," he said, wandering away from the door and nearer to the boss. Heh; to put it mildly.
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