crossmyheartandhope (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
crossmyheartandhope) wrote2020-01-10 09:34 pm
crossmyheartandhope) wrote2020-01-10 09:34 pm
Entry tags:
Memory 19: Bright
The room’s awash in color, all LED glare and bright neon. The tube lights that rim the ceiling are hot pink and mellow teal, and the screen flashes and shifts with hues designed to catch the eye. Everything smells like old cigarette smoke, and the karage on the table in the center, and the fries that were devoured an hour and a half ago.
Nemesis’s to his left on the padded bench, close enough that their shoulders bump. Sasha's to his right, belting some maudlin song in Russian into the microphone. He can sing, kind of. You'd never think he could – he's like 6 foot whatever and looks like a bruiser in a gangster flick - but he's mostly on tune, and his voice is low and mild and full of feeling.
Across the way, Ryota's passed out on Iyawa's shoulder. Next to them, Mayu's twisting in her seat to answer the phone on the wall. The music's so loud Hurricane didn't even realize it was ringing.
"Last call!" says Mayu, shouting to be heard. "Everyone's getting another drink, so finish your drinks!"
"What?" yells Nemesis.
"DRINKS," says Mayu, and mimes chugging. She says something into the phone and hangs it up again. Then she reaches for her drink, still half-full, and swallows it down.
Sasha glances at the table, where his own drink is mostly untouched. He glances at the microphone. Then he grabs hold of the glass, presses the mic into Hurricane's hands, and says, "Make me proud."
And Hurricane, who knows not one single word of Russian, laughs and takes it – makes things up for half a chorus while Sasha kills the rest of his shochu.
He's just handing the mic back when the door creaks open again, revealing a woman holding a tray. Hurricane can't hear a word she's saying, but Mayu's right by the door, and she makes sure everyone gets what they ordered.
The lady doesn't card them. They never card in this place – probably something to do with the influx of refugees, and the government being slow as hell getting everyone carded and tattooed. But the upshot is, if they roll up during the off hours, no one cares that the oldest of them is all of fifteen.
"We wanna go another hour?" yells Mayu.
"What?" yells Sasha, directly into the microphone, and the entire room, as one, cringes.
Nemesis snakes a hand behind Hurricane's back to snag the mic – sticks her tongue out, when Sasha starts to protest.
Iyawa's saying something beside Mayu, and Hurricane only catches part of it: "– at 0600 tomorrow."
"Yeah, and?" says Mayu.
"Sleep," says Sasha, "is not needed by the strong."
Hurricane grins, and jerks a thumb at the screen stuck to the wall, where Iyawa's next song is starting to play. "Dude, c'mon. We're on call like every other day this week. Gotta live free while we got a chance."
"Give us another hour," Nemesis calls to the lady standing at the door.
Iyawa rolls her eyes, but she's smiling.
"One more hour, then?" says the woman.
The answer comes from the room at large, a chorus of "Yeah," so loud it wakes Ryota, who sits up, groggy and disoriented, as the door swings closed.
"Huh?" he says. "What?"
"Your turn," says Nemesis, and lobs the mic at his head. "Catch!"
Nemesis’s to his left on the padded bench, close enough that their shoulders bump. Sasha's to his right, belting some maudlin song in Russian into the microphone. He can sing, kind of. You'd never think he could – he's like 6 foot whatever and looks like a bruiser in a gangster flick - but he's mostly on tune, and his voice is low and mild and full of feeling.
Across the way, Ryota's passed out on Iyawa's shoulder. Next to them, Mayu's twisting in her seat to answer the phone on the wall. The music's so loud Hurricane didn't even realize it was ringing.
"Last call!" says Mayu, shouting to be heard. "Everyone's getting another drink, so finish your drinks!"
"What?" yells Nemesis.
"DRINKS," says Mayu, and mimes chugging. She says something into the phone and hangs it up again. Then she reaches for her drink, still half-full, and swallows it down.
Sasha glances at the table, where his own drink is mostly untouched. He glances at the microphone. Then he grabs hold of the glass, presses the mic into Hurricane's hands, and says, "Make me proud."
And Hurricane, who knows not one single word of Russian, laughs and takes it – makes things up for half a chorus while Sasha kills the rest of his shochu.
He's just handing the mic back when the door creaks open again, revealing a woman holding a tray. Hurricane can't hear a word she's saying, but Mayu's right by the door, and she makes sure everyone gets what they ordered.
The lady doesn't card them. They never card in this place – probably something to do with the influx of refugees, and the government being slow as hell getting everyone carded and tattooed. But the upshot is, if they roll up during the off hours, no one cares that the oldest of them is all of fifteen.
"We wanna go another hour?" yells Mayu.
"What?" yells Sasha, directly into the microphone, and the entire room, as one, cringes.
Nemesis snakes a hand behind Hurricane's back to snag the mic – sticks her tongue out, when Sasha starts to protest.
Iyawa's saying something beside Mayu, and Hurricane only catches part of it: "– at 0600 tomorrow."
"Yeah, and?" says Mayu.
"Sleep," says Sasha, "is not needed by the strong."
Hurricane grins, and jerks a thumb at the screen stuck to the wall, where Iyawa's next song is starting to play. "Dude, c'mon. We're on call like every other day this week. Gotta live free while we got a chance."
"Give us another hour," Nemesis calls to the lady standing at the door.
Iyawa rolls her eyes, but she's smiling.
"One more hour, then?" says the woman.
The answer comes from the room at large, a chorus of "Yeah," so loud it wakes Ryota, who sits up, groggy and disoriented, as the door swings closed.
"Huh?" he says. "What?"
"Your turn," says Nemesis, and lobs the mic at his head. "Catch!"