[ Only through sheer experience drilled into his reflexes does Samatoki not rear back from the smell - like rusted metal meets the metallic, meaty tang of blood, but coagulated, congealed, caking from age - and that experience does nothing to prepare him for being in this hell room. Rather than reaching to get the second pistol, rather than going to support the butt of the first, he brings his free hand up to press the back of his wrist against his nose. Nemu's bracelets even through his sleeve bump into his face, but he uses them as something to ground him to this new reality.
He's been in a butcher before, for work. He's watched them, methodical and precise, machines in their own right. They know how to skin an animal, to bleed it out, to take it apart so all the right parts are conserved, and the waste is waste.
This has intent of a different kind. There's no rhyme or reason to the carnage that he walks into, ignoring the fact that his shoes cross into a familiar sensation that is still so alien at the same time. Fresh blood has a different sensation to old, but this is both, layers of history that he really does not want to uncover.
Samatoki finds the rest of the sheep.
Oh, hell, he wishes he hadn't have found the rest of the sheep. Or the remains of what he hopes is another goddamned sheep. ]
We need to leave. [ The words come out muffled, but he immediately starts to step back. He doesn't want to turn his back on this room - Samatoki Aohitsugi doesn't run from anything, but fuck if he's staying here, if he's going to breathe this rancid, wrong air without knowing what could be waiting for them in this warehouse. ] We need to leave right now.
Edited (how do I keep missing the word "the" HOW) 2019-06-05 12:49 (UTC)
[ he doesn't need to tell her twice. eyes flick up to his expression and her feet are already moving, carrying her to the door opposite where they came in. part of her wants to reach back and grab him by the arm but he's taller than her, he'll catch up.
even two, three strides away from the room and the air feels fresher, filling her body with brine and the cool spray from the sea. her legs suddenly lose strength, turning to jelly and dropping her against the outside wall. fear is stabbing the backs of her eyes but roxy breathes deep to keep herself from falling apart. no words come to her. she doesn't want to ask what he saw, thought he saw, imagined he saw, the panic and dread has made her skin pale and cold. ]
...
[ there she stays for a few minutes, blood burning. she can't even process it. she wants to but she can't. hey mind rejects everything.
when she finally feels she can talk, roxy looks back at samatoki, drawing her lower lip between her teeth. ]
[ Heel of his shoe bumping - something - Samatoki hides a flinch behind his wrist still, listening to the skitter of something distinctly metal. He could look, and he knows he could check to see if what he finds is the very thing that slit this ewe's throat, maybe gutted the animal, tore it to pieces. A dark corner of his mind wonders if the sheep was spared being dragged in here still alive and breathing, but he knows better. Fear is powerful no matter the context.
And there's no way he can wrap his head around the context of this. Not with just one room. The party had made sense, bigwigs and thugs and birds perched pretty on their arms, cards, smokes, drinks brought under the table. But the turn it'd taken? No, shit no.
His shoulder bumps the door where it holds itself up on the hinges, creaking unhappily now from being broken into. There aren't any stops until he's outside, though, and only then does Samatoki lower the gun, thumbing the hammer back down and heaving a lungful of air. The brine is a small comfort, scrubbing away the way he can almost taste metal at the back of his tongue, how everything lingers on him. His shoes will probably have to get thrown out - be easy enough to clean them, they have cleaners for that, but he doesn't want anyone else to get even a trace of that pit.
Eyes dropping to Roxy, he barks out a humorless laugh that rings stark in the relative silence, only broken up by distant traffic and surf, his hand swiping up over his face and into his slicked back hair. ]
Bootleggers. Cops. Fucking mayoral aides. Little sisters that ain't got any business being in a place like this. [ In other words: more than either of them ever expected when they got their intel. ]
[ this has gone far past beyond bad, bad is in a completely different county. they're entrenched in hell, roxy thinks, and her sister is messing with something neither of them are prepared to cope with. how could they be? roxy and rose had a simple life in this glittery city, money from either parents not withstanding.
maybe that was the problem: things were too simple. rose had always been a precocious child, easily bored and always looking for something more exciting. roxy was just happy to be around people, carted around at jazz clubs and kissing a cute john on the cheek. but rose, she had always been more cerebral, within her own mind and slow to make new friends. failure wrapped around roxy's heart like a band and slowly dragged it down into her stomach, flooding her with guilt, doubt, and blame.
after their mother died, roxy was in charge. after their mother died, all they had was each other — at least until the two striders entered the picture.
so many people in powerful seats; they could run the city however they wanted. the only moves they could make would have to be calculated, and roxy couldn't bear to think right now. ]
Bulls incoming, [ she mumbles, barely audible over the crash of the ocean. ] Someone opened the pen.
[ in the distance, police sirens wail with gradually growing volume. ]
[ Responsibility is a mantle just as much as it is suffocation. But the police sirens are a reminder of that, to him. Maybe Juto would be able to get him out of trouble, maybe his boss would, but he doesn't ever enjoy giving Nemu reason to worry when he comes passing through the station in a set of bracelets not made by her own hand. ]
Shit. [ With a sigh, and his hand ruffling a little at his hair before smoothing it again, Samatoki holsters the pistol and snaps the straps back into place. His jacket is still up on the roof, but he doesn't much care, really - there's no means for them to identify him by if they find it, and having a connection on the inside means it'd get swept under a rug if they even suspected a damn thing.
But he has to get back, and - like hell he knows. What's he going to tell his boss? That the bootleggers aren't just bootleggers, and are slaughtering sheep for fun so that they can drink their blood? Yeah, that'll go over swell. They'd be worried he was zozzled. That maybe he'd hit something else hard, instead. (A part of him has to wonder if he did inhale something unsuspecting that resulted in him seeing what he saw, or mistaking it, but there was no mistaking the corpses of livestock, or the blood staining a dame's mouth without makeup to create the illusion. There's no mistaking the smell of blood - not for him.)
He rolls up his sleeves after unbuttoning the cuffs, unhappy, ready to do some running if he has to.
First thing's first, though; he offers Roxy a hand, his bracelets clicking together as he extends it. ]
You stay sitting there, they're gonna have some questions for you that you really can't answer. Up and at 'em, girl. Gotta put those dogs to use.
[ all this and now running from the police? this night keeps getting worse, and in truth roxy naively thought that maybe she could talk to the cops arriving and figure out what to do, but... this guy's right. there are already dirty ones involved with whatever it is that just went down, so with a nod, roxy takes a breath and takes his hand.
once on her feet, roxy figures out from which direction the fuzz is coming, tugging samatoki closer to her as she snakes her way down under the dock. there's a small sandy beach here that they can use to escape, hide their prints with everyone else's. ]
[ Working with the dirty cops that he does, and seeing dirtier ones yet, Samatoki knows better than to stick around at a scene even with the chance that you can get off scot-free. Life's not fair; there's always someone that's ready to screw you over at a moment's notice. Most days it's survival of the fittest to him, because that's how the world treated him, how people have tried to square up to him, thinking he was easy prey when he was a little known thug.
Women, kids, they don't deserve that. He tries to do right by them, tries not to be a bully to people weaker than him.
Tries to help people that have the look behind their eyes the way Roxy does.
But when she doesn't let go of his hand, starts to lead him off, he doesn't pull away. His other hand goes to brace against one of his holsters, prepared to draw the Smith & Wesson at a moment's notice as he follows her. This isn't wholly unfamiliar territory, or at least the terrain isn't, after growing up in this city, so he remains sure-footed and quick to keep pace with her. ]
[ the pace doesn't slow until roxy feels the earth give way beneath her feet, pitching her off-balance for a split second. the heels of her shoes sink deep into the sand, and she quietly mutters a curse. reaching her free hand down, roxy tugs off her mary janes and holds them delicately in her fingers. ]
Here, [ her hand drops his and she motions to his feet. her stockings feel cold against the nighttime beach but she has to put up with it for a bit longer. ] Take your shoes off, throw 'em in the ocean.
[ Reflexively, his grip tightens when her balance pitches. But the unsteady ground of the beach is something of a relief, marked by comings and goings of people and animals alike from the entire day, a blending of tracks that causes theirs to become muddled. Anyone sees the blood from his shoes leaving a trail will find it going cold.
Her idea works enough for him - Samatoki would probably have burned them, but this is a solution he can take care of now. His weight wobbles a second as he balances, one foot at a time, tugging the laces so he can loosen his shoes and hook a finger into the back to get them off. ]
I'm gonna fucking hate this. [ Shoes off and in hand, there's no further delay despite his complaints. Samatoki walks forward until his black dress socks are practically pitch from cold water - washing away his scent, just in case, even as he swears colorfully just under his breath - before he pitches his shoes off into the nighttime surf. ]
[ she can sympathize, and she gives samatoki a look that says as much as he takes off his shoes. already roxy regrets having to take hers off, the sand covering the soles of her feet, but fair is fair.
she wasn't the one who stepped in blood, but she follows suit and throws her own shoes into the water after samatoki. ]
Better this than them sussin you out.
[ police, the bootleggers, or anyone else who they crossed paths with tonight. ]
I know the song and dance by now. Have plenty of run-ins with the cops.
[ And plenty of ways to get out of it, but this feels... colossal, in comparison. He doesn't want to risk one of his closest confidants, or his sister, by bringing any attention to the police with his name attached for this thing. Samatoki doesn't even know what to call it, as he watches his shoes - then Roxy's - hit the water and disappear into the night. Instead, there's not really any words for it.
His hands pat his pockets down until he finds his cigarettes and matches, pulling one of each out so that he can light one while standing in the water still. His slacks are getting wet, and he's going to be freezing. But Nemu will probably be asleep by the time he gets home, allowing him to slosh in and clean up after himself without worrying her.
The drag he takes of the cigarette burns away more of the taste of copper. It steadies him further. ]
It's gonna be cold as anything, but we'd better walk in the water for a stretch. No tracks to follow, that way.
[ by all accounts, roxy knows she should high-tail it out of there if this guy's as shady as she's starting to realize. but that just puts her in a spot with no way to get out: if she stays, he might kill her; if she runs, he'll definitely kill her.
roxy adjusts the straps of her dress on her shoulders, staying up on the sandy area for a little bit longer. she's seen his face but doesnt have his name, but he's such a unique mac that anyone could pick him out of a line-up with even the barest of descriptions. ]
I'll make a deal with you, guy. You don't give me cement heels and I don't get you a pair of tin bracelets. [ ... well, he certainly wasn't wrong when he called her a bearcat. though it isn't meant as a threat, it certainly sounds like one. ] Fair?
[ A snort, which comes out with a stream of smoke, and Samatoki puts his hands in his pockets and turns to start the walk through the surf. He avoids the little crabs that've come out with the night to pick at food in the sand when the water draws back, hating the feeling of wet socks and sand but putting up with it, with the situation.
But he pauses and looks back at her, raising an eyebrow at, well, it's either a joke or a threat. He weighs the possibilities, and decides it settles perfectly in the middle of the scale - and then rolls his eyes, turning away from her to focus on actually leaving the scene of that hell pit. ]
Ain't the kind of guy to hurt a girl when she ain't done anything, bearcat or not. Would've shot you at the warehouse instead of getting you outta there if that's how I worked. [ One hand lifts from his pocket, waving over his shoulder. ] Deal, anyways, 'cause I want to get the hell gone from this place. Not gonna be able to explain it to anybody, but sure as shit not gonna get it outta my head. Might as well put distance.
[ that reaction of his certainly came as a surprise to roxy, and she blinks for a moment as the guy makes his way down the shoreline. roxy still isn't sure she can trust him, but... ]
My name's Roxy, my father owns the hotel on East 4th street. [ this is. definitely more information than she should share with a shady sheik like this, and she knows it. ] I'm there during the week, just ask for me at the front desk any time after five. [ a beat ] And wear a shirt with long sleeves.
[ If she's surprised by his response, Samatoki does well to use his trek home to hide his own. That... well, most people don't give a shady stranger that kind of information, no matter what kind of night they share together. Too bad it wasn't a more agreeable night for the both of them, that's for sure. But he files it away.
Almost like he's not going to respond, at first, he keeps walking. But his voice raises as he draws his cigarette from his mouth, exhaling after a long drag. ]
Samatoki. Don't forget it. [ Japanese are rare around the city, around the state, considering the deal with the Chinese and the National Origins Act. But Samatoki wears his heritage and his name like a mantle instead of going by some Dick and Jane name, using it to his advantage. ]
See you around, Roxy. [ He'll keep his sleeves rolled down for her, the next time he sees her. ]
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no subject
He's been in a butcher before, for work. He's watched them, methodical and precise, machines in their own right. They know how to skin an animal, to bleed it out, to take it apart so all the right parts are conserved, and the waste is waste.
This has intent of a different kind. There's no rhyme or reason to the carnage that he walks into, ignoring the fact that his shoes cross into a familiar sensation that is still so alien at the same time. Fresh blood has a different sensation to old, but this is both, layers of history that he really does not want to uncover.
Samatoki finds the rest of the sheep.
Oh, hell, he wishes he hadn't have found the rest of the sheep. Or the remains of what he hopes is another goddamned sheep. ]
We need to leave. [ The words come out muffled, but he immediately starts to step back. He doesn't want to turn his back on this room - Samatoki Aohitsugi doesn't run from anything, but fuck if he's staying here, if he's going to breathe this rancid, wrong air without knowing what could be waiting for them in this warehouse. ] We need to leave right now.
no subject
even two, three strides away from the room and the air feels fresher, filling her body with brine and the cool spray from the sea. her legs suddenly lose strength, turning to jelly and dropping her against the outside wall. fear is stabbing the backs of her eyes but roxy breathes deep to keep herself from falling apart. no words come to her. she doesn't want to ask what he saw, thought he saw, imagined he saw, the panic and dread has made her skin pale and cold. ]
...
[ there she stays for a few minutes, blood burning. she can't even process it. she wants to but she can't. hey mind rejects everything.
when she finally feels she can talk, roxy looks back at samatoki, drawing her lower lip between her teeth. ]
Bootleggers, huh?
no subject
And there's no way he can wrap his head around the context of this. Not with just one room. The party had made sense, bigwigs and thugs and birds perched pretty on their arms, cards, smokes, drinks brought under the table. But the turn it'd taken? No, shit no.
His shoulder bumps the door where it holds itself up on the hinges, creaking unhappily now from being broken into. There aren't any stops until he's outside, though, and only then does Samatoki lower the gun, thumbing the hammer back down and heaving a lungful of air. The brine is a small comfort, scrubbing away the way he can almost taste metal at the back of his tongue, how everything lingers on him. His shoes will probably have to get thrown out - be easy enough to clean them, they have cleaners for that, but he doesn't want anyone else to get even a trace of that pit.
Eyes dropping to Roxy, he barks out a humorless laugh that rings stark in the relative silence, only broken up by distant traffic and surf, his hand swiping up over his face and into his slicked back hair. ]
Bootleggers. Cops. Fucking mayoral aides. Little sisters that ain't got any business being in a place like this. [ In other words: more than either of them ever expected when they got their intel. ]
no subject
maybe that was the problem: things were too simple. rose had always been a precocious child, easily bored and always looking for something more exciting. roxy was just happy to be around people, carted around at jazz clubs and kissing a cute john on the cheek. but rose, she had always been more cerebral, within her own mind and slow to make new friends. failure wrapped around roxy's heart like a band and slowly dragged it down into her stomach, flooding her with guilt, doubt, and blame.
after their mother died, roxy was in charge. after their mother died, all they had was each other — at least until the two striders entered the picture.
so many people in powerful seats; they could run the city however they wanted. the only moves they could make would have to be calculated, and roxy couldn't bear to think right now. ]
Bulls incoming, [ she mumbles, barely audible over the crash of the ocean. ] Someone opened the pen.
[ in the distance, police sirens wail with gradually growing volume. ]
no subject
Shit. [ With a sigh, and his hand ruffling a little at his hair before smoothing it again, Samatoki holsters the pistol and snaps the straps back into place. His jacket is still up on the roof, but he doesn't much care, really - there's no means for them to identify him by if they find it, and having a connection on the inside means it'd get swept under a rug if they even suspected a damn thing.
But he has to get back, and - like hell he knows. What's he going to tell his boss? That the bootleggers aren't just bootleggers, and are slaughtering sheep for fun so that they can drink their blood? Yeah, that'll go over swell. They'd be worried he was zozzled. That maybe he'd hit something else hard, instead. (A part of him has to wonder if he did inhale something unsuspecting that resulted in him seeing what he saw, or mistaking it, but there was no mistaking the corpses of livestock, or the blood staining a dame's mouth without makeup to create the illusion. There's no mistaking the smell of blood - not for him.)
He rolls up his sleeves after unbuttoning the cuffs, unhappy, ready to do some running if he has to.
First thing's first, though; he offers Roxy a hand, his bracelets clicking together as he extends it. ]
You stay sitting there, they're gonna have some questions for you that you really can't answer. Up and at 'em, girl. Gotta put those dogs to use.
no subject
once on her feet, roxy figures out from which direction the fuzz is coming, tugging samatoki closer to her as she snakes her way down under the dock. there's a small sandy beach here that they can use to escape, hide their prints with everyone else's. ]
Time to hoof it. This way — careful of the rocks.
no subject
Women, kids, they don't deserve that. He tries to do right by them, tries not to be a bully to people weaker than him.
Tries to help people that have the look behind their eyes the way Roxy does.
But when she doesn't let go of his hand, starts to lead him off, he doesn't pull away. His other hand goes to brace against one of his holsters, prepared to draw the Smith & Wesson at a moment's notice as he follows her. This isn't wholly unfamiliar territory, or at least the terrain isn't, after growing up in this city, so he remains sure-footed and quick to keep pace with her. ]
no subject
Here, [ her hand drops his and she motions to his feet. her stockings feel cold against the nighttime beach but she has to put up with it for a bit longer. ] Take your shoes off, throw 'em in the ocean.
no subject
Her idea works enough for him - Samatoki would probably have burned them, but this is a solution he can take care of now. His weight wobbles a second as he balances, one foot at a time, tugging the laces so he can loosen his shoes and hook a finger into the back to get them off. ]
I'm gonna fucking hate this. [ Shoes off and in hand, there's no further delay despite his complaints. Samatoki walks forward until his black dress socks are practically pitch from cold water - washing away his scent, just in case, even as he swears colorfully just under his breath - before he pitches his shoes off into the nighttime surf. ]
no subject
she wasn't the one who stepped in blood, but she follows suit and throws her own shoes into the water after samatoki. ]
Better this than them sussin you out.
[ police, the bootleggers, or anyone else who they crossed paths with tonight. ]
no subject
[ And plenty of ways to get out of it, but this feels... colossal, in comparison. He doesn't want to risk one of his closest confidants, or his sister, by bringing any attention to the police with his name attached for this thing. Samatoki doesn't even know what to call it, as he watches his shoes - then Roxy's - hit the water and disappear into the night. Instead, there's not really any words for it.
His hands pat his pockets down until he finds his cigarettes and matches, pulling one of each out so that he can light one while standing in the water still. His slacks are getting wet, and he's going to be freezing. But Nemu will probably be asleep by the time he gets home, allowing him to slosh in and clean up after himself without worrying her.
The drag he takes of the cigarette burns away more of the taste of copper. It steadies him further. ]
It's gonna be cold as anything, but we'd better walk in the water for a stretch. No tracks to follow, that way.
no subject
[ by all accounts, roxy knows she should high-tail it out of there if this guy's as shady as she's starting to realize. but that just puts her in a spot with no way to get out: if she stays, he might kill her; if she runs, he'll definitely kill her.
roxy adjusts the straps of her dress on her shoulders, staying up on the sandy area for a little bit longer. she's seen his face but doesnt have his name, but he's such a unique mac that anyone could pick him out of a line-up with even the barest of descriptions. ]
I'll make a deal with you, guy. You don't give me cement heels and I don't get you a pair of tin bracelets. [ ... well, he certainly wasn't wrong when he called her a bearcat. though it isn't meant as a threat, it certainly sounds like one. ] Fair?
no subject
But he pauses and looks back at her, raising an eyebrow at, well, it's either a joke or a threat. He weighs the possibilities, and decides it settles perfectly in the middle of the scale - and then rolls his eyes, turning away from her to focus on actually leaving the scene of that hell pit. ]
Ain't the kind of guy to hurt a girl when she ain't done anything, bearcat or not. Would've shot you at the warehouse instead of getting you outta there if that's how I worked. [ One hand lifts from his pocket, waving over his shoulder. ] Deal, anyways, 'cause I want to get the hell gone from this place. Not gonna be able to explain it to anybody, but sure as shit not gonna get it outta my head. Might as well put distance.
no subject
My name's Roxy, my father owns the hotel on East 4th street. [ this is. definitely more information than she should share with a shady sheik like this, and she knows it. ] I'm there during the week, just ask for me at the front desk any time after five. [ a beat ] And wear a shirt with long sleeves.
no subject
Almost like he's not going to respond, at first, he keeps walking. But his voice raises as he draws his cigarette from his mouth, exhaling after a long drag. ]
Samatoki. Don't forget it. [ Japanese are rare around the city, around the state, considering the deal with the Chinese and the National Origins Act. But Samatoki wears his heritage and his name like a mantle instead of going by some Dick and Jane name, using it to his advantage. ]
See you around, Roxy. [ He'll keep his sleeves rolled down for her, the next time he sees her. ]