Post by The Blue Adept on Apr 9, 2018 1:20:45 GMT -5
- Kyoto Prefecture, Japan.
It took Fushimi a good five minutes to realize that the clock had stopped working. He'd glanced up at it a few times and each time it was still. He hung his head in defeat and annoyance. It wasn't like Nishikori to call him up and then leave him waiting. It was fine, he was patient, but the vagueness of the call had piqued his curiosity enough to leave him antsy in his seat outside Nishikori's office. Arms crossed over his chest, he tapped his foot and listened to the muffled conversation in the room behind him.
There was a small crash, followed by a yell, and then a man came stumbling out of the door next to him. Fushimi glanced over, a questioning look barely hanging on his features. It wasn't anyone he recognized, probably an associate of some kind based on the way he was dressed (though looking very ruffled now). The man met his eyes for a brief, fleeting moment before jumping in surprise and scurrying away like he'd seen a ghost. Ah right. Perhaps sitting around in the office area wasn't good for business, though it looked like Nishikori had already given him a reason not to come back.
At that thought, Nishikori poked his head out, brushing a hand over his jacket and looking down at Fushimi. "Sorry about that. Come on in."
Oh sweet relief. Fushimi rose and followed him into the office- of which he'd seen many times, and never noticed a change. This wasn't Nishikori's only office, after all, but Fushimi had long since noticed that the man never really personalized his spaces. Whether it was a desire to keep his social life private or to keep precious things out of reach of others, he didn't know, and never properly had the guts to ask. Though from what he could tell, it was probably a mix of both. Nishikori was sentimental underneath it all, he knew.
Tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket, not bothering to sit knowing he wouldn't be there long, he gestured back outside with his head. "The clock out there is broken, y'know."
Nishikori, having retreated back behind his desk and begun to rifle through papers, tossed his hands up in the air exasperatedly. "Do I look like I'm the one who's gonna change the batteries?" he scoffed, earning a bite of a laugh out of Fushimi. Tugging a file free from the stack on his desk, he slapped it down and opened it, adjusting his glasses. "Alright Taro, I know this isn't our usual time but apparently Shizuo owes a favor- to an acquaintance of an acquaintance."
Fushimi raised an eyebrow and leaned over the desk to have a look, Nishikori turning the file towards him. He glanced quickly over the information, and the photo of a man- named Orlando Aguilar. A Spaniard, seemed he was some sort of businessman, had a pretty heavy hand in stocks- didn't really seem like anyone out of the ordinary aside from his riches, though not quite the sort he was used to dealing with. Fushimi tilted his head at Nishikori. "So what exactly am I doing...? You kindly decided to leave that part out," he commented with a slightly annoyed tone.
Nishikori paused, and that was enough for Fushimi to get the message. Nishikori was always thorough, even before handing him over his jobs. So really the only reason he would've omitted something at the beginning would be because it was something he knew Fushimi wouldn't like. Great.
"Togai-"
Nishikori cut him off before he could continue with a wave of his hand, brow furrowed. "Look it's not that bad. It's just not your usual work, and you're roped in because you're the most reliable guy we have. I'm sorry." Fushimi's stomach dropped, and he sat down in an attempt not to let the stress show on his face, slumping low. His day had been going pretty well up until this point, and he braced himself for the bad news.
Leaning against the edge of the desk, Nishikori looked over at him, a sympathetic look peeking through his composed features. "This man says that he's been targeted recently by criminals, and is requesting a bodyguard to keep an eye out for him," he started, tapping a finger on the file. "He has a few important events lined up for next week and you'll have to keep him and his property safe."
Fushimi had already opened his mouth to argue, but slowly shut it. No, bodyguarding was not a thing he did these days- certainly not for strangers, that was for sure. But, if it was a favor that Kitagawa owed, then there was really no helping it. That man kept to his word- for better or for worse, and Fushimi was deigned to honor it. He sucked in a breath and puffed out his cheeks, glaring at the file as if he could set it on fire.
"....Am I going to Spain?"
"Yes."
"Great."
It wasn't that Fushimi didn't like Spain- in fact, he'd never actually been, which was the problem. He was a stranger to travel outside of Japan, and had only done it a few times, under very different, far more pressing circumstances. It was harder to blend in while in other places, and it took more time to get used to the area, which made protecting someone a pain but not impossible. Nishikori had proceeded to explain that it was a relatively simple job and that he should try to relax, but every atom in Fushimi's body was fighting against it. For once he'd like to travel somewhere for a vacation and not a job, and maybe he would relax a smidge, but it was a job in the end and he'd have to take it seriously.
After all, considering how much Aguilar was willing to pay for this, he wasn't about to slack. The file hadn't delved into much about Aguilar himself, so Fushimi sat and simmered in his predictions as he boarded his flight, looking far too unsettled on a plane for someone who wasn't a first timer, squishing himself close to the window. He was connected to Kitagawa in some way, no matter how distant, so it was likely that he had plenty of influence to go along with his money.
The concentration must've shown on his face as barely anyone bothered talking to him during the entire trip, and he didn't bother to interact either, stuck in the thoughts swirling around in his head, building up a plan for every step he got closer. Waiting to receive the address they were to meet, he idly scrolled through his phone's contacts, and let out a mildly pained sound to himself as he hovered over Al's name.
Sh*t. Al had probably been to Spain, right? He wanted to ask for advice considering he'd never been, but he couldn't give anything out about where he was going, for confidentiality. Though it was for business, it was also more of a thing for himself, to know he had no loose ends floating about. Eased his mind a little. He pressed his phone to his forehead for a moment, debating it, before sending Al a short but sweet text about being busy for the week so to not worry.
This was going to be one long week.
At least Spain was beautiful. He'd gotten fairly lucky that Aguilar's current residence was in Barcelona, as he was certain his meager Spanish wouldn't get him very far anywhere else. The architecture was very artistic and earthy, he honestly had to keep himself from the desire to sight-see like a tourist. He could see why people liked to visit, that was for sure.
Not long after he'd gotten himself situated, his phone pinged with an address. It was for a small cafe, a little more towards the coast, though not far from where he was staying. He would appreciate the walk. It was hot and dry this time of year, and Fushimi was finally in a position where he could wear short sleeves in public, so he dressed casual- hair up, some sort of loose pants he couldn't remember buying, and sunglasses to keep his eyeballs from burning.
Frankly it made him feel out of place, though in reality he blended right in. It didn't take him long to find the place, and even less time to find the man in question. Orlando Aguilar sat at one of the tables outside, chatting with the waitress and reclining back in his seat, wearing some sort of garish white shorts. At first Fushimi didn't quite know how to approach, used to being brash with the people he interacted with on the job, so he simply walked up and took the seat across from the man without saying anything.
Aguilar seemed surprised, conversation dropping as he looked over at Fushimi with a blink. "Oh-!" he gaped before sitting upright and taking a look around as if he expected someone to be watching, which sort of set Fushimi on edge. Was he already in danger right now? "You must be Mr. Fushimi, correct?"
Fushimi fought a laugh, mouth twisting into a smile as he pushed it back. Mr.Fushimi. God, that was really formal, and also interesting hearing it come from Aguilar, who seemed to have no idea what the name meant. It made him feel relieved, but also confused. Who exactly was this man expecting?
Eventually he nodded, "Taro is fine."
Aguilar held his hand out in greeting, universal business style, and Fushimi shook it. "Of course! You're right on time! As much as I'd like to er, get along with this, I'm waiting for one more person," he smiled with a rigorous nod. It bothered Fushimi that he was being so weird about the situation, but didn't press. Who else was to be showing up? Nishikori hadn't mentioned anything about anyone else-
Just as he was starting to frown, the waitress approached and asked him if he'd like anything to drink. He hadn't even thought to look at the menu, instead just asking for whatever she recommended. Aguilar had already pulled out his phone and moved onto another conversation- in Spanish, and not anything Fushimi could eavesdrop on.
When she finally returned with a cup of coffee, Fushimi took a careful sip and almost coughed in surprise. OH. That was a lot of espresso- and definitely alcohol. At this point he was starting to wonder if he'd need it.
It took Fushimi a good five minutes to realize that the clock had stopped working. He'd glanced up at it a few times and each time it was still. He hung his head in defeat and annoyance. It wasn't like Nishikori to call him up and then leave him waiting. It was fine, he was patient, but the vagueness of the call had piqued his curiosity enough to leave him antsy in his seat outside Nishikori's office. Arms crossed over his chest, he tapped his foot and listened to the muffled conversation in the room behind him.
There was a small crash, followed by a yell, and then a man came stumbling out of the door next to him. Fushimi glanced over, a questioning look barely hanging on his features. It wasn't anyone he recognized, probably an associate of some kind based on the way he was dressed (though looking very ruffled now). The man met his eyes for a brief, fleeting moment before jumping in surprise and scurrying away like he'd seen a ghost. Ah right. Perhaps sitting around in the office area wasn't good for business, though it looked like Nishikori had already given him a reason not to come back.
At that thought, Nishikori poked his head out, brushing a hand over his jacket and looking down at Fushimi. "Sorry about that. Come on in."
Oh sweet relief. Fushimi rose and followed him into the office- of which he'd seen many times, and never noticed a change. This wasn't Nishikori's only office, after all, but Fushimi had long since noticed that the man never really personalized his spaces. Whether it was a desire to keep his social life private or to keep precious things out of reach of others, he didn't know, and never properly had the guts to ask. Though from what he could tell, it was probably a mix of both. Nishikori was sentimental underneath it all, he knew.
Tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket, not bothering to sit knowing he wouldn't be there long, he gestured back outside with his head. "The clock out there is broken, y'know."
Nishikori, having retreated back behind his desk and begun to rifle through papers, tossed his hands up in the air exasperatedly. "Do I look like I'm the one who's gonna change the batteries?" he scoffed, earning a bite of a laugh out of Fushimi. Tugging a file free from the stack on his desk, he slapped it down and opened it, adjusting his glasses. "Alright Taro, I know this isn't our usual time but apparently Shizuo owes a favor- to an acquaintance of an acquaintance."
Fushimi raised an eyebrow and leaned over the desk to have a look, Nishikori turning the file towards him. He glanced quickly over the information, and the photo of a man- named Orlando Aguilar. A Spaniard, seemed he was some sort of businessman, had a pretty heavy hand in stocks- didn't really seem like anyone out of the ordinary aside from his riches, though not quite the sort he was used to dealing with. Fushimi tilted his head at Nishikori. "So what exactly am I doing...? You kindly decided to leave that part out," he commented with a slightly annoyed tone.
Nishikori paused, and that was enough for Fushimi to get the message. Nishikori was always thorough, even before handing him over his jobs. So really the only reason he would've omitted something at the beginning would be because it was something he knew Fushimi wouldn't like. Great.
"Togai-"
Nishikori cut him off before he could continue with a wave of his hand, brow furrowed. "Look it's not that bad. It's just not your usual work, and you're roped in because you're the most reliable guy we have. I'm sorry." Fushimi's stomach dropped, and he sat down in an attempt not to let the stress show on his face, slumping low. His day had been going pretty well up until this point, and he braced himself for the bad news.
Leaning against the edge of the desk, Nishikori looked over at him, a sympathetic look peeking through his composed features. "This man says that he's been targeted recently by criminals, and is requesting a bodyguard to keep an eye out for him," he started, tapping a finger on the file. "He has a few important events lined up for next week and you'll have to keep him and his property safe."
Fushimi had already opened his mouth to argue, but slowly shut it. No, bodyguarding was not a thing he did these days- certainly not for strangers, that was for sure. But, if it was a favor that Kitagawa owed, then there was really no helping it. That man kept to his word- for better or for worse, and Fushimi was deigned to honor it. He sucked in a breath and puffed out his cheeks, glaring at the file as if he could set it on fire.
"....Am I going to Spain?"
"Yes."
"Great."
It wasn't that Fushimi didn't like Spain- in fact, he'd never actually been, which was the problem. He was a stranger to travel outside of Japan, and had only done it a few times, under very different, far more pressing circumstances. It was harder to blend in while in other places, and it took more time to get used to the area, which made protecting someone a pain but not impossible. Nishikori had proceeded to explain that it was a relatively simple job and that he should try to relax, but every atom in Fushimi's body was fighting against it. For once he'd like to travel somewhere for a vacation and not a job, and maybe he would relax a smidge, but it was a job in the end and he'd have to take it seriously.
After all, considering how much Aguilar was willing to pay for this, he wasn't about to slack. The file hadn't delved into much about Aguilar himself, so Fushimi sat and simmered in his predictions as he boarded his flight, looking far too unsettled on a plane for someone who wasn't a first timer, squishing himself close to the window. He was connected to Kitagawa in some way, no matter how distant, so it was likely that he had plenty of influence to go along with his money.
The concentration must've shown on his face as barely anyone bothered talking to him during the entire trip, and he didn't bother to interact either, stuck in the thoughts swirling around in his head, building up a plan for every step he got closer. Waiting to receive the address they were to meet, he idly scrolled through his phone's contacts, and let out a mildly pained sound to himself as he hovered over Al's name.
Sh*t. Al had probably been to Spain, right? He wanted to ask for advice considering he'd never been, but he couldn't give anything out about where he was going, for confidentiality. Though it was for business, it was also more of a thing for himself, to know he had no loose ends floating about. Eased his mind a little. He pressed his phone to his forehead for a moment, debating it, before sending Al a short but sweet text about being busy for the week so to not worry.
This was going to be one long week.
At least Spain was beautiful. He'd gotten fairly lucky that Aguilar's current residence was in Barcelona, as he was certain his meager Spanish wouldn't get him very far anywhere else. The architecture was very artistic and earthy, he honestly had to keep himself from the desire to sight-see like a tourist. He could see why people liked to visit, that was for sure.
Not long after he'd gotten himself situated, his phone pinged with an address. It was for a small cafe, a little more towards the coast, though not far from where he was staying. He would appreciate the walk. It was hot and dry this time of year, and Fushimi was finally in a position where he could wear short sleeves in public, so he dressed casual- hair up, some sort of loose pants he couldn't remember buying, and sunglasses to keep his eyeballs from burning.
Frankly it made him feel out of place, though in reality he blended right in. It didn't take him long to find the place, and even less time to find the man in question. Orlando Aguilar sat at one of the tables outside, chatting with the waitress and reclining back in his seat, wearing some sort of garish white shorts. At first Fushimi didn't quite know how to approach, used to being brash with the people he interacted with on the job, so he simply walked up and took the seat across from the man without saying anything.
Aguilar seemed surprised, conversation dropping as he looked over at Fushimi with a blink. "Oh-!" he gaped before sitting upright and taking a look around as if he expected someone to be watching, which sort of set Fushimi on edge. Was he already in danger right now? "You must be Mr. Fushimi, correct?"
Fushimi fought a laugh, mouth twisting into a smile as he pushed it back. Mr.Fushimi. God, that was really formal, and also interesting hearing it come from Aguilar, who seemed to have no idea what the name meant. It made him feel relieved, but also confused. Who exactly was this man expecting?
Eventually he nodded, "Taro is fine."
Aguilar held his hand out in greeting, universal business style, and Fushimi shook it. "Of course! You're right on time! As much as I'd like to er, get along with this, I'm waiting for one more person," he smiled with a rigorous nod. It bothered Fushimi that he was being so weird about the situation, but didn't press. Who else was to be showing up? Nishikori hadn't mentioned anything about anyone else-
Just as he was starting to frown, the waitress approached and asked him if he'd like anything to drink. He hadn't even thought to look at the menu, instead just asking for whatever she recommended. Aguilar had already pulled out his phone and moved onto another conversation- in Spanish, and not anything Fushimi could eavesdrop on.
When she finally returned with a cup of coffee, Fushimi took a careful sip and almost coughed in surprise. OH. That was a lot of espresso- and definitely alcohol. At this point he was starting to wonder if he'd need it.