Late Check-In
Oct. 21st, 2024 02:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madimpossibledreamerThis one has been in the works for a while; I just got around to finally writing the idea.
Cast of Characters (listed the Japanese way of surname first): Amaya-kai-yakuza clan most of the main cast is in
Allen Francis Doyle, as himself
Miyamoto Suna or Sunao (Xander), Hyena of Kumai, Matriarch of the Miyamoto-gumi, a direct subsidiary of the Amaya-kai
(mentioned) Miyamoto Cordy, Ani-san ("husband") of the Miyamoto-gumi, a direct subsidiary of the Amaya-kai, as herself
Author's Notes: In this universe, Japan is run by the women. Miyamoto is genderfluid, and Doyle knows this but is a little too panicked by the yakuza in his office to catch on. As usual Miyamoto's dialogue is kinda in slangy Kansai-ben. Though Miyamoto is trying to lean into Sunao, so it's more like it's slipping through because Miyamoto's ready to gut a man if necessary.
Terms: no terms this time!
More author's notes: background notes
Main Points:
Buffy/Yakuza AU (Bloody Petals)
Chapter Summary: Doyle was not prepared for a meeting with a yakuza Matriarch when he finally gets to the office.
Word Count: 780
Rating: Teen
The entire place has been turned over. From a glance, it doesn’t look like anything was taken, but he won’t know for sure until he gets a better look. Only he’s not used to the action part of all this, so he steps on some sorta trinket he’d gotten to give the place a little more pep, and it breaks, alerting whoever’s inside.
And then a face pops out sideways as the intruder peeks out, and, headache of headaches, it’s a face he’s seen before, if only in a vision. Pretty girl, sometimes, eyepatch and all.
“Doyle-kun, ya kept me waitin’. Took yer sweet time.” The head pops back in, and then the woman herself emerges. Today it seems like she’s gone for the full leather ensemble, though it looks like someone’s added badges that would be punk if the English made any sense. He’s pretty sure she’s responsible, given that manic, ‘I will stab you’ grin.
“I...don’t keep normal hours.” What else can he say? He drops the bat. No way he’s taking on a yakuza Matriarch with his poor fighting skills. He’d be gutted and split open like a fish before he even managed to make a blow connect.
“Guess not, with your business.” She reaches out a hand, and it’s really unlike Cordelia’s, rough with blood and split, cracking skin. Looks like she just bashed in a window to get in. He just stares at it, blinking, and she finally puts it back, not looking a bit hurt, when he realizes that she’d actually been going for a handshake. “Figured I can’t be too careful.”
“This is about Cordelia, huh?” He tries not to shake or show weakness. He hadn’t gotten many glimpses, but the few he’d gotten say not to get on this yakuza’s bad side.
“You ever think about trying to protect her yourself?” She’s taking the light touch with this. Probably to scare him, but she doesn’t need the extra step. He’s intimidated enough as it is.
Now she’s just mocking him. “You’ve seen her, yeah? Sure, I thought about it. Like to think I could play the hero, but you’ve seen the fellas they send. I wouldn’t stand a chance. Only reason I sent her your way is the whole yakuza thing. You’ve got backup, resources.”
She glances up from where she’s openly going through his things, now, single eye piercing his soul. “So you didn’t sell her out?”
“You crazy?” She goes cold, and he swallows, instantly realizing his mistake, before she grins, sharp and warning.
And then she giggles, and he remembers her namesake. As if he wasn’t already terrified as it is. “You’re not the first to ask, but I think the real question is—are you? Because you gotta know now, lyin’s worse than just tellin’ me the truth if ya did rat.”
“If she’d stayed, they woulda found both of us, and I’d hate to watch something happen to a pretty lady.” Surely she isn’t looking for a single guy with visions and something like a fortuneteller’s little office to explain he just didn’t have the resources to fight the cult. He’s not fully human, but there’s only so much that helps. His heritage doesn’t include anything to help him fight, let alone an entire cult.
“It’s a bit hypocritical, coming from me, but I appreciate you being on the up and up,” she states seriously—wait, no, he. Not that he fully gets it, but he’s seen a glimpse, here and there, and the lack of much of an accent indicates this isn’t Suna. It’s Sunao. “Sure you’re not on the lookout for a job?”
“I’m not working for the yakuza, thanks.” Maybe stating this directly is dangerous, but hell, if he’s gonna die for being honest, he might as well go for it.
The yakuza smirks, reaching over to pat his hand. And even as it feels condescending, Doyle gets the impression it’s not meant to be. That it’s actually meant to be a reassurance. “Aw, well. If you ever need a favor, the Miyamoto-gumi’s got your number. Just say the word. I owe ya.” He makes out a check, maintaining eye contact even as he signs with a flourish, slams it down on Doyle’s poor abused desk, and then wanders off whistling. Given the amount, this might be part of the thanks, too, but maybe it’s just for damages.
Cast of Characters (listed the Japanese way of surname first): Amaya-kai-yakuza clan most of the main cast is in
Allen Francis Doyle, as himself
Miyamoto Suna or Sunao (Xander), Hyena of Kumai, Matriarch of the Miyamoto-gumi, a direct subsidiary of the Amaya-kai
(mentioned) Miyamoto Cordy, Ani-san ("husband") of the Miyamoto-gumi, a direct subsidiary of the Amaya-kai, as herself
Author's Notes: In this universe, Japan is run by the women. Miyamoto is genderfluid, and Doyle knows this but is a little too panicked by the yakuza in his office to catch on. As usual Miyamoto's dialogue is kinda in slangy Kansai-ben. Though Miyamoto is trying to lean into Sunao, so it's more like it's slipping through because Miyamoto's ready to gut a man if necessary.
Terms: no terms this time!
More author's notes: background notes
Main Points:
Buffy/Yakuza AU (Bloody Petals)
Chapter Summary: Doyle was not prepared for a meeting with a yakuza Matriarch when he finally gets to the office.
Word Count: 780
Rating: Teen
Doyle spares a thought to complain to the Powers That Be about the whole ‘seeing the future but can’t even warn me about a break-in’ deal—like, what’s the use of a dead prophet for fighting evil—before picking up the bat and cautiously venturing inside.
The entire place has been turned over. From a glance, it doesn’t look like anything was taken, but he won’t know for sure until he gets a better look. Only he’s not used to the action part of all this, so he steps on some sorta trinket he’d gotten to give the place a little more pep, and it breaks, alerting whoever’s inside.
And then a face pops out sideways as the intruder peeks out, and, headache of headaches, it’s a face he’s seen before, if only in a vision. Pretty girl, sometimes, eyepatch and all.
“Doyle-kun, ya kept me waitin’. Took yer sweet time.” The head pops back in, and then the woman herself emerges. Today it seems like she’s gone for the full leather ensemble, though it looks like someone’s added badges that would be punk if the English made any sense. He’s pretty sure she’s responsible, given that manic, ‘I will stab you’ grin.
“I...don’t keep normal hours.” What else can he say? He drops the bat. No way he’s taking on a yakuza Matriarch with his poor fighting skills. He’d be gutted and split open like a fish before he even managed to make a blow connect.
“Guess not, with your business.” She reaches out a hand, and it’s really unlike Cordelia’s, rough with blood and split, cracking skin. Looks like she just bashed in a window to get in. He just stares at it, blinking, and she finally puts it back, not looking a bit hurt, when he realizes that she’d actually been going for a handshake. “Figured I can’t be too careful.”
“This is about Cordelia, huh?” He tries not to shake or show weakness. He hadn’t gotten many glimpses, but the few he’d gotten say not to get on this yakuza’s bad side.
“You ever think about trying to protect her yourself?” She’s taking the light touch with this. Probably to scare him, but she doesn’t need the extra step. He’s intimidated enough as it is.
Now she’s just mocking him. “You’ve seen her, yeah? Sure, I thought about it. Like to think I could play the hero, but you’ve seen the fellas they send. I wouldn’t stand a chance. Only reason I sent her your way is the whole yakuza thing. You’ve got backup, resources.”
She glances up from where she’s openly going through his things, now, single eye piercing his soul. “So you didn’t sell her out?”
“You crazy?” She goes cold, and he swallows, instantly realizing his mistake, before she grins, sharp and warning.
And then she giggles, and he remembers her namesake. As if he wasn’t already terrified as it is. “You’re not the first to ask, but I think the real question is—are you? Because you gotta know now, lyin’s worse than just tellin’ me the truth if ya did rat.”
“If she’d stayed, they woulda found both of us, and I’d hate to watch something happen to a pretty lady.” Surely she isn’t looking for a single guy with visions and something like a fortuneteller’s little office to explain he just didn’t have the resources to fight the cult. He’s not fully human, but there’s only so much that helps. His heritage doesn’t include anything to help him fight, let alone an entire cult.
“It’s a bit hypocritical, coming from me, but I appreciate you being on the up and up,” she states seriously—wait, no, he. Not that he fully gets it, but he’s seen a glimpse, here and there, and the lack of much of an accent indicates this isn’t Suna. It’s Sunao. “Sure you’re not on the lookout for a job?”
“I’m not working for the yakuza, thanks.” Maybe stating this directly is dangerous, but hell, if he’s gonna die for being honest, he might as well go for it.
The yakuza smirks, reaching over to pat his hand. And even as it feels condescending, Doyle gets the impression it’s not meant to be. That it’s actually meant to be a reassurance. “Aw, well. If you ever need a favor, the Miyamoto-gumi’s got your number. Just say the word. I owe ya.” He makes out a check, maintaining eye contact even as he signs with a flourish, slams it down on Doyle’s poor abused desk, and then wanders off whistling. Given the amount, this might be part of the thanks, too, but maybe it’s just for damages.
