A Series of (Un?)Fortunate Events [Closed/Kirito]

Alcohol was just great, wasn't it? Now that Kirito was in a sort of kind of slightly human body (the ONE thing that he would ever thank Levi Grisha for), despite his better instincts telling him otherwise, one of the first things he had done was go to a bar. I say one of, because earlier today, Kazuto had moved into his new house. When Levi had said that he would live a comfortable life, Kirito had assumed a large apartment: maybe a small house somewhere. But this? This was way beyond his expectations. The building was a rather large two story home, with Japanese styled tiling and a pagoda-like roof. The rest of the house seemed very western though. 

It was outfitted with three restrooms, two bedrooms with king size beds, a fully functional kitchen, and finally, a very nice garden out back. The whole thing was really quite the spectacle. Kirito did have one question about the whole thing though, and that was simply: "How the hell did this guy pay for all of this?". The answer was clear: blood money, drug sales, all sorts of heinous and criminal things that he detested. Yet, despite this, Kirito tried his best to push the thought out of his head: his newfound peace of mind of sorts was not worth losing over a moral quarrel. Certainly not one directed at crimes against those who were likely doing the same very heinous and evil things to other people.

So to say things in a simple way, he was now outfitted with what you could call the skeleton of a "nice" life. Now Kirito just needed to pad said skeleton with human things... like friendship, and dangerous substance abuse. The latter was exactly why he was now here, at a rather nice bar in downtown Karakura Town. He was sipping away at his hard whisky, his smart phone in one hand drunkenly texting one of the Yakuza members he had met, Rex.  

Then, a sound rung through Kirito's ears without any sort of notice. The man which it had originated from seemed to be a whiter, western type, maybe European or American. After a drunken, VERY Japanese man, had shown up and approached the man, making a mountain out a molehill, Kirito caught on to something odd. As the man began speaking expletives at the seemingly foreign patron, said foreign patron muttered a few apologies in near perfect Japanese, accent and all. In fact, it was so good that if Kirito hadn't seen the man, he would believe him to be as native to the country as they came!

But he wasn't native. And that just made things more odd. The guy was rather cultured clearly, and there was some wise air about him that Kirito liked. Who knew what it was? Oh wait... he did. Within a few moments, Kirito's spiritual senses caught on to a twinge of energy radiating off of the man. Not enough to be that of some great spiritualist, but certainly more than 99% of the regular schmucks out on the streets. Glancing in the man's direction, he raised an eyebrow as he analysed the man top to bottom. Finishing his glass of whisky, Kirito then stood up, motioning to the bartender for another empty glass and the rest of the bottle. Within a few seconds, Kazuto was on his way to the odd man's table.

Then, without announcing himself, in his lightly buzzed way of doing things, Kirito plopped himself down in a chair, pouring the man a glass of whisky and one for himself. Looking at the man, Kirito spoke simply, his tone resounding with careless curiosity, amplified by the light drunken nature of his current state.

"Name's Kazuto: I noticed you spoke rather good Japanese: almost too good for a foreigner. Who exactly are you? Also, don't worry about the drink, it's on me."

Of course, that REALLY meant that it was on Levi, however indirectly that might have been.


Words: 666

It was only a minor, brief exchange, but having been accosted by one of the local patrons hadn't left Alexander in any better a mood than before. While the circumstances and the vague acknowledgement that he was meant to have a discreet presence here on Earth, had Alexander backing down, apologetic until the Japanese bigot let him be, there was a burning desire afterwards to do something aggressive. It wouldn't be hard for him to smash the stupid old man's face in, literally. With his strength, a simple punch could probably break the bone enough to give the guy a real, and most likely fatal, dent. Of course, or so Alexander had heard, unless you were an attractive large breasted woman, anyone who wasn't Japanese was going to have a hard time. For many reasons, Alexander had his doubts on that point. However, if you looked into the street, into the crowd, every person would be Japanese and it wasn't that uncommon, to come across someone who objected to seeing any person who didn't fit that particular 'everywhere you looked' description.

"Huh?"

He was surprised at having been approached by some person, out of the blue. Before he could really think of a response, they'd introduced themselves and had poured a drink for both themselves and Alexander. The name had seemed familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. Whoever they were, they'd found Alexander suspicious. So what if he spoke good Japanese? Oh, because that's the big tell, isn't it, if he's some Shinigami masquerading as a person, and every person he meets on Earth always seems to be up in arms about that.

He let out a sigh. There was a brief glance down at the drink that he'd accepted, without really thinking about it, closing his fingers around the glass. It wasn't immediately obvious what this person wanted, but he could give an educated guess. This wasn't the first time he'd seen someone trying to push a drink on him to get information. He didn't slide the drink away, or throw it back in the newcomers face, but he wasn't exactly downing it either.

"Look, whoever you are, if you're KSN or another bloody Quincy, just piss off, okay? I just came here for a drink, if you want to fight, do us both a favour and wait outside. I'm sure I'll be out, eventually."

He'd stretched out his Spiritual Perception a bit, to try and get an idea of what he was dealing with this time, but he was tired. After days of being stuck in this fucking place, and after every time, coming to Earth, resulting in some kind of mess or another, he just couldn't be asked anymore. If the guy wanted to fight, Alexander would simply fight him. The fact that the name had sounded kind of familiar, probably meant he was dealing with someone who was known, possibly dangerous, but not enough so that their name leapt out at him. Alexander got the sense that they had Spirit Energy, nothing instantaneously recognisable, and while he could probably figure out exactly what he was dealing with upon closer inspection, today he didn't have the focus or the patience. Mulling over his new drink, contemplating if it was worth drinking it anyway, despite how easily he knew he got drunk, Alexander ignored the newcomer, whether or not they decided to stay or go. He grumbles.

"Urgh... Can't I just come to Earth and not have shit happen?"

It was tempting to have a drink anyway.

Word Count (Total): 590 (1468)
Total GP: 29

Damn. The guy had an attitude, the balls to back it up, AND enough of an ego to accept a drink before shit talking the person who had given him said drink. Before he could say anything, Kirito had to make a single, simple, but accurate mental acknowledgement.

...That's kind of hot.

Sighing and holding back a blush (though it wouldn't really have mattered if he hadn't, considering the alcohol flowing through his veins that was now showing itself through the flushing of his cheeks), Kirito wasn't sure if that last thought had been the result of some effect the alcohol had on the rather buzzed young man, or if it had been legitimately him thinking. It also didn't help that he had just realized that his zanpakuto spirit had probably just seen this whole situation unfold: Hana had gotten better about maintaining a more mature and partner-like style of talk with Kazuto, but even she wouldn't miss the chance to joke about his thoughts and any events that followed said thoughts' suit. After all, the last time he had gotten drunk... well, there had been a lot, and I mean a LOT of ass... Captain Dekharr, who had now gone missing, and Murat Pasha, who Kirito really hadn't seen much of since, had been involved.

Unfortunately, he couldn't quite recall the rest of the events of that depressing yet ironically satisfying night, and for now, Kazuto had realized that this was probably for the best. Now, back to the present! After having drifted off, he had been brought back to reality by the sudden mention of the Quincy AND the KSN in the same sentence... and a fight of some kind? Well, this guy was being rather up front: did he not realize that normal humans didn't know about these things? Oh. He had forgotten: he wasn't a normal human. There was spiritual energy, although not much of it, spread throughout the special gigai, so it shouldn't have surprised him that he was being talked to as if he was a spiritualist.

So what exactly was this man? A human spiritualist? A quincy? A shinigami in disguise? No, the last was far too unlikely. He had used his first name only in conversation, and had a body that looked totally different from his spiritual one, so this guy was almost certainly not a cronie from the seireitei. However, he was still intrigued by the fine and interesting specimen that was this man: following up the man's rather disinterested and pissed statement, Kirito kept up his drunken smirk, filling the man's glass up as he replied to the new patron.

"Neither, my rather odd friend. Just a human with a lot of knowledge and some spiritual energy is all. Don't want to fight, either. Just wanted to talk: you seem far more interesting than the rest of the silly lot around here. You know, being white, depressed, AND speaking japanese... I'm sure you get where I'm coming from. But never mind all that, who exactly are you?"

He spoke with an inquisitive venom that had a determination behind it only matched by his scanning glare, his eyes meeting with the other man's briefly before they continued to look the guy up and down. Propping his chin up with his right arm, Kazuto downed another glass, awaiting the other man's retort.


Words: 560

Far from being deterred by Alexander's words, the newcomer only seemed encouraged by the rebukes. While in theory this should have annoyed the Shinigami even more, a bit of guilty backlash at having snapped at anyone gave the inanely grinning drunk an opening to get in closer. It should be said though, that Kirito would have found himself on shaky ground had he said anything further to annoy Alexander. As it happens, reassurance and more generous bribery manage to soothe that particular beast. Instead, before he could say anything further, the spectacled Shinigami finds himself glancing down at the glass as the interloper choses to fill it up even more.

[Ah!]

Well, he supposed he had accepted the drink... not that he'd really thought about it, or had really intended to. He couldn't exactly rid himself of the glass now. If Alexander was honest the whole thing, the liquor filling the glass up to the brim, struck him as being somewhat reminiscent of the last time he'd been drinking. Hah! Still, it was hardly likely that this guy was also...

He glanced back up at the young man opposite him. An immediate and intuitive analysis of the person and their expression, along with some sharp conclusions, that another might accuse him of leaping to in any other circumstances, and Alexander was having to fight the impulse to panic and become flustered. He wouldn't visibly blush, though how he managed to prevent himself from doing so is anyone's guess. There would be a quick widening of the eyes, and a bit of sudden tension as the realisation struck him, or as the wild assumption took him, as Alexander would virulently hope. The reaction would fade quickly, as the Shinigami took a hold of himself, giving way to a sort of tired resignation.

[Oh, great...]

The tone was sarcastic.

[... another one...]

[...possibly]

Just a human? Alright, he'd buy that, but it didn't necessarily mean that it was safe for Alexander. He'd been to a Earth a number of times now, and on more than a few of those occasions, when he'd encountered people, things had gone south the moment he was revealed as a Shinigami. While this young interloper said that they weren't after a fight, Alexander wasn't so naive, at least not these days, to simply take him on his word. While he wasn't particularly good at being deceptive, usually, being a rather honest person (sometimes to a detrimental degree), the young spectacled Shinigami had had at least some experience dealing with this particular situation.

"I'm just an Investigator, Alexander Vulfne. Been on the trail of a Cannibal recently, a rather fussy eater at that, judging from the leftovers she leaves behind."

It seemed an ongoing pattern that whenever he was on Earth he found himself using his middle name as his last, which in some ways helped him develop some sort of alter ego or character to assume. While he was mostly doing a good job selling his cover story, some degree of his usual nature found itself kicking in.

"... or 'he' leaves behind."

Because for no reason whatsoever, a part of his mind told him it would be suspicious for him to know the gender of his quarry. It wasn't an accusation. A second later, of course, more sensible and analytical thoughts tell him that it shouldn't be suspicious for him to know at all.

"Not that I shouldn't know who I'm after. I mean, I know it's a Woman."

Which he then realised he probably would have been better off without saying. That little fumble, although said calmly enough without any form of panic, was enough of an err on Alexander's part to prompt him going for some sort of cover. In this case, he'd find himself taking a quick swig of the drink that had been offered him, which did a good job, at least momentarily, of putting a stop to his overflowing tongue.

[Ack. Why was it Whiskey, again?]

Not that he disliked the taste. Of course, he had to ask himself if it was a good idea for him to be drinking. However, as Murat had recently pointed out to him, there were times when one needed a drink. This God awful assignment on Earth seemed like an appropriate cause. 

Even though he wasn't much of a drinker, he was aware that different drinks tended to affect people in different ways and, if the last time he'd partook in Whiskey was any indicator, he had to be very weary and cautious of his upcoming behaviour.

[Still...]

A sly and inquisitive part of Alexander's mind peaked up, and whether or not it was the alcohol somehow managing to hit his system fast, this quickly, or something else, Alexander wasn't sure. He'd not remembered most of his encounter with Murat Pasha, not the more involved 'intimate' details, but Alexander could definately recall some of the 'beginning' part.

[Ah, no...]

He was mentally shaking his head to try and cast off the image and recollection.

[You just get a bit 'unpredictable' when you're drunk.]

Which was reason enough for Alexander to think that he should probably not drink anymore. Unfortunately, he already knew, with the way his system handled things, that with a small swig of Whiskey, things were already too late. Nonetheless, when the glass is placed back on the table, it's drawn defensively inward away from any top ups. He'd barely drunk a third of it.

"Soo... who exactly are you?"

The tone seemed somewhat more playful, though still accusing, and wouldn't have been out of place alongside a poke, or even an impromptu 'boop'. It was a rather sudden change of mood, to say the least, coming from the 'hard boiled' detective, in pursuit a dangerous killer. In addition, while Alexander was still speaking Japanese, in a somewhat oddly placed juxtaposition, he'd apparently switched to a somewhat 'posher' and 'well-spoken' Japanese accent. While most common folk might do so mockingly, Alexander, funnily enough, actually had the proper elocution and training to do so correctly, with all the right pronunciation. He would however, be beginning to slur, only very slightly. It was just another oddity of Alexander's.

Word Count (Total): 1013 (2481)
Total GP: 48

Kirito began to laugh as soon as his drinking partner let his first words leave his mouth. The story the man...Alexander Vulfne, had given him was not only laughably cliche, but had been placed into the conversation at exactly the wrong time. Alexander's earlier words were still fresh in Kirito's mind, and they had included, but were not limited to: mentions of the KSN, Quincy, and fighting. Those three terms not only went together, but were highly common terms in the life of somebody who was far from mundane. 

To jump from that to: "Oh I'm just an investigator", especially after Kirito had let him know that he had "some spiritual energy" (Yes, believe that, Mr. Alexander, please, I'm not wearing a gigai I swear!) was a literal representation of idiocy. Oh, and the guy had fucked up the cover story towards the end as well, starting by emphasizing the gender of his supposed "target" but then following it up with a series of mishaps over his own information. Any real investigator would have a case file memorized front to back: sure, you could make the case that the alcohol was affecting how the man was speaking, but then again, what good investigator would take a drink from a stranger?

Yeah, so the guy clearly wasn't who he said he was: big deal! Who cared, honestly: Kirito was out to have fun and kill his liver, so why be a dick about it. He would certainly make sure that the man knew his lie had been seen through, but there was no reason to force the guy to tell the truth. In this spirit, he took the bottle of whisky and began to fill Alexander's glass once more, noticing that the man had quickly taken a large swig a few seconds ago. He followed up by filling his own while he idly remarked upon his own "investigative" findings surrounding his drinking partner's story.

"You know, just because some man at the bar offered you a drink and started talking about the realm of ever so spooooooookyyyyy ghosts, doesn't mean you have to lie to them about yourself."

Kirito paused and took a long, drawn out sip of his whisky, placing one finger up to indicate his pause to the man. It took him a moment to resume after he gulped down the bittersweet poison.

"In honesty, I say that I'm 'normal' in the tense of which we're speaking: both of us clearly aren't that ever-so desirable conventional normal, but when comparing ourselves to each other, I think 'normal' is the only truly accurate word. Spiritual energy and all: I mean, you mentioned the Quincy, the KSN, and fighting me in one sentence, soooooo, even if I HADN'T been able to sense the energy coming from you, I would have known immediately that you were lying."

Taking a deep breath, Kirito took another sip of his whisky, this one more chaste and brief. Slowly, the wooden table he was sitting at was beginning to seem less and less detailed: cracks and spots were vanishing in front of his eyes, so maybe it was time to slow down ever so slightly. After all, he still needed enough mental stamina to actually answer the question Alexander had asked him.

Actually, that was exactly what he did next. The question, ironically, required a bit of "half-truth" telling, but you know what, maybe it was okay to do that when you were a literal fugitive and had to be careful.

"Oh, me? I'm Yuri Kazuto, or to you, since you're a foreigner, 'Kazuto Yuri'. People call me a lot of different things though... Azu, or 'Ace' because of my first name is a popular one, but I could care less in all honesty. While you're an 'Investigator'..."


Kirito paused to let the sarcasm of his voice surround the last word of his initial statement, as well as to come up with a career.

His choice was sub-optimal.

"I'm affiliated with the Yakuza. Don't do any killing, but the job pays well. Apologies if such a source of income is offensive to a man like you."

Kirito was impressed that he could still keep creating fluid sentences, but he was even more impressed at the fact that he had the audacity to raise his eyebrows towards the man after he finished his statement.

Oh dear, he'd started flirting, hadn't he.

This was not good.

Well, it wasn't that bad, I mean, what's the worst that could happen!



Words: 750