Explanations and Explorations
Apr. 16th, 2012 03:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
saitoh_hajime posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
gumi_reloadedTime: Late Afternoon - Early Evening
Location: New Meiji Department of Justice (Police Wing, Armory, Shooting Range)
Characters, NPC, Saitoh, Tokio
“YOU HAVE ACCESSED THE NEW MEIJI POLICE DEPARTMENT ANSWERING SYSTEM. PLEASE LISTEN TO THE FOLLOWING OPTIONS BEFORE MAKING YOUR SELECTION.”
Saitoh took an impatient drag on his cigarette and listened.
“TO CHANGE YOUR PERSONAL GREETING, PLEASE PRESS 1. TO LISTEN TO YOUR PERSONAL GREETING, PLEASE PRESS 2. TO FORWARD CALLS, PLEASE PRESS 3. TO ACCEPT FORWARDED CALLS, PLEASE PRESS 4. TO FORWARD A CALL TO A FORWARDED NUMBER, PLEASE PRESS 5.”
Saitoh swore, and tried to resist the urge to throw his office phone out the window, wishing that they would stop changing the options every few weeks.
“TO CHANGE YOUR RINGTONE, PLEASE PRESS 6, TO LISTEN TO AVAILABLE RING TONES, PLEASE PRESS 7. TO REQUEST A CUSTOM RING TONE FOR ALL FORWARDED CALLS PLEASE PRESS 8”
Exhaling smoke out of his nostrils in a murderous sounding snort, Saitoh slammed the phone down onto the charger with enough force that his terminal and desk shook.
“Yorimoto!”
Saitoh’s new secretary jumped in his seat, knocked over a picture of his mother and her passel of pugs, and then tried to give his commanding officer a smart, manly sort of salute. “Yes, Saitoh-sama!” Newly promoted from the office accounting pool, Yorimoto Katsume was a twitchy little ferret of a man, one whom Saitoh suspected had an unholy fixation with fountain pens. “How may I provide you with assistance, Sir!”
(Holy freaking hell…) Saitoh gave his newest secretary a long measured look. “What is the prompt on the automated phone system so I can listen to my messages?”
“That’s easy, Sir! It’s option 18. Would you like me to assist you in button pressing, Saitoh-sama?” Yorimoto said hopefully, eager to prove his worth.
“No.” Saitoh pinched the bridge of his narrow nose and prayed for patience, since his preferred course of action, that being strangling his secretary and shoving the body where the sun didn’t shine was generally speaking, frowned upon.
“Oh,” Yorimoto’s face fell. “Well, if you have any trouble, please know that you can safely rely on me to provide you with timely assistance.”
Saitoh pinched harder, reminding himself that slaying evil instantly was not applicable to the mentally deficient, no matter how annoying they might be, “I will keep that in mind.”
“Oh, and if you are wondering about that voicemail you received fifteen minutes ago, the transcript is on your desk.”
Saitoh glanced down at his desk and saw that there was in fact, a memo near his cigarette ash covered keyboard. (Unlike most people, he preferred typing rather than relying on voice recognition software) He frowned (due mostly to the smiley face stamp that was by Yorimoto’s name) and began reading.
MEMO:
To: Captain H. Saitoh
From: Office Secretary K. Yorimoto (recently promoted)
Subject: Voicemail from O. Murakami, DOJ (13:35:05)
Dear Captain Saitoh-sama,
Here is the transcript of a voicemail you received from one O. Murakami. Please review and let me know if you need any further assistance in this, or any other matter.
With the most profound respect that you could ever imagine,
K. Yorimoto ^__^
Start Message
“Hello, this is a message for Captain Saitoh-san. This is Oharu Murakami. I’m not sure if you remember me, but I was the secretary to the late Fujita Hiroshi? Yes, well… I am now working for Takagi Tokio, Assistant Prosecuting Attorney. She asked me to call and let you know that she will be stopping by your office to return an item that you lent her the other day and that you should anticipate her arrival no later than 15:30….
Saitoh-san, I heard about your injuries sustained in the line of duty. I hope that you will make a speedy recovery and that your boys, bless their hearts, are safe and well. If you have any questions, or can’t speak with Takagi-san during this time, please call me directly or send an email so that I can reschedule.
Warmest Regards,
O. Murakami”
End Message.
.
no subject
Date: 2012-05-18 05:28 am (UTC)And yet here he was. Yare, Yare…Reality was stranger than fiction, it seemed.
(Okita would have an aneurism from laughing so hard…) Saitoh thought rather peevishly, wondering for the hundredth time where his old partner had disappeared to. Realistically, he knew that his best friend was probably dead, yet another casualty in the undeclared war for New Meiji. Never one for watching from the sidelines, Okita had understood before most that they were in the midst of a battle, one that was being waged for the heart and soul of a society and had, with sunny, almost obnoxious optimism that at times set Saitoh’s cynical teeth on edge, had done everything he could to ensure that the right side of the grinding conflict was victorious.
In the months and weeks leading up to his disappearance, Okita had fought ferociously to keep one heart and soul in particular from falling through the cracks, a heart that was broken and soul that was shaken off its very foundations. (I hated him for it…wished he’d leave me the hell alone and let me finish what I’d started during the war…) It was Okita who came to pick him up for work, made him eat, drove him home after finding him holed up by himself in some seedy bar, held his head and kept his airway clear when he was passed out so he didn’t aspirate on vomit that stank of hard liquor and despair.
The last time he’d spoken to his friend, it had been in terrible anger. Okita had tried to introduce him to a woman, a kind faced nurse who’d lost her husband the year before in a traffic accident, perhaps hoping that the company of another might help take the edge of his grief and anger. It had been an unfortunate miscalculation on his friend’s part, one that had resulted in the nurse driving off in tears after Saitoh had verbally savaged her, and two men, two old friends fighting.
(You told me I needed to move on with my life) Saitoh recalled, (I threatened to take yours from you for daring to suggest that anyone could replace Yaso…) The thought at the time had been nothing short of blasphemous and had triggered Saitoh’s white hot temper. Things were said that shouldn’t have been on both sides and the two men parted ways, their friendship nearly as battered as their bruised knuckles.
(You were right, Okita) Saitoh conceded the battle to his missing friend, never so glad as to be on the losing side of an argument. (It is time…past time…I move on) Not from Yaso’s memory. He understood that now, sobriety and the struggle of raising two children alone having refined his thought processes on the matter. And while it was too soon for him to understand how things would ultimately play out with Takagi, he already knew that she was a force for good in his life, that she was already bringing out a side of him rarely seen by others, an aspect of himself that he’d given up for lost until he’d stopped into a café for a badly needed cup of coffee and reacquainted himself with a singularly remarkable woman.
(First things first however…)
I am so confused…I only met you 24 hours ago, but I feel like I know you. I feel like I know you. I feel safe with you. When you touch me, it feels so normal; it feels right and it scares me. I have never been forward with a man before, but when you let go of me, it feels like I have lost something very precious to me.
Understanding a thing or two about losing something….someone precious, Saitoh leaned down, resting his chin on the ink black crown of the Takagi’s head, closing his eyes in relief as the well-remembered (and keenly missed) scent of pine needles and blossoms washed over him. She was trembling against him, her emotions crashing and breaking like white capped waves against a rugged, rocky coastline.
He drew her closer, not wanting her to be cold or afraid. (She is sadly no stranger to either of these things…)Without warning, a razor sharp memory of her blossomed in the back of his mind. He could see her pulling a threadbare kimono tight around her slender frame, stumbling in deep snow, her face wan and thin from a lack of food and exposure. This memory was followed by a more recent recollection of her clinging to him in the diner, her eyes wide with horror as she watched men slaughtered.
“There are many things and people in New Meiji that you should be wary and uncertain of, Takagi-san,” He said softly yet seriously, lightly brushing his lips against the crown of her hair. It was an unconscious action, a long forgotten habit that kicked in at the mere idea of her being distressed. “I am not one of them. I would rather die than see you come to harm.” Considering the promise he’d given her and in light of her precarious position within the DOJ, his words were not empty.