(( Taken from live play. Thanks to Denji's player for taking part! ))
Oddly enough to contact someone through email. Even more odd is that it came from a handwritten script on a piece of paper. Kiyomi had never done something like this; at least not when it came to the opposite sex. Ms. Kubo spent much of her life behind the walls of St. Mary's, and the only men there had been the grounds keeper and the priest. It seemed dipping her toe into the world of racing had brought about a different set of characters into her life. Meeting up with Izumi outside of those walls only a bit after leaving St. Mary's behind and entering college had sparked it all, but Madness and the drama which led her into now being kicked out of her house? It had brought her here. Decisions which she should question more seemed to be cast aside for the chance of something new and exciting.
The man who wrote the phone number and email address had been both of those things. He represented a different life outside of her norms ? something she wanted to know more about, since it reminded her of Maiko; her sister.
Kiyomi checked the time of her iPhone 4S. She had messed with it to allow coverage with a phonecard, so she at least had a new number now ? but she did not contact Denji over that. It had been through e-mail when she said she wouldn't mind meeting up with him. Where? The docks. They weren't the mountains, but it was open and the smell of the seawater helped ease her nerves as she waited while leaned against her IS200. The ride wasn't painted, not yet at least ? so it still bore some scratches and other such things to the white coat originally held. The air had a slight chill to it, so she decided to wear that borrowed sukajan once more; the one which held the image of a tiger on the back of it.
"Crazy idea.." She told herself. Is it odd to think these things at the last minute? Maybe they should have met in the mountains. Then again, it isn't really the time to just start second guessing. If she got cold feet this opportunity might not have a second chance.
Though effectively out of the everyday work his family had used to vault themselves into a position that'd left them reaching inky fingers towards this new frontier, Rhy'din city, Denji found himself spending a frustratingly large amount of time on the phone, on a computer, managing the logistics of such a massive shift in manpower, resources and physical elements. All the small details of setting up a cell in a foreign, unknown land had fallen on the shoulders of a young man who'd shown so much promise and such a charming, winning character. Perhaps that was why?
It had been, if he was quite honest with himself, a bad decision. Sending the business card was perfectly acceptable and entirely logical. Sending a personal address, a way to find him and a paper trail all at once was, in retrospect, not the safest choice. Much less when the girl's mother was a lawyer at least nominally sworn to uphold peace and law. Those two ideals clashed, often violently, when in contact with the Yakuza's view on civilized life and how it should be maintained. All the same, he found himself thrilled by the prospect.
She'd wanted to meet in Dockside, the place he lived. The place the stain of occupation would reach first, and a place he already felt relatively safe in. Within the span of a short week, businesses had moved to the side of a new, shadowy force, citizens had seen the numerous benefits of falling in line. It was far from done and would not be easy, but this could be called something close to an effective base of power for a burgeoning empire that this city, crime ridden as it was, had likely not seen in quite some time. After a single stop at a steamy vending cart near his suite, the journey was quick and easy courtesy of the black on black Supra that he favored so passionately. While he wore suits dazzlingly well, he much preferred simplistic khaki cargo shorts and a tee shirt, white, that had a black tiger crawling up the side. While the engine died, a lion's final roar, he stepped from doors that opened upwards, not sideways, and picked a small, brown bag from the passenger seat. Pleased with the environment, he took in the car first, then the figure leaning casually against worn paint. With a calm, always composed smile, he glanced away from her and took in the gently lapping water. "Serene, isn't it? I am most pleased that you decided to meet. I admit, I was quite nervous when I gave her the message, thinking you would throw it away."
Oddly enough to contact someone through email. Even more odd is that it came from a handwritten script on a piece of paper. Kiyomi had never done something like this; at least not when it came to the opposite sex. Ms. Kubo spent much of her life behind the walls of St. Mary's, and the only men there had been the grounds keeper and the priest. It seemed dipping her toe into the world of racing had brought about a different set of characters into her life. Meeting up with Izumi outside of those walls only a bit after leaving St. Mary's behind and entering college had sparked it all, but Madness and the drama which led her into now being kicked out of her house? It had brought her here. Decisions which she should question more seemed to be cast aside for the chance of something new and exciting.
The man who wrote the phone number and email address had been both of those things. He represented a different life outside of her norms ? something she wanted to know more about, since it reminded her of Maiko; her sister.
Kiyomi checked the time of her iPhone 4S. She had messed with it to allow coverage with a phonecard, so she at least had a new number now ? but she did not contact Denji over that. It had been through e-mail when she said she wouldn't mind meeting up with him. Where? The docks. They weren't the mountains, but it was open and the smell of the seawater helped ease her nerves as she waited while leaned against her IS200. The ride wasn't painted, not yet at least ? so it still bore some scratches and other such things to the white coat originally held. The air had a slight chill to it, so she decided to wear that borrowed sukajan once more; the one which held the image of a tiger on the back of it.
"Crazy idea.." She told herself. Is it odd to think these things at the last minute? Maybe they should have met in the mountains. Then again, it isn't really the time to just start second guessing. If she got cold feet this opportunity might not have a second chance.
Though effectively out of the everyday work his family had used to vault themselves into a position that'd left them reaching inky fingers towards this new frontier, Rhy'din city, Denji found himself spending a frustratingly large amount of time on the phone, on a computer, managing the logistics of such a massive shift in manpower, resources and physical elements. All the small details of setting up a cell in a foreign, unknown land had fallen on the shoulders of a young man who'd shown so much promise and such a charming, winning character. Perhaps that was why?
It had been, if he was quite honest with himself, a bad decision. Sending the business card was perfectly acceptable and entirely logical. Sending a personal address, a way to find him and a paper trail all at once was, in retrospect, not the safest choice. Much less when the girl's mother was a lawyer at least nominally sworn to uphold peace and law. Those two ideals clashed, often violently, when in contact with the Yakuza's view on civilized life and how it should be maintained. All the same, he found himself thrilled by the prospect.
She'd wanted to meet in Dockside, the place he lived. The place the stain of occupation would reach first, and a place he already felt relatively safe in. Within the span of a short week, businesses had moved to the side of a new, shadowy force, citizens had seen the numerous benefits of falling in line. It was far from done and would not be easy, but this could be called something close to an effective base of power for a burgeoning empire that this city, crime ridden as it was, had likely not seen in quite some time. After a single stop at a steamy vending cart near his suite, the journey was quick and easy courtesy of the black on black Supra that he favored so passionately. While he wore suits dazzlingly well, he much preferred simplistic khaki cargo shorts and a tee shirt, white, that had a black tiger crawling up the side. While the engine died, a lion's final roar, he stepped from doors that opened upwards, not sideways, and picked a small, brown bag from the passenger seat. Pleased with the environment, he took in the car first, then the figure leaning casually against worn paint. With a calm, always composed smile, he glanced away from her and took in the gently lapping water. "Serene, isn't it? I am most pleased that you decided to meet. I admit, I was quite nervous when I gave her the message, thinking you would throw it away."