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giyenah.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
31_days2005-10-01 10:28 pm
giyenah.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2005-10-01 10:28 pm
[October 1] [Slam Dunk] This Thing of Ours
Title: This New Thing of Ours
Day/Theme: October 1 – A screaming comes across the sky
Series: Slam Dunk
Pairing: Subtlest hints of SenRu. If you squint.
Rating: R for gratuitous use of swear words.
Notes: Mafia!Senru. This is the biggest crack I have ever written in my life. Thank you,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
31_days for making it happen. >_<
5:42 am
Any hitman worth his salt knew about Sendoh Akira, either by reputation or association. He was one of the best in his job, a guy who knew every rope there was to know and who should never be taken for an idiot. Even the most reckless tread lightly when he was involved in an operation, and every crime family in the region was contorting themselves into pretzels hoping to employ him exclusively.
But even after using every surveillance trick he had ever learned--and a few ones he invented—to break into Rukawa Kaede’s apartment undetected, he was still found himself pressed face-first into the dirty living room floor, a gun digging between his shoulder blades.
He panted for a while, trying to reorient himself in the darkness. It took a few seconds for it to register that it was a snotty-nosed neophyte that succeeded in manhandling him.
To be honest, he was annoyed. But mostly impressed.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Sendoh flailed his left arm, gesturing at the brown paper bag that had been slightly mashed during the scuffle. Rukawa snatched the bag and looked suspiciously at the contents, all the while keeping Sendoh horizontal.
“They’re just cinnamon rolls, for God’s sake! Insecticide-on-pastry isn’t my modus operandi, believe me.”
“What’s this for?”
Sendoh groaned into the linoleum. “How goddamn slow can you get? I got you breakfast, you doofus, so give a break and get the fuck off me!”
The weight was gone in an instant, but he still faced a .32, so he stood up cautiously, taking in his surroundings. A nearby lamp had been switched on, and the room was washed in a dirty yellow light, underscoring Rukawa’s sullen-faced suspicion.
“What are you doing here?” he asked again.
Sendoh paused. He could tell the complicatedly brilliant cover he invented on the way over to the apartment, concerning Akagi, stolen emeralds and a ton of salmon. The idea had some appeal but it was late--early--he was tired, and he was done fooling around. So he settled for the truth. “I heard rumours that you were gunning for me. So I thought I’d check you out.”
“You always buy breakfast for every new hitman in town? Must keep you very busy.”
“Hey, this is the first time I’ve ever done this. And you just don’t get the brightest ideas at 3 o’clock in the morning, okay?” He brushed himself off of his accumulated crud before glaring back at Rukawa again. “How did you know I was breaking in, anyway? They said you were a narcoleptic.”
Rukawa shrugged. “I only sleep in the morning.”
“Oh.” Sendoh caught himself scratching the hair on his nape, a sure sign of his nervousness, and he forced himself to stop. “I guess I need to go.”
He was almost out of the door when he noticed to paper bag hanging limply in Rukawa’s hands.
“You should eat that. It’s really good.”
Rukawa nodded and said nothing. Always a perceptive guy, Sendoh recognizes a bust and exits accordingly, kicking himself for parading as a monumental ass.
The guy didn’t even thank him for the rolls.
Goddamn ungrateful prick.
11:06 am
Before going to lunch, Sendoh placed an anonymous call to the nearest police station, tipping the police that a meth lab was operating just above Rukawa’s apartment. He watched amusedly from a distance as the entire building was cordoned by the police, helicopters swarming across the sky.
Just a little souvenir for Rukawa to remember him by.
6:20 pm
The waitress' piercing scream was the only warning Sendoh got before the unexpected barrage of gunfire. All he could do was crouch under a shaky table, putanesca sauce staining his left shirtsleeve. Koshino howled curses somewhere beside him as bullets peppered the wall they were leaning against, bits of plaster falling over them like dandruff.
"Fucking trigger-happy punks! It's supposed to be our night off!"
The onslaught lasted for a deafening fifteen seconds, the sound of breaking china and wailing customers drowned by the roaring percussion of semi-automatics. Sendoh turned the table sideways as a shield, fumbled for his own guns, and managed to pop a couple of shots before the getaway van careened off with a squeal to disappear into the Friday night traffic.
And just as quickly, it was silent, the only noise a woman having an asthma attack by the kitchen door.
Sendoh raced out of the restaurant, too late to identify the vehicle. Koshino followed him and swore again at the sight of their sedan--already in a sorry state before the hit--reduced into a metallic nightmare by the sidewalk, reminiscent of an opened sardine can.
Then Sendoh noticed a note, pinned into the shattered windshield, like an inconspicuous parking ticket. He picked it up and read:
Thanks for the breakfast.
The boy’s reaction time was pretty quick, he had to concede. Sendoh began laughing so hard that he had to double over the car's mangled hood, clutching his ribs as he gasped for breath. Koshino looked down at him disgustedly.
"What the fuck is wrong with you? You got goddamned cheese for brains, I swear to God! I bet it's those fucking cannolis messing you up."
Day/Theme: October 1 – A screaming comes across the sky
Series: Slam Dunk
Pairing: Subtlest hints of SenRu. If you squint.
Rating: R for gratuitous use of swear words.
Notes: Mafia!Senru. This is the biggest crack I have ever written in my life. Thank you,
31_days for making it happen. >_<5:42 am
Any hitman worth his salt knew about Sendoh Akira, either by reputation or association. He was one of the best in his job, a guy who knew every rope there was to know and who should never be taken for an idiot. Even the most reckless tread lightly when he was involved in an operation, and every crime family in the region was contorting themselves into pretzels hoping to employ him exclusively.
But even after using every surveillance trick he had ever learned--and a few ones he invented—to break into Rukawa Kaede’s apartment undetected, he was still found himself pressed face-first into the dirty living room floor, a gun digging between his shoulder blades.
He panted for a while, trying to reorient himself in the darkness. It took a few seconds for it to register that it was a snotty-nosed neophyte that succeeded in manhandling him.
To be honest, he was annoyed. But mostly impressed.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Sendoh flailed his left arm, gesturing at the brown paper bag that had been slightly mashed during the scuffle. Rukawa snatched the bag and looked suspiciously at the contents, all the while keeping Sendoh horizontal.
“They’re just cinnamon rolls, for God’s sake! Insecticide-on-pastry isn’t my modus operandi, believe me.”
“What’s this for?”
Sendoh groaned into the linoleum. “How goddamn slow can you get? I got you breakfast, you doofus, so give a break and get the fuck off me!”
The weight was gone in an instant, but he still faced a .32, so he stood up cautiously, taking in his surroundings. A nearby lamp had been switched on, and the room was washed in a dirty yellow light, underscoring Rukawa’s sullen-faced suspicion.
“What are you doing here?” he asked again.
Sendoh paused. He could tell the complicatedly brilliant cover he invented on the way over to the apartment, concerning Akagi, stolen emeralds and a ton of salmon. The idea had some appeal but it was late--early--he was tired, and he was done fooling around. So he settled for the truth. “I heard rumours that you were gunning for me. So I thought I’d check you out.”
“You always buy breakfast for every new hitman in town? Must keep you very busy.”
“Hey, this is the first time I’ve ever done this. And you just don’t get the brightest ideas at 3 o’clock in the morning, okay?” He brushed himself off of his accumulated crud before glaring back at Rukawa again. “How did you know I was breaking in, anyway? They said you were a narcoleptic.”
Rukawa shrugged. “I only sleep in the morning.”
“Oh.” Sendoh caught himself scratching the hair on his nape, a sure sign of his nervousness, and he forced himself to stop. “I guess I need to go.”
He was almost out of the door when he noticed to paper bag hanging limply in Rukawa’s hands.
“You should eat that. It’s really good.”
Rukawa nodded and said nothing. Always a perceptive guy, Sendoh recognizes a bust and exits accordingly, kicking himself for parading as a monumental ass.
The guy didn’t even thank him for the rolls.
Goddamn ungrateful prick.
11:06 am
Before going to lunch, Sendoh placed an anonymous call to the nearest police station, tipping the police that a meth lab was operating just above Rukawa’s apartment. He watched amusedly from a distance as the entire building was cordoned by the police, helicopters swarming across the sky.
Just a little souvenir for Rukawa to remember him by.
6:20 pm
The waitress' piercing scream was the only warning Sendoh got before the unexpected barrage of gunfire. All he could do was crouch under a shaky table, putanesca sauce staining his left shirtsleeve. Koshino howled curses somewhere beside him as bullets peppered the wall they were leaning against, bits of plaster falling over them like dandruff.
"Fucking trigger-happy punks! It's supposed to be our night off!"
The onslaught lasted for a deafening fifteen seconds, the sound of breaking china and wailing customers drowned by the roaring percussion of semi-automatics. Sendoh turned the table sideways as a shield, fumbled for his own guns, and managed to pop a couple of shots before the getaway van careened off with a squeal to disappear into the Friday night traffic.
And just as quickly, it was silent, the only noise a woman having an asthma attack by the kitchen door.
Sendoh raced out of the restaurant, too late to identify the vehicle. Koshino followed him and swore again at the sight of their sedan--already in a sorry state before the hit--reduced into a metallic nightmare by the sidewalk, reminiscent of an opened sardine can.
Then Sendoh noticed a note, pinned into the shattered windshield, like an inconspicuous parking ticket. He picked it up and read:
Thanks for the breakfast.
The boy’s reaction time was pretty quick, he had to concede. Sendoh began laughing so hard that he had to double over the car's mangled hood, clutching his ribs as he gasped for breath. Koshino looked down at him disgustedly.
"What the fuck is wrong with you? You got goddamned cheese for brains, I swear to God! I bet it's those fucking cannolis messing you up."