Majima Goro (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gorogorogoro_chan) wrote2018-02-17 01:28 pm
gorogorogoro_chan) wrote2018-02-17 01:28 pm
(no subject)
"Are you a welder, by any chance?" the doctor asks, gently holding his eyelid open and peering into his dilated pupil with a pen light. Majima grunts in pain and fights to blink his eye shut.
He opens his mouth to respond in the negative and then stops. This is probably about how his eye got messed up and he's not about to go down that particularly strange road. Welder makes sense, anyway, with the shipyards nearby. He changes tack. "Yeah."
"Were you working without a mask?"
"Oh, yeah. Yeah. Real stupid, huh?" he says with a grim laugh.
The doctor frowns deeply. "Hopefully this is a lesson to you about eye protection. You have a very acute case of photokeratitis. One of the worst I've seen, honestly."
Majima tenses at the doctor's assessment. That sounds bad. "Photokera-what?"
"It's more or less like a sunburn on your cornea. Comes from exposure to intense light. Lucky for you, it just needs a chance to heal. You should see your vision start to return in the next day or two, so long as you keep out of bright light. Keep wearing those sunglasses."
He releases a held breath. That's the answer he was looking for.
The optometrist sends him on his way with a bottle of eyedrops. Majima makes slow progress through Sotenbori with what he hopes is a fairly solid disguise: hair down, sunglasses, a few days' worth of scruffy beard, and a set of ratty old clothes. The white cane should go a long way, too: judging from his experience of any differently-abled people, after a cursory glance, most eyes should remain politely averted. Overall, he's a far cry from anyone who might be considered the lord of the neighborhood's night life.
He makes his way to a restroom in one of the public parks, and once he's safely out of view in a stall, he PINpoints back home.
Back to boredom.
Immediately put off by the silence, Majima paws around for the radio and switches it on, spinning the dial until it lands on lively coverage of a baseball game: Seibu Lions spring training match. Nice. He hasn't actually had time to listen to a game in years and while much of the lineup has changed, at least the legendary Akiyama Koji is still on the roster. For an hour or so, he's transported by descriptions of plays and speculation about how the Lions should fare in the official season. All signs point to them continuing their streak as the "Invincible Seibu."
During a lull in the action, his mind wanders to the time Saejima surprised him with tickets to a similar pre-season game. Once they settled into their nosebleed seats, he remembers giving his coat to Saejima's sister, Yasuko -- the sky was clear and sunny, enhancing the late-winter chill. Fortunately, the game was dynamic enough to distract him from any discomfort as the cold permeated the knit of his old sweater. Both of his companions were not as voraciously interested in the game as he was, and he did his best to explain rules and key players. For their part, they feigned polite interest.
"Hungry yet?" Yasuko asked at the seventh inning stretch, pulling a bundled bento box from her satchel. Steam billowed out as she lifted the cover off to reveal the warm curry inside. Collectively, they were still too poor to splurge on the stadium food, but Majima was far from picky.
"Maybe if things'd been different, we'd be watchin' you down there," Saejima mused between bites of lunch.
"Nah, nah," Majima laughed. "Takes a helluva lotta work to make it into the Puro Yakyū."
"I dunno. I seen you at the batting cages, kyodai. Don't think you've ever missed a ball."
"That's only part of it. Ya gotta be trainin' all the time. Can't be doin' that if yer poor as shit and workin' yer ass off for two yen to rub together." Majima shook his head. "I'm happy just watchin'."
Saejima gave one of his thoughtful nods.
After the game, they blew through more precious money at the batting cages. Majima took some time to coach Yasuko through proper form as Saejima watched closely, smoking a cigarette. He remembers how she flinched at the speed of the batting machine's pitch, then slowly steeled herself and squared up, managing to hit a few balls by the time the session ended. She was a lot like her brother. She didn't give up easily.
As fond as the memory is, once it plays out, Majima's hit with a wave of loneliness. Back in the present, the game has come to an end, and the programming has switched to the boring drone of talk radio. He searches for the power button and flops back onto the floor.
In the silence, melancholy quickly gives way to present anxiety over his standing with Sagawa. He's certain he's already fallen well out of his good graces, but he hasn't heard anything about him making good on his threat to "pay a visit" to Club Sunshine. He's left them in Harley's capable hands. The Grand, however, is only getting regular phone check-ins from their manager. Not ideal, given that the place is two or three times the scale of Sunshine in terms of staff, and just as -- if not more -- prone to threats from competition.
At least he's more focused than he was three or four years ago; he cringes when he thinks back to when the ink was still fresh in his skin, when he was like any other cheap, disposable chinpira trying desperately to prove himself. To belong. Back then, he had some blurry concept of what family life was truly about. His oath to Shimano was one thing -- it provided a loose sense of duty, but it was diluted by cheap thrills and blossoming greed. His resolve as a proper yakuza only truly began to galvanize after his sworn brotherhood with Saejima. When family began to mean something. He was a different grade of person, someone who drove him to be better, to think past himself and the temptation of cheap, transient power. Even after that day and the year that followed, even through a haze of guilt and anger, his promise to his brother has burned like a beacon.
Which leads him to a fresh question: is he getting distracted?
Honestly, who wouldn't be distracted by the monumental discovery of other fucking dimensions? He feels a twinge of guilt for (mostly) enjoying his time in the Nexus, for making connections and -- dare he say -- friendships. Worse than that! Relationships. Is he just leading Harley along? Is he just starved for intimacy? Or is this an actual case of the L-word? What's the end-game here? His head spins with questions he has no immediate answers to.
Majima scrubs at his face with his hands, and accidentally smears the poultice the nice young woman had given him for his eye. It clears enough away for light to show through the caked-on herbs. Light in tighter focus. He holds his hand in front of his eye and can almost judge the gaps between fingers.
His jaw sets. Once his vision is back, he'll look at all of this through a fresh eye.
He opens his mouth to respond in the negative and then stops. This is probably about how his eye got messed up and he's not about to go down that particularly strange road. Welder makes sense, anyway, with the shipyards nearby. He changes tack. "Yeah."
"Were you working without a mask?"
"Oh, yeah. Yeah. Real stupid, huh?" he says with a grim laugh.
The doctor frowns deeply. "Hopefully this is a lesson to you about eye protection. You have a very acute case of photokeratitis. One of the worst I've seen, honestly."
Majima tenses at the doctor's assessment. That sounds bad. "Photokera-what?"
"It's more or less like a sunburn on your cornea. Comes from exposure to intense light. Lucky for you, it just needs a chance to heal. You should see your vision start to return in the next day or two, so long as you keep out of bright light. Keep wearing those sunglasses."
He releases a held breath. That's the answer he was looking for.
The optometrist sends him on his way with a bottle of eyedrops. Majima makes slow progress through Sotenbori with what he hopes is a fairly solid disguise: hair down, sunglasses, a few days' worth of scruffy beard, and a set of ratty old clothes. The white cane should go a long way, too: judging from his experience of any differently-abled people, after a cursory glance, most eyes should remain politely averted. Overall, he's a far cry from anyone who might be considered the lord of the neighborhood's night life.
He makes his way to a restroom in one of the public parks, and once he's safely out of view in a stall, he PINpoints back home.
Back to boredom.
Immediately put off by the silence, Majima paws around for the radio and switches it on, spinning the dial until it lands on lively coverage of a baseball game: Seibu Lions spring training match. Nice. He hasn't actually had time to listen to a game in years and while much of the lineup has changed, at least the legendary Akiyama Koji is still on the roster. For an hour or so, he's transported by descriptions of plays and speculation about how the Lions should fare in the official season. All signs point to them continuing their streak as the "Invincible Seibu."
During a lull in the action, his mind wanders to the time Saejima surprised him with tickets to a similar pre-season game. Once they settled into their nosebleed seats, he remembers giving his coat to Saejima's sister, Yasuko -- the sky was clear and sunny, enhancing the late-winter chill. Fortunately, the game was dynamic enough to distract him from any discomfort as the cold permeated the knit of his old sweater. Both of his companions were not as voraciously interested in the game as he was, and he did his best to explain rules and key players. For their part, they feigned polite interest.
"Hungry yet?" Yasuko asked at the seventh inning stretch, pulling a bundled bento box from her satchel. Steam billowed out as she lifted the cover off to reveal the warm curry inside. Collectively, they were still too poor to splurge on the stadium food, but Majima was far from picky.
"Maybe if things'd been different, we'd be watchin' you down there," Saejima mused between bites of lunch.
"Nah, nah," Majima laughed. "Takes a helluva lotta work to make it into the Puro Yakyū."
"I dunno. I seen you at the batting cages, kyodai. Don't think you've ever missed a ball."
"That's only part of it. Ya gotta be trainin' all the time. Can't be doin' that if yer poor as shit and workin' yer ass off for two yen to rub together." Majima shook his head. "I'm happy just watchin'."
Saejima gave one of his thoughtful nods.
After the game, they blew through more precious money at the batting cages. Majima took some time to coach Yasuko through proper form as Saejima watched closely, smoking a cigarette. He remembers how she flinched at the speed of the batting machine's pitch, then slowly steeled herself and squared up, managing to hit a few balls by the time the session ended. She was a lot like her brother. She didn't give up easily.
As fond as the memory is, once it plays out, Majima's hit with a wave of loneliness. Back in the present, the game has come to an end, and the programming has switched to the boring drone of talk radio. He searches for the power button and flops back onto the floor.
In the silence, melancholy quickly gives way to present anxiety over his standing with Sagawa. He's certain he's already fallen well out of his good graces, but he hasn't heard anything about him making good on his threat to "pay a visit" to Club Sunshine. He's left them in Harley's capable hands. The Grand, however, is only getting regular phone check-ins from their manager. Not ideal, given that the place is two or three times the scale of Sunshine in terms of staff, and just as -- if not more -- prone to threats from competition.
At least he's more focused than he was three or four years ago; he cringes when he thinks back to when the ink was still fresh in his skin, when he was like any other cheap, disposable chinpira trying desperately to prove himself. To belong. Back then, he had some blurry concept of what family life was truly about. His oath to Shimano was one thing -- it provided a loose sense of duty, but it was diluted by cheap thrills and blossoming greed. His resolve as a proper yakuza only truly began to galvanize after his sworn brotherhood with Saejima. When family began to mean something. He was a different grade of person, someone who drove him to be better, to think past himself and the temptation of cheap, transient power. Even after that day and the year that followed, even through a haze of guilt and anger, his promise to his brother has burned like a beacon.
Which leads him to a fresh question: is he getting distracted?
Honestly, who wouldn't be distracted by the monumental discovery of other fucking dimensions? He feels a twinge of guilt for (mostly) enjoying his time in the Nexus, for making connections and -- dare he say -- friendships. Worse than that! Relationships. Is he just leading Harley along? Is he just starved for intimacy? Or is this an actual case of the L-word? What's the end-game here? His head spins with questions he has no immediate answers to.
Majima scrubs at his face with his hands, and accidentally smears the poultice the nice young woman had given him for his eye. It clears enough away for light to show through the caked-on herbs. Light in tighter focus. He holds his hand in front of his eye and can almost judge the gaps between fingers.
His jaw sets. Once his vision is back, he'll look at all of this through a fresh eye.