Meeting of Families

[Eidolon]

The violence resolved itself, if not the currents of tension still charging it. Kiyohito’s reaction was unusually virulent towards someone he claimed not to know, whatever besmirchment of honour he perceived in the flippant comment. It seemed clear there was something about the man himself he disliked, though Eido could not fathom what one might find so offensive in a stranger. But it appeared simple common sense finally prevailed, and when Kiyohito contained himself her hand drifted back down to her side. She had not needed to touch him. Nor did she look up. Under her lashes her peripheral attention watched those around them, seeking indication of who might have roused should things have escalated.

What any of them thought she was now, Eido did not concern herself with. A whore was not so denigrating as the actual curse laid upon her shoulders, though it could hardly be further from the truth. She had been living in exile long enough to navigate peaceful paths through inclement waters, and took little of insult to heart. But the notion of ownership sharpened the twist in her stomach to the kind of stab even she was at pains to ignore. Between the well-intentioned money slid across the bar and the words floating above her head like she was an object that might be easily bought, bartered, or shared, Eido was bothered. The conflict did not settle easily in her soul.

She found no fault with the stranger’s peace or charm, nor even his explanation, though clearly he was needling for another rise more than he was genuine in the offering of either. Kiyohito’s permissive silence did not sit comfortably, for it barred her from easily voicing her own defence. Demurity aside, she was perfectly capable of telling a man she was not for sale. Neither was Kiyohito a father or brother to concern himself with offering such protections in the first place. Yet to reject it now would only be rude. He seemed uncomfortable himself. Her eyes remained lowered.

She demurely bowed her head and lingered behind as the stranger laid a trap out of honour. He imparted a winsome smile, but did not pause to remark or cajole her meek decline of the invite as he swept Kiyohito away. She should have felt relief for the reprieve. Caught between a lone Yakuza and an unknown member of the Syndicate was not where she wanted to be. And yet, as her gaze briefly followed their path to a table, Eido did not consider leaving.

She slid onto a barstool to wait until one or the other man finally made an exit. Dark hair shielded her expression as she laid her phone on the bar to keep herself solitary and occupied. Two messages already waited from Kōta. The first was a clean-up code, which told her he’d already vacated the room upstairs. She smothered a sigh but was unsurprised, and it wasn’t like the conversation couldn’t keep. The second was even less well received by the sombre nature of her reaction.

You’re allowed to live, Hiro-chan.

She deleted both messages and sent one of her own.

There’s a man in the bar called Zixin Kao

She was listening to the conversation behind but not unaware of Gus in her peripheral. Pungent, old fashioned smoke bloomed as he lit up and stuffed the lighter back in his pocket. “Take the drinks over, Eidolon. Go be nice. This Kao is clearly not a cop, and he’s loaded. Best he knows he’s welcome here after your friend took a swing. You help make the trouble, you help unmake it too.” He knew better than to pause for an answer. She could hear the clink of bottles and glasses as he moved about. Though Eido completed small jobs around the place at her own discretion, she was not an employee, and he’d never asked her to serve from the bar before. He had far better options for the task of charm if he intended to ensure patronage, which her silence only illustrated. She was still watching the screen of her phone for Kōta’s reply when he added. “You’ve no CID and nowhere else to go. Wasn’t kittens that scratched up your arm. Maybe I don’t need that kind of problem upstairs.”

The tray slid onto the bar. Gus’s heavy arms propped too. One tattooed hand pat the pocket into which Kiyohito’s money had been safely stashed. “No man pays twice. And he sure as shit doesn’t pay for something he didn’t even get in the first place. Are you hanging around because you want to know how much he imagined you’re worth?”

She didn't answer, and she didn’t look up. No emotion crossed her expression, but she did smoothly stand, pocket her phone, and take the tray.