Chapter Text
.Life is worth living as long as there's a laugh in it
Lucy Maud Montgomery–
Washington D.C.
“Johnny, I bet you 50 dollars if you can shoot your grapes across the middle of the board while using your vines as a slingshot.”
“Alright bet.”
“I’ll lick you if you don’t manage to do it.”
“Geeminy– what exactly is with you and licking people?”
“Eh. Same ol’, same ol’.”
“That doesn’t even answer my question!”
The flight had the two best friends rotten with want to be burnt out: one from having been consoled into a beet root mess, and the other by ignoring his so-called illness. They always did understand each other much more than others do – manly feelings wise – so Mark and John immediately set forth to a quest in burning themselves out by competitive tasks.
The building they’re currently in resides Francis’ home. At first glance it would seem like a satire replica of The White House, although it has much more detail and not completely white like the original is. Francis had gotten sued once, however being a ruthless assassin who had a great background in working for America once – not even counting the amount of money he owned, the sue went to sea at loss.
That, and its appearance is not supposedly what it seems.
On the outside it may seem like a normal, dignified, building – setting aside the issue of illegally copying the blueprint of the “house” – on the inside it holds lengths towards murder. Only the members know each booby trap there is, how you’re supposed to log in, and the weapons hidden in every surface that may seem innocent to look at; though if fondled many would say it’s torture.
Francis called his home “The Great Gatsby.” Gatsby meaning: Excessive, extravagant, especially cool with a hint of danger.
The Gatsby thrived in its underground resources – to where John and Mark were presently chilling. It’s where the Guild officially trained at; it’s materials and elements surrounding each wall engraving security for most danger that even a nuclear bomb dissonating can’t break through.
The Gatsby was something Francis had planned out even before the Guild had been created, his only purpose to keep his family safe at each risk involved. The turn-out of events were eventually subdued to 0 for his wife had been cooped up in a mental hospital for being mentally ill after their daughter had died suddenly out of illness.
Thus, the Guild was born.
Out of Francis’ pity towards himself.
He jested gathering a union filled with the Gifted would fill the sour patch hidden at the back of his tongue – a union with purpose to bring excellency regarding its community, and maybe even reach out a goal he’d dreamed of: To bring his daughter back.
So what better way to increase the possibility?
Hence, the Guild.
What the middle-aged man, however, didn’t anticipate, was to be in deep conciliation apropos to the members he’d accounted. To be in deep connection with them was something uncalled for, but to be rooted in tight as far as to call being with them “domestic,” that was virtue. A virtue no one can escape from except death.
“You actually shot it?!”
“What can I say? I up you at everything yet you’re too sore to admit that I do.”
“The only thing you up me at is when your head’s far up your ass!”
“Sore-loser!”
“Blond Tarzan!”
“Filth licker!”
“Vine lover!”
“Oh no you did not go there, you wuss!”
“And what if I did? Ya gonna blackmail me or s’mthn? I know your secrets too, you know!”
“You massive pile of shit!“
“You dare increase the level of shit I am?!”
“That’s because you are!”
A high-pitched sound of a mechanical turn synchronizes with their bicker, instantly silencing them to check who had tranced in. The audible noise of clogs circling meant that the main door of the training room was about to come open, meaning another party was about to step in. This had the two on immediate alert because they may be in The Gatbsy, but there may come a time when it’s danger that evolved and the whole building is stuck to its mercy.
The operation to entry was a hard one to manage but still manageable. Francis had hired the most suitable mechanist and technician to organize their main door, and trust had always been a crucial topic for him once it involved his home which meant hardships in finding one.
Luckily, he had a trusted friend up his ally, Dr. Wollstonecraft, the same ability user who had created Chuuya’s friend, Adam. She had been entrusted the technicalities regarding the door’s and room’s very blueprints – granting speculation of mechanics to Viktor, another of her creation who specified in forms of mechanics.
The final layout of the room had its owner leer utter scavenge. Concluding perfection for it was almost impossible to break through. It was strong enough to stay through the largest atomic bomb diffusing – that was how perfect Dr. Wollstonecraft and her companion, Viktor, had taken complete measure – though impossible is a word humans take no note of, deeming it unnecessary for “possible” is imbedded in the word itself.
Therefore, countermeasures to safety always take part in every move the Guild makes regarding the inner part of their horizon, the Gatsby.
“Konnichiwaaa~!”
Fortunately, as soon as two familiar faces stride through the band of scarlet automatically identifying the intruder, Mark and John immediately let their guard down.
“What does that mean?”
“Good afternoon.”
Mark composes an O-shaped sound, enticing. “I knew that.”
“Sure, you did.” John rolls his eyes.
“I do, I do. It even means hello.”
“If you knew then why did you ask?!”
Mark puts an arm around John’s shoulder, the latter oozing in disgust from their sweat being entangled with each other. “Ew – Wayne! Get your hands off me! We’re both top naked and sweaty, what the hell?!“
Mark closes their distance further, laughing. “Johnny–Johnny, you’re too gullible that’s why.”
“You disgust me.”
“Ah, so you’ve discussed me?”
A snort is heard, and Mark turns to its possessor. “I’m a trust fund, baby, you can trust me.” Chuuya follows, the lyrics paving way for Kyuusaku to remember which song it came from. “The Schuyler Sisters!” He exclaims.
John groans in disdain, casting back the image of the trio howling about raps he can’t seem to understand but remembers nonetheless from how often the three have a musical play marathon before having a good night’s sleep. “A Hamilton reference, I presume?” He comments. The number of days he slept near past midnight because of how noisy they were seemed to be of good mention now.
“Yep~!” Kyuusaku singsongs.
Then, Mark and John notices the bags of plastic Chuuya’s holding and the small cup of – tea? – Kyuusaku was sipping on, when the duo walked close enough after being scanned by the detector. The cup of “tea” included a straw they knew well enough, which means–
“Cherry! What’ya got there?”
“Something I won’t give either of you unless you greet Yuu back.” Chuuya arches a brow, a certain “Konnichiwa” relocating back to Mark and John’s senses from their earlier start of another bicker. The boy wrapped around a hand-knitted scarf Chuuya made, sticks out his tongue, and a pout emerges after realizing that his greeting, was in fact, ignored.
John is the first to make a move, refracting himself from Mark’s arm around his shoulder before crouching towards Kyuusaku. The frame the teen held bemused a child-like form, something John has seen through multiple times. He’s faking. John ploys. And considering he may be in the wrong this time, he’ll play along with it with no complaints.
“Dearest prince, it was wrong of me to ignore thy greetings. A pleasant afternoon to you, too, your highness. May ye forgive this humble one so he can partake a sip on what O Chuuya has bought for this poor man such as I?” John closes his eyes for effect, a bowing stance surfacing his crouching one.
Kyuusaku hums, contemplative but in tease. He stays like that for a while before giving in to the genuine smile his knight is showing him. “Thou is forgiven.” He bows, and that was Chuuya’s cue to give him what he’s bought.
“Got’cha yer favorite.”
“Grape–“
“Green tea with Basil, yes.” Chuuya continues in memorization, John star struck in gratitude from the thoughtful remembrance.
“Have I ever told you how awfully in love I am with you?”
Chuuya snorts, ruffling Kyuusaku’s hair out of habit. “No, but you’ve told me how awfully in love you are with–“
John sips on his green tea loud enough to refrain Chuuya from continuing his statement.
“…. Can I have mine..?”
“Oh, I didn’t buy you any.”
Mark whines at the acquisition in disbelief just because Chuuya loves his friends that much and he knows he wouldn’t be left behind even at the situation of buying Gong Cha Milk Tea for someone. Plus, the 3 plastic bags Chuuya is holding says otherwise too!
“Chuuya–“
“Yuu, did you hear a little birdy greet us earlier?” Mark winces in remorse.
“Nope~!”
“How rude of him, isn’t that so?”
“Mhm, mhm! How rude!”
Chuuya points Mark a look that enticed arrogance, the latter feeling a tad bit overwhelmed by a sudden pressure he set upon by himself. The teen beside Chuuya had a glint of mischief, obviously trying to prolong Mark’s suffering because John had already apologized in a form so poetic and the thing is, that stole his shine.
“I, uh.”
The loud sips John is making does not help one bit. Mark is thirsty.
“Alright, what do you want?” He concedes.
“Can’t think of anything, Mr. Hotshot?” Chuuya smirks, applaudable for a new path has been opened to victory.
Mark wails out a sigh. “No. I just want my Bubble tea.”
What Mark knows is, he could’ve said a simple “Good afternoon. I’m sorry for ignoring you earlier, that was my bad.” but Kyuusaku is a child too taunting for his own good and Mark already knows this too well. Someone else could pester the teen for forgiveness and he’ll forgive them after a while but when it’s him? Not a chance.
The favoritism of torture runs deep.
“….France.”
Now he’s going to go bankrupt.
“No way– over a greeting?! Really?!”
Chuuya closes their distance face-to-face, his smile erupting Mark into somewhat incognitive. “There are advantages to it, right Yuu?” Chuuya pulls Kyuusaku next to him and wraps an arm around his shoulder, the teen grinning wide enough to have the sun against him. “That’s right!” He nods enthusiastically.
Mark will not give in to such luminosity.
“I don’t want to hear it. I’m not thirsty anymore.”
He turns away when Chuuya closes in in disappointment. “Oh, come on! Our trip to Paris got cancelled last year because we had to take care of your possessed ass!”
….Fair point.
He had been unconsciously hit by an ability back then: an ability that made him possessed into a slobbering mess. Francis’ nephew, William, had just attained his ability, The Exorcist, at the age of 5 – far much earlier than some ability users might say; and the hazardous part of being a 5-year-old and having an ability that dangerous, is not knowing how to deactivate it.
Cue Mark being the subject of torture once again.
He vaguely remembers Chuuya cursing out different forms of curses – all in British, Nihongo, and French – the other words not familiar to him, while trying to sedate him into tranquility. The look of disappointment the shorter presented after Mark finally came back to his senses was fact of relief.
And disappointment.
Because they missed their flight to Paris – something Mark knew Chuuya and Kyuusaku were excited for.
“… so maybe I feel guilty– Not saying I’m agreeing to budget the trip! But I do feel guilty about–“
“Kyuusaku won’t ask you to be his training partner anymore.”
“You know what? Fuck it. We’re going to France.” One thing Mark will admit is above all odds, Dogra Magra is way worse compared to The Exorcist. He finally has the chance to not be put into a bloody internal state so yes, thank you very much for the cooperation.
In front of him, Kyuusaku and Chuuya share a sound of applause.
“For real?” John stares at Mark, skeptical. “Can I come?”
“Pay for yours and Lovecraft’s.”
John takes a big gulp of his tea before fuming. “But I partook in taking care of your possessed ass last year!”
“By taking pictures, you sick fuck!” Mark hollers, embarrassed.
The other three cackles in zest, furthering Mark’s embarrassment. He has always been the unlucky duck in the group; but to be this unlucky? A curse upon him, honestly.
“Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want. I don’t care.” Mark waves a hand of dismissal. “Anyways, any reason why you two are here?” He asks. Chuuya hands him his cup, and Mark opens it to reveal his very own favorite drink, Oolong Milk tea. He croons a small gratitude, poking the straw in to take a sip.
“Ouch. Unwanted much?” Chuuya frames a wince.
Kyuusaku pouts at this too. “You don’t want to see us?”
“I didn’t say that! I was just curious that’s all– I mean I expected you guys to have some facial care session with Margaret since we just arrived. She’s been nagging about what to do once we came home.” Mark explains. “I’m glad you’re here though. This place needs more fucking liquid to drink, I’m spent.” He sighs, happily chewing the oolong in lusciousness.
“I’ll remember to ask Francis that since we’re seeing him anyways.” Chuuya hums.
“Wait.” John arches a lip, wary about the statement. “Francis wants to talk to you?” He pries. Chuuya nods in acknowledgement, Mark and John immediately turning their gazes to each other as if in synchronize of understanding regarding the situation.
“It’s probably about that.” John says.
“Yeah, probably.” Mark agrees.
The interaction, however, has Kyuusaku and Chuuya confused. There’s a sudden pit of anxiety in Chuuya’s stomach because of it because John and Mark knew but he didn’t? They didn’t? It takes an eye to see who the odd ones were out of the Guild and it’s eye-popping to say the least. Kyuusaku and him were the only Japanese people in it, after all.
“…do the others know too?” Chuuya asks, furthering his suspicion.
“Yeah, we had a meeting about it–“ John jabs Mark to side, the latter suddenly choking on an oolong he was about to swallow. The action has Mark thump his chest, John not minding his distress one bit.
“You should go.” John says. “If you’re wondering why we had a meeting without you and Kyuusaku in it, it’s because it has something to do about why Francis called you here today.” He explains.
“We’re not in trouble, are we?” Kyuusaku scrunches his nose, thinking back times to when he had done greedy things out of mischief. Had Francis finally got tired of paying for fraternal damage?
This time, Mark replies, disheveled. “No.” He croaks.
John pats his back. “You’re fine, none of you are in trouble.” He consoles. “Now go.”
Chuuya and Kyuusaku stare at each other in mild apprehension.
“We’ll see you later, then?”
Two grins.
“Of course.”
Yokohama, Japan
“I know who’s after Atsushi-kun.”
Shocked upon Dazai’s welcome, Kunikida ends up soughing. The brunet had been gone, or should he say away, for near a week and Kunikida will not admit but aside from the paperwork Dazai had piled up in that span of time, he was… concerned.
“Dazai!” He fumes.
Oda, who wasn’t even the least disturbed about Dazai’s sudden disappearance, mutters a small “Welcome back.” As he proceeds to gnaw a hand around his skull from having to cover up Dazai’s paperwork for the past week. “You owe me for this.” He groans.
“Everything?”
“If you’re implying ‘everything’ as in if I finished everything, yes. But if you’re implying ‘everything’ as in if you owe me every cent in your body right now, also yes.”
“But Odasaku! I’m broke!”
“Figured.” Oda slings a certain someone’s wallet around his index finger, the owner of said wallet astonished in question to how he got or even found his hidden stash when he himself forgot where he hid it.
“So did you find anything?” Yosano inquires.
Humming, “There’s a foreign organization that put the bounty on him. They call themselves ‘The Guild.’ Plus I also managed to get a hold of interesting news but first–“ Dazai looks around for his protégé. “Where’s Atsushi-kun?”
Yosano leers a sadistic smirk which makes Dazai contemplate on why he asked at all. “He’s in the clinic. He got beaten up pretty badly earlier so..” And so Dazai was right.
“Ah.” He shudders. “Anyways,” Dazai turns over to face Oda. “Do you remember my partner back then?”
“You mean your ex?” Ranpo chimes in.
Dazai does not acknowledge the lamp under the bushel.
Arching a brow, “Nakahara Chuuya?” Oda confirms.
“Yeah.”
“What about him?”
“He left the Port Mafia.”
The statement brought forth confusion to the others who were quietly listening to the conversation. “And what’s so interesting about it?” Kunikida voices out.
“It means one of the most dangerous people we might ever encounter is currently on the loose.”