Chapter Text
It was the time to call over the earthly salvation of the blackened heart. A man in a dirty tracksuit stood in front of the pearly gates of wooden auburn. He stood there, clutching a couple of purple notes with his sweaty palms. Yato had told himself that he would drink alone.
But perhaps, that was a bit too much to ask for the self-proclaimed God of Fortune. He still reeks of damp mold – the kind of smell that an ayakashi would have. Having gone inside them a couple of times before, his nostrils had grown accustomed to the odor. Goddamn clients! he thought. It would be great if the wishes were more "intellectually laborful" rather than the hours he spent cleaning rusty pipes and wrestling watery globs in the basement of an office building. They're lucky that I'm still low on money.
The man with the cerulean eyes laid bare the sight of the most beaten-down customer among the sea of suits and ties. He took the freedom of heading straight towards the bar counter. His strapless boots murmured a silent echo. He looked to the very corner of the room, where a painting of Vincent van Gogh's worn-out shoes was hung. That was his usual spot, the one with the cushion half-ripped up.
But today is Friday.
A sultry, and jaded evening in the middle of September. The incessant chatter of deprived men could be heard all over the room. They sat there, with their curled mustache and sour lips, faltering in presence as they slowly fade away to the background. A shout and a scream, on a rainy day, maybe even a brawl. The bar was located right on the outskirts of Tokyo. It was an old-almost ran down building. The color painted was a pallid grey and maroon, though it has been diminishing as the years have passed.
And today is Friday, he must remind himself once more. The day when all the shouldered burden of ordinary men was supposed to be relieved. A shitty day, as always. Maybe that's why he had been so adamant about keeping up with this particular ritual. To drink straight from a sake bottle while venting about that overly-mean client to a partner. A drinking partner.
She sat there with her scarlet lips, slightly parted, forming a sort of elliptical shape. Her frank, violet eyes glistened as they seemed to mimic the circular rotation of the half-empty glass she was toying with. A couple strands of her luminous blonde dangled in front of her pearly skin. She was alone with her thoughts, her glass of Martini without a sip, waiting for someone.
"Yo! Bishamon! You actually came?" called out Yato. "Got some problems with your shinkis? Or is it heaven again?" the man continued, swinging his hands around in a stretch.
"Ah, no, I'm just…" Her dark eyelids flutter for a bit, before realizing to whom she was about to act nice. In which case she dug her nails into the sullen wood, letting out a sigh. "Can you go away, please? I'm not in the mood to talk to you right now?"
"Lay off man…This is like, my bar you know. I've personally given it my blessing, and, its own name. Yato's Chateau! How bout that?" he said with a confident smile.
"Are you drunk already?"
"Nope, I'm as sober as ever!"
"Which I don't imagine to be much"
Yato shrugged his shoulders, "What can I say? I'm considering transitioning to a God of Alcohol and drunk-ness, I guess."
She sighed, "Just sit down and shut up for a bit."
"Okie" he replied with his right hand performing a salute. "Bartender! A glass of scotch please! And put some ice on the side!" Yato cried loudly. They waited for fifteen seconds but the man with the dragon tattoo didn't even bat an eye. He continued going up and down the counter, serving fake smiles while handing out liters of packed alcohol. It seemed like he was experienced on the job, at least enough for him to handle ten to twenty customers with such graceful swagger.
A noisy fly came and buzzed around them for a moment, the piercing smell of alcohol wafts itself to the midnight air. The traffic was smooth, until the bartender tripped on a small piece of silverware, causing the horde of tulip-shaped glass to break into pieces that scrambled all over the tiled floor. His brown apron, slanted, became painted with traces of wizened yellow. It was then, when he was picking up the shards of glass to throw it into the trash can, when he finally noticed the faint presence of an entity. This entity kept their distance, instead waiting, inviting him to draw near. Until finally, this black shadow in the corner of his vision morphed into a portrait of a young man, whose face appeared to be flushed and whose palms appeared to be squeezing on nothing.
"A-Ah I'm sorry, didn't notice you there!" the man said, quickly rushing over to Yato's side of the table.
The man in question answered with a thick smile, "No problem! I'll have a glass of scotch please! And put some ice on the side!" he continues, the volume lower than before.
"Certainly! It'll be coming as soon as possible," the lad answered, before hastily pouring the 12-year-old Macallan Shery Oak into an old-fashioned glass.
Yato retreated back to his seat, he looks over to Bishamon, whose serving of Martini had halved since their previous interaction. He wants to get drunk fast, just so his brain would relax and not think hard of the situation he's currently in.
"Why did you do that?" she murmured.
"Did what?"
"Act nice, aren't you supposed to be the loud-mouthed and annoying type of person?"
"Well, lady, clearly you haven't seen much of me in my everyday life. I am as gentlemanly as they come," he replied with some hand gestures.
She jeered, before taking another sip from the glass. A pinch of salt spiked her tastebuds, the olive brine gave a hint of sweetness within the concoction. They tossed and tumbled until finally, the slight bitterness of citrus exploded into oblivion. She flinched a little, her brows furrowed. She had never been fond of Martini. It was just…the new Bond film was out in theatres, so she fancied a recreation of his signature drink.
A willed hump announced itself against the table. A terse glass of scotch was planted with force, leaving a circular mark when Yato grabbed his long overdue drink. The bartender disappeared with a smile not long after.
The calamity god raised the glass to the vicinity of his face. He saw as the dulled liquid reflects his stellated gaze. It was a curse of some sort, only reflecting the most vulnerable part of man, his eyes. Because he knew, and Father had told him, that it would be best if he hid these bright stars of his. Because eyes, are our outward mirror, revealing the true nature, the true nakedness of our soul.
He moved it closer again, inhaling the coconut-like smell that stemmed from the drink, it was nice, just like usual. He couldn't wait anymore. A lone crow was pecking behind the barred window. He chugged the glass in one shot, feeling the liquid travel in his mouth, forming a pool or distilled brown. He felt a punch to the insides of his cheeks, a malty sensation that left a spicy aftertaste. The bartender may well have forgotten his face a hundred times already, but this drink sure as hell slaps, he thought to himself.
"Bartender, the same as this guy, please!" asked Viina, raising her right hand.
When it arrived, she mimicked the action of her compatriot, and before long, the both of them couldn't count anymore the number of shots they have taken. Their faces had turned red, Yato was squirming, murmuring nonsense. Bishamon on the other hand, swiveled around, trying her best not to fall off the backless seat.
A salient breeze brushed past their skin, tingling their senses. Ayakashis, the both of them spontaneously thought. And yet, none of the two moved out of their seat, their feet stayed hanging on the uncomfortable leg rest. Her fingers strayed to the bottom of the glass. She lifts it up, observing the crystal-like pattern carved under it.
She sighed.
"You know, I was having a great start to the day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the air was nice, the flowers were blooming. And then you know what? The first thing that came to me was a crying Aiha, unable to settle the dispute between the twins," she complained, floundering her hands in annoyance.
He downed another glass, "I knew that ribbon-wearing girl was not the one, I mean just look at her face, does that deserve the beautiful and charming goddess that is Bishamonten-Sama?"
"You…" she held her hand to a fist. "How dare you speak such bad things about my shinki?"
"Ugh… nevermind," he waved. "Besides, I didn't know that the twins could quarrel like that. I mean, is that even physically possible. After all, they're like oil and water…wait…that's not such a good comparison – ah yes! They're like shirts and trousers!"
"I know right???" she paused, before burping, releasing a strong but distinctive smell. "So as I was panicking, Kinuha came over and started lecturing the three of them. It was something like-," Bishamon proceeded to cross her legs and motioned two of her fingers in front of her lips. "You damn brats! What business do you have waking up Bishamonten-Sama so early in the morning."
Ah, she meant smoking, Yato told himself, trying to keep up with the story.
"And then Kinuha started coughing vigorously, like she was struck with one of those – whooping coughs – so the rest of us panicked. In the end, we needed Kugaha to carry her to the hospital," she said, downing another glass.
"Wow…tough luck," Yato said languidly.
"Wait, it's not over yet. When we came back from the hospital, Kugaha was going slower and slower. When I asked him what was wrong, he was like 'Oh I'm fine! Don't worry about me Bishamonten-Sama!" The glass of bourbon whirred as she added a block of ice into it. "Turns out, he was having back problems. You know, of old age and all that…" she continued, shaking her head nonchalantly.
"Welp, glad you came here, I guess."
"How about you?" she asked with a curious expression. Her eyes were glistening like before, and, for the first time today, she seemed genuinely interested in talking to him.
He points to himself, "What about me?"
"Well, as a fellow god, have you ever felt that way. You know what I'm talking about, right? The heavy feeling inside of your chest. The feeling that all the expectations placed upon you are slowly squashing your spirit. The feeling of wanting to throw everything away, and live – like normal people."
The spray of cognac fell from her hand to the dirty floor. The crow, perched high on top of a tree branch kept its eyes upon them. Yato felt his heart beating faster than usual. Must be the alcohol, he thought. But he doubts this. For her steely gaze had fallen upon him since the dawn of time. His body quivers, he desperately searches for a subject to shift his attention to. The short woman standing near the gramophone sorting a slew of discs and albums. He saw a picture of Michael Jackson, covering his arms around his pocket, his gaze deep and miserable. Ah! He could not shove it away anymore. This tendency of his, this tendency to suddenly take interest in such mundane things when in the face of sudden actions. Actions that might stir up the emotions inside him.
He forced himself a smile, before silently fingering the tapered glass. "Normal people, huh…I guess we all have that dream once in a while. Do you know how many nights I spent, laying on hardened teak in front of Tenjin's shrine, stressing over the past, the present, and future? I often wonder, how being truly human felt like? Because no matter how hard I try to mimic their sense of fashion or way of talking or way of eating, no matter how hard I try, I will, and always will be, a god. Even worse, a god that nobody cared about."
She felt the sudden urge to hug him. Though her hatred for him might not be completely put out, the sight of a man, hollow and sorrowful, would never put her mind at ease. She stopped herself at the last moment, her left hand catching the other, keeping it nestled on her lap. He was not finished. His jaw was clenched and his lips slowly began to part.
The short woman had finally figured out her choice, slipping out a black disk out of an album with a picture of Stevie Wonder playing the piano. She pulled the tip of the crank, and the notes splutter onto the scene. His raspy voice yelled out a phrase, they teased the ears with a shortened note. The bars strung together, dancing with each other like a midnight festival.
"But those days are over, I think. Because for once in my life, I have someone who needs me."
The intro is over, Stevie belts a high-pitched squeal while running and jumbling the chords together. It became a series of notes climbing on top of each other, scrambling as they climb the stairs of his larynx.
Someone I've needed so long
For once, unafraid, I can go where life leads me
Somehow I know I'll be strong
…
For once I can say, "This is mine, you can't take it"
He yelped and screamed like he was possessed, teasing with breaks and jolts within the performance. The gramophone trembles as it vomited a string of kazoo high notes, accompanied by the background singers harmonizing. A couple of melodies, Stevie was back, he sounded like he's out of breath, but his tone didn't falter. It kept rising and rising like a repugnant fly, before finally ascending to its climax.
For once in my life…
I hope that this unscrupulous man, be blessed for the entirety of his life
That was her last thought, before handing him her umbrella for this rainy evening.