#Daisuke's techniques are still interesting though and a lot of people think he works in watercolors so this might change that | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fizzingwizard · 6 years

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Merry Digi-Christmas!

This is my Secret Santamon gift for @escapingtheirony who requested a post-series MimixMichael story! Happy Holidays! Hope you enjoy it.

I couldn’t help throwing in a few of my other favorite pairings as well. And I sort of went more PG than G? Hopefully it’s not too strong for you. (If it is you can tell me and I’ll edit it.) I had a lot of fun writing this. But it’s very unedited so typos galore I’m sure. I have this weird habit of just leaving entire words out sometimes?

Wishing you all a wonderful 2018.

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Following the events of 2002, the Chosen Children’s Christmas party turned into an excuse for them to get together when circumstances otherwise kept them apart. By the time Mimi was 20 years old, it had grown into a grand tradition. Even with the whole gang scattered this way and that - the older kids attending different universities, the younger ones busy with school and clubs — during Christmas they all made what effort they could to spend time with their old friends. Getting the Digimon together was also a benefit. Though Palmon, at least, never complained if much time passed before she saw one of the other Digimon, she was always thrilled whenever Mimi penciled in a gathering on the calendar.

It was Christmas Eve towards the end of her second year of college, the night of the Christmas party, and Mimi was closing up the quirky crepe shop where she’d been employed since moving back to Japan. “Quirky” was an understatement, at least according to Taichi. They served nearly any flavor combination, from squid ink to bacon fat and jelly bean. The menu was right after Mimi’s own heart.

She was outside unplugging the colored lights they’d strung around the three foot tall passionfruit and chicken liver crepe statue to make it “festive” when a familiar voice hailed her.

“Fancy meeting you here, my dear.”

There was only one person who talked to her like a mid-century film star, and that was Michael Barton. Mimi squealed, jumping straight up in her excitement and tripped over the cord of lights. Michael grabbed her before she could swan-dive onto the sidewalk.

“That happy to see me?”

“Michael!” She pressed his cheeks between her winter-pink fingers until he had fish lips. “What are you doing here! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming!”

“Then it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?” he answered as best he could. “Wow, Mimi, your hands are so cold.”

She dropped them to her sides. “Well, sorry about that.”

He took one back and kissed it. “I didn’t say I minded.”

“Look who’s turned into Casanova.” She found herself blushing, a thing she didn’t often do, especially not because of Michael’s dated courtship techniques. Lately things between them had… kicked up a notch, though. Where before there had only been play and youthful flirting, now there was something more serious. More grown up. She hadn’t quite decided how she felt about it, but ready or not, there it was.

“Why did you think I pestered you for your work schedule last week? Let’s go celebrate. Drink champagne — you’re legal now, right? — stay up hideously late.”

“Not that I’m not ecstatic to see you, but I wish you’d told me. I kind of have plans.” She made a pouty face. Part of her did feel bad that he’d come all this way, from America, but… still. He should have warned her.

Michael seemed at a loss for a moment. “Oh, really? What plans?” he asked with a sheepish grin.

“Christmas party with my friends.”

“Ah, I see. Well, in that case I’ll go back to my hotel. Hopefully I can see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, but — wait.” She grabbed his arms as he turned to shuffle off. “You can come with me!”

“Are you sure your friends won’t mind? I’m sure you haven’t planned for an extra mouth.”

“No, of course not, it’s just Taichi-san and the gang. And Taichi-san and Daisuke-kun are bottomless pits, so we tend to prepare more food than you’d think.”

“Ah. So you’re saying I should pick off their plates?”

“Trust me, it’ll feel like a buffet.”

They laughed, and Michael waited while Mimi finishing locking things up. Then they trudged shoulder-to-shoulder through the crisp Tokyo night.

~~~~~ (continued below)

The party was to be held at Taichi and Yamato’s apartment this year. After picking up Palmon and Betamon, Mimi and Michael headed straight over. Mimi rang the doorbell. Yamato answered. He took one look at them and let out a long groan.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, we’re already trying to cram twelve people in here and now you bring guests?”

“Just the one,” Mimi replied defensively.

Michael waved. “Hi, Yamato. Long time no see. Don’t worry, you can just perch me on top of the fridge. I’ll play the part of the Elf on the Shelf.”

Yamato shook his head, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Koushirou already took the fridge.”

“… What.”

“Don’t ask me. We —”

“Hey, who’s at the door?” Taichi suddenly materialized out of Yamato’s shadow, swinging an arm around his friend’s neck while he took a long gulp of something in a plastic cup. “Mimi-chan! And… Mitchell!”

“Michael.”

“Michael! Yeah yeah, I knew that! What’re you standing around here for? Is our welcome mat so interesting?”

Mimi and Michael glanced down. “There… isn’t a welcome mat,” Michael said slowly.

With a serious expression, Taichi nodded. “Exactly. Makes you pause for thought, doesn’t it?” He then thrust his cup into Michael’s hand. “Here you go. Stop being a wallflower and come inside. It’s like a clown car in here, watch out that you don’t end up with your nose in someone’s arm pit.”

“Taichi-san, what’s in this?” Mimi asked, peering into the cup while Michael took an experimental sniff.

“… Uh.” Taichi turned his head and yelled to someone in the kitchen area. “Miyako-chan! What’d you put in my cup!”

“Melon soda and Sprite and iced tea,” Miyako’s voice shouted back.

Taichi shrugged at them. “The brewmeister has spoken.”

“There’s no alcohol?” Michael asked.

“Nah, too many of us are still minors, so all refreshments are G-rated.” Yamato snorted at Taichi’s explanation. With a snigger, Taichi added: “’Course, later, when the babies go home, you can have a go at our private stash if you want.”

“Works for me.” Michael took a deep swallow of the mixture. He frowned thoughtfully, gazing into the depths of the cup, then let out a huge burp.

“Attractive,” Mimi deadpanned. “Just the kind of man I always dreamed of.” She snatched the cup out of his hand and wrinkled her nose in scrutiny. “Hmm… this needs gummy bears.”

Michael chuckled. “Whatever you say, toots.”

“What’s that?” Taichi asked. “Toots.”

“A terrible nickname,” Mimi sighed, sounding very put upon.

“A classic,” Michael objected.

“Oh my god, close the door!” Sora suddenly rammed through them and wrenched the door shut. “It’s like 0 degrees outside. Hi Mimi-chan, hi Michael. You two are gonna get it!” She boxed first Taichi, then Yamato about the ears.

“Hey, you all said we had to play host and invite people in!”

“Yeah, you never said anything about having to close the door!”

They ran off with Sora hot on their heels, leaving Michael and Mimi staring after them. After a pause, Michael said: “And here I thought you were the weird one of the group.”

“Who, me?”

~~~~~

Yamato’s less-than-warm-welcome was, after all, rather justified, Michael thought upon observing just tiny the apartment really was. A small living area, with an adjoining kitchenette, toilet, and bathroom that wouldn’t even have filled the entire hallway at his house in New York made up the party area. Decorations were sparse — a bit of crepe paper garland, a Snoopy doll wearing a Santa hat, and on the desk, a snowglobe that held a miniature of the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center. (“I gave them that,” Mimi informed him proudly.) Yamato and Taichi’s bedroom had been cleaned and opened up to provide more space, as it was only separated from the living room by a pair of sliding doors. In order for all thirteen people plus Digimon to fit, they all had to cram in against the walls, and pick their way carefully through a designated walking lane down the middle whenever they had to get up.

“How do two people share rooms here?” Michael asked, somewhat in awe. He drew his long knees up to keep his toes out of the walking lane.

“Oh, it’s common in Japan. Besides, there’s usually more than just two,” Takeru supplied. “Aniki’s bandmates spend a lot of time here most days.”

“Yeah, and I get banished outside,” Taichi complained.

Yamato knocked his shoulder. “Not like you’re ever here anyway.”

“College keeping you busy?” Michael asked with a smile.

Shaking his head, Taichi started passing around a bowl of chips. “College is meh. Koushirou is the reason I never sleep anymore.”

“I think you sleep plenty,” Koushirou said. (He had, indeed, claimed the fridge. It was in the living room rather than out by the kitchenette, and he’d placed his portable router on top of it, drawn up the only chair Michael could see, and was sat there typing away on his laptop. According to him, “the wifi signal craps out if I set it up anywhere else.”)

Looking confused, Michael took the chip bowl as it came to him. “Why is that?” He glanced at Taichi, then at Koushirou, tapping intently on his keyboard. “Oh, I remember — you two are dating, aren’t you?”

Taichi’s expression didn’t change, but he flushed scarlet to the tips of his ears. But Koushirou didn’t appear to have heard him. There was a loaded break in conversation while Michael struggled to figure out if he’d said something wrong. Then Miyako could take it no longer.

“How was your flight, Michael?” she burst out.

“Uneventful. There was some terrific turbulence a couple hours over the Pacific, the lady next to me dropped her glass of —”

“Agumon!” Gabumon tore across the room to the snack table, where Agumon had sneaked up dangerously close to the Christmas cake. “That’s for later! Don’t be greedy!”

“But it smells ready!” Agumon whined.

“Dinner first.” Hikari smiled. “Or you’ll spoil your appetite.”

“No I won’t.”

That was probably true, but Hikari only made a shushing noise and ushered them away.

“Man,” Jou heaved a sigh. “I wish I could just jump on a plane any time I felt like it and go visit my girlfriend.”

“Your girlfriend lives down the road from you,” Yamato pointed out.

“Still, I get the feeling I spend less time with her than Mimi-kun does with Michael.”

Gomamon stopped munching on the chips long enough to say: “That’s because there are so many books in your place that your girlfriend can’t find the door.”

While Jou and Gomamon wrestled, and the others were occupied with egging them on, Michael seized his chance. With caution, taking care not to be noticed, he let his hand creep across the wood-paneled floor and into Mimi’s lap, and laced his fingers with hers. Mimi glanced at him quickly, the waves of her bright, thick hair bouncing. Then she smiled, and squeezed back.

Michael couldn’t help the wide grin that spread across his face. He didn’t know how long their eyes stayed locked, only that it was long enough for someone to notice, if they hadn’t all been occupied placing bets on who had a better chance at winning a thumb war, Jou or Gomamon. (“Hello, Gomamon doesn’t even have thumbs.” “Sure but still — the other player is Jou.”)

All except one — Sora. Whose warm brown gaze shifted over them as she stood in the opposite corner, sipping tea from a mug. Her brow raised, but when she lifted the mug he saw she was smiling.

~~~~~

The night wore on. Body heat and an electric space heater kept them warm (the apartment didn’t have an air conditioner and Taichi and Yamato claimed to be too cheap to buy one). There was some kind of hot pot for dinner that Yamato had made, to which Taichi had contributed rice, fried horse mackerel, and pickles as sides. It was a serious meal.

“Comes from so many of us being foodies,” Mimi told him.

And the food didn’t stop there. The Christmas cake was cut around eleven o’clock, Sora had brought delicate homemade matcha cookies, and Daisuke announced well after twelve that he’d also brought enough instant ramen for everyone to have a midnight snack. Of the humans, only he and Taichi ate any of it, but the Digimon were only too happy to keep right on eating.

Michael had hoped there would be mistletoe. He looked around but couldn’t find any. He decided to ask Hikari.

“Mistletoe?” She stared at him uncomprehending. Then — “Oh… the stuff that if you’re caught standing under it with another person, you have to kiss them? It’s not so popular in Japan.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Why did you want it? Do you need it to kiss Mimi-san?”

Michael’s cheeks reddened. “Well, I’d heard that people in Japan are more private about displays of affection — of course Mimi isn’t like that at all, not in New York anyway, but seeing as I’m a foreigner and guest here —”

Hikari laughed. It sounded like the tinkle of a wind chime. “Oh, you don’t have to be so careful among friends. Come on, Michael-san! Can’t you tell just by watching that we love a party?”

“Are — are you sure? I mean, I haven’t seen anyone else even holding hands, and I know a bunch of you are dating each other.”

“Yamato-san and Sora-san have been busy keeping the party running smoothly.” Hikari held up her fingers and started ticking off each couple as she spoke. “And before you got here, Daisuke-kun and Ken-kun were making out on Oniichan’s futon. To tell the truth, the only reason Takeru-kun and I weren’t in on the fun is because we feel awkward with our brothers around,” she added.

Oh, that was a good reason.

“Alright, I believe you. But what about Taichi and Koushirou? I felt like I made everyone awkward just by asking about them…”

“Well. The thing is, Oniichan and Koushirou work together — Digital World stuff. I don’t know about all of it. That’s what Oniichan meant when he said Koushirou-san keeps him busy. But as it happens…” She leaned in, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Oniichan asked Koushirou-san out a while ago, and he said yes. But the next time Oniichan mentioned it, Koushirou-san acted like he didn’t remember it happening. So things have been a little… strained, I guess? They still see each other every day, but I know Oniichan’s really confused, and wondering if Koushirou-san changed his mind and that’s why he won’t discuss it. So as of now they’ve never actually been on a date.”

“Oh — Mimi had made it sound like —”

“Yeah, I’m guessing Mimi-san got a little too over-excited. She tends to do that sometimes.”

Mmm, much as he loved her — “Yeah, she does.”

Something gleamed in Hikari’s eye. “Mistletoe wouldn’t be a bad idea. We don’t have any, but…”

She darted off. Somewhat bewildered, Michael started to stroll back to his corner with Mimi, only to find she was no longer there. There were very few places to hide, so he didn’t have to look long before he discovered her just about climbing over Ken while she strung some fallen garland around him. Daisuke was helping gleefully.

“Ah,” Michael coughed. “Do I want to know?”

“We’re decorating,” Mimi told him.

“Yes.” Daisuke nodded. “Isn’t Ken beautiful?”

Ken turned to Michael with a look of longsuffering. “I’m told I’m substituting for a Christmas tree.”

“We need a star for his head,” Mimi declared. Then she looked up at Michael, as if expecting him to produce one out of thin air.

Michael stared back at her. Perhaps long exposure had inured him to her many idiosyncrasies, or maybe she’d just matured over the years, but she didn’t often surprise him with her whims anymore. He couldn’t resist scanning the room in case any alcohol from Taichi and Yamato’s stash had been served without him noticing. “I, uh… here?”

He handed her his crumpled napkin.

Mimi’s face fell. “I’m sure Ken-kun doesn’t want your used napkin on his head.”

“It’s not used!” Michael waved his hands. “It’s not used,” he repeated to Ken, who bobbed his head reassuringly.

“Sora-san!” Mimi yelled. “We need a star for Ken!”

Sora made some reply, but Michael didn’t catch any of it but sheer exhaustion.

Mimi pouted. “Well, you’re no help.”

“Taichi-san!” Daisuke cried. “We need a star.”

Taichi pushed Yamato into his lap. Daisuke blinked down. “… I meant a star that could fit on Ken’s head.”

“TaichiImgonnamurderyou,” Yamato mumbled into his thigh.

“Are you sure there isn’t any alcohol here?” Michael whispered to Jou somewhat desperately. But he might as well not have spoken — Jou had fallen asleep with his face half-pressed against the balcony window, mouth slack and glasses askew, as several Digimon raced back and forth picking scraps off his forgotten plate.

Michael went back to his partner. “Betamon, am I having a good time?”

Betamon’s eyes shone as he looked up with his mouth full of cake. “Mmmphhggg!”

“Time for games!” Hikari announced, striding into the center of their cramped circle. Her hands were full of disposable wood chopsticks. “Let’s play Ousama Game!”

Suddenly Michael wished there was alcohol.

~~~~~

The clock struck one a.m. Everyone stared at their chopstick. In spite of the lack of heat in the room, more than one person was sweating.

“So…” Daisuke glanced around. “Who’s the first king?”

After a moment, Yamato sighed. His head dropped in his hand as he raised his chopstick.

Takeru whistled. “Nice going, big bro!”

“Shut up,” Yamato grouched.

Taichi smiled big. “What’s your command, my liege?”

Yamato seemed to think, though Michael got the impression he was more feeling sorry for himself than coming up with some great plan. “Number two and number six, finish your drinks.”

“Whaaaat,” Mimi whined. “That’s boring! Besides, all we’ve got is soft drinks!”

“When you’re the king, you can make the rules,” Yamato snapped back.

Shoulders drooping, Mimi took an unhappy glance at her cup and knocked it back. “Whatever, I’m number six.”

Koushirou said he was number two, and polished off his oolong tea without any fuss. The chopsticks were collected and drawn again. Michael laughed softly to himself, having drawn number five for the second time in a row.

“Ooooh, I’m the king!” Miyako said with excitement. “Let’s get things started! Numbers five and twelve have to kiss!”

Mimi let out a whoop. “Yeah, that’s my girl!”

“And not just a little peck on the cheek! I want to see passion!”

Ah. Now he understood Hikari’s plan, though so far it wasn’t working out quite how she’d hoped, Michael guessed. With an easygoing smile, he lifted his number five chopstick. “That’s me. Who’s the lucky number twelve?”

“That would be me.” It was Taichi who answered, laughing so hard he was barely coherent. “Oh man, Michael. I gotta apologize. My breath smells like fried fish.”

“Here.” Yamato passed him an Altoid. Taichi popped it in his mouth, then leaned forward, expressive lips puckered.

Unable to keep from grinning, Michael peeked at Mimi. She mimed dip-kissing the air. With that for encouragement, Michael put his hands on Taichi’s shoulders and kissed him full on the mouth. He heard a few of the girls cheer, and someone — Yamato, he thought — gave a hum of approval. Seeking to draw out their laughter, he kept going, climbing over Taichi until he was just about on top of him. Taichi didn’t seem to mind at all, in fact it felt as if he was shaking with silent laughter. One of his broad brown hands crept up Michael’s leg and squeezed his butt.

That sent the group into hysterics. Michael and Taichi finally broke away, both with silly grins and flushed cheeks.

“Welcome to Japan,” Taichi said when there was a break in the laughter. “What do you think of our traditional greeting?”

“Hmm, I’m not sure if I’ve mastered every nuance.” Michael frowned in mock disappointment. “Maybe we should keep practicing.”

“No, you will not.” Michael’s heart fluttered as Mimi inserted herself between his legs. She leaned towards him, breath tickling his nose. “That was fun and all, but now I’m jealous. If you plan to practice, practice with me.”

Mimi was so pretty. He never forgot how pretty she was. He’d thought so in junior high, when they’d first met, and the first seedlings of puppy love sprouted. And he’d thought so while she experimented with makeup, a new hairstyle and color every month, because she made everything seem so much fun that how could he help it?

In middle school she hadn’t taken his crush seriously. In high school she’d put off him strongly enough that he’d stopped asking, tried dating other girls. After all, he was good-lucking, and friendly, and the son of a famous actor — most girls were flattered if he paid them attention. To say Mimi’s rejection made him want her all the more would be a mischaracterization. Michael thought he was made of sterner stuff than that. It was just that he genuinely had more fun with her than with anyone else, and whenever he thought he’d got her out of his system, there’d she be again. And finally, their senior year of high school, she’d accepted his feelings and agreed to one date. The one turned into two, then three, and so on, until they found themselves celebrating their three year anniversary and unable to remember a time when it was different.

He loved her, and he thanked the heavens every day that she loved him back.

Mimi settled into his lap and drew his head down. Michael didn’t hesitate as their lips met. Her body molded against his, warm and melty, the fuzzy stuff of her sweater tickling his neck as her arms wrapped around his neck. Like he’d done so many times, he lost himself in the enticing pressure of her pink lips, her lashes butterfly soft against his jaw.

At last they parted, both breathing a little faster usual. She gazed back at him, and gave a little laugh.

He was thinking about something to say when Jou poked his arm and handed him a couple of chopsticks. “If you two are ready to join the rest of us,” Jou said with a wry smirk.

Red-faced, Michael took the chopsticks — eight and thirteen — and handed thirteen to Mimi. She seemed comfortable where she was, curling up against his chest as she inspected her number.

Iori was the new king. His decree was for numbers one and four to exchange socks for the duration of the game. This became entertaining when it turned out that one was Daisuke and four was Hikari, and Hikari’s powder blue cat-face socks in no way fit on Daisuke’s much larger feet. Hikari flat out refused to put on Daisuke’s, which were red and green and Christmassy, but more than anything smelly. They were instead draped over the TV set.

Next Ken drew king, and set numbers twelve and three (Takeru and Miyako) in a competition to see who could recite “Jugemu Jugemu” all the way through the fastest. Neither could remember all the words, so it ended in a draw.

Sora challenged numbers ten and eleven (Daisuke and Yamato) to name as many animals in English as they could. Yamato beat Daisuke soundly. Daisuke implored Michael for help, but perhaps having imbibed a bit too much of the social culture here, Michael responded: “Sorry, I like to watch you suffer.”

Daisuke got his chance for revenge the very next turn, savagely declaring, “Numbers seven has to give number two a piggyback ride!” But seven turned out to Taichi, and two was Hikari, so in the end it was a pretty poor attempt at vengeance.

They played a few more rounds, until most everyone had had a go at being king. Taichi held the record for taking the most commands. Only Mimi had yet to be King, so for the last round, it was decided that the king stick would go to her regardless. As the other chopsticks were being redistributed, Mimi stretched and climbed out of Michael’s lap, announcing that she had to take a bathroom break.

“You can’t wait until your turn is over?” Sora asked.

“I’ll be quick.”

She was, in fact, quick — too quick. How she’d had time to do anything more than open and close the bathroom door was anyone’s guess. Michael watched her with narrowed eyes as she made her return, visiting around the circle before she finally sat down next to him. There was a glint in her eye that spelled danger. But before Michael could quiz her, Mimi had picked up her king stick and straightened.

“Her royal highness Princess Mimi decrees —” She flourished the stick theatrically, leveling an imperious gaze on her gathered friends “— that numbers five and nine must kiss.”

Yamato stuck a finger in the air. “We already did that one. No repeats.”

“Since when?”

“Since now.”

Mimi’s lips scrunched to the side. “No, you can’t just make up rules.”

“Yamato, it’s cool.” Taichi covered up a yawn as he spoke. Many of the paty guests were flagging by this time, their Digimon partners already passed out in their laps. “I’m five. This is like, the eighty-fifth command I’ve got tonight. What’s one more kiss?”

Mimi smirked at Yamato in triumph. Yamato rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

“Who’s nine?” Taichi asked, blinking sleepily around the group.

At first no one answered. Michael watched heads back and forth. Number nine did not come forth.

“Aw, come on.” Mimi stuck out her lower lip. “It’s the last round! Who’s going to give up in the last round?”

No one answered. A grin splitting his lips, Taichi scratched behind his ear. “I guess whoever’s number five really doesn’t want to kiss me,” he quipped.

“Me,” mumbled Koushirou.

It took a minute for it to register that he had spoken. Then they were all looking at him at once. “What’d you say?” Taichi asked, but already the heat was climbing in his face.

Slowly Koushirou raised his chopstick: number five. “It’s me.” His dark eyes were unreadable.

Taichi licked his chapped lips. “Y-You don’t have to. It’s just a game.” He gave an awkward laugh. “Right, Mimi-chan?”

Mimi looked like she might protest, so Michael put a placating hand on her knee. She peered up at him, and sighed. “Right,” she said reluctantly.

There were no doubts in Michael’s mind that Mimi’s “bathroom break” had been more about sneaking a peek at what numbers Taichi and Koushirou pulled so she could play matchmaker with her turn as king. For all her many wonderful qualities, she did have a penchant for meddling. At least, he thought, she did it mostly when she felt she could make all those involved happier, and not for vindictive purposes.

But Koushirou had yet to respond, and as the pause in the festivities stretched out longer, Taichi’s usual happy-go-lucky expression crumpled into disappointment, and then further into something like shame. He stood up, muttering something about putting the dishes in the sink.

“Koushirou,” he said before leaving, “don’t worry about it, ’kay? Honestly, it’s just a game, it’s not supposed to make you uncomfortable. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

He picked his way between Yamato and Sora to get to the door that led to the kitchen, and had just opened it when Koushirou found his voice:

“I want to.” Koushirou’s whole face was cherry red. He didn’t seem able to look anyone in the eye.

Taichi stared at him with a look like a dead fish. Koushirou raised his head, voice wavering but clearly mustering all his courage to repeat: “I want to.”

In an instant, Taichi grabbed him by the elbow and hauled him out into the hall, closing the door behind them.

Mimi turned to Michael, a smug look on her face. Michael did his best to look stern. “You shouldn’t have done that, missy.”

She had the gall to look offended. “Done what? Show them how stupid they’re both being?”

“Mimi-chan, you’re not supposed to know who has what numbers in this game,” Sora sighed. Clearly she’d noticed what Mimi was up to as well.

“Oh, like I’m the bad guy here! Haven’t we been watching them pine for each other for way too long?” Her arms flew up in a gesture of exasperation. “It’s like a soap opera! The kind where no one admits their feelings until someone’s lying half-dead on a gurney!”

“Mimi-kun,” Jou groaned.

“At least, this way, they finally have to talk it out, am I right?”

“The idea that those two will figure it out on their own does seem kinda hopeless,” Miyako put in with a shrug. Beside her, Daisuke and Takeru nodded in agreement.

Yamato pointed, rather rudely, in Mimi’s direction. “Do me a favor and don’t chase a career in relationship counseling.”

“Shortcake,” Agumon mumbled in his sleep.

After that the conversation turned to other things.

~~~~~

By the time everyone went home, it was three in the morning.

“Thanks for letting me join you guys.” Michael accepted the bag of leftover matcha cookies as he said his good-byes. “I had a lot of fun.”

“No problem,” Yamato said. “Sorry our party ruined your date night.”

“Oh, no.”

“Next year we should do something that’s actually Christmas-related,” Mimi suggested. Michael laughed.

Leaning against the door jamb, Yamato quirked his brow at her. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. Snowball fight?”

“Right, because it snows in December in Tokyo so often.”

“Well, baking cookies or… I don’t know, Michael, what’s a good Christmas activity?”

Michael blinked. “Uh… maybe Christmas carols?”

“Oh, that’s a good one! Yamato-san can play the guitar! And I can sing!”

“And the rest of us?” Sora asked, smiling.

“Eh, you can play the spoons.”

“I’ll spend next year practicing.”

Mimi grinned, and Michael tightened his grip around her shoulders. “Are Taichi-san and Koushirou-kun not going to come say good-bye?” Mimi asked.

“I’ll ask.” Yamato stuck his head into the adjacent room. “Mimi wants to know if you’re going to say good-bye.”

“Bye, Mimi,” Taichi’s voice shouted.

“See you,” Koushirou added. Neither seemed about to leave the position Mimi had last seen them, leaning side-bye-side against the fridge, Koushirou explaining some new MMORPG he was into and Taichi stealing every chance he could to plant kisses on the top of his head. She allowed herself a secret grin. Alright, so maybe her meddling had been out of line. But who was going to complain at this point?

Sora was planning to spend the night (chances were Koushirou would stay over too). Mimi and Michael were the last to leave, cradling Palmon and Betamon in their arms as their partners slept away. In the elevator, Michael bent over and kissed Mimi’s forehead.

“What was that for?” she asked, eyes sparkling.

He shrugged one shoulder. “Just because.”

“I like that reason.” They reached the first floor. “I’d return the sentiment but you’re rather taller than me.”

“Another time, then.”

“Tomorrow?”

“If you so desire.”

“I do so desire.” Her arms were full of Palmon so she couldn’t hold his hand, but she walked as closely as she could, bumping shoulders every other step. “I hope you had fun tonight.”

“Oh, I did. Your friends are a riot. And Betamon loved the chance to spend time with your partners.”

“I think he loved the food, mostly.”

“That too.”

The road they were on was well-lit with street lamps and fluorescent signs. Even at this hour, there were a fair number of cars rolling by. Michael wondered if Tokyo ever slept. New York City never got any true silence either, he reflected. Maybe, for that reason, he liked that he and Mimi could walk home together like this, not saying a word. Just being together.

They reached her apartment. “I’m not sure if I should invite you up,” she said. “Seems like a waste since you booked a hotel and all.”

“I’ll go to the hotel tonight. We can… talk tomorrow.” He chewed his lip a moment. “I noticed you guys didn’t exchange gifts.”

“Oh, yeah, we don’t do that so much on Christmas here.”

“Well, I brought you something, but I think I’ll give it to you tomorrow.” His heart thumped in his chest.

“Aw, you shouldn’t have! I don’t have anything for you.” She looked crestfallen for a half a second. Then she pumped her fist. “Come early tomorrow, I’ll make you breakfast!”

“Alright.” His throat felt dry. “Tomorrow, then.”

“It’s a date. Good-night, Michael.”

“Good-night, Mimi…”

Feelings of elation mixed with fear as he walked to the hotel alone. Love, he figured, was like that — the very height of emotion. More than any other earthly thing capable of creation or destruction and difficult to predict which. He fingered the little velvet box that had remained in his coat pocket all evening. Tomorrow — he’d wait until tomorrow. He’d wait a hundred years for love, and tomorrow, he’d make sure she knew it.

#digimonsecretsanta2017 #digimon #fizz writes

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petiteredlady · 6 years

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End of the year 2.5D Butai/Musical Asks

I found that allyyyyy0619 made an “End of the year 2.5D Butai/Musical Asks” list, and it looked fun and interesting, so I wanted to do it. Some questions were challenging, but I liked answering !

1. Firstly, how did you manage to find out about 2.5D butai/musical? Which butai/musical was your first and your impression of it? In 2003-2004 a friend was studying in Japan. Being a Prince of Tennis fan, she discovered Tenimyu, and showed me her DVDs ! I think the very first I saw was the Dream Live 1st, and then I saw them mostly in chronological order. After that there were Bleach musicals, Hunter x Hunter, and by Air Gear I realised that adapting things into musicals was a thing. (Somehow I only learned about Sailor Moon later O_O)

For my impression of the first Dream Live : what the fuck. Just what the fuck XD I loved it because it was just so funny, but so many actors couldn't sing very well, the plot(?) was insane and several people were just OOC... but it was really fun and I liked it.

2. Who was your first favourite 2.5D actor/actress? Why? Hm... It was probably Takigawa Eiji, because I remember debating whether or not to buy his idol DVD^^" I'm not sure why, because he wasn't a good singer at the time... I guess his charisma alone was enough ? XD He made me laugh as Tezuka (despite actually playing him well), was pretty good-looking and he seemed like such a nice person IRL. (Unfortunately at the time I didn't find anything else he had played in so the "favourite" thing ended at me just really liking him...)

3. Top 3 (or more) favourite butai of the year? I haven't actually seen that many stage plays because I usually prefer musicals XD If I'm not mistaken, I've seen six stage plays this year so.... yeah.

1) Tsumuru Ookami Kuroki Kamo, without a doubt. Probably the best stage play I've ever seen. The staging was amazing, transitions were smooth and clever and easy to follow, I loved the music, I loved the costumes, the characters were amazing (even those I hated)(looking at you Shinpachi), and the story pushed so many of my buttons it's ridiculous. But even objectively, I think it's a really, really good stage play. 2) Yowamushi Pedal Shin Inter-High hen - Heat Up. I had only watched one other YowaPeda stage play so I didn't really know what to expect, but MY GOD. For a stage that had neither my favourite character nor my favourite actors, it was amazing. I loved the staging : everything was very dynamic, the amovible stairs were very cleverly used, and wow you really think they're pedalling. The acting was great and it was really funny, plus there were more songs than I expected ! 3) Haikyuu!! The Summer of Evolution. I wasn't fond of the first stage play and hadn't seen another, so I didn't expect to like it, but wow they have improved SO MUCH. The different choregraphies, for playing and dancing, were insane. I love their use of music to represent different techniques and formations. I really liked the acting. What I liked less was all the yelling, talking at the speed of light and everybody talking at the same time +_+ Like, please people, live Japanese is hard enough as it is XD

4. Top 3 (or more) least favourite butai of the year? By default they're going to be the other three I've seen XD It doesn't mean I didn't like them, but I liked them less and it wouldn't be fair to not answer this question.

1) Mononofu Shiroki Tora. I still liked it because it dealed with a lot of subjects that are dear to me, but honestly it was so confusing +_+ I really had a hard time understanding what was the present and what was the past, and which side the background characters were on. There were several characters I didn't connect with at all, too. It was still funny and horribly sad, but after watching it I just wasn't convinced. (Which is why I waited months before watching Tsumuru Ookami Kuroki Kamo.) 2) Messiah - Yuukyuu no Toki. The best stage play that came out of the new Messiah series. I wrote my impressions after watching it, but to summarise : there are still too many characters, too many plots at the same time, and I'm tired of people being related for no reason. I also thought the whole issue with Ariga and Itsuki was very dumb. But at least Yuukyuu focused more on its characters than Akatsuki, so I ended up liking them more. And returning characters were less OOC in my opinion. And my goodness, action scenes were great. 3) Messiah - Akatsuki no Toki. I was so excited for it and was terribly betrayed. There were a thousand ways to deal with Hirose Daisuke's absence, and they went with an insane plot so far-fatched I can't bring myself to take it seriously. I found the characters very, very OOC and didn't connect with or care for any of them. The new kouhai were not at all what I expected and I found them cringy at best. There are very few things I liked. Mostly the relationship between Ariga and Itsuki <3 I sort of squeed when Ariga called Itsuki by his name, and then at the end Itsuki did the same and it was cute and adorable.

(Messiah has been a letdown this year, it's pretty sad...)

5. Top 3 (or more) favourite musical of the year? I've watched a lot more musicals so this is going to be really hard XD (But I'm not doing more than 3. Ranking things is hard enough like that.)

1) Ribbon no Kishi (2015 version). It blew my mind when I didn't expect it O_O I was watching it for Aoki Tsunenori, but everyone was just so, so good. THE SONGS. MY GOD. ALL OF THE SONGS ARE GREAT, ALL OF THEM, AND EVERYONE SINGS SO WELL !!! The women especially had amazing voices. Everyone played they roles so well, with some being so very over-the-top and kitsch. I loved it. And this is part of being Ribbon no Kishi, but I loved the costumes and the fairy tale atmosphere that was very positive. I have issues with the story, but honestly that's not why I was watching it, so all in all it was a great experience. 2) Sailor Moon - Le Mouvement Final. JUST. AMAZING. Everyone was so pretty and cool and talented, the costumes were full of glitter, and the singing and acting really touched me <3 I may not be 100 % objective because I've loved Sailor Moon since I was a little girl and the last arc always makes me very emotional, but still. The transformations were great, the light effects were really cool, the music was good and all the actresse were amazing. If it hadn't been the last day of the performance I'd have tried to get another ticket... 3) Patalliro!. They don't call it a musical since they're lip-syncing on stage, but as a viewer the experience is basically the same so I've decided it counts. I had read a bit of the manga and watched a bit of the anime to have some context, and it really helped me understand some scenes. What I found most amazing is that the musical looks good while keeping all the weirdness from the manga XD They all acted so well, and managed to create a great story with very few characters. I liked that everything, from characters expressions to every plot point, was very over-the-top and dramatic XD I laughed a LOT. And the songs were really good and catchy. I liked it way more than I expected !

6. Top 3 (or more) least favourite musical of the year? Once again : it doesn't mean I didn't like them. Either they didn't live up to my expectations, or I simply liked them less.

1) Bakumatsu Rock - Climax Live. While I liked the interactions between the characters and liked more songs than I expected, I still feel this live didn't use all its potential. I mean, sure, it's a live, but maybe there could have been more of a plot ? Transitions were good and sketches were funny, but an overarching plot tying it all together would have been nicer, in my opinion. 2) Show by Rock - Shinen no Cross Ambivalence. This is very, very, very personal, but I think ShinganCrimsonZ didn't act enough like themselves. I know they weren't the focus of the plot, but... Rom had only like one speech that made the others cry, they didn't bicker about food, they didn't sing their jingle and Crow almost never called us "cattle" T-T Actually the focus was all over the place so I feel like no band really had time to shine. (And that's ever more personal, but the one and only reason I wanted to see Show by Rock was to see TakiEiji.......)(Obviously I'm not blaming anyone O__O) Overall I liked it, but not as much as I wanted to. 3) Touken Ranbu - Bakumatsu Tenrouden. The expectations/reality ratio was way too high for this one XD I still liked it, but not as much as a Shinsengumi fan should have, I guess XD First, I don't like Yasusada that much. And I'm getting really tired of his and Kashuu's issues with Okita. WE GET IT. We even had them all over Hanamaru. They're pretty popular anyway so WE KNOW ALREADY. I was more interested in Nagasone and Hachisuka's issues, but I think they were only superficially addressed. And Nagasone angsting about Kondou was only at the end with little build-up so it just felt weird, while it had the potential to be a heart-wrenching scene. And honestly, Kane-san and Horikawa felt like secondary characters T-T I'd have been much more interested in THEIR dealing with their owner's death. I also think they didn't have great singers and their voices didn't really work together, even though I liked the songs. So this musical was more of a miss than a hit, for me. (But I liked the previous one so much it was hard to top.)

7. Top 3 (or more) favourite actors/actress of the year?

1) Rachi Shinji. I've developped a real appreciation for him after being initially put off. When I first saw the Bakumatsu Rock musical his voice was so different from anime Ryouma that I thought he couldn't sing... haha =_= It got better the more musicals I saw in this series, then I saw him in Sayonara Sorcier *o* He was so, so perfect for the role *o* Now I really want to see more of him ! 2) Kanda Airi. I was very impressed by her performance in Ribbon no Kishi, and then I saw her in Sailor Moon *o* She was more than amazing. She appeared late, but she was so at ease on stage ! She was very in character, very into her dancing and singing, and she felt much more experienced than the adult actresses. Honestly, it seemed so very natural for her to act, it was hard to look at anyone else ! (And I don't even like Chibi Moon that much so it's really impressive.) 3) Teruma. I think he's one of these few actors who can really change who they are when they play different characters. I just find that very impressive, and since I've been seeing more and more of him, I ended up noticing. He has really improved his singing, too ! (And he does play very different characters while you could expect him to have a type XD)

8. Top 3 (or more) rookie actors/rising actors whom you’ve high hopes for in the future? ... I usually follow actors I know so that means they already have a career XD But let's try !

1) Takano Akira, Toumyu's Hizamaru. He's not exactly a newbie as he's done a number of things, but mostly in 2016 so I guess it counts. I've only seen him in Shinken Ranbu Sai 2017 (I'll see the actual musical in January), but I was SO IMPRESSED. Honestly, despite the huge cast and lots of other actors and characters I loved, he managed to stand out ! His acting was great, his dancing JUST AMAZING, and he was so into his role, it was a pleasure to watch. 2) Ooyabu Taka. I only saw him as Marui in the 3rd season Tenimyu Seigaku vs Rikkai, but my goodness he was perfect. Probably the best Marui so far, definitely one of the best and most charismatic actors of the musical ! It's not even a character I care about much so I'm not biased, and I did hear other people talk excitedly about how good he was. I don't think I'll be closely following his career, but I'm definitely interested in seeing more of him ! 3) Sakiyama Tsubasa. He has been in a number of plays for the past 3-4 years, but I think it's only recently (thanks to Toumyu) that his popularity skyrocketed. The more I watch him the more I like him, and he's one of the very few people who made me buy their CD, so that says something ! I definitely want to see more of him in the future !

9. Top 3 (or more) favourite butai/musical related drama/movie of the year? The original question said it could be a drama that has a butai adaptation or an unrelated drama with butai actors in it (who made us want to watch it). The thing is... I don't watch that many dramas ? Not anymore, at least. When I like a butai actor I like to see what other butai they're in XD There's always tokusatsu, but it's not ONLY for the actors. Oh well, let's try...

1) Tokumei Sentai Go-Busters. Amazing show. Predictable, but everything made me feel good, from the characters to the plot. It was on my list because of Matsumoto Hiroya and Baba Ryouma <3 (Then I realised Jinnai Shou was in it too !)(Now that I think about it they happen to play my favourite characters...) 2) Yowamushi Pedal. It was one example listed in the original question so it feels weird to answer that, but it's true. From the preview I didn't think it'd be anything worthy of note, but it's actually so, so well done. Even the bike races. And the cast is just so good, I love how they play the characters. 3) Zyuden Sentai Kyoryuger. A bit cliché, but I loved it. The main characters were great, the villains too, and I love dinosaurs. And I decided to watch it because of Saitou Shuusuke !

(Yeah that's two sentai but honestly I've already gone through all the Kamen Riders that have butai actors in it...)

10. Top 3 (or more) actors/actress that you think have the best singing voice? Now that's very unfair and I can't do it XD Why I like someone’s singing depends on so many things, and I may not like everything that person sings... But I decided to answer these questions so I WILL >< (This will be more like "hey I consistently like these people singing" rather than "they're objectively the best singers")

1) Katou Kazuki. He was amazing in Tenimyu, I actually listened to his original songs when he released a CD, and when I heard him recently I thought he had improved AGAIN O_O I don't think there's any limit to how good he can get. (And I love deep voices like his.) 2) Kimeru. Such a powerful voice. I think he can sing anything and make it awesome. He's sometimes a bit over the top, but I love listening to him. 3) Sakiyama Tsubasa. When I first heard him in Toumyu I wasn't convinced, but he's improved so fast ! I love his calm and soothing voice <3

(4th place is for Rachi Shinji because my god just like Kimeru he has such a powerful and beautiful voice *o* Just... less my style.) (And I'd like to mention Spi somewhere because while I haven't yet seen Mihotose no Komoriuta, I was SO IMPRESSED by his singing in Shinken Ranbu Sai 2017 he deserves a spot. His singing was amazing.)

11. A (or more) butai/musical that you didn’t initially love, but has/have grown on you?

Bakumatsu Rock (the first one). It was such a shock to transition from anime to stage, I didn't take it well. The seiyuu are pretty amazing, and the musical tried to have actors with very different voices try to sing like the seiyuu... and it doesn't work at all. After re-watching the musical, though, I got a better appreciation for the actors’ singing. It's not that they're bad, they're just made to sing things that were not made for them^^ And some songs are still pretty good despite that ! And in later musicals I think they better adapted the music.

12. Top 3 (or more) anime/manga/game that you would love to see being adapted into a butai/musical in the future?

1) Anything by CLAMP ? I mean, why is there no Card Captor Sakura musical ? It would be perfect. Or Wish !! Wish would be so cute. Or Clover *o* (Honestly any manga works. Even the 'heavier' ones like X or RG Veda. These two would have amazing group songs *o*) 2) I'm not sure I'd "love" it but honestly after three Tenimyu seasons it's time to be brave and adapt New Prince of Tennis. 3) I haven't seen it yet but when I read the question I immediately thought "Ballroom e youkoso needs an adaptation" XD

13. Top 3 (or more) favourite fandom on the year?

1) Tenimyu is still a pure and amazing fandom. Honestly seeing people still passionate about it nearly fifteen years later amazes me. 2) Touken Ranbu fans are very impressive, collecting so much information and following every single actor's other projects XD 3) The Hakumyu fandom sprang back into existence, it seems XD With motivated people sharing and subbing. I'm glad to see the fandom is still alive and happy despite the lack of new musicals.

14. How long have you been in the 2.5D fandom? Honestly I wouldn't consider myself "in the fandom" these days... I interacted with other fans much more when I was younger, and then there was a period when my interest in butai faded. But if we count from the first time I got involved... it's been about 13 years.

15. Lastly, what is your overall opinion of the 2.5D fandom so far? As I said, I'm not really "in" it so it's more like an outside opinion...? Honestly, I feel that now that buying and sharing DVDs is so easy, the fandom has grown so big it has become difficult to really interact with people ? Maybe I just don't put enough effort in it, though XD But having so many fans with different interests mean it's more difficult to find someone who matches your interests who is also interested in talking to you specifically while there are so many other fans out there. (But yeah, maybe it's just me. I used to be in small French fandoms, maybe I'm just not cut out for big international ones.)

And yet it amazes me how much people help each other : getting tickets, getting goodies, subbing... (Like, SUBBING ?? When I was younger I never thought about anyone ever subbing butai, fansubs were something anime fans did, I never considered it could apply to butai too XD So I'm always in awe when people sub butai.)

#personal

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lisatelramor · 7 years

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A Convergence of Thieves

A kind of sort of continuation of Snitched Spark

Daisuke’s pencil was a droning scritch-scratch against his homework paper. The end was finally in sight but he wanted to do pretty much anything but keep working. Even Mom’s training looked tempting at the moment. Dodging lasers and pit traps was infinitely better than doing yet another math problem. Hand feeling like a lead weight, he moved to the next problem.

“Daisuke!” Mom’s voice called from downstairs. “You have a friend at the door!”

Daisuke dropped the pencil so fast Dark was laughing at him in the back of his mind. Shush, he thought. You were just as bored as I was.

“Yeah, but it’s not my homework.” There was a sensation like Dark was sitting up and stretching, attention focusing back on the world. “So is it Saehara?”

Dunno, Mom didn’t say who it was. Daisuke took the stairs two at a time, rushing past his mom at the foot of the stairs. She had her interested-and-planning-to-eavesdrop expression on, and Daisuke knew that it couldn’t be Saehara at the door. Probably not Riku either since he was pretty sure Riku didn’t even know where he lived. Satoshi? But no, Mom would have looked annoyed...

Daisuke skidded to a stop in the entryway, thankfully trap free at the moment, and opened the door. A stranger was on the other side. He was a high school student with an unfamiliar uniform, dark brown hair that looked like it had been carefully styled except for a cowlick in the back, and he had blue eyes that looked vaguely familiar.

“Hey, Niwa-san!” the stranger said in a cheerful voice that Daisuke’s instincts instantly pinged as fake. “I was in the area and thought I’d drop by!”

“Do I know you?”

The stranger put a hand on his chest looking mock-injured. “Ouch. To think that I’m that forgettable.”

There was something about the tone of voice and the theatric body language...

“Oh hell no,” Dark said. “That’s— ”

“Kaitou Kid!” Daisuke blurted in time with Dark’s mental voice.

“Oh good, you do remember me!” Kid grinned, and that at least was familiar. Most people didn’t smile that widely.

“How did you find my home?!”

“You have a really recognizable face.” Kid’s grin became a bit fixed. “I don’t suppose you could do me a favor?”

“What, besides keeping an eye out for that gem of yours?”

“Yes.” Kid shifted and Daisuke’s eyes flicked down him for the first time as his stance became...off. He’d been relaxed and casual when Daisuke opened the door but he was putting more weight on one side than the other now and one arm held at an angle that didn’t look as relaxed as he was trying to be. Daisuke looked at Kid’s side. It was hard to tell with the black uniform, but there might have been the start of a wet patch there. “You see,” Kid said, “I wouldn’t ask if I had anyone else to turn to. I’m a bit far from home.”

“Were you shot?!” Daisuke squeaked.

“Ah, no. Slightly stabbed actually.”

“Oh my god!”

“It isn’t that bad. It missed anything vital. I just am having trouble getting it to stop bleeding...”

“Mom!” Daisuke called.

“Well, didn’t see that coming,” Dark said. “Guess I’ll put off punching him until he’s no longer bleeding.”

Not the time, Daisuke thought. “Get in here,” he said to Kid, tugging him indoors. “The person who stabbed you isn’t nearby right?”

“Oh, no, I left them trussed up for the police. I took a page out of Spiderman’s book. Can’t exactly stick around for evidence though.” Kid didn’t protest the manhandling; if anything he moved willingly wherever Daisuke pushed him.

Mom appeared with Towa behind her, badly hiding her interest behind a polite smile. “Mom, Kaitou Kid. Kid, my mom,” Daisuke said. “Towa, go get the first aid kit—the big one—he’s got a stab wound.”

“Oh my.” Mom’s brows went up.

“A pleasure,” Kid said with a charming smile that didn’t let on to how much pain he had to be in. He produced a white rose from somewhere on his non-injured side. “I would bow in appreciation of such a lovely lady, but I’m afraid I’d end up swooning at your feet if I tried.”

Daisuke was horrified to see his mom actually blush as she accepted the flower. “No, that’s fine,” she said giggling for a second before looking serious. “Come to the kitchen.”

“I have the first aid kit!” Towa screeched, barreling into the kitchen only moments after Kid sat down at one of the kitchen chairs. They all turned and looked at her holding it aloft like a prize.

“Thank you,” Kid said with his charming smile. It affected Towa about as well as it did Mom.

I am extremely concerned about that smile, Daisuke said.

“Mine’s better,” Dark muttered. “His is super fake anyway.”

No kidding, Daisuke thought. There was definitely a wet patch on the uniform now. “Can you take the uniform off?” he asked.

Kid paused. “Yes,” he said after a beat. “I got it on, so I can get it off. Should I take it off the way I put it in is the real question.” He undid buttons onehanded just a fraction slower than Daisuke could manage, sliding out of the uniform jacket with minimal movement from his torso. A bloodstained button up shirt followed, but the much bloodier undershirt was a different story. “I don’t think I should twist to pull it off...”

Mom pulled out a razor blade from the first aid kit. Kid held very still as she cut his shirt off. Daisuke could see his heartbeat fast in his throat though his face was impassive. It had to be hard to trust a stranger to help you.

Air hissed through Daisuke’s teeth as he saw the wound. ‘Slightly stabbed’ turned out to be a cut a little longer than Daisuke’s hand ranging from Kid’s lower ribs in his left side down to the flesh along his side. It wasn’t a neat cut; the knife had clearly skidded off Kid’s ribs before sinking a little bit deeper when it met flesh. Kid seemed to be right about it missing anything vital though. It was bleeding sluggishly but there weren’t any organs showing through the hole in his side at least. Daisuke’s stomach flipped at the thought. “Who tried to kill you?” Daisuke asked. He held bloody t-shirt scraps as Towa handed Mom a bottle of disinfectant. Towa looked like she was going to start panicking and turn into a bird at any moment. Mom had the non-expression she always put on when she didn’t want to show how she really felt about something.

Kid sucked in a sharp breath at the first sting of disinfectant but had the control not to flinch away as the wound was cleaned out. “Oh,” he said with a deceptively airy tone, “you know. People. There’s a lot of people who don’t like thieves.”

“I’ve never had anyone try to stab me in the gut,” Daisuke said.

“I think he was aiming for my heart actually. Must be pretty unexperienced. Everyone knows you stab up into it, not down through the ribs.” Kid could have been talking about something as mundane as how to plant tulip bulbs rather than his own almost murder.

Daisuke stared, horrified.

“I’ve run into a lot of murders lately,” Kid said, like that was an explanation.

“This is going to need stitches,” Mom said. “You got lucky though. It missed hitting anything vital.”

Kid breathed out slowly. “Luck does seem to turn out in my favor more often than not.”

“Luck would be not getting stabbed at all,” Dark said to Daisuke. “That guy has as much bad luck as good.”

“So you got stabbed by someone who doesn’t like thieves and you came here. Why here? You didn’t know if we’d help or not.” Daisuke stared at Kid trying to see past his masks.

Kid was a supremely annoying person though and he had all the readability of a smooth stone. “I took a chance,” Kid said. He was careful not to look at Mom threading the needle, but he only flinched once at the first press of the needle through skin. He had an alarming pain tolerance. “And I didn’t know anyone else in Azumano. Usually I’d go to my assistant, but he’s sick at the moment.”

“No family to turn to?” Mom asked. She looked up at Kid, one eyebrow raised out of her own mask of an expression. “You’re awfully young to be doing this on your own.”

Was Kid young? He wasn’t old, but Daisuke couldn’t tell. The high school uniform he showed up in fit him and his face still had some of the roundness of childhood, but those things could be faked. He could be anywhere from sixteen to twenty-five with a face like that.

“Not around, no,” Kid said. He couldn’t quite hide a wince as the needle tugged a bit harder, forcing part of the raggedly cut flesh back together. He looked up at the ceiling, changing the subject. “I have to say, your security system is impressive here. The cameras are expertly hidden and I would love to see the extent of those traps in the entryway. Like how do you have a lock mechanism for the pit traps? They’re weight based triggers, correct?”

Daisuke and his mother gave Kid identical incredulous looks.

“Weight based,” Mom said after a beat. “All traps have mechanisms to turn them off. It has to be a functional house for people who aren’t thieves after all.” Her hands finished up the last few stitches, tying off the thread neatly.

Kid nodded. “Impressive. My weight based trap skills are still a bit trigger happy.”

Is...is he bonding with Mom over traps? Daisuke wondered.

“I think it’s working,” Dark replied.

And it had to be because Mom’s mask was melting into one Daisuke could remember from growing up when she would impassionedly drill techniques into his head. She finished taping gauze over the stitches and actually smiled. “What kind of pressure triggers are you using?”

And Kid smiled back. With a real smile as far as Daisuke could tell. Daisuke took a step back and toward Towa as they dived into a technical discussion. Kid still looked halfway to passing out, but he was so focused and genuinely interested in Mom’s words that he had to actually understand everything that she was talking about. Daisuke wasn’t really a trap person. He could evade them and think around them, but making them required an instinctive know how for how elements would work together that he just didn’t have. Kid didn’t seem to have that problem. If anything, his brain worked the same way Mom’s did with pulling all the details into a cohesive, functional whole.

Why does it feel like a bad thing that they are on the same wavelength?

“Maybe because some of Emiko’s traps are deadly and subtle?” Dark suggested, though he sounded just as weirded out.

“That sounds like the perfect way to cause chaos,” Kid said about some mechanism that relied on the vibrations of footsteps to be set off.

Mom grinned. Kid grinned back. Daisuke felt sorry for the police in advance. They were just doing their jobs.

“Oh no,” Dark said. “She likes him. Daisuke, get Kid out of here before Emiko adopts him and we have to deal with him all the time.”

It was too late though. Mom was already offering to show him how to install some of her touchier pressure sensors and a place to stay if he was ever in town.

“Mom!” Daisuke hissed.

“He clearly could use a bit of paternal guidance,” Mom hissed back, leaving Towa to help Kid back into a clean shirt. “And look at him.” Daisuke looked. There were a lot of scars on Kid’s torso alone. Some of them looked like gunshot wounds. Who had helped Kid get patched up then? “If his family isn’t willing or able to step up, he might as well have someone to turn to. One assistant isn’t much.”

Daisuke had Dark and Mom and Dad and Grandpa, Towa and Wiz and sometimes even Satoshi or Saehara or Riku to turn to when he was in over his head. He swallowed. Kid’s charisma and confidence and flirtations...were they all masks? And what was under them? Who did Kid turn to when he wasn’t sure? “Okay.”

Mom smiled and patted Daisuke on the shoulder. Then she was back to Kid, sweeping up his bloody clothes and promising to clean them up for him. “Just stay for dinner,” she said, pulling Towa with her to help. “Or spend the night even if you want. There’s plenty of room.”

“I can only stay for dinner,” Kid said, sounding apologetic.

“That’s fine! Daisuke, help him with anything he needs until dinner’s done.” Then Mom was off and Daisuke was stuck standing next to Kid feeling awkward.

Kid let go once she was out of sight, slumping in his chair with a grimace of pain. One hand hovered over his injury for a moment before the pain was smoothed away from his face and his hand tucked back into a casual position at his side. “You’re mom’s nice,” Kid said after a moment. He sounded exhausted.

“She’s like that. She’s the sort of person who will happily order you around and force feed you if you look a bit too thin.” Even if she didn’t like you, Daisuke thought, thinking of Satoshi. “What’s your mom like?”

Kid laughed once, flat. “Absent? She spends more time traveling than at home.”

“Oh.”

“I’m not sure what she thinks of me being a thief. Nothing too bad I guess or she wouldn’t have had me steal something for her...”

“I kind of have to be a thief. It’s the family business.”

“Huh.” Kid closed his eyes for a moment, all the exhaustion and pain showing in his face for a few seconds before it trickled away. He breathed out a long breath. “Thanks,” Kid said, eyes still closed. “For helping.”

“How could I not?” Daisuke asked.

Kid flashed him a tired smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Most people ask the opposite.”

Daisuke came to a decision. “You can rest upstairs for a bit? Dinner won’t be for a while.” He offered Kid a hand up.

Kid took it, letting Daisuke pull him to his feet. He wasn’t flirting or joking or otherwise trying to provoke or distract Daisuke at the moment, and Daisuke supposed he didn’t mind Kid if he was being like this. “I really can’t stay the night,” Kid said as Daisuke led him to his room. “I have a civilian life I have to get back to.”

“Stay only as long as you want.”

“I owe you one.”

As Kid settled onto the spare futon Daisuke kept in his room, Daisuke realized he was just about as bad as his mom when it came to taking in strays.

“You’re going to stubbornly try to make friends with him aren’t you?” Dark asked, sounding resigned.

Daisuke didn’t deny it. He was kind of curious about how another thief had grown up and what skills he had anyway. It wasn’t like there were an abundance of people to bond over having double lives with.

“That means I can’t punch him doesn’t it.”

He’s injured!

Dark sighed.

Daisuke left Kid to rest and went to help Mom with dinner. He had a feeling that this would be far from the last time Kid showed up and only time would tell if that was a good thing or not.

Emiko would adopt Kaito in a heartbeat. She got all ‘here eat more are you getting what you need’ with SATOSHI and she considers him her family’s mortal enemy more or less. If she can go into mom mode on someone she dislikes, heck yeah, she’s gonna adopt the thief that’s still young and mostly doing it on his own. (The world is now doomed. Emiko’s trap skills plus Kaito’s offbeat creativity equals chaos.)

#magic kaito #DNAngel #fanfiction #My writing #no pairings for this one #minor injury/blood mention

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iguana012 · 7 years

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Japanese Nats: The Aftermath

This recap is almost 3 weeks late but fwiw I judged the event on The Judges’ Table. If you’re interested in my (serious) opinions about the competition, you can read them there. If you’re interested in my less censored opinions, I will include as much as I can in this post.

So what happened is that Japan crowned their tiniest champions ever, Satoko Miyahara (her 3rd title) and Shoma Uno (his 1st title). But some people were less interested in that and more interested in receiving updates on Yuzuru Hanyu’s recovery after he decided to withdraw from the competition in order to prioritize his health, thus generating earthquakes among his sensitive fans. Other people (those who attended the competition) went just to see Mao Asada but they were polite enough not to get up and empty the arena while Mao wasn’t skating unlike what happened at the Sochi Olympics when Evgeni Plushenko withdrew from the men’s event.

Now I’m not pretending to be some advocate of justice and I’m not intending to preach. But I believe this is a good opportunity to highlight frequent problems in the skating fandom so you won’t be tempted to fall into their traps.

DISCLAIMER: I do realize I’m already in a very high risk of getting attacked by some Yuzu fans via anon asks or salty replies/reblogs but I’m gonna say this again: it’s okay if you’re not into my kind of “”””humor”””. You can ignore me and I promise I won’t get a boo-boo. GETTING TO THE SUBJECT NOW!

THE LADIES EVENT aka Game Of Thrones

Satoko Miyahara waltzed into this event giving negative fucks and the results showed: when she gives negative fucks, that 3Lz-3T combo in the second half of her SP is miraculously rotated. As a consequence she got 76 for her program and further established her new position as one of the most overscored skaters currently competing (don’t believe me? Ask the Russian ubers and Mao ubers). I also thought “damn, this empty program actually looks nice when neither she nor I have to worry about rotations”. But the key here is to make the program look like that when you give a lot of fucks as opposed to negative fucks, and Mie Hamada knew that. So the next day before Satoko skated her FS, Hamada annoyed the crap out of her and pressured her as a strategy to make her get used to skating clean when she gives a lot of fucks, such as when she’s thinking she’s gotta get a medal in a relevant event, including the Olympics. For now, Satoko is still failing that test because she had a step-out on the 3Lz-3T combo and a couple of carrots.

Wakaba Higuchi finally - I repeat - FINALLY skated a clean short program and it was so adorable to see her get all excited and happy about it. Except it wasn’t a squeaky-clean program because she got a wrong edge call on her flip. What can ya do, if ya got a good lutz ya gotta lip and when ya got a good flip ya gotta flutz. She’s gonna have to follow Satoko’s example and replace that lip with a loop and be done with it. Other than that, damn this girl got huge jumps. Everyone loves some huge jumps. However, the disadvantage of huge jumps is that you gotta have very good control of the landing and you have to know how to manage your speed, when to speed up, when to slow down, otherwise you’re doomed to pull a Midori Ito and land your jumps over the cameraman outside the boards. (Have you imagined Evgenia Medvedeva landing one of her 3-3-3 combos on Tarasova’s table cause I did and I cracked myself up really).

Another skater who is fast as crap and has great technique on top of that is Mai Mihara who won the bronze medal and got herself a ticket to Worlds. Just a year ago around this time she was watching Nationals on TV from a hospital bed having been diagnosed with juvenile rheumatoid arthritis. Doesn’t that make a great Cinderella story? She is, actually, skating to Cinderella but her style is still stuck somewhere on the road between junior and senior (she was pretty good as a junior but I didn’t like her skating then and I’m not necessarily warming up now) but she seems like a very sweet girl and if there’s anyone who deserved going to Worlds aside from Satoko and Wakaba, it’s this young lady.

Marin Honda is another skater who finally - I repeat - FINALLY skated a clean short program after burying herself in competitions right from the start. The poor girl has been under so much constant pressure this season I feel like she’s always on the verge of having an emotional breakdown. It’s not only the fact that she’s cried a number of times after her performances, but this season she always looked like she was terrified of her results no matter how she skated. I’m not a fan of either of her programs this season (SP is similar to last season’s and the FS is a hot mess combo of Yuzuru’s Romeo & Juliet 1 and 2) but she has excellent skating skills, musicality, expression, projection to the audience for her age. She doesn’t have the best jump technique but she is one of the few lucky ones with a clean lutz AND flip. After a smooth short program, a popped jump in the free prevented her from stepping onto the podium but that’s how it is in competition; it’s not about what you’re able to do, it’s about what you end up doing when it counts.

Rika Hongo has been in serious trouble ever since the beginning of this season - or maybe as far as the previous Nationals - and the worst case scenario happened. She finished 5th and now the juniors ahead of her are old enough to go to Worlds in her place. While she was 2nd in the SP with the best performance of the season, she went down to 6th in the FS and finished 5th overall despite bringing back Riverdance, a program that worked for her last year. Unfortunately the spark, the freedom and the joy that was present last season was absent in this competition as she was very nervous even before she took the ice.

Yuna Shiraiwa on the other hand... I’m only going to say this. Clean 3Lz-3T and (second half) 3F-3T combos in the FS. No UR calls. Highest TES (71.74) of the evening. She’s the real MVP in Hamada’s team.

THE OLD(ER) GENERATION

This was Mao Asada’s worst result at Nationals but instead of having retirement thoughts (like she had last season at Nationals even though she skated better), she’s still determined to come back stronger next season. An old knee injury prevented her from landing the 3A and rotating a lot of her jumps but at this point she’s obviously not skating for the medals as much as she’s skating for herself. No skater wants to leave the competitive world with regrets so who are we to judge Mao’s decision to continue in spite of physical difficulties? With Yuzuru absent due to influenza, most fans attended the competition to see Mao and it was obvious just counting the number of flowers that were thrown on the ice for her compared to the other skaters.

Redemption from Kanako Murakami, who is also nearing the end of her career but managed to deliver the first clean FS she’s skated in ages. That’s all she wanted from this competition, she got it, and she awarded the audience with her signature Kanako Smile.

Painful competition for Haruka Imai, former Japanese Jr National Champion and 4th at the 2014 4CC. No GP assignments this season, she was plagued by inflammation of her hips and knees but she fought to land the 3Lz and 3F. This was also the first time we got to see one of her new programs (the FS, which is Primavera by Einaudi) and she’s still beautiful to watch.

SHOMA UNO & CO.

It was kind of depressing to watch the men’s event this year because only a couple of years ago it was the fiercest event at Nationals. Keiji Tanaka seized his chance to grab onto the silver medal while Takahito Mura’s bronze was (once again) useless - as harsh as it sounds. Shoma wasn’t at his best here but he showed that he learned a new lesson (tag a 3T to a different jump if you screw up one of your planned combos!!) and he came out of this alive and well. The added pressure of having to “live up to expectations” in the absence of Olympic King Zuzu was another thing he suddenly had to put up with (good job Fuji). But there’s an old saying; “better here than at Worlds”.

CONTROVERSIES

While Satoko and Shoma are the tiniest champions Japan has ever had, they’re also the most criticized. They both have to skate under the shadows of two skating giants, Mao and Yuzuru, who have hoards of fans. Among those hoards of fans there are ubers, people who have made a habit out of bashing their favorite skaters’ successors. In Japan there already are Mao ubers whose jobs are to tear Satoko apart and the disease has long spread worldwide. You can see it on forums, you can see it on comment sections of YouTube videos, you can even hear it on television (looking at you Simon Reed). People who write passive-aggressive, sarcastic remarks, calling Satoko names and whatnot. Shoma gets similar (though mellower) treatment from overseas fans, but not from Japanese fans, possibly due to the fact that he’s a Daisuke Takahashi fan so most of Dai’s fans are now supporting him.

These two young skaters (and not only) deserve all the support in the world. It’s not easy to become Japan’s supporting pillar and leading lady after the great Mao Asada, but Satoko is doing an incredible job. Appreciate more, bash less. Don’t let the judges cloud your judgement. There’s also a massive amount of PR in figure skating; Mao has so many sponsors you can see her in commercials, you can see fluff videos about her because that’s what the general audience wants. She’s been advertised as a child prodigy (which she was) and people consider her part of their family. Satoko doesn’t benefit from that kind of treatment so people tend to be cold and judgmental towards her because she’s nothing compared to Mao-chan (oh dear those jumps, oh dear the way she bends her knee, oh dear her face).

Recently Marin Honda has been getting the “heir of Mao” treatment, getting sponsorship from JAL, shooting CMs for Ghana and stuff. I feel like I have to point out the fact that all of her siblings, including herself, are managed by a hugely influential management company. If you’re into Japanese entertainment, you might have heard of it. It’s called Oscar Promotion and it’s a talent agency whose famous names include actresses Emi Takei, Aya Ueto and Ayame Gouriki. She’s been promoted and modeled by a talent agency since she was a young child so she’s an expert at working with the camera, the audience and the reporters. As a result she’s also been gathering - well, pretty scary fans who are downright infatuated with her and will start arguments if you dare criticize her. Similar to idol group fans, I’d say.

But this is figure skating and crack commentaries aside we’re talking about real, young people with feelings who are training every day from dawn till dusk, who get injured, who sacrifice their childhood and adolescence. We’re also talking about real fans behind the computer screen who like who they like and no one person is entitled to criticize or ridicule the things that make them happy. At the same time, no one is entitled to attack fans who criticize your favorite skater(s) as long as they bring valid arguments and they’re polite about it. And no one is entitled to attack another fan whose way of seeing or perceiving things is either more or less intense than yours. Be nice to each other. #PEACE

#Yuzuru Hanyu #Mao Asada #Satoko Miyahara #Shoma Uno #figure skating

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flauntpage · 7 years

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We Spent a Week in Tokyo's Fight Scene

I'm at a world title fight inside a tennis stadium on the waters of Tokyo Bay, among 10,000 mostly Japanese fans, watching Frenchman Hassan N'dam, the winner by decidedly disgusting split decision, acknowledge those still in their seats on the south side of the ring.

Some have already left the place, shocked and confused and maybe indignant. But those who remain clap—and not passive-aggressively. Sure, politesse is the name of the game here, but plaudits for the guy who sucked the air out of this bubble called Ariake Colosseum by beating the would-be hometown hero, formerly undefeated Olympic gold medalist Ryota Murata, whose face has graced every Tokyo paper all week?

Unfathomable.

Finally, one Japanese man standing behind me renews my hope that the cultural gap can be bridged.

"Ie, ie, ie!" he shouts. No, no, no!

In total Bowe-Golota mode, I think, OK, good. Now let's charge the ring and dispose of these, at best, blind and, at worst, warped officials. But the shouting man goes quiet suddenly and shuffles out, a small prelude to the self-doubt some Japanese fans and writers begin expressing online within 24 hours that Murata wasn't as active as he should have been, he didn't press his advantages, he allowed the fight to be taken from him—the first two of which may be true.

But Murata, a probing man who ponders existence in ordinary fight interviews and often refers to the words of the eminent Holocaust survivor and psychiatrist Viktor Frankl, gave up nothing Saturday night.

Here, instead, is the story of the snatch.

It was supposed to be such an enjoyable, onigiri-filled voyage: Fly into Tokyo to watch 31-year-old Murata—at 160 pounds, the biggest Olympic medalist Japanese boxing has ever produced, by 46 pounds—ply his trade during a historic sports week in Tokyo.

Sure, Murata was no guaranteed winner. Some in his camp had wanted him to wait before challenging for a belt, but the powerful Japanese Boxing Commission grades every fighter who turns pro and compels the best, by virtue of the class of their issued boxing license, to compete at a high level immediately. Which may be fine for smaller dudes, whose divisions are thinner (how many 108-pound men do you know?), but isn't a great path for bigger pugs who should ideally face considerably more opposition before challenging the best. There are a hell of a lot of strong 160-pound men in the world.

But, per inflexible local combat law, Murata's career moved fast. He signed with two promoters, Teiken for his fights inside Japan and Top Rank for those abroad. He also began training in the Teiken Gym and let the firm, run by 69-year-old Akihiko Honda, manage his career. Unlike in the U.S., where it's illegal, in Japan, boxing stables host, promote, and manage fighters, in the tradition of sumo stables, which even prescribe meal times and ingredients.

Nike sponsored Murata—where his trunks once featured the words "Big Dreams," they now boasted a Swoosh. "He gave me a Nike shirt," Steve Martinez, a 27-year-old from the Bronx who was flown in to spar with Murata, told me after returning. "He's big out there."

Bigness was the issue all along.

Heading into May, Japan had produced exactly 80 men's champs. Only three had won in the 154-lb. class, and only one had taken a strap at 160: Shinji Takehara, who won it 21 years ago and then lost it in his first defense a half-year later; that you've never heard of Takehara says it all.

And size matters for reasons the Japanese rarely articulate aloud and almost never among foreigners. Several months ago, someone at Teiken, after I enthused about some of their stars, said, almost bashfully, that while their fighters have a lot of heart, they lack in technique. I heard nearly the same line—it might've been the same, verbatim—from a magazine writer inside Ariake, as we watched an undercard bout from a perch above our press area.

What they both left out or alluded to only indirectly is why Japan has had considerable boxing success at all: In the lower weight classes, you can take a hell of a beating and still win—the incoming punches aren't often one-shot tranquilizers.

From Fighting Harada to Eijiro Murata to the stars of today, they see their boxing luminaries as successful partly because of their weight limitations. Murata, by contrast, announced with his Olympic gold at middleweight that he could be the first Japanese fighter to win in the wider world, a world full of 160-pound antagonists.

For me, the Japanese focus on his size obscured some of his other intriguing traits, which I picked up in bits and pieces from older articles in Japanese. Murata resumed an amateur career he had abandoned year prior after a former boxer at Toyo University, his alma mater and employer (he was a boxing coach/general philosopher-dude), was arrested in 2009 for allegedly trying to smuggle illegal stimulants into the country. Murata has said he returned to the ring in order to restore his school's reputation. "It's a very Japanese way of thinking," one Japanese fight writer told me.

And the philosophizing itself was fascinating, though the language barrier prevents me from assessing whether Murata really knows of what he speaks or just drops names to legitimize whatever he wants to say next. Besides Frankl, he often brings up Nietzsche, the philosopher whom his father read most often, and theologian Reinhold Neibuhr. Did I mention that his degree is actually in business?

Anyway, my trip wasn't focused on this character alone. Murata was scheduled to headline the second of three title-topped shows on consecutive nights in the capital. The 19th was to be all female fighters, while the 21st was to feature 115-pound champ Naoya Inoue, aka "Monster," and Satoshi Shimizu, a featherweight who won a bronze medal in London just before Murata took home gold (that he's far less heralded demonstrates just how differently Murata, his larger Olympic teammate, has been treated).

If you're an otaku (or, more accurately, a lover of ukiyo-e and Japanese film) and certainly a fight fiend, how could you not go?

Issei Nakaya, the 38-year-old proprietor of a boxing gym outside central Tokyo, meets me at Narita Airport, and we navigate a series of sweaty, sardine-can subways westward, over two hours, to his neighborhood of Hachioji. We talk of crazy places fights can take a person, and he says has visited 50 countries.

Eventually, we reach the Hachioji Nakaya Boxing Gym, which is up a flight from the sidewalk. At the doorway, we remove our sneakers and don slippers, even though the floors are concrete and unlikely to be affected by shoes. (Incidentally, most Japanese gyms feature softer flooring, but Issei calls the concrete an American touch.)

I've been awake too many hours to count, but the small gym has a soothing familiarity, with its handful of heavy bags and single ring. Issei and I plop into his father's office for a moment just to regain our senses, post-subway smushing. The sound system plays reggae. Issei offers me a Pocari Sweat—a cloudy beverage akin to Gatorade—and I down it quickly.

A small boxing equipment store in Suidobashi

Issei tells me more about the gym, which is a small family operation compared to Murata's Teiken, which, besides being bigger and better-financed, also has branches across the country, in Osaka, Fukuoka and Hachinohe, that feature a modernist take on traditional Eastern architecture in glass and wood.

Here, the place is wonderfully grungy and everyone pitches in: Issei creates the fight posters (graphic design is his hobby, and he creates posters for the local soccer and basketball teams, too) and handles administrative work, while his father, Hirotaka, who recently turned 63, and one of his brothers, Kosuke, serve as trainers.

His father also sculpts in his free time, Issei explains, pointing to a few of his works—a bust, a funky desk—on view in the gym office.

Hirotaka is in the ring, teaching a kid to load up on the hook. Issei says they focus on power, not speed. Was he ever trained by his pops?

Issei says no. "My father isn't interested in his own kids," he adds. "Just sculpture."

"And other people's kids," I add, and Issei laughs.

There are a handful of pros in the building, including Musashi Yoshino, a super-flyweight fighting on the undercard of the Murata event. Whenever a fighter leaves, the remaining crowd says, "Otskare," short for "otsukaresamadeshita," or "Well done working yourself to the point of tiredness today, lord."

When I chat with Hirotaka, he tells me that training and sculpting are parts of the same art—forming something from nothing. Then he shows me a signed poster of a famous Japanese singer and, on his iPhone, a classical bath tub he fashioned in his own backyard. And then a photo of himself sitting in the tub next to two goats he owns (an image so humorous Issei created an illustrated version for his fight posters).

Issei and I depart for a local tiki bar, where we consume beer, peanuts, and garlicky rice while discussing the HBO-Showtime rivalry and other melodramas. Lou Reed's "Walk on the Wild Side" plays. We toast the mutual friend who set us up, a Japanese sports reporter currently based in New York who is still very much beloved in Tokyo: To Daisuke! Kanpai!

The fights begin with the all-women's card in Korakuen Hall, a wooden box on the fifth floor of a building near the Tokyo Dome whose intimacy—it seats 1,800—belies the venue's grand history. It is here that Joe Frazier won his heavyweight gold medal in the 1964 Games. The nearby Dome was the site of the greatest upset in heavyweight history, Buster Douglas' 1990 dethroning of Mike Tyson.

Issei isn't promoting tonight, but he gets me in and later introduces me to a manager wearing a silky shirt and aviators, with a pseudo-Jheri curl. He kinda looks like an underworld figure; Issei says he's very skilled at matching fighters.

The women deliver the goods. Fan favorite Chaozu, who has cultivated a hybrid punkish-cute persona with that handle—her actual name is Akiko, which is in line with the Japanese custom of giving girls names ending in "ko"—and short, bleached hair, emerges to the tune of a Japanese pop song alongside a furry mascot that resembles Syracuse's Otto the Orange.

She wins by second-round TKO, admittedly against a Thai fighter brought in to be the B side (aka, not have a chance of winning), and then, like many of the night's contestants, poses for pictures with attendees.

The main event gives me the sniffles. Kayoko Ebata, 41, has challenged for a world title five times unsuccessfully, including twice inside Korakuen Hall. She faces Erika Hanawa, an undefeated 26-year-old with little wallop but a nice record. Neither truly deserves a belt at 105 pounds (minimumweight), but one is at stake, and that's all that matters in the moment.

The taller Ebata uses her length to touch Hanawa constantly and set the pace. At an age when boxers not named Hopkins or Foreman are already seriously in decline or retired, Ebata shows exceptional stamina. She never seems any more tired than Hanawa over the fight's ten rounds (standard for women; for men, it's been 12 for the past 30 years). Ebata evades a few bombs thrown in desperation, and then the bell rings and scores are announced. She wins: 98-92 on two judges' cards, 97-93 on one.

Ebata falls to her knees and cries. Her audience chants her name: E-ba-ta. E-ba-ta. When the MC hands her the mic, after she has composed herself, she thanks the crowd wholeheartedly and then announces her retirement.

I dab my tearful eyes. Issei smiles. I wanted to show you Korakuen-style, he says, alluding to the inevitable emotional connection fans here make with fighters who are mere feet away. "Auld Lang Syne" plays over the PA system as we leave.

Murata enters the arena through a gauntlet of supporters waving banners featuring his likeness and the logo of Toyo University (consider yourself redeemed in full, Toyo). I sneak between these supporters and follow Murata nearly up into the ring. If only Madison Square Garden ushers were so permissive.

Just before the bell rings, after the seconds have been told to exit, Murata's trainer reminds him to keep his guard up very high. And then I'm clued in—at least at the start, Murata is gonna wear earmuffs, Winky Wright–style, and merely try to deflect punches while walking N'dam down, feeling him out physically and wearing him out mentally.

N'dam can't land a shot. Each one slides off Murata's gloves like melted ice cream at a matsuri (more on that in a moment). Five minutes into the bout, Murata opens up and begins throwing at intervals. He's slow and throws sparingly, but every punch lands hard, and sends N'dam sprawling.

It's a strategy of compensation: Time your shots so they can't be countered, no matter slow your own reflexes. Then N'dam goes down in the fourth round, and the fight seems like a sealed deal.

The morning after Murata's loss, hungover from life and beneath a blazing sun, I hightail it to Asakusa for the third and final day of the Sanja Matsuri, a Shinto festival that is held in the summer and attracts 1.5 million people each year. The event is part tradition (participants wear yukatas and other traditional garb) and part grubby tourist attraction, with an endless row of kitschy vendors leading to the Senso-ji Temple.

At the actual front of this human traffic jam, people buy keys to wooden drawers, in which omikuji (fortunes) are stored. They're read and then either tied to a tree if your luck looks to be bad, or kept.

Oh, and representatives of local neighborhoods jostle, shove, and sing in order to carry one of three mobile shrines called mikushi with which nearby businesses are blessed. I've seen the look on their faces before, those lugging these intricate wooden arks. These are the good soldiers, pushing through pain to make for themselves a better life (although it may just be artificial, residual—faces they saw their parents make and so mimic).

I head from the Shinto mosh-pit to the third and final show, also at Ariake Colosseum, which is headlined by super-flyweight champ "Monster" Inoue, who just turned 24. Until recently the Japanese fancy wanted to match Monster against fellow division-ruler Roman Gonzalez (whom the Japanese press call by the portmanteau Romagon similar to the way they call personal computers pasocon—"Gonzalez" doesn't exactly slide off of the Japanese tongue). But Gonzalez has lost his belts now and may no longer be Inoue's target. Tonight, Monster faces a Mexican without a chance, just to stay busy.

More exciting than the bout is Inoue's padwork before it begins, in his police-guarded dressing room, into which I slide my phone's camera at various points, before finding a monitor displaying the room's footage—then I shoot the monitor and get it all.

As for the actual contests: The difference between Japanese and American title bouts is officiousness—a condescending display that betrays the nature of the game. In a fight, after all, manners are crushed by matter.

For three decades, politicians and promoters both have advocated for the U.S. to install a national commissioner of boxing, if only for safety reasons. Right now, each state has its own commission with its own rules, some of which are so lax they permit seriously debilitated fighters who've been barred from the ring elsewhere to compete with nary a test.

Well, the Japanese have such an all-powerful body, but rather than enforce safety, it mainly exists to reinforce its own authority. I note before each title bout: When belts are stake, the Japanese commission also offers its own trophy—which basically looks like what you took home from little league, but bigger (as if the belt and status weren't reward enough). In fact, until a few years ago, the commission refused even to acknowledge the validity of two belt sanctioning bodies accepted everywhere else, the IBF and the WBO. A Japanese fighter wasn't allowed to fight for such a belt or had to do so overseas.

What rubs me the wrong way most is that before each bout an old man surrounded by other old men reads a proclamation detailing the status of the fight. Sure, that's part and parcel of the culture, to put an official stamp on nearly everything. But title fights possess such a stamp already in the belts on offer, the well-known records of the combatants, and, oh yeah, the Japanese version of Michael Buffer, who also announces who's in each corner and for what they vie.

These older commissioners, then, put their imprimatur on the bouts for themselves—not for the crowd watching, which might already know the cash at stake in what is, after all, a prizefight. On the plus side, Japanese promoters don't engage in the boorish bloviating of their American counterparts. So I suppose either way, people are going to say self-aggrandizing things. The difference is who and when.

Maybe all of the above is just another way of stating Murata's grand task: To escape the Japanese fight world's meaningless local pronouncements and ceremonies; to transcend its minor xenophobia, as exhibited by its general policy not to issue press passes to foreign reporters, unless I was white-lied to by the promoter who explained to me my own rejection before offering me a ringside ticket—basically, to leave home in order to become the hero home needs (#JosephCampbell #StarWars).

Murata would never dare tell Japan that to its face, though he has said his dream is to headline a Vegas show and the best fighter of all time was Harlem's Sugar Ray Robinson.

But a kid 11 years his junior who appeared on an undercard over the weekend already has, in a way. His name is Andy Hiraoka, and he's a 20-year-old, half-Ghanaian, half-Japanese junior-welterweight southpaw who turned pro at 17, won some matches in Japan, and then put his competitive career on hold for two years to hone his game in the Mayweather gym in Vegas.

That he knew he needed to leave to improve is a sign of his maturity, but it also touches on the aforementioned nativist attitudes. Not to cast stones from this awfully glassy American house, but Japan still treats mixed-race Japanese as others, no matter their birthplace. They term said people "hafus"—as in, half and half—and there's a heartbreaking documentary by that name on the phenomenon I recommend.

Which isn't to say I caught any glimpse of it during Hiraoka's fight. Just the opposite, in fact: he is a clear favorite among the fans, including a group of little kids with inflated Thunder sticks who repeatedly shout, "Ganbare, Andy-san!"—ganbare meaning, basically, go get 'em.

Rather, Hiraoka's hafu status is likely what allowed him to slip out of Japan in the first place without creating a stir. In January, I interviewed top-flight Japanese 130-pounder Takashi Miura in California, before his second appearance on HBO Boxing (his first was the previous calendar's fight of the year, and his next is just scheduled to be held in July in LA).

I figured Miura's global rise was being hailed back home, and said as much. His response, without hesitation: No, it doesn't help my reputation to fight abroad. I'd be more popular if I stayed home. I do it because it makes me better.

Four months later, that line of thinking is perhaps why I sense an urgency to Murata's fight never quite addressed in the press and yet perhaps its underlying point: If Murata wins, the Japanese won't feel a protectionist urge to keep him at home. A win means he can take on the world—enter it—and his fans, therefore, can open themselves up to it, too.

A win means: We are all good enough.

Is that total projection? Maybe.

A week before the title fight, Murata told a Japanese reporter the importance of the middleweight class is an American idea—because Americans are physically middleweights by nature, they pay more attention to those guys on-screen. Then he said the Japanese had absorbed the American idea that middleweights are what boxers should look like, so Japan's best talent flowed to baseball and soccer and ignored the fight game.

Of course, that second line means Murata would indeed be breaking a major social psychological barrier with a win.

After the fourth-round knockdown, Murata continues apace. In the fifth, N'dam raises his left glove high momentarily—he is wary now of Murata's right. But when he opens up to punch, he lets his guard down and gives Miura a swell path to the jaw. N'dam breathes through his mouth in the sixth, while trying to stay upright on unsteady legs.

In the seventh round, I scribble in my notes that a ref could call a knockdown each time N'dam is held up by the ropes alone and not his own power "but doesn't. It shouldn't matter."

I have Murata winning the eighth, but he appears fatigued now, waiting for that second wind.

My note on the 11th: Murata takes some shots—but makes sure to return fire each time, as one of his sparring partners told me he did in the gym.

Final note in my pad: Eventually Murata will need to add the 3—a left hook—to his 1-2 combos. But it's impressive as hell that he won tonight and entered the sport's top 10 with his limited artillery. It speaks to his potential. Then the ring MC announces the split decision in favor of N'dam. Only the American judge, Raul Caiz Sr., scores it, widely, for the pride of Nippon.

The other two judges are lucky the match was held in Japan and not anywhere else on the planet. Tennis fans have rioted over far less.

Murata, The Big Humble, refrains afterward from complaining about the decision. "The result is the result," he says. He doesn't demand a rematch, but the WBA orders one anyway (as it should). In the final two rounds, Murata recalls, he was thinking just how lucky he was just to be in a title fight, on this stage. And now he's ready to take some time off, he adds.

It really wouldn't shock me if he never came back at all. A smart, thoughtful guy with a college degree who told the Weekly Asahi in 2014 he was only gonna box for four or five more years anyway. Not a shock at all. Then again, there is a rumor he'll come back straight away this summer or fall to face English beltholder Billy Joe Saunders. It seems like it has always been this way with Murata—all or nothing, retirement or a gold medal. Retirement or a championship bout. A great win or an epically unfair loss.

Almost as if he's too pensive to commit without question to the brutal game, and so is treated as warily by the game itself.

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scarlett-abbott-blog · 7 years

Text

Task 6 - Influential Artist Comparative Analysis

Daisuke Yokota - Nocturnes

“If you look at music or film, there is time there. In other words, the work has a clear beginning and end, and in between, you shut out your daily life—you throw yourself into the work. There’s no element of duration to your experience of a photograph; it’s closer to an object. - Daisuke Yokota

I admire Yokota for his thoughts and considerations on the act of memory and the relevant substance of time. His overall belief is that, as we all know, memory fades as time passes by. He focuses on trying to highlight the parts of our memories that we remember for good reason, and does not worry about remembering the rest as it must not be “important” if we forget it so readily. He discovered this whilst developing a huge amount of film from past years of his life whilst bedbound sick. He realised what he could and couldn’t bring to mind and recognise, and wondered why.

Through his unconventional development methods, Yokota almost brings a sense of loss to these images through heavy visual effects which “spoil” the images and obscure the details from our view. Overexposure, dust, grain and huge negative spaces make the shoots feel as alien to us as his memories are to him.

I choose to compare this “wrong” presentation with two of my colour film shoots.

These images share a visual uncertainty with Yokota’s; a knowledge that this is not how the events actually looked, but this is the only way we can “see” them now. This is how memories work. One cannot remember every word said in a day of their life, but main events and faces can be recalled in time. The accidental effects applied confuse the mind and make me actually doubt the honesty of the shots. Just as I doubt my own memory. It’d be interesting to show these shots to the subjects they display and see what they have to say about the images, but I’m afraid they are dust in the wind by now.

The fact that neither Yokota’s nor my visual “faults” were intentional is an amazing coincidence.

The difference holds between our work that Yokota’s memories are faded by time, whereas I never had the memory of my events that he did, thanks to ancillary features such as underage drinking and an unfortunate general disregard for attentiveness. I want to feel this devalues my work in comparison for shame if nothing else, but we both went through the same process of discovering our own memories, and through a lens of distortion we didn’t expect to have. An audience will never have the same experience I have when looking at there, I realise that, but if I felt something whilst looking at Yokota’s images, surely others can feel something upon seeing mine too?

So does colour make a difference? Yokota’s images were never taken in colour and the lack thereof, as I have previously suggested, builds up this sense of timelessness and a certain separation from reality because I will ever see the “present” world this way (chances of onset colourblindness aside). Having desaturated them now, I don’t feel any more endeared to the memories, but rather distanced. I don’t like it. I think perhaps because my images are more lively and friendly than Yokota’s they suit colour more, or perhaps it is because his look more authentically aged, mine are a little too clean. Either way, if I am struggling to connect to the images, the audience has little hope so I definitely want these shots to be in colour. This is strange, as I prefer all of my other work to be in black and white for the very “memorial” effect that I am trying to achieve with these photos, but it just doesn’t work with these images.

Memorial is the most practical use I can think of for photography, unless you count inflection as practical which, really, you should. Somehow Yokota has shown me that by obscuring a memory, you can actually make it more beautiful. The fact that you now have to put personal effort into decoding the images that paint the trail of your life brings hints of conversations and laughs and girls and memories that you would have otherwise filed away forever. Our images do not explicitly state what has happened, but they come so close that they allow the mind to discover those facts for itself. They are but a spark.

Anthony Kurtz - Craft Masters

I would like to expand on why I prefer my working spaces work to that of Anthony Kurtz.

Kurtz’s images are far better taken than my own. I realise that. They are better lit, composed, and shot and thereby give a much clearer image of their subjects. Too clear, I think. Would you rather have a super high resolution photo of your face or a fine oil portrait? Through their super-reality, Kurtz’s images show a little too much detail. One of my favourite things about my work was how a lot of the shot was left to the imagination. In relation to my ideas about memory, they gave memories space to grow and spaces for those memories to fill. I loved the idea that my images would mean something different to someone who knew their environments than they would to a total stranger. This value is only possible because they look “realistic”. They are not studio lit. I did not use a tripod. They look as they would look to an (albeit colourblind) onlooker who actually occupies the spaces they detail. I think that’s important.

Having this comparison between mine and Kurtz’s work has shown me what I love about my images. Because they explore such similar spaces, ancillary factors such as difference of meaning can be removed and a direct comparison can be drawn on specifically our techniques.

So why does taking a worse photo make a better photo? If that’s what I’m saying here? Sure, it may well just be some self-congratulatory excuse that “hey you don’t need to put effort in”. Do I put effort in? Should I put effort in? I think I do absolutely because hey otherwise the images wouldn’t get made or be relevant to my ideas, but Kurtz definitely invests more time. His work has told me that I’m interested in honest and easy photography, not framing the perfect shot. And I’ve realised that this is okay. Art is a funny thing in that usually taking the “easy” way often results in the best work. The best music, the best sculpture, the best photographs. Then again, who am I to say what’s best for a subjective topic?

Technique aside, the main difference between our images is that Kurtz’s subjects are these craftspeople, where mine are their environments. On a presentational scale, this means that Kurtz’s images are instantly more eyecatching (that and from their vivid colours) and can stand alone. I think my photos would have to be presented in series to hold any meaning as each of them only constitutes a part of an idea. If I am to be documenting an environment alone then the full outcome would need to detail different interconnected parts of it to show as much personality as actually featuring a person would.

So what have I learnt from studying his work? Perfection does not bring meaning. Aesthetics do not bring meaning. Not to me, at least. Having seen such well constructed work on a similar subject matter to my own has shown me that I don’t want to try too hard. That sounds like a cop out. I want to put effort and thought into my work, but I don’t want to feel bad if every shot doesn’t take an hour to capture. The less I worry about my images being correct, the closer I can get to true expression and honest image making. Which has been my objective all along, hasn’t it?

Ellen Rogers - Indirection

I don’t want to repeat myself here.

Rogers very clearly has a deep personal connection with her shoots and the subjects within. The locations, the setting and the muses all seem to fit together so specifically and clearly that it’s clear there is more going on that she doesn’t share with the world. Her fashion photography is beautiful, but not of interest to me specifically. I want to talk about the connection that one can see in her work.

I have never so much as attempted to try and recreate any of Rogers’ shooting ideas, but I feel that I can at least try to understand the relationship she shares with her subjects. Because Rogers at least seems to know the people she photographs, the images depict not only those people, but the way she feels towards them. The feature of occasional direct address show how they feel towards her and her work, and I feel this is certainly comprehensible, though I’ve never explicitly tried to do it myself.

Another common feature of Rogers’ work is the way she “half depicts” things. This is especially prevalent in “For Iain”.

Narrow lenses, strange angles and negative space leave the audience feeling there should be something more in these images. I know I’ve said this before but I realise that I somewhat do the same in my work.

This almost perverse act of looking on without full explanation means that our work shares themes of mystery and some hidden deeper meaning. Photography’s about observation, right? Rogers has shown me that it’s okay to be aware of that sense of observation. I’m all for images that present the lens as an invisible force, but if subjects are shown to be aware of the photographer and, in conjunction, audience then it makes the viewing of such an image a cooperative experience. It’s one thing for someone to say that a picture reminded them of something, but if the picture looks back, it can ask them something instead of just suggesting it.

My work differs from Rogers’ in that I am focusing on the “background” of these locations, whereas in most of her work she focuses on how her subjects react to them. Although her images are “constructed” with specific outfits and locations, they differ to, say, Kurtz in that they still feel genuine. The aged outfits suit the aged locations suit the aged lomography. Kurtz blends very clean photography with working environments, elements which clash together and feel, to me at least, unnatural and strange. Not in a good way. Rogers manages to suit her techniques to her subject matter, and I feel that I have done similarly at least to the extent of “cleanliness”.

Kikiji Kawada?

/WIP/

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