Crossover - Oneshot - Harlot
Title: Harlot
Chapters: Oneshot
Author: inuoloz [Oloz-san]
Genre: Angst, DRAMA
Warnings: Sad, Drama, Japanese terms
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Ruiza X Sastsuki.
Disclaimer: Wish I did but I don't.
Synopsis: Photographer Ruiza receives a strange job...
A/N: Oh man another fic? I'm on faya! All Japanese terms are defined at the bottom~
Word Count: 3,380
Ruiza timidly fingered the job request in his hand.
He couldn’t believe he was getting a pay raise. But he also couldn’t believe that in order to obtain that he had to do…this.
“Umm…” the blonde at last muttered. His silent distress signal went unheard.
“Ahhhh…” he tried again, the usage of a vowel carrying his voice further.
His boss lifted his balding head.
“Is there a problem?”
Ruiza dropped the paper from his eyes and shifted his weight to one leg, Nikon camera around his neck swinging from the movement.
“N-not really. It’s just…” How could he word this without it sounding too negative?
“I’m sorry sir but I quit!” Body hunched over. Eyes closed. Arms stiff to the side. The formalist of all the formal bows. Clever.
“Ruiza, remember what I said about doing that…” the boss shifted in his revolving seat, tense hand stroking his wrinkle-ridden forehead. “If you don’t like a job just tell me and stop threatening to quit.”
“Th-threaten? I’m not threatening anything. It’s just…this job.”
“If you want a pay raise you have to do it. If you’re too uncomfortable wait another month or year for another big job. Simple as that.”
The blonde diverted his eyes, fingering the thin message of hell between relentless digits. Pay raise meant more money. And more money meant he could buy more stuff. Like a cat. Cats.
“Okay, I’ll do it.”
The boss immediately lifted from his seat and nearly fell over from enthusiasm. “Good! This is great! Trust me Ruiza, this will build your character and your standing in this industry.” A pat on the back was had and smiles were exchanged. Farewell bowing commenced as Ruiza re-entered the main hallway of the newspaper office. Again he lifted the job request to eye level; a cold shiver running down his spine. It was just a job. Another task to overcome. The blonde let out a sigh and placed the ad in his pocket. Tomorrow he’ll be taking the next train to an Akasen.
The train stopped several city blocks from his destination. The Akasen were abolished by law in Japan, but several cleverly named ‘cafes’ like fashion health clubs still circumvented the regulation. The one Ruiza was to photograph broke the mold of the ‘soap houses’ or ‘health clubs’; this brothel of sorts somehow evaded in a new fashion that was apparently worth being documented for the local papers.
Ruiza stared into the display window. All he saw were two inanimate mannequins against a black curtain posing out ridiculously ruffled and impractically elegant dresses. Shrugging he lifted the camera lens to his eye. The zoomed view blurred then came in focus, the features of the mannequins suddenly forming into actual appearances.
Thinned eyes lined with black eyeliner that was perfectly placed, bold eye shadow contrasting against geisha-pale skin. Unnatural hues of lipstick adorned their mouths and false diamonds dispersed in sunbeam designs from their eyes. They seemed so doll-like. So real.
The Nikon camera focused in on a particular figure; the second doll whose pose mimicked that of a runway model in mid-gait. One white heel in front of the other, its shoe straps spiraling up two milky-white legs that were covered at the thigh by a white ruffled skirt that would make any lolita girl jealous. The skirt ended right at the waist and the thin-strapped corset only started after an exposed belly button. Ruiza gently moved his camera up, a breath hitched in his throat. This mannequin…it was beautiful. Brown hair draping its features like the great Taki-zakura. Dark eyes glistening as if on the verge of crying. It blinked.
Ruiza’s eyes widened as he furiously backpedaled into a bike railing lining the street.
It blinked. Its eyelids moved. Mannequins didn’t do that. But then again it was Japan. Everything was automated. Automated mannequins?
Edging forward with the upmost caution, the blonde dared to take a closer look without the camera’s zoom. The figure remained perfectly still. Perhaps it was just his tiredness. The train trip was a long one…Suddenly both entities within the glass shifted their position; poses changing to something more dramatic. The blonde could have died right there. Zombie mannequins.
Ruiza darted across the street to a soba shop and hid behind its draping noren. “Sir?” the chef inquired, dark brows furrowed and arms crossed with either worry or annoyance. Ruiza glanced up at the man and forced a dumb smile. “Ah, um. Can I ask you something?” he said, voice shaking.
“Sure, but first you have to buy something.”
The statement startled the blonde. Buy something? That conflicted with the code; the invisible laws etched on television shows that displayed all Japanese shop owners being nice and willing and their American counterparts being money fiends. “Excuse me?” Ruiza lightly laughed.
“If you don’t pay, I won’t tell you a damn thing.”
Damn? Swearing now? The blonde felt himself going into etiquette-withdrawal.
“Um, I’ll have Tsukimi Soba…”
“Alright.” Immediately the cook set to work.
“So, can I ask-”
“No, I’m cooking you food and if you don’t want it burnt I suggest you don’t talk.”
Ruiza placed his hands in his lap and kept silent. Luckily the soba was fixed quickly and didn’t appear to be contaminated by some poison. The blonde recited his pre-dinner thanks and tried the noodles. It tasted okay.
“So, now can I ask?” he said with a mouthful of soba noodles.
The man merely nodded his head.
Gulping down the food, Ruiza turned around and gestured to the window of the two mannequins. “Those things, the mannequins, they aren’t mannequins are they?”
“They’re actual people. They’re used as mannequins in a sense.”
Ruiza’s eyes widened at that. People used as mannequins; perhaps that was how this shop avoided the Baishun-boshi-hou. Finishing his noodles, Ruiza lifted from the seat and bowed his leave, only to be yelled at by the chef for not paying.
Ruiza attempted to avoid eye contact with the display window but still that brown-haired mannequ- model caught his attention. Condensing his curiosity to only a few seconds of observance, the blonde pushed open the door to the shop, a friendly bell atop the entrance frame signaling his entrance.
The dark, shoddy coloring on the exterior did not do any justice for the shop’s interior. Golden colored walls adorned with mood-lit sconces and several sets of two seater-wooden benches seemed to glow beneath a single crystallized chandelier that hung at the center of the reception area. The floors themselves were a dark bamboo, nearly chocolate colored with its hue matching the recently polished beams supporting the ceiling. The ceiling…it was a collage of pictures strung together to tell some ancient story of a geisha and her lover samurai.
Ruiza held his breath as he pattered across the floors like a mouse, inching closer to the empty reception desk, all the while grasping his camera for dear life as if the very noise of it swaying against his coat would destroy the illusion he was in. Upon reaching the desk, his eyes shifted to the right and observed the dark curtain where on its opposite side stood the two living dolls.
“How may I help you?”
The blonde’s attention snapped back at the desk where a bright eyed woman was smiling back at him.
“How may I help you?” she squeaked again in that high-pitched baby voice. She sounded like a robot. Apparently if he didn’t say anything within 5 seconds she was bound to repeat it aga-
“Sir?”
“Yeah, umm, I’m here just to take pictures.” Ruiza grinned while holding up his camera.
Her expression suddenly became distressed. “Ah, no photography is allowed.”
“Oh, um. C-can I speak with your manager? This is for my job and it’s really important that I tak-” Before he could finish the woman was gone. Within a matter of seconds she returned with a man trailing behind her. Upon sight the suit-wearing, forty-year-old dipped his head in a modest bow. The blonde replicated the gesture and repeated his request for pictures.
“No.”
“I’m sorry to persist but sir-”
“I said no,” the man said letting out a somewhat annoyed sigh. “I consider my models to be pieces of artwork. And not just any piece of artwork.” As he neared the reception desk he beckoned the woman. “Mimi, bring out one of the display.”
A bow of compliance and Mimi was over at the curtain’s edge, aiding one of the models out from behind the blind. It was the brunette. Ruiza felt a tightening in his abdomen as she glided across the floor with complete grace. The blonde felt like pulling up his Nikon right there and snapping thousands of photos of the goddess before him, despite the complaints and reprimandations of the bird-voiced Mimi or the moderately pudgy man.
“You see,” the man started, forcibly tearing Ruiza from his daydream, “this one here is a portrayal of a Victorian doll. And as a work of art, photography can easily ruin the value of the original.” The man gestured to the ‘Victorian doll’ as if she was some product made out of a factory in Taiwan. Ruiza no longer heeded his words; his mind traveling back to the other’s dark eyes. The brunette returned his stare, hers a more questioning glance. An instinctive grin tugged at the blonde’s lips and his eyes diverted down to his camera. The other noticed his embarrassment and lifted a tender hand to her lips, concealing a growing smile.
“If you want, you can ‘first hand’ view this artwork.” The gruff whisper of the man in his ear snapped Ruiza back to reality. A confused expression adorned his features. “Wh-what do you mean? I just…”
“If you know where this place is you obviously know its purpose. Now if you’d like to hear the services provided and the rates-”
“I’m sorry I think you’re mistaken...” his voice trailed off in thought. Depending on the service provided he could easily take some pictures of the shop to fulfill his job, and his own personal ambition of capturing the model. Ruiza took a breath. He was about to do something he’d never thought he’d do; hire a harlot.
“What kind of services?”
The man hoisted himself to a fully erect posture and bore a smirk that deeply disgusted the blonde.
“Well if you come this way…” The man motioned for the model to return to the curtain and beckoned Ruiza to follow him back into his office. Ruiza took a long look at the brunette as she was guided by Mimi to the display window. A sense of longing overcame him; it was all so confusing, how could he want another being this much without even saying a word to it? The blonde was left to ponder the emotion as the manager’s door closed behind him.
“Now here is a list of the basic services provided. Our regulations are here. Privacy policy here. And rates are here.” Both the man and Ruiza were seated at a broad, glass-top desk; the papers listed above displayed before him in sporadic piles. The blonde indifferently filed through the list of services. Each ‘doll’s head was displayed with their eyes blurred and a list of ‘performances’ they were willing to - or just talented at - doing. The very fact that he was shopping through such a list made him queasy with self-defilement.
Third page, fifth column, there she was. Ruiza trailed his finger across the thin lines of clarifications and came across a particular set of kanji.
“Satsuki…” the blonde whispered. So, that was her name. Apparently, based on the neon green letters decorating the picture, she was new, not even a month working here. His eyes moved over to the service area. A few seconds of searching down the 5 topic list he found the perfect ‘performance’.
“This one,” Ruiza finally said, jabbing his finger into the paper.
The man rubbed his chin with a thoughtful hand and paused for a solid minute before looking the other in the eye.
“Allright, and how long?”
“An hour.”
“Okay then. So you are to spend an hour with Satsuki taking a stroll in the park. That will be ¥10,600 .”
If Ruiza had been drinking something he would have spit it out all over the man. ¥10,600? Madness.
“Ah…umm don’t you think that’s a little…”
“Sir, may I remind you that these are pieces of art you’re handling? And may I also remind you that the service you’ve chosen places you in unsupervised care of this piece of art? If anything I’d say that price is a bargain.”
Ruiza took a breath, eyes darting from right to left in debating thought. A hand shifted down to his front jeans pocket, and out came a black wallet.
“Do you take credit cards?”
It would have been nice in the spring. Sakura trees at full bloom, their petals falling like snow; littering the ground with a pink carpet. The flowers at full blossom, decorating the dew-ridden grass with splashes of yellows and red. The scent of clean, dampened air filling the lungs and rejuvenating the body with a sense of freshness. However, it wasn’t spring. It was summer, and it was hot. Ruiza swiped the sweat away from his forehead for the twentieth time as he watched the brunette seem to dance before him. Actually she was just walking, but moving in heels seemed to be a new experience for her.
At last the blonde spotted a bench and beckoned for the other to join in his resting. Side by side the two sat beneath a dormant cherry blossom tree, a foot-wide invisible wall separating them.
“So um,” Ruiza began, his voice shivering. “H-how do you like being a…a mannequin?”
The other looked at him with blank inquisitiveness.
“It’s okay I guess…” Satsuki replied in a rather un-feminine tone.
It was a good thing Ruiza wasn’t drinking anything; if he had, its contents would have been spat out all over the other. Instead he choked on a failed attempt to inhale.
“You, you’re a man?” the blonde squeaked once his coughing fit had subsided. The other male simply nodded his head and turned his attention to several birds adorning a tree branch. Obviously this fact was of no concern to her- him, so apparently the question of his gender was no secret. So that meant…
“That shop…is for gays?”
Again the brunette nodded.
One by one the dots began connecting in the blonde’s head.
“And you don’t mind that at all?”
A concurring nod.
“So that means you’re -”
“Gay? Yes. I’m assuming that since you’re this surprised your true intention on entering the doll shop is not of normal circumstances.”
“Well actually…” Ruiza fingered the lens of his camera. “My job inquired I come here to ‘document’ this Baishun-boshi-hou evading shop. It was rumored to circle around the law using an interesting strategy.”
“Oh?” Satsuki said, eyes now turning to Ruiza. “If you want to learn all about the business I can tell you…”
“Actually…I” the blonde stumbled over his words. He couldn’t believe he was about to say this. “What I really want is-is to photograph you…But not in ‘that’ way though!” Quickly he tried to think of a better way of rephrasing that to be less awkward, yet he only succeeded in mumbling incoherent phrases that all alluded to pornographic innuendos. Satsuki let loose a chuckle and a smile over took his features. The response embarrassed Ruiza, but not in the classical sense. It was…a good embarrassment.
“S-so may I?” Ruiza persisted, playfully pulling the Nikon to his eye.
Satsuki lifted from the bench and took a light stretch. The simple gesture sent the blonde’s cheeks aflame with a subtle blush. “Sure, but I don’t think I’m photo material.”
Blasphemy. Blasphemy. Blasphemy. The word continued to repeat itself over and over in Ruiza’s head.
“Blasphemy!” he finally hissed; his harsh tone causing the other to flinch. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen! Even if you are a man you look like a goddess!”
The brunette just stared at him, eyes widened with disbelief, mouth forming silent sentences as he scrambled for some disapproving retort. “No I’m not,” he laughed, “the others are far more professional than I am. I haven’t even gotten a customer yet -”
“Yes you have, and he’s right here…”
Satsuki turned away, softly shaking his head in disagreement. How else could he convince him?
Ruiza lunged over and wrapped his arms around his turned back. His head resting at the base of the other’s neck. “Satsuki, I don’t know why. I-I have barley met you. But for some reason. Some strange reason I just don’t want you to go.” The blonde’s voice wavered. “I don’t know why but it just hurts to see you walk away and it sends me over the edge with happiness when you even look at me.” He felt the brunette shift beneath his arms, tenseness fading. “That’s stupid…” Satsuki’s voice was as silent as the breeze that encircled them.
“What?”
“You have no control whatsoever over your emotions. Falling in love that easily is not a good thing.”
Falling in love?
“You’re comparing me to perfection, to a goddess. I’m a doll! I’m none of those things!” He outmaneuvered Ruiza’s grasp and turned to face him, eyes narrowed in aggressive resistance. “You saw me in that display window. You know what I am.”
The blonde shook his head in a fashion similar to Satsuki’s previous adjuration.
“I know I know that! As I was sitting in the office of the manager’s I could just barley hold down the bile rising in my throat because I knew exactly what I was doing.” Ruiza took a step towards the other. “The fact is, Satsuki, that although you may be a ‘doll’, ‘model’, ‘zombie mannequin’ I still can’t stop this feeling.”
“Zombie mannequin?”
“Satsuki, listen,” the blonde rushed the other once again and instead of an embrace he pulled the other’s hands into his own. “If I complete this job I get a pay raise, and with that money I can buy a bigger apartment and some cats. You can come live with me and not have to work here again!” His mind was in a fervent fury. The words forming in his mouth faster than in his brain. He felt as if he was spouting nonsense but this man…he just couldn’t see him go. Satsuki let out a visible sigh.
“You don’t understand…” A pause. “Take it, take your picture.”
Ruiza hesitated. His hands unconsciously formed around the camera, abandoning their previous posts on the other’s palms. He lifted the machine to his eye; a blurry image soon sharpening to full focus.
Dark lined eyes contrasting with bold eyeshadow and white foundation. Cherry blossom pink lips perfectly still. Great brunette hair flowing over like the great Taki-zakura. Beautiful.
A button pressed and a photo taken; the camera disappeared from the blonde’s face.
“Now,” Satsuki began, taking a step toward Ruiza but his intent focused on some far off direction. “Keep that photo. It’s the closest thing to the perfection you’re seeking. I’ll never cease to be a display doll, and display dolls can’t return any emotion.”
Ruiza stood perfectly still, some unheard of feeling welling up in the pit of his stomach. Satsuki didn’t cast a secondary glance as he shifted past him, all grace and beauty; a doll returning to its showcase.
“These pictures are good, excellent even!” The boss said filing through the developed film. “The newspaper will make great use of these, Ruiza!” the balding man let out a good-humored chuckle. “Oh!” He hoisted himself from the seat and obtained a manila folder from his desk. “As promised, a bonus. You’re pay raise will be official starting next week.”
The blonde dryly accepted.
“Well that’s a job well done I presume. You may go now.”
Ruiza bowed his leave and exited into the main hallway. Shuffling through his pants he found his black wallet; flipping the casing open the picture of human perfection lied slipped behind a thin plastic cover. Ruiza halfheartedly laughed. He should’ve known better than to fall in love with a harlot.
----
A/N: I used a lot of Japanese terms here.
*Akasen = red line [red light district in Japan]
*Taki-zakura = Famous cherry blossom tree Image
*noren = cloth covering the entrance to restaurants
*Tsukimi soba = Image
*Baishun-boshi-hou = Anti-prostitution law passed in Japan
*¥10,600 = say about...$120.63
Chapters: Oneshot
Author: inuoloz [Oloz-san]
Genre: Angst, DRAMA
Warnings: Sad, Drama, Japanese terms
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Ruiza X Sastsuki.
Disclaimer: Wish I did but I don't.
Synopsis: Photographer Ruiza receives a strange job...
A/N: Oh man another fic? I'm on faya! All Japanese terms are defined at the bottom~
Word Count: 3,380
Ruiza timidly fingered the job request in his hand.
He couldn’t believe he was getting a pay raise. But he also couldn’t believe that in order to obtain that he had to do…this.
“Umm…” the blonde at last muttered. His silent distress signal went unheard.
“Ahhhh…” he tried again, the usage of a vowel carrying his voice further.
His boss lifted his balding head.
“Is there a problem?”
Ruiza dropped the paper from his eyes and shifted his weight to one leg, Nikon camera around his neck swinging from the movement.
“N-not really. It’s just…” How could he word this without it sounding too negative?
“I’m sorry sir but I quit!” Body hunched over. Eyes closed. Arms stiff to the side. The formalist of all the formal bows. Clever.
“Ruiza, remember what I said about doing that…” the boss shifted in his revolving seat, tense hand stroking his wrinkle-ridden forehead. “If you don’t like a job just tell me and stop threatening to quit.”
“Th-threaten? I’m not threatening anything. It’s just…this job.”
“If you want a pay raise you have to do it. If you’re too uncomfortable wait another month or year for another big job. Simple as that.”
The blonde diverted his eyes, fingering the thin message of hell between relentless digits. Pay raise meant more money. And more money meant he could buy more stuff. Like a cat. Cats.
“Okay, I’ll do it.”
The boss immediately lifted from his seat and nearly fell over from enthusiasm. “Good! This is great! Trust me Ruiza, this will build your character and your standing in this industry.” A pat on the back was had and smiles were exchanged. Farewell bowing commenced as Ruiza re-entered the main hallway of the newspaper office. Again he lifted the job request to eye level; a cold shiver running down his spine. It was just a job. Another task to overcome. The blonde let out a sigh and placed the ad in his pocket. Tomorrow he’ll be taking the next train to an Akasen.
The train stopped several city blocks from his destination. The Akasen were abolished by law in Japan, but several cleverly named ‘cafes’ like fashion health clubs still circumvented the regulation. The one Ruiza was to photograph broke the mold of the ‘soap houses’ or ‘health clubs’; this brothel of sorts somehow evaded in a new fashion that was apparently worth being documented for the local papers.
Ruiza stared into the display window. All he saw were two inanimate mannequins against a black curtain posing out ridiculously ruffled and impractically elegant dresses. Shrugging he lifted the camera lens to his eye. The zoomed view blurred then came in focus, the features of the mannequins suddenly forming into actual appearances.
Thinned eyes lined with black eyeliner that was perfectly placed, bold eye shadow contrasting against geisha-pale skin. Unnatural hues of lipstick adorned their mouths and false diamonds dispersed in sunbeam designs from their eyes. They seemed so doll-like. So real.
The Nikon camera focused in on a particular figure; the second doll whose pose mimicked that of a runway model in mid-gait. One white heel in front of the other, its shoe straps spiraling up two milky-white legs that were covered at the thigh by a white ruffled skirt that would make any lolita girl jealous. The skirt ended right at the waist and the thin-strapped corset only started after an exposed belly button. Ruiza gently moved his camera up, a breath hitched in his throat. This mannequin…it was beautiful. Brown hair draping its features like the great Taki-zakura. Dark eyes glistening as if on the verge of crying. It blinked.
Ruiza’s eyes widened as he furiously backpedaled into a bike railing lining the street.
It blinked. Its eyelids moved. Mannequins didn’t do that. But then again it was Japan. Everything was automated. Automated mannequins?
Edging forward with the upmost caution, the blonde dared to take a closer look without the camera’s zoom. The figure remained perfectly still. Perhaps it was just his tiredness. The train trip was a long one…Suddenly both entities within the glass shifted their position; poses changing to something more dramatic. The blonde could have died right there. Zombie mannequins.
Ruiza darted across the street to a soba shop and hid behind its draping noren. “Sir?” the chef inquired, dark brows furrowed and arms crossed with either worry or annoyance. Ruiza glanced up at the man and forced a dumb smile. “Ah, um. Can I ask you something?” he said, voice shaking.
“Sure, but first you have to buy something.”
The statement startled the blonde. Buy something? That conflicted with the code; the invisible laws etched on television shows that displayed all Japanese shop owners being nice and willing and their American counterparts being money fiends. “Excuse me?” Ruiza lightly laughed.
“If you don’t pay, I won’t tell you a damn thing.”
Damn? Swearing now? The blonde felt himself going into etiquette-withdrawal.
“Um, I’ll have Tsukimi Soba…”
“Alright.” Immediately the cook set to work.
“So, can I ask-”
“No, I’m cooking you food and if you don’t want it burnt I suggest you don’t talk.”
Ruiza placed his hands in his lap and kept silent. Luckily the soba was fixed quickly and didn’t appear to be contaminated by some poison. The blonde recited his pre-dinner thanks and tried the noodles. It tasted okay.
“So, now can I ask?” he said with a mouthful of soba noodles.
The man merely nodded his head.
Gulping down the food, Ruiza turned around and gestured to the window of the two mannequins. “Those things, the mannequins, they aren’t mannequins are they?”
“They’re actual people. They’re used as mannequins in a sense.”
Ruiza’s eyes widened at that. People used as mannequins; perhaps that was how this shop avoided the Baishun-boshi-hou. Finishing his noodles, Ruiza lifted from the seat and bowed his leave, only to be yelled at by the chef for not paying.
Ruiza attempted to avoid eye contact with the display window but still that brown-haired mannequ- model caught his attention. Condensing his curiosity to only a few seconds of observance, the blonde pushed open the door to the shop, a friendly bell atop the entrance frame signaling his entrance.
The dark, shoddy coloring on the exterior did not do any justice for the shop’s interior. Golden colored walls adorned with mood-lit sconces and several sets of two seater-wooden benches seemed to glow beneath a single crystallized chandelier that hung at the center of the reception area. The floors themselves were a dark bamboo, nearly chocolate colored with its hue matching the recently polished beams supporting the ceiling. The ceiling…it was a collage of pictures strung together to tell some ancient story of a geisha and her lover samurai.
Ruiza held his breath as he pattered across the floors like a mouse, inching closer to the empty reception desk, all the while grasping his camera for dear life as if the very noise of it swaying against his coat would destroy the illusion he was in. Upon reaching the desk, his eyes shifted to the right and observed the dark curtain where on its opposite side stood the two living dolls.
“How may I help you?”
The blonde’s attention snapped back at the desk where a bright eyed woman was smiling back at him.
“How may I help you?” she squeaked again in that high-pitched baby voice. She sounded like a robot. Apparently if he didn’t say anything within 5 seconds she was bound to repeat it aga-
“Sir?”
“Yeah, umm, I’m here just to take pictures.” Ruiza grinned while holding up his camera.
Her expression suddenly became distressed. “Ah, no photography is allowed.”
“Oh, um. C-can I speak with your manager? This is for my job and it’s really important that I tak-” Before he could finish the woman was gone. Within a matter of seconds she returned with a man trailing behind her. Upon sight the suit-wearing, forty-year-old dipped his head in a modest bow. The blonde replicated the gesture and repeated his request for pictures.
“No.”
“I’m sorry to persist but sir-”
“I said no,” the man said letting out a somewhat annoyed sigh. “I consider my models to be pieces of artwork. And not just any piece of artwork.” As he neared the reception desk he beckoned the woman. “Mimi, bring out one of the display.”
A bow of compliance and Mimi was over at the curtain’s edge, aiding one of the models out from behind the blind. It was the brunette. Ruiza felt a tightening in his abdomen as she glided across the floor with complete grace. The blonde felt like pulling up his Nikon right there and snapping thousands of photos of the goddess before him, despite the complaints and reprimandations of the bird-voiced Mimi or the moderately pudgy man.
“You see,” the man started, forcibly tearing Ruiza from his daydream, “this one here is a portrayal of a Victorian doll. And as a work of art, photography can easily ruin the value of the original.” The man gestured to the ‘Victorian doll’ as if she was some product made out of a factory in Taiwan. Ruiza no longer heeded his words; his mind traveling back to the other’s dark eyes. The brunette returned his stare, hers a more questioning glance. An instinctive grin tugged at the blonde’s lips and his eyes diverted down to his camera. The other noticed his embarrassment and lifted a tender hand to her lips, concealing a growing smile.
“If you want, you can ‘first hand’ view this artwork.” The gruff whisper of the man in his ear snapped Ruiza back to reality. A confused expression adorned his features. “Wh-what do you mean? I just…”
“If you know where this place is you obviously know its purpose. Now if you’d like to hear the services provided and the rates-”
“I’m sorry I think you’re mistaken...” his voice trailed off in thought. Depending on the service provided he could easily take some pictures of the shop to fulfill his job, and his own personal ambition of capturing the model. Ruiza took a breath. He was about to do something he’d never thought he’d do; hire a harlot.
“What kind of services?”
The man hoisted himself to a fully erect posture and bore a smirk that deeply disgusted the blonde.
“Well if you come this way…” The man motioned for the model to return to the curtain and beckoned Ruiza to follow him back into his office. Ruiza took a long look at the brunette as she was guided by Mimi to the display window. A sense of longing overcame him; it was all so confusing, how could he want another being this much without even saying a word to it? The blonde was left to ponder the emotion as the manager’s door closed behind him.
“Now here is a list of the basic services provided. Our regulations are here. Privacy policy here. And rates are here.” Both the man and Ruiza were seated at a broad, glass-top desk; the papers listed above displayed before him in sporadic piles. The blonde indifferently filed through the list of services. Each ‘doll’s head was displayed with their eyes blurred and a list of ‘performances’ they were willing to - or just talented at - doing. The very fact that he was shopping through such a list made him queasy with self-defilement.
Third page, fifth column, there she was. Ruiza trailed his finger across the thin lines of clarifications and came across a particular set of kanji.
“Satsuki…” the blonde whispered. So, that was her name. Apparently, based on the neon green letters decorating the picture, she was new, not even a month working here. His eyes moved over to the service area. A few seconds of searching down the 5 topic list he found the perfect ‘performance’.
“This one,” Ruiza finally said, jabbing his finger into the paper.
The man rubbed his chin with a thoughtful hand and paused for a solid minute before looking the other in the eye.
“Allright, and how long?”
“An hour.”
“Okay then. So you are to spend an hour with Satsuki taking a stroll in the park. That will be ¥10,600 .”
If Ruiza had been drinking something he would have spit it out all over the man. ¥10,600? Madness.
“Ah…umm don’t you think that’s a little…”
“Sir, may I remind you that these are pieces of art you’re handling? And may I also remind you that the service you’ve chosen places you in unsupervised care of this piece of art? If anything I’d say that price is a bargain.”
Ruiza took a breath, eyes darting from right to left in debating thought. A hand shifted down to his front jeans pocket, and out came a black wallet.
“Do you take credit cards?”
It would have been nice in the spring. Sakura trees at full bloom, their petals falling like snow; littering the ground with a pink carpet. The flowers at full blossom, decorating the dew-ridden grass with splashes of yellows and red. The scent of clean, dampened air filling the lungs and rejuvenating the body with a sense of freshness. However, it wasn’t spring. It was summer, and it was hot. Ruiza swiped the sweat away from his forehead for the twentieth time as he watched the brunette seem to dance before him. Actually she was just walking, but moving in heels seemed to be a new experience for her.
At last the blonde spotted a bench and beckoned for the other to join in his resting. Side by side the two sat beneath a dormant cherry blossom tree, a foot-wide invisible wall separating them.
“So um,” Ruiza began, his voice shivering. “H-how do you like being a…a mannequin?”
The other looked at him with blank inquisitiveness.
“It’s okay I guess…” Satsuki replied in a rather un-feminine tone.
It was a good thing Ruiza wasn’t drinking anything; if he had, its contents would have been spat out all over the other. Instead he choked on a failed attempt to inhale.
“You, you’re a man?” the blonde squeaked once his coughing fit had subsided. The other male simply nodded his head and turned his attention to several birds adorning a tree branch. Obviously this fact was of no concern to her- him, so apparently the question of his gender was no secret. So that meant…
“That shop…is for gays?”
Again the brunette nodded.
One by one the dots began connecting in the blonde’s head.
“And you don’t mind that at all?”
A concurring nod.
“So that means you’re -”
“Gay? Yes. I’m assuming that since you’re this surprised your true intention on entering the doll shop is not of normal circumstances.”
“Well actually…” Ruiza fingered the lens of his camera. “My job inquired I come here to ‘document’ this Baishun-boshi-hou evading shop. It was rumored to circle around the law using an interesting strategy.”
“Oh?” Satsuki said, eyes now turning to Ruiza. “If you want to learn all about the business I can tell you…”
“Actually…I” the blonde stumbled over his words. He couldn’t believe he was about to say this. “What I really want is-is to photograph you…But not in ‘that’ way though!” Quickly he tried to think of a better way of rephrasing that to be less awkward, yet he only succeeded in mumbling incoherent phrases that all alluded to pornographic innuendos. Satsuki let loose a chuckle and a smile over took his features. The response embarrassed Ruiza, but not in the classical sense. It was…a good embarrassment.
“S-so may I?” Ruiza persisted, playfully pulling the Nikon to his eye.
Satsuki lifted from the bench and took a light stretch. The simple gesture sent the blonde’s cheeks aflame with a subtle blush. “Sure, but I don’t think I’m photo material.”
Blasphemy. Blasphemy. Blasphemy. The word continued to repeat itself over and over in Ruiza’s head.
“Blasphemy!” he finally hissed; his harsh tone causing the other to flinch. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen! Even if you are a man you look like a goddess!”
The brunette just stared at him, eyes widened with disbelief, mouth forming silent sentences as he scrambled for some disapproving retort. “No I’m not,” he laughed, “the others are far more professional than I am. I haven’t even gotten a customer yet -”
“Yes you have, and he’s right here…”
Satsuki turned away, softly shaking his head in disagreement. How else could he convince him?
Ruiza lunged over and wrapped his arms around his turned back. His head resting at the base of the other’s neck. “Satsuki, I don’t know why. I-I have barley met you. But for some reason. Some strange reason I just don’t want you to go.” The blonde’s voice wavered. “I don’t know why but it just hurts to see you walk away and it sends me over the edge with happiness when you even look at me.” He felt the brunette shift beneath his arms, tenseness fading. “That’s stupid…” Satsuki’s voice was as silent as the breeze that encircled them.
“What?”
“You have no control whatsoever over your emotions. Falling in love that easily is not a good thing.”
Falling in love?
“You’re comparing me to perfection, to a goddess. I’m a doll! I’m none of those things!” He outmaneuvered Ruiza’s grasp and turned to face him, eyes narrowed in aggressive resistance. “You saw me in that display window. You know what I am.”
The blonde shook his head in a fashion similar to Satsuki’s previous adjuration.
“I know I know that! As I was sitting in the office of the manager’s I could just barley hold down the bile rising in my throat because I knew exactly what I was doing.” Ruiza took a step towards the other. “The fact is, Satsuki, that although you may be a ‘doll’, ‘model’, ‘zombie mannequin’ I still can’t stop this feeling.”
“Zombie mannequin?”
“Satsuki, listen,” the blonde rushed the other once again and instead of an embrace he pulled the other’s hands into his own. “If I complete this job I get a pay raise, and with that money I can buy a bigger apartment and some cats. You can come live with me and not have to work here again!” His mind was in a fervent fury. The words forming in his mouth faster than in his brain. He felt as if he was spouting nonsense but this man…he just couldn’t see him go. Satsuki let out a visible sigh.
“You don’t understand…” A pause. “Take it, take your picture.”
Ruiza hesitated. His hands unconsciously formed around the camera, abandoning their previous posts on the other’s palms. He lifted the machine to his eye; a blurry image soon sharpening to full focus.
Dark lined eyes contrasting with bold eyeshadow and white foundation. Cherry blossom pink lips perfectly still. Great brunette hair flowing over like the great Taki-zakura. Beautiful.
A button pressed and a photo taken; the camera disappeared from the blonde’s face.
“Now,” Satsuki began, taking a step toward Ruiza but his intent focused on some far off direction. “Keep that photo. It’s the closest thing to the perfection you’re seeking. I’ll never cease to be a display doll, and display dolls can’t return any emotion.”
Ruiza stood perfectly still, some unheard of feeling welling up in the pit of his stomach. Satsuki didn’t cast a secondary glance as he shifted past him, all grace and beauty; a doll returning to its showcase.
“These pictures are good, excellent even!” The boss said filing through the developed film. “The newspaper will make great use of these, Ruiza!” the balding man let out a good-humored chuckle. “Oh!” He hoisted himself from the seat and obtained a manila folder from his desk. “As promised, a bonus. You’re pay raise will be official starting next week.”
The blonde dryly accepted.
“Well that’s a job well done I presume. You may go now.”
Ruiza bowed his leave and exited into the main hallway. Shuffling through his pants he found his black wallet; flipping the casing open the picture of human perfection lied slipped behind a thin plastic cover. Ruiza halfheartedly laughed. He should’ve known better than to fall in love with a harlot.
----
A/N: I used a lot of Japanese terms here.
*Akasen = red line [red light district in Japan]
*Taki-zakura = Famous cherry blossom tree Image
*noren = cloth covering the entrance to restaurants
*Tsukimi soba = Image
*Baishun-boshi-hou = Anti-prostitution law passed in Japan
*¥10,600 = say about...$120.63