interstellar5555 | party rock is in the house tonight

Entry tags:

party rock is in the house tonight

Who: Osamu Dazai, and YOU!
What: A man about town being a man about town, i.e. various prompts and excitement where our intrepid rescuer sets himself up to be an intrepid hot mess.
When: 3/28-3/31
Where: An alleyway, a bar, and snooping around some music stores.
Warnings: Alcohol and possible discussion or use of drugs. Possible suicide mentions. As always please fill out this content warning post with regard to that if desired. Thanks!!

alley cat blues
Dazai is the sort of guy who can be subtle or not, and switch with such ease that it's almost scary. This is one of those more subtle days. He's been surreptitiously tailing anyone he finds interesting, and succeeding grandly at looking inconspicuous and like he's just there, not following at all. How about that? Although this time, he might (deliberately) get caught near one of the other rescuers, around whom he's much less cautious. Why them? Well, he's a pinch hitter right now until he finds his own target for rescuing. Sure, it's a group effort, but none of the musicians are interesting on the surface. He has to figure them out, whittle them down to what's real and what's imagined. Fun stuff. No, seriously, he thinks it's fun.

Musicians may get a little taste of what seems like a fan who simply seems too shy to ask for an autograph. This is the Dazai laying in wait. And looking kind of cute in his fedora and loose shirt and hole-y jeans. What's up with the bandages on his neck, chest, and arms? He'll never tell!~

barring disaster
Okay, so this one's a little less subtle in intent. The same Dazai, same week, can then be found in the later evenings at a different bar each night. One night, class and charm turned on in the glittering establishment for those post-work cocktails, where he'll compliment you gently with a soft smile and interested eyes.

The next, a little honky-tonk kind of place with dancing and loud music. He only participates in the line dancing once, but it seems to amuse him to no end, and he makes a valiant attempt to shove you out into the fray. His eyes sparkle with mischief and dullness at once.

Another night, and he's at a bustling, small place, loud and smoky and god knows what's going on because it's so chaotic. Here's where he'll shout that your fly is unzipped, whether true or not, and hand you a beer for no reason. Careless and jovial, there's still something about the way he looks at you that says he's watching every move you make.

The last night. The crazy night. Loud again, but in a place infamous enough that one wouldn't suspect a guy like him to even be let in. He's all scruff and carelessness, and they're all the cream of the crop when it comes to throwing money at nothing. Who knows what goes on in the back? For now, he's at the bar, poking around a weird residue on the counter while looking visibly intoxicated. Maybe you're about to get herded to the back for a talk.

disc jockey
If there's anything Dazai loves, it's music! Okay, not necessarily--some of these bands are really shitty in his opinion (sorry folks!). He stands around at the music store, or listening to various people's music--he's pulling headphones off heads and tuning in for a second before excusing himself and taking them back--sampling the wares, as it were, of each famous group. He's settled on his weird favorite, of course, but it's generally considered good form to get to know the brainwashed folks' art form. Maybe he can start unraveling things from there. With all the appearance in this case of a cloud cuckoolander, there's little one can do but stare. Or have your headphones absconded with for a brief moment.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Again, what? "What are you talking about? I've been working for this my whole life. This is my life." He sounds more convicted than many others might, since back home this was what he did, with a bit less self-destruction. Only a little less. Back home he wouldn't have started on coke. He wasn't that desperate. Though weed was illegal where he came from.

Dazai is beyond amused, pursing his lips slightly.

"Metaphor. You're excellent at what you do, please don't let anyone tell you otherwise." Excellent at fucking up his own life--hey, coming from Dazai, that's a pretty strong indictment, right there. He could be so much more. Tragic.

Enough is clearly enough, and Dazai runs a hand through his hair, fussing with the ends a bit before he turns to leave. With amazing (and probably hilarious) effort, he removes his shoe from where it was barring entry and replaces it on his foot.

Shin tries to grab the arm of this guy, baffled and unnerved. "What are you talking about? Kuni... whatever your real name is? What the hell do you mean?" Why does he feel so sick? That feeling of being able to take on anything was still there, but energy had just drained from his limbs. Somehow he just managed to hold onto Dazai shakingly.

Edited 2016-04-02 17:04 (UTC)

"Oh, sorry. It's Dazai." His smile is like poison and condescension with the thinnest veil of caring. He can't show him the truth. He can only show him how to find it. That look of distress is helpful, and an honestly good sign, except now he's faintly concerned the kid will die before this is all done. How troublesome....

Patting the hand on his arm, he turns to look at Shin properly.

"If you want to know more, you're done for the night." Sigh. "I'll buy you shoes?"

He's still holding onto Dazai's arm, though his hand slips to grab just the sleeve. He hangs his head, confused as to why he's shaking so badly, why he feels like he's going to throw up the more he thinks on what the hell this random guy is talking about.

"Forget the shoes," he sighs. It doesn't feel right just taking them without giving some kind of service. "I'll close my tab, but I need a fucking cigarette." Because above all else, cigarettes are his main crutch. His cherry flavoured cigarettes are the one thing he'll probably never be able to let go. "If I don't get sick first."

He'll push his way past Dazai and to the bar to close his tab properly, trying his best to just smile and act like nothing's amiss. When the bartender gives him a look, he just winks like he's going to score. He'd never had such a hard time holding back the sweat and the feeling of being sick. It was like his entire body was rejecting the line of thought he's trying to follow.

Dazai merely brushes off his sleeve as the young man departs, and though he could stay and wait in the bathroom like a creep, he slowly follows instead. Casually, from a bit of a distance.

"Don't get sick," he chimes, patting him on the shoulder in front of the bartender. "You have such a busy night ahead of you!" Shrugging, he puts a hand lightly on the back of Shin's shoulder and easily guides him out. They have a lot to talk about.

He invented interrogation techniques that no one's ever resisted. Surely he can flip that around. Off he goes to an alley between streets, nudging Shin along.

Shin holds his head as they get around the corner, "I did not do nearly enough shit to feel like this. The fuck?"

That's enough to make Dazai withdraw his hand and adjust the bandages. God, this is kind of annoying. Kind of fun, too. Sigh.

"Feel like what, may I ask? I feel incredible. What's your problem?"

As soon as he stops trying to think on what Dazai is talking about he feels a wave of relief and relaxes. It doesn't make sense, but whatever. He shakes his head, and stands up, the normal feeling from the drugs coming back. "I'm fine, it passed."

"Liar..." Dazai says rather cheerfully. "You're not fine, but I digress." Leaning on the wall of the building, he indicates thay Shin should do the same.

"Let's talk. Tell me about you and I'll tell you about me."

Shin leans against the wall, trying to ignore the urge to bolt. "Um, I'm Nuclear Parliament's lead guitarist. I grew up by the sea. My father... well, he didn't raise me... There was another lady, a neighbour, she taught me everything." Including how to get clients and please people sexually, how to drink and smoke weed as well. "Learned to play bass, then guitar, then got this gig and moved the hell out of that place. Not much more to say."

If he bolts, he might get chased down. Probably not. Dazai is still drunk and high and loving it, SO. There's that. He nods at the end.

"I wasn't lying when I said I like your music. You're rather entertaining, all of you. But you're so new, I hope you're fitting in alright." His head tilts to the side. "When did you decide to become a prostitute? Or is that a hobby?"

It makes sense, he is a musician in his world still. "Fitting in well enough." He rubs the back of his neck, "Back before I started recording," but the faces and names are all a blur. "I guess it's a hobby now. Kept me out of the house, fed, and clothed before the label started covering that stuff." He plunges his hands into his pockets, "how do I know you're not going to plaster this in some tabloid?" He doesn't seem to actually be that worried. He'd given Dazai enough material already that it doesn't matter.

"Because I did a line and a half of cocaine with you--yes, I know you shorted me, I forgive you--and I'm simply not the literary type." Trust him, if he wanted to ruin anything he'd do it so quickly, efficiently, and ruthlessly that the involved party wouldn't know what hit them. Well, they would, but they might be scarred for life. All he does is keep an eye to their sides to make sure no one is coming.

"If you like it, fine, but you're so thirsty, it's kind of sad. I really thought you had it in for me for a second, there." There's a long silence as he looks Shin over. There has to be a way he can figure this out... "Where're you originally from? That's slipping my mind."

He's about to answer smoothly, but the name gets stuck in his throat.

He tries desperately to grasp for the name of his home town, but is slammed with a throbbing headache that made it a lot more frightening to be able to feel his heart racing. He puts a hand to his head, confused by the pain.

Why can't he fucking remember where he's from? Something with a To... he thinks. Maybe.

Well, Shin looks... maybe he's half? Dazai settles on that; his world is a little fussy itself with such things, but the kid's pretty clearly mixed something. It's a hint, a clue. He files it away.

"Careful. Don't hurt yourself." In the alleyway, his voice echoes, even as low as it is. He knows they could very well be followed at any minute, couldn't they? By label flunkies, he's noticed, that follow them all from time to time. If that happens, he'll either have to casually flee, or cause problems. Meh. Annoying.

"Where's your family from?"

That's not coming to mind either, at least not at first, but then he gets something, "Japana". Technically a part of Americana here.

The feeling's starting to fade and he takes a few deep breaths. "I should probably go."

"Oh!" Dazai smiles. "I've been there. Nice place." He's from "there". He's being like that again. Obfuscating the world. But he frowns a little at the dismissal.

"Really? I promised you a lot of things and I didn't deliver on any of them yet."

Shin's starting to feel a bit more back to normal. "It's great, yeah," he says non-committally. He doesn't need to think hard to know he hated it, and he's not bothering to actually hide that from his expression.

He doesn't want to ditch Dazai, but with the way he keeps feeling like a knife is going into his brain with the guy's questions, it just made him want to flee.

"Nice to me, at least. Not nice to you. Drove you to everything you shouldn't be doing." He drums his hands on the wall behind him, then crosses his arms. "We're a product of our environments. You were destined to be a rock star, weren't you? Were you around music a lot, or is this more recent?"

Dazai won't let him flee. Not yet. Just... Has to keep at it.

"Always." Remembering that doesn't seem to be hurting him. He says it with clear conviction. "I didn't grow up with it, but I found it, and... I couldn't give it up. It's as good as sex. Or cocaine." He leans more against the wall, again, looking in pain, "I... can't remember who they were, but their music.... His music." He's shaking a bit now, but takes a few deep breaths. "I don't know what the fuck is happening."

"Sex is trivial, and you're not good at cocaine yet. It's not too late to stop." Smiling, he waits out that pained look. "Your music, though, that's the key. That's where we'll find you."

Talking about music hurts him as much as the other things, which logically means being a musician or enthusiast thereof was a component of his previous life. This is, of course, taking these moments of pain as evidence that he's trying to fight the influence of his captors.

"See, you're so bad at the coke, you're about to fall over. Stay with me, Shin."

He straightens and steps back, on his guard, "I was fine until you started prodding. Maybe I'm just not eager to be thinking about my fucked up family while high as a kite."

"I'm not prodding." Yes he is. "I'm making polite conversation with someone who just tried to have sex with me in exchange for shoes, so let's not be too hasty." He's a master interrogator, please do not make him use that. Eh, just kidding. He'll sooner use it on the label people than on a pure, innocent thing like Shin.

"As for your family, I'll leave that one be. My bad."

Shin sighs, looking to Dazai with a bit of a pathetic look. "Well, I told you about myself," and even though he's sticking around, that has a bit of a sense of finality to it.

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