Dancing with the Devil [Night SL - Shibuya]

“Click!” Fievel locked the last door, bag hanging by his shoulder by one handle. It was late evening, the clock’s pointers getting around 10pm. The thought of catching a bus was unnerving. The thought of walking to the metro station too. But he knew he couldn’t just sleep in the store till the next morning, even though he was in charge of opening by the morning and closing it by the night, simultaneously the first to arrive and last to leave. Consequences of being the newest employee. A sigh, and Fievel began walking, for thinking long over unsubstantial matters he had little control over would get him nowhere.


Little Tokyo. His neighborhood. By the time he leaves his work, the Festival Strip would have ended already. Fievel never really had time to partake in it, sulking in his depression despite his mother’s protests to take him outside. Until he was able to walk again with his prosthetic leg and adjust to it, the young man never ventured in said festivals. After being used to its mechanisms, he still hasn’t visited the festival not even once, busying himself with the responsibility of finding a local job in an attempt to repay his parents for showering him with so much love and care. That’s the least he could do, after all. Nowadays, he felt disappointed. Festivals are usually a mesh of colors, smells, figures and shapes, people of all kinds, everything together in a cheerful celebration. Despite being far from outspoken and upbeat, Fievel enjoyed the atmosphere his neighborhood earned at daylight. Now, under the dark veil of the night sky, Little Tokyo seemed to have lost part of its charm, with only a few restaurants open. At occasion, he stopped by some restaurant counter, finding a seat for himself despite not feeling particularly hungry. Possibly, Fievel only wanted to rest a bit before walking back home, while machinating some excuse to give any employee who would approach him for orders. It would be quite lame to just tell a waiter he was just “resting” instead of making an order, naturally…

Loud screams at night can never be a good thing. Although he wasn’t one to pry, Fievel decided to look at what was the cause of such lively occurrence at night. Little Tokyo wasn’t exactly know for evening convolutions after all, leaving all the possible disturbances to the daily Festival. Lifting his neck searching for the cause of the ruckus, he spotted the actors in said scene. Law authorities, of course, despite the use of bad language in the heat of the moment, and… the perpetrator, naturally. However, it all happened too fast before he could call said perpetrator a “perpetrator” in first place. The jolt from being pulled disarranged his hair as well as his balance, and for a moment Fievel almost left his backpack behind as it slid down his arm, if not for quick reflexes grabbing it at the end.

“Wha-?!”, he yelped, a bit of pain struck his restless leg, offering no objection to the events unfolding and his eyes busied trying to look around at everything and understand properly what the freaking hell was going on.

Choice: Join in the Chase.

Admittedly, being out of the sports loop for a while, it was no wonder Fievel had a bit of a hard time following this hooded person around, even harder running with a wave of long hair blurring your vision every time you turn your head to the wrong side: be it backwards to check on the cops on their tails, be it downwards to make sure he wouldn’t trip on something like an inconveniently placed stone. Other than that, his heart was racing like it would climb his throat and jump out his mouth anytime. Of course Fievel internally complained about his boring days and freeing from the routing, but this?

After a while, blurry sights aside, Fievel could find themselves inside some sort of abandoned building he didn’t recognize – were there even such places in Little Tokyo? He has been living in there for a while yet he never noticed how labyrinthic the city could be. There wasn’t much his eyes could spot either to make his way back, barely remembering the path they crossed on the run save for shaky scenarios and buildings… and, of course, the man by his side who dragged him into this incomprehensible mess. His chest going up and down in a rhythmic panting, Fievel stared, waiting for explanations taking their time to come forth – and for danger of cops nearby to vanish. There were so many questions to make, too many roaming in his mind. But as he let his backpack fall to the floor and leaned against the wall with his scared incredulous face – covered by disheveled blond hair strands, aiming at his companion, the only thing he could say, with a hoarse tired voice, was:

“…Can I speak now? Am I in trouble?”

“Huh? N-no! Of course not, not at all!”, he readily replied, confused and a little bit indignant, contrary to his usual self. Was he mistaken for someone who itches for causing trouble? Because he wasn’t. On the contrary, Fievel was just the perfect child of zealous parents, he had always been since childhood. Rules, they were meant to be followed, which he did to his excellence. It all felt too much when he unleashed his lack of control on this guy, angrily fixing the messy hair strands that insisted on falling over his sight. “Excuse me, but what even happened there? Why were they chasing you? What have you done to deserve this? What is this place? Who the hell are you and why did you decide to bring me?”

So… that was his hideout… from the police? It sunk in as Fievel realized he ended up with a criminal. In the same room. In HIS territory, to be precise. The guy who called himself Shibuya didn’t seem the dangerous kind of criminal, though, but you can never be so sure about how volatile someone’s personality can be. At this point, all he could think of was his mother freaking out because of his delay to arrive home and freaking even more after hearing he was dragged around by a criminal, a robber. It would be the end of his independence and the return of old boring days of being treated like a baby. In this sense… yeah, getting on a chase felt revigorating, out of his boring home-job-job-home routine.

“Fievel. Name, that is. Name’s Fievel…”, he said, taking the risk of introducing his real name to a stranger. The ultimate gesture of accepting getting into whatever this guy had in mind. “I’m sorry, I was never too much into geography, uh… Shibuya, right? I don’t know what little island you speak of, Shibuya. But you don’t really look… asian. Please, take no offense to that but that’s not your real name, is it?”

…Alright. Now that was awkward, this Shibuya guy was actually of Japanese heritage and, unbeknownst to him, Fievel basically spat on his face for it. How lame, impolite and even bordering on racism. He was embarrassed and ashamed of himself and his own ignorance, so much Fievel had little to say except being glad Shibuya didn’t take it under a negative (albeit correct) light. Actually… He was fairly easygoing and sweet to handle, despite being a potential troublemaker.

“Oh, uh, the name’s russian in case you’re asking. At least, part of it. The Fievel part… that’s probably why it’s, uh, “catchy”, russians have this identity to their names. But I’m not russian myself, I’m swiss. And I live in here, my house is a few blocks away from the station, I was actually going home before…” “Before you kidnapped me”, he thought of saying, but that would be unwise. You can never know when the tables would turn and the easygoing bandit will snap at you defenseless for petty reasons. Besides, the thought of his mother freaking out and calling the police over his disappearance was a crescent. “Well, nevermind. Guess we both are mixed, after all”, he smiled, bashfully, glancing around and checking on the place. It was as abandoned as a haunted house, and it didn’t look like Shibuya lived in there. “I apologize for being rude, you seem like quite a nice person but… what time is it, again? Is it late yet?”

Polite way of saying “I gotta go before my mother implodes”.

It wasn’t the most cautious action to take, no, far from that. But something compelled Fievel to just let himself go with the flow. Nothing bad could come from that, right? Shibuya was nice, after all. A bit of a troublemaker, but you can’t judge a book by its cover. Besides, Fievel didn’t have a lot of friends to hang with, spending most of his days at work during weekdays or at home during weekends. Perhaps this encounter could blow a bit of a fresh air to his life with Shibuya’s fun-seeker demeanor… even if his definition of fun seemed slightly unconventional for Fievel’s tastes.

“Uh… guess life here is indeed a bit boring, yes. Even with the festivals every day, they grow tiresome like any routine”, he smiled, rolling his eyes, searching in his bag said cellphone. Then, he gave it to Shibuya so he could type his phone number and contact name properly – Fievel was not the most knowledgeable about Japanese writing, after all. “Here.”