|OOC: Conversation between Musashi and HIruma; right before Amino Game
||[Nov. 7th, 2006|02:37 pm]
武蔵 厳, ムサシ
Even though it'd be completely against his image to say so, Hiruma had to admit he felt pretty fucking good. First game of the autumn tournament tomorrow, and this time the Devil Bats were going to kick ASS. Not least because they'd finally got their kicker back.
All right, and leaving football aside for the moment, it was kind of nice to be three again. He and Musashi had left the porker behind at his house, after evening practice. He'd given Kurita stern instructions to eat heavily and then go straight to bed - the dumbass'd been off his feed lately, from stress, and hadn't slept at all last night. Fucking moron. What use was he gonna be if he fainted on the fucking field?
Musashi watched Hiruma with a little smile on his face. He could tell the demon's mind was in a million places at once. Hell, his own was as well. He was excited for the game, blissful about being back at school with his friends, and hungry. "Food?"
"Yeah," Hiruma agreed, adjusting the strap of his semiautomatic. (He carried it pretty openly in the vicinity of Deimon; the local cops knew better than to mess with him.
"What are you hungry for? I could eat anything." Musashi shouldered his bag, waiting. He noticed his foot was tapping, but that wasn't impatience with Hiruma...he was just excited as hell for the game...his foot wanted to kick something.
Hiruma glanced down, grinning in a way that said he hadn't missed his friend's fidgeting. "Nothing too heavy. Maybe the fucking porker can have five bowls of rice and be fit for a game the next day, but I like to be a bit hungry. Keeps me keen."
Musashi smirked a little, "Psh, you're always 'keen'. How about we just go buy some carrots, then, if you're so worried about your diet." He nudged him.
Hiruma thumped him on the head. "You think I'm fat, huh?! Fucking old man!"
"Ow! Who in their right mind would call you fat?" Musashi made a face and lifted him in the air to prove it. "See." He dropped Hiruma pretty quickly though, as otherwise he'd have gotten a pointy shoe in places he'd rather have intact. Since Hiruma was chasing him anyway, Musashi figured he might as well run toward that little restaurant on the riverbank, the one with the great yakitori. Besides, yakitori wasn't that filling if you didn't eat a lot of it, so he figured Hiruma would calm down once the smell of meat hit his nostrils. It was really true what they said about a man and his dog. Both Hiruma and Cerberus could be distracted from most things by offering treats. That was amusing to think about, but they'd reached the restaurant. "Ah, here it is." He panted a little.
"Huh." Hiruma engaged the safety on his rifle and slung it back over his shoulder, much to the relief of everyone else around, and entered the restaurant ahead of Musashi. His nose was already twitching.
Musashi frowned as he saw a bloody scratch behind Hiruma's ear and stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Hey, did you notice this?" He gently ran a hand down the ear to push it aside and get a better look.
"Ouch," Hiruma grumbled, swatting his hand away. "Nah... must be the dog."
"Huh, you should clean that out before it gets infected. I'm surprised Mamori didn't notice it..." He pulled out Hiruma's chair for him."
Hiruma glared. "I don't need the fucking manager to look after me!" Pointedly, he maneuvered around the table to reach the other chair, and sat down.
Musashi rolled his eyes and sat in the chair. "Oh no? You don't do a very good job yourself." He unwrapped his steaming wet nap and reached before Hiruma could move, cleaning the ear with it.
Hiruma held still, if only because he might've left his ear behind if he tried to pull away. "What are you, my fucking mom? Or, no, wait, that's the fucking manager, so I guess that makes you daddy!"
"Guess so." Musashi was unphased by the usual temper and kept on until he was satisfied, then pulled back, studying the menu. "Hmm.."
"I'll have the fried noodles," Hiruma muttered.
Musashi nodded. He decided on the chicken yakitori and gave the waitress their order. They both had tea. "It's good to be kicking again."
"Huh. Damn better be." Hiruma grinned. "After all the trouble I've had trying to lure your ass back."
He grinned back, "Give me some credit for being stubborn. Not many could resist you that long."
"It'd've been easier if you weren't so fucking upright," his friend complained. "One or two embarrassing photos..."
"You've got nothing on me." Musashi chuckled and sipped his tea. "I'm as straight-laced as they come."
"Don't I know it." Hiruma schluuurrped at his miso soup with relish, making an old lady two tables over jump at the volume of the noise. "Only two guys I know who're harder to get something on... well, used to be three, but then the fucking big bro kindly removed himself from the running."
"Who are they?" Musashi tilted his head, curious.
"Expect me to share my failures with you?" Hiruma snorted.
"Sure." Musashi nibbled edamame.
There was a couple of minutes' silence while the waitress brought their food, and the pair dug in. When Hiruma finally paused in his eating - the bit about preferring to be hungry MUST be bullshit, because as usual the guy had an appetite like a blast furnace - it was to cock an eyebrow at Musashi and ask "So who'd you think we'll be facing in the third round?"
Musashi had already resigned a lot of his meat to be snagged, which was why he'd ordered a large instead of a medium. He nibbled some chicken and pondered, "Hm...I'm not sure. There are a lot of good teams this year...that kicker from Bando might be better than me."
"Fucking sideburns? That'd be the day." Hiruma snorted. "Now, I figure we're gonna take Amino and Yuuhi with not too much sweat, right? But after that... third round's a bit up in the air. Could be Hashiratani, the fucking tongueface... even Poseidon. They sucked last year, but."
Musashi looked up, "Poseidon's a force to be reckoned with, this year. Sena will have to step up his game considerably for that one. As for the Chameleons...I think they're falling apart, from what I've seen."
"Yeah, that shit with Megu... should've told the fucking tongueface, that's what comes of screwing the manager."
Musashi shrugged, "It was in the works before that."
"Oh?" Hiruma's ears perked up, and his eyes narrowed. "You know something I don't? Always thought Habashira had his team pretty well in line, even if they're a load of useless fuckers."
"That's my point. You and him have some or most of the same tactics...but our players aren't scum. Scum will always run in the end, if things look bad. I just hope it doesn't happen anytime soon. One player can't carry a whole team."
Hiruma conceded this point with a tilt of his head. "Anyway... fourth round's gonna be Seibu. No way any of the teams they'll meet before then can stop them."
"Agreed," Musashi munched another piece of chicken, "You get any more information on them?"
Hiruma scowled. "Nah. There's this short guy who's been seen with Kid and the others, but my source didn't know what position he's in... fucking annoying."
Musashi looked mildly alarmed. "You don't know anything about him?"
"I'm gonna find out," Hiruma said, with finality. "Even if I gotta go spy on those bastards myself."
"Better put a hat on." He flicked a locke of that day-glo hair.
"Was thinking camou."
tiny wrinkle appeared between Hiruma's eyebrows, and then smoothed out again. "And after that it's Kantou tournament time... and sweet, sweet fucking revenge."
"Think we'll draw them?"
"I fucking hope so. In the finals if not before. It'd be a shame if someone else got to kick their asses."
"You never told me what you had in mind."
"Kinda up in the air right now."
"Nothing?" Musashi choked.
Hiruma glared at him. "Don't fucking drop dead on me. And of course I've got ideas. It just sorta depends on things... how the fucking baldy develops, how much I can wind up the fucking dread without him going bugfuck and maiming somebody..."
"Ah, so you are going to let him play..." Musashi looked a tad relieved at that. He'd had a hard time believing Hiruma to be that heartless. He considered the other statement, "It'd have to be done really really well...but if anybody's an expert at winding people up, it's you."
"Of course I'm gonna let him play," Hiruma snorted. "Why else would I burden the team with his bald ass? Don't be a moron."
Musashi smiled, "You made the manager cry pretty hard about that, I thought you might have been serious."
"Cry?" Hiruma scowled. "The fuck is that dumb broad on now?"
Musashi munched another piece of chicken, "She was sad about it, is all."
"The fucking baldy?"
"Well, yes...he did complete the Death March."
"So did all the rest of us," Hiruma growled. "If she wants something to bawl about, she could try the way the fucking monkey still can't pass worth shit - "
Musashi gave him a look.
"Oh, cry me a fucking river," Hiruma muttered, looking at the tabletop. "We can say you were with us in spirit, if that helps."
"Wish I could've." Musashi sighed.
"...you're here now." Hiruma was very interested in the flowers in the window, suddenly.
"Yeah, I am." Musashi brooded over his chicken.
"So. I'm full." Hiruma stood abruptly, stretched, and reached for his semiautomatic. "Gonna go back to the clubhouse and check on the fucking brothers. See you."
"See you." Musashi quietly paid.