Drunken Circles - JapanxReader Chapter 1

Drunken Circles

Chapter 1

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The air was thick with the laughter of drunkards. Women with their breasts bulging and men setting up their tents, everyone laughed a merry. Except for one, just-turned twenty-one year-old who sat in a deserted corner of the mahogany bar.

A dark air hung around her very-being. It was if one could grow mushrooms in such an air. A group of men cheered as a woman tumbled to the ground in laughter with a sound thud. The overhead lamp seized and glinted it's light off a bottle of half-empty lemon gin.

A bell tinkled softly as the frame of the wooden door knocked against it. The bartender on duty, with his black vest and white long-sleeves, raised his arms in hail for the trio of guests.

"Welcome, guests! I'm afraid we're a full-house tonight, but there are a few bar seats left open, if you would so please yourselves," He sweeped his arm to the right side of the bar, where exactly three red-leathered bar stools sat unbothered. The group of three made a small babble as they settled down into those seats. The person that sat in the corner shifted only slightly, away from their general direction, grumbling. The drunken twenty-one, glared at them.

The one farthest from her, was a study man, with his blonde hair slicked back, grumbled as he ordered a beer. The middle man, eagerly jumped on his seat. He rose his hand and asked if the bar sold pasta. When the bartender had informed him, they do not, the man with his odd curl of hair offered to make some for them. She looked at a pair of folded hands and found that the man sitting next to her was remarkably pale compared to the next two, who bore fresh tans of just-ripe browns. He kept his eyes down. The harsh shadows from the yellowed lights hid his face away.

She gave a small puff of discontent as she straightened her spine and swung the bottle of gin to her lips.

Glug glug glug.

"PWAH!"  The bottle klunked back down into the stained wood.

She glared at the man next to her. The man did not flinch a muscle, and continued to stare down at his folded pale hands. His folded white gloves laid by him, touching the white cuffs of his white sleeves. His white sleeves sewn perfectly under his ebony shoulder pads. The golden lining led her eyes to the golden buttons that trailed down his torso.They were perfectly spaced throughout the white garment that came to be a perfectly white, official, navy top. She looked down. White trousers. Creased perfectly on the side. Not a single stinkin' speck or stain. Dress shoes. Black. Just shined.

She slumped and stared at the swinging lamps in a drunken gaze. The empty bottle, shone and glittered against the light. Perfection. Something deep within her gin-filled belly, something, something, something about that annoyed her.

She belched under her breath. It burned her eyes and it reeked like alcohol, and a little bit of courage. Letting the rest of her, courage, swell up in her belly, she raised her palm.

BAM.

With gusto and personality, she slammed her print into the stained wood. The two men who accompanied the pale one turned to look at her. The man with the black hair did not. This annoyed her even more. She bammed her hand onto the wood once again. He did not turn. She let out a sound of unhappy. She closed her clammy fingers around his smooth wrist.

"HEY! Pay attention-" She paused and covered her mouth.

"When soooooooooomeone's," She jutted her thumb under her collarbone.

"Calling you!" She pulled his wrist and swung it back and forth in the air.

�"Which is me, me, me, me, ME!�" She whined in the manner of a child, who deemed she was neglected and had the right to complain.

The man bore a look of utter shock. His skin seemed to pale to the point that he could have easily be mistaken as an ethereal being. His body quivered on the lightest of trembles. The blonde man and the pasta boy looked in shock.

�"Hey-�" The blonde man interjected.

�"Don�ft you HEY me, Mister! My business is with this guy, RIGHT HERE!�" She slurred.

Her grip tightened on the man�fs wrist and she leaned forward into his face. His facial features swirled through her beer goggles. Her eyebrow twitched as she looked again at his immaculate white uniform.

�"Now, where do you get off?urp-looking so perfect in a bar like this!?�" She threw her arm out and gestured at the audience of women and men, who were too busy setting up who was sleeping with who to notice the scene cropping up.

�"W-with your WHITE-ASS uniform, WHAT ARE YOU!? Part of the?-�"She paused and whipped her hand to her mouth to keep her belly of gin down.

�"P-Prease ret go of me-�" He said. His trembles seemed to climb up the magnitude scale.

In the pit of her stomach, someone had pulled a plug deep within her as she looked up and down his being once more.

Immaculate. Perfect. How clean his uniform was, was because of how simply PERFECT he was born. Why couldn�ft she have been born perfect?

She gripped both his wrists and clasped them into her hands. She slid off the stool onto her feet. She bowed her head into his chest, weeping. The man�fs body shook on the highest of human magnitudes.

�"Why did they fire me!?�" She sniffed, her body now fully running on lemon gin with a hint of low self-esteem.

�"OH SENSEI! PLEASE TEACH ME YOUR PERFECT WAYS?�" She seized. The lemon gin wanted out. And someone inside her drunken self, a tiny sober part of her brain wanted to scream,

Oh no.

The crowd shrieked and yelled as lemon gin shaken with stomach acid and a topper of club soda escaped and splattered down the front of the poor, poor, God forsaken man. His navy uniform now colored rotted colors of red, orange and yellow.
The girl�fs hands slipped off the man�fs wrists as she stumbled to the floor, and crashed softly through the barrier that separated the world from the sleeping realm.

*


A pastel bird fluttered onto a dark wooded tree branch. The leaves of the tree shook softly with it�fs weight. The bird fluffed his soft colored feathers and sang it�fs tiny tunes. Another bird joined it, singing to it. The trees danced and swayed to the colorful duet.

A single leaf plucked itself off its home and flew down through the open doors of a Japanese styled patio and across tatami mats, landed softly onto the cheek of a sleeping woman.
�gUurhm�c�h The peach pink futon shifted in way of her stretching legs. Cotton brushed against cotton.

Her face was the very picture of peaceful, despite her rough night. Her cheeks, a soft pink, that matched the most alluring of sakura petals. Her hair dusted over her face, wisped over her neck, and splayed over the white pillow and cotton comforter.

The Japanese-styled door slid open quietly. A green tray was set beside the futon. A small bowl of rice, accompanied by a cup of tea sat on top of the tray. The steam from both mixing together, creating the lightest of aromas and spread throughout the room.

A pale hand swept over her face, and gently took the petal between two fingers. A content sigh from the woman who laid there.

The scratching of pen against paper accompanied the swaying of the leaves. A small note was pushed under the tray, and signed,

Honda Kiku.

The door slid close once more, and the woman breathed in harmony with the petals.