Luck of the Irish

“Hmmm.” The pudgy, middle-aged man behind the desk adjusted his glasses for the twelfth time and sat back again, his hands folded over a middle that barely fit his uniform.

Reminded Lachlan a little of a pompous Aerenden officer who’d never seen a speck of mud on his boots. The little country across the way always did like to make itself high and mighty. Oh I’ve got a brand new shiny helmet... He began in his head, waiting for the judgement to fall.

“No, I don’t believe we can make an exception for you.”

...And a pair of kinky boots. He didn’t smile. It'd have a hard time reaching his eyes. “It’s not about making an exception. I’m a citizen. I should be able to apply like anyone else.”

“A citizen of—” the man peered at Lachlan’s papers “—three years. How do I even know you can properly speak the language, or would abide by our customs? We can’t have foreigners coming in and trying to apply their corner’s rules to ours.”

The usual runaround, the usual arguments. Firmly shoving aside the rebuttal that he'd been immersed in their customs for four years, nevermind learned as much as he could even before then, and had no intention of trying to sit Wilind’s itchy arse on the Emperor’s throne—he went straight for the throat. “Major, I’ve come to this office six times, and each time I’ve been told the exact same thing. Almost every time I’ve been denied the chance to even file my application. Just this once, send it up to Edo. Let them decide. I’ll take it up with His Majesty if I have to.”

The man huffed like a bullfrog, waving his hand. “Why would His Majesty care? I don’t see any reason to even bother with an application. You won’t get anywhere.”

“I beg to differ.” He pulled out his jade talisman, holding it in front of the man’s face, and arched an eyebrow. “I know a little more about your traditions than you think. Don’t tell me the Emperor doesn’t still honour the old ways.”

The man squinted at it, taking it and frowning over the markings. Flipping it to view the back, he frowned harder at the Emperor’s seal. “Where did you steal this from?”

“I didn’t steal it, I gained it honourably.” Having it given to him as a gift still counted.

The man had really started to resemble a frog with that scowl. “You are no samurai, and you could have no samurai ancestor.”

“It was given to me by my sensei, a great man of an upstanding family.”

The irony.

“Hmm.” Major Toad closed his meaty hand around the talisman. “You want to petition His Majesty to look at your application?”

“Yes.”

“Well.” The man let out a gusty sigh and tapped the talisman against the desk lightly. “I’ll think about it.”

Hold on. “What?”

“I will consider it,” Toad declared, pushing Lachlan’s passport and certificate of citizenship back across the desk, the slight breeze from the wall-mounted air-conditioner stirring the edges. “I will discuss it with my superiors in Edo, and then we’ll see.”

“...When will you contact your superiors?”

“This week.” He waved his hand, still holding onto the talisman and making no move to give it back. “I’ll tell them about your omamori and they can decide if they want to put it forward to His Majesty.”

This week. As in, he’d forget about the whole thing the moment Lachlan walked out the door. This little— “Call them now.”

The man’s expression hardened. “Excuse me?”

Lachlan stabbed his finger down on the desk, holding his eyes. “Call them right now, so I can hear what they say.”

“I will not,” he said stiffly. “It will take at least an hour, and their offices will be closing just like ours very soon. In fact, I’m closing them now, so you will leave, or I will call in security.”

What a threat. He almost snorted. The sad lot that passed for security here would have a rough time dealing with him if he really got riled up. But he couldn't. Instead, forcing himself to step back, he gave him a thin smile that might've belonged better on an oni’s face. “My apologies. Though if you’re not going to bother, you’ll have to give that back to me.”

At his gesture, the man deliberately slid the jade trinket into his breastpocket, patting at the little bump. “If you want your application considered at all, then I need to keep hold of this so I can mail it with the forms.”

His fingers twitched. He chose to curl his hand into a fist back at his side instead of reaching across the desk and grabbing the bastard by the lapels. “I will want it back by the end of the week.”

“If your request is turned down, then you will. But if it isn’t, then it will be sent to His Majesty. What he chooses to do with it, I have no control over.”

Oh, oh, what a devil. He could’ve laughed, or boiled tea with the fiery heat wringing his insides and gnawing behind his ribs. Just like the Aerends, eh? Always looking for something to hold over your head.

I hate, he thought, slipping his hands into his sleeves and bowing with a jaw tight enough to crack, these administrative types. “Thank you very much.”

He left before his temper could overtake his head. There was nothing short of outright threatening the man that he could do to turn this situation around, and no way in hell he was withdrawing his application. Sorry, Oji. He did take a moment to mutter a few choice curses in a language the man wouldn’t have a hope of understanding on the way out, though.

Well, that'd gone terribly. He hissed between his teeth as soon as he left the waxed wood floors and air-conditioned interior for the smell of grills, woks, and sweaty gamblers on the street. Damn it all. Fortune just followed him everywhere, didn’t it.

As he strode past a group sitting on a dusty tatami mat, drinking sake and playing dice, that fortune peeled itself off one of the pillars and stepped into his path, full-body tattoos on display under his half-open jacket.

Oh, so Shimizu was back from his holiday up in Edo, eh? That coincided nicely with Oji's new yakuza problem. He deliberately lengthened his stride, hands dug firmly into his pockets.

"Hold on, gaijin, what are you running for?" The man grinned like the snake tattoo winding up under his chin. "In a hurry to get back to that old man?"

"No, I just don't appreciate your company, so sod off." The last he said deliberately in Angaelic.

"Uneducated gaijin. You can't even speak properly." Shimizu shook his head, clucking his tongue. "You look like a rat crawled in your rice. Did the poor gaijin get turned down again?"

He clenched his jaw. "What do you want?"

"Roku, Roku, you should know." The man moved as if to put his hand on Lachlan's shoulder. He conveniently never made it there. Wise choice. Must've been the glare that turned him off.

"You told Erika-san not to take our fish, didn't you." He stopped and turned, meeting Shimizu's eyes with the force of a freight train. "Why?"

Something flickered in the man's face for just an instant, and wiped away with a sneering smirk. "I know you've got it in your pocket. Give it to me, and we won't have to worry about that."

Wait. He paused, something cold abruptly stealing along the edges of his anger. "The talisman he won?"

"The omamori he stole." Shimizu's eyes flashed, his fingers flicking in a deliberate gesture, smile more teeth than anything. "That old man couldn't win a grain of dirt if he begged the kami for luck. I know he cheated."

Dammit. His hand almost itched with the knowledge it wasn't sitting in his pocket. It was almost laughable. Shimizu was all of five minutes too late.

Lachlan turned casually away, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't see how you can prove it. You handed it over, the dealer must've approved it."

"Don't test me, gaijin. I want it back." Shimizu's voice lowered, quiet and dangerous. "And I will get it back."

"I'll think about it."

"Are you sure you want to do that?"

There was... something in the man's voice. It made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, and he glanced over his shoulder, eyes narrowed.  Shimizu's lidded smile sent warning bells clanging in his skull. "I'm sure you can wait a day or two. What makes you think I even have it on me?"

His eyes sharpened. "You had it in your pocket. Kousei saw it."

He hummed. Of course they'd been following him. "Could've been anything."

"Gaijin," the man all but hissed, "if you lost it I will send you to burn in hell."

"That's funny. They didn't accept me last time." He started wandering off nonchalantly. "Like I said, I'll talk it over with Hironaga-san."

Some strange mixture between a laugh and a serpent's hiss came from behind him. "It might be too late for that. Oh well, I was planning on this either way. Too bad for you and that bastard."

He stopped abruptly, snapping around to see a smile that made his blood run cold.

"Maybe this will make you think twice before trying to swindle me," Shimizu said pleasantly, holding his eyes.

"What did you do, Shimizu." The leather of his gloves creaked, his pulse beating in his ears.

The man just turned with a smirk.

The clack of his sandal cracked down the street, his whole body poised one second away from lunging. "Shimizu!"

"If I were you, I'd hurry. You might make it in time," the yakuza purred, rolling a heavy-lidded smile over his shoulder.

He swore viciously. Dammit, dammit. "I can get you the damn talisman, just call it off!"

"I'm sorry, but it's already happening." He wasn't sorry at all. "You'll just have to give it back later."

"Damn you to hell," he snarled, turning on his heel and sprinting down the street, his feet pounding in time with his heart, blood roaring in his ears. The bastard wouldn't listen if he begged for his life, and damn him if he'd bother sticking around to do it.

I'll strangle him, he seethed, racing straight into the yokai garden with the hounds of hell on his heels. I'll lock him away for his own damn good.

"Onii-san—?"

"We're going. Now." He banished the dragon in an abrupt puff of light motes, the children scrambling to their feet and blinking wide startled eyes at him as he strode past. "Come on!"

"O-Onii-san...?"

He didn't have time to feel sorry at Tobira's small, quivering voice as he trotted along with his sister behind him to catch up. The dragon had coiled inside his rib-cage, twisting and writhing like a live thing, and he had to fight not to just run ahead and leave them behind. "Just keep up."

"Is— something wrong?" Aiko huffed, the fear in her voice crawling inside his ears.

"Your chichi's done something stupid." The thinning crowd peeled hastily away from them as they hurried down the street. He didn't bother to pay them any attention. "He's in trouble."

Something caught at his left arm, and flicked a glance down to see a small hand clutching his fist, Aiko's huge eyes staring up at him. "Let's go quickly."

And they did.

He tucked them in front of him on the bike, both quiet as a mouse and not objecting as he kicked the motorbike into life and tore through the quiet town, softly lit windows blurring past and the wind stinging his eyes. The road home stretched out ahead, powerlines and trees stripping past, the dusk creeping cold fingers into the depths of his soul with every minute passing by, no matter how recklessly fast he pushed it.

"Your heart's beating a lot," Aiko said, quiet enough he wouldn't have heard it if he was anyone else, as they hit a stretch with fewer potholes and he leaned low over the handlebars. "Is— is Otou-chan and Kaasan— are they going to get hurt?"

His hands squeezed the grips tight enough he could feel it even in his left hand. "Not if I can help it."

No, not this time. He flew down the road, all his focus on avoiding a crash and going as fast as possible, the twisting of his stomach singing in his ears under the all-consuming roar of the wind. Not this time.

He held to that, praying to and cursing every spirit, deity, and the God-core itself all the way, till the roofs of the village cut the darkening horizon and he had half a moment to breathe a choked sigh of relief.

And then he smelled the smoke.