Description: When you're a socialite, you attend private parties to see others and to be seen. When you're Ryuhaku Todoh, you crash private parties to watch someone else's television. Mayhem strikes. Tension is high. Words are spoken that can never be taken back. And just like in the Bible times, new names are given. Hawaii will never be the same again.
Lush, tropical, gorgeous Hawaii. What better place to be during the cold season? It feels exquisite here! So it's the perfect place to go for vacations! Maybe even to reflect on oneself! Or hey, just plain training!
But no. Neither of these reasons is why Drake Vyril is present. He's here to work. And this time, it isn't combat-involved. He's actually here to do a photoshoot for an upcoming magazine. He's still young, still has his every limb, still has his perfect looks - he's just been slacking on this part of his career, is all.
But even still, this isn't what he's doing this beautiful, clear evening. No, Drake was invited to a private luau by some of the more upperclass citizens of Honolulu, held on a private area of the beach. So for the time being, he's enjoying the sights, sounds, and culture of the native islanders. A broad, wooden stage is set before the ocean with a huge backdrop, and currently on the platform is a trio of hula dancer girls. Drake isn't one of the grubby guys all crowded at the edge of the stage though, no. He's quite literally kicked back on his wicker seat, sandaled feet propped on a vacant seat in front of him. Arms are folded behind his head, lazy, self-indulgent smirk settled over his lips. He's been speaking with a few other socialites so far, but this right now is -his- time. So he fully intends to sit where he is and lounge, observing the dancing up ahead.
There is a name that few really care to remember, no matter how many times it has been stated on international television in weeks past. No matter how many relatively high-profile people he is matched up with (and then trumped), somehow, he just seems to have this uncanny ability to up and disappear.
It is almost as uncanny as his ability to reappear just about anywhere... if one cares to notice.
Still dressed as he is virtually anywhere else, he has weathered hot weather and the very prospect of dehydration as many times as one would expect for how long he's been here, however long he's been here. 'Here' being, in this case...
"YEH HAH HAH HAH HAAAAAAH!" The laughter is loud! Obnoxious! Proud! Irritating. He's delicately balancing on top of the backdrop with both arms crossed, but almost doubled over in laughter. What's so funny? What the hell? Really. A soft breeze lets his long black hair sway almost dramatically. Almost.
"Ah! Hah hah!" And then he starts slapping his knee, regardless of what attention he may be calling unto himself in his curious choice of perch and less than polite level of volume. It's Ryuhaku Todoh. The self-important man. The modern myth. The urban legend.
Totally not invited.
The loud guffaws - or mule braying, depending on who you ask - gathers attention very quickly. Most of the guys stop oogling the girls to peer up at the invader. He's far too scruffy for people to think he was invited. Come on, this is a high class shindig!
And given a couple more seconds, two of the three girls stop to peer up at the man. The third girl valiantly tries to continue.. but finally, the sensitive little thing just gives up and plops to her knees, sniffling. He went and hurt her feelings. Jerk.
Drake, meanwhile, has a very skewed look on his face. You know the look. The look you give a guy who's actually talking during a movie on a speaker phone. That look you made right there! That's the one! But he's seen worse company. Much worse. So he remains silent for the time being, expecting the security to take care of this little uproar. People aren't -helpless-, after all.
And sure enough, a couple men in business suits walk up to the edges of the stage, staring through sunglasses (despite it being nighttime) at Todoh. "Excuse me, Sir!," shouts one of the men, a nervous hush falling over the remainder of the luau. "We're going to have to ask you to leave! You're not on the guest list, and your disturbing the actual guests!"
The laughter dies down eventually, replaced by this OBVIOUS INVADER's eyes going wide as he suddenly finds his balance on top of the backdrop in peril. Arms wave about to the side as he tries to stay on top, but... for what purpose is he even /there/ to begin with?
"Aw, put a sock in it! Wait until the commercial break at least!" Commercial break? What?! "What's a man got to do to watch your local access cable shows, huh? Huh?! Bah!"
Rent a hotel room, maybe? Nonetheless, somewhere in the back of the crowd there is indeed a small portable TV playing some silly local access cable show of some sort. He came all this way just to do that? Regaining his balance, he draws a fan to, what else, fan himself. It bears the unmistakable flag of Japan. He appears unintimidated by the requests of the security detail. Because sometimes, old men feel entitled to the most petty of things.
Even among obscure fighters... apparently.
Unfortunately, no one knows what in the world he's talking about. Or if anyone does, they're not speaking up. Thus, the security personnel get a little short with him. "Get down from there this instant!," one demands. The other meanwhile climbs onto the stage and grabs at the backdrop to shake and wobble it around, hoping to topple the elderly man off of it. "This is a private party! You're not invited!"
Drake, meanwhile, is trying to stifle laughter. He's trying very hard. Hey, this kind of thing is funny. He's sure the security people can deal with it sooner or later, but in the meantime? It's entertainment! No one's getting hurt or anything.
It's already quite a challenge to even stand on top of that thing. Once they make the conscious effort to try and shake him off, they make plenty of headway as he shakes and wobbles on top of the backdrop. But, in the end, one of them must be well trained in the art of Shake Old Men Off Of Unstable Perches, for Ryuhaku finally takes the fall.
He tumbles onto the wooden stage on his side, continuing to roll off into the famous (privately owned) beach sand as though the wave-washed tropical paradise were a humbling thing to be thrown into. But, spry as he is, the elder Todoh shoots himself back up, not bothering to brush off the sand, and starts to angrily stomp past the audience. "Private party, pah! Trying to exclude ME, will all of you, huh?! Do you know who I am?"
Who doesn't ask that when shown the door - or when stopped at that very door to begin with? He comes to a stop somewhere within six feet of where Drake sits while the security detail tries to politely sift through the gathered to catch him. "You know who I am, don't you kid? You look like a bright one!"
In his eyes, hopefulness? Or just another arrogant, holier-than-thou-because-I'm-older sort of gaze as he takes this brief moment of peace before having to keep stomping along by, what else, still fanning himself. Hawaii is hot. Especially if you dress like Ryuhaku Todoh, who cares not for such trivial concerns as 'climate.'
Drake can no longer withhold the laughter. He knows it's rude, but now a fair portion of the people are laughing. An older man just went and tumbled right off the stage. And before anyone can even -think- that he might be hurt, he's back on his feet. So when Todoh approaches Drake, Drake's trying desperately to compose himself again. His index and middle finger set to his lips, amethyst eyes brightly set to the older man as he attempts to withhold further signs of amusement.
The question is posed.
Drake bites his lower lip.
Grin.
"Lieutenant Japan?"
And Drake bursts into laughter. He tried! It was an honest to God attempt! But the situation is far too hilarious. And he couldn't help but make the jab. C'mon, look at the guy!
"Lieutenant Japan?!" The response is loud, indignant, and dripping with offense and disdain. The fan in his hand rises up, as though he were to strike Drake across that pretty little face of his for the suggestion. Teeth are clenched in anger, fist in free hand closed tight.
He pauses. The tension relaxes almost instantly. Hm. That does have a ring to it. The moment he decides he has the time to really stand around and dictate what he does with himself on private property, one of the security detail guys actually grabs him by the arm. A hard shove later and that arm is freed.
"Well then! You just wait and see how 'Lieutenant Japan' takes the world by storm! I guarantee it with your money back!" He stomps back off past the crowd and into parts of the private beach obscure, still not winded from all the yelling and laughing and temperature and any other factors that should really prevent a man like him from even /being/ this livid. But this is Ryuhaku Todoh.
Or Lieutenant Japan.
"And the joke's on you because it'll be for free! You can bank on that! Yeh hah hah hah!! Ooooh, I'll be laughing all the way to cash that blank check of your little jokes and jibes, oh yes I will!" The voice begins to trail off unless someone decides to follow and record this for posterity's sake.
Drake manages to stifle his laughter enough to warrant Todoh with as much of a serious look as he's going to get from Drake. That is, a broad, mirthful grin, and absolutely sparkling amethyst eyes. Truth be told, he's still carefully restraining and withholding laughter.
"In that case, I salute you, Lieutenant Japan! I'll be keeping an eye out for you!" He... he can't tell if the old guy is just playing along, or if he's really serious about these things. But all the same, he thinks this little interlude was just what the luau needed to perk again. Sakes alive.
Drake gives his head a slow shake and looks back towards the stage, which is now berift of dancing girls, and instead features a very rotund bald man playing with a flaming stick.
Drake.. is appalled. He sits up sharply in his seat, eyes narrowed, and his head tips back to cry out at the night sky:
"DAMN YOU, LIEUTENANT JAPAN!"
Log created on 18:33:12 01/26/2008 by Drake, and last modified on 20:42:56 01/26/2008.