Juri - Party Crasher

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Description: Finding herself growing bored of the usual club scene in Southtown, Juri heads off to find out what all the clamour is about this new place that's popped up recently. Turns out the staff's dedication to their craft is quite remarkable.

Since the opening of Mars & Venus, the combined host and hostess club has quickly made it's way to an almost shocking popularity. The televised fight on the opening day certainly helped with the publicity, and so did the declaration that a significant amount of the profits from the club's operation were getting channeled into Southtown's restoration efforts. Nothing stirs up frivolous spending from people with a lot of money than the implication that their decadence will result in something good. Makes for good optics for politicians, especially.

THe club may not be as overwhelmingly busy tonight as on those initial opening days, but still, the tables have been filled out more than decently. Enough that by this point, very few people without reservation get to come in.

Inside the club proper, a house band has settled on stage to provide live music as a background to the hustle and bustle of the customers settled into the various lavishly cushioned booths, enjoying their drinks and the company of beautiful hosts and hostesses in tight dresses and fancy suits -- and in the case of some clients, both.

Near the entrance proper, and the counter where a maitre'd has settled to greet newly-arriving customers and lead them off to a free booth, another man is flipping through a leather-covered book, frowning faintly. The regulars around these parts might immediately recognize the owner of the club himself -- Tairyu, dressed up in his typical black suit and partially-unbuttoned maroon dress shirt. One might expect him to wear something much more formal in a place like this, but for better or worse, after the SNF fight that took place here, this particular outfit has ended up becoming part of some 'image', and one of the floor managers convinced him it'll be good to maintain that particular image.

"Surprisingly many reservations without a request for a specific host or hostess today," the man rumbles in thought while he fingers through the listings in the book.

"Newcomers and tourists, I think," the tuxedo-clad attendant on the other side of the counter suggests while leaning in over the countertop. "The first week was almost overbooked, sir. Some of the local big names went and made reservations for several nights in a row so a lot of the timeslots were taken up just like that."

"Sheesh. We're going to have to put some restrictions in place on that before we start getting complaints."

"Ugh, this place blows. I'm out."

Repeating herself for what must have been the tenth time this evening, a young woman roughly thrusts her arm out to shove away the nameless pair of young men who, for the past five minutes or so, have been aggressively rubbing up against her in what she assumes was an attempt at dancing. Considering the amount of wandering their hands were doing, it's far more likely they just wanted an excuse to get frisky. On many days, she would have been fine with that; hell, she'd probably have encouraged it. But tonight she's just not feeling it.

Ignoring the surprised calls of protest left in her wake, the girl turns and wanders towards the exit. A staggered hitch in her gait betrays the excess of alcohol in her blood, every other step sending her drunkenly weaving into someone. But amidst the sea of swaying half-dressed patrons bouncing erratically to the beat of some over-produced techno music hardly anyone even seems to notice. Hyperactive strobe lights rake wildly across the room granting brief flashes of the chaos like an old black and white movie skipping half its frames.

It takes her far longer than she wants to push her way through the throng. She hisses out low guttural curses at each impediment that gets in her way, barely restraining the urge to simply remove them from her path. Each time she starts to gather up the energy to do exactly that a wave of nausea washes over her and she's forced to redirect that effort into keeping the contents of her stomach from violently ejecting themselves onto her feet. After several minutes of intense effort, she succeeds in slipping free of the throng and staggers out onto the street.

The first thing she does upon obtaining her freedom is to wobble over to the alley next to the club and finally give in to the inevitable. A few people passing by pause to watch her wretch miserably. A sharp glare from the girl sends them packing quickly enough. Even piss drunk, there's few people as capable of radiating pure menace as this particular teenager.

She isn't quite sure how much times passes as she kneels alone on the pavement. The cold stone of the building's exterior wall offers a bit of relief against the side of her temple and she's content to rest there and recover for a while. Having escaped the absurdly loud music of the club, the pounding in her head slowly recedes from a herd of stampeding elephants to the banging of a particularly ambitious tribal war drummer; unpleasant but manageable.

Rising to her feet, the girl idly wipes at her mouth with the back of one hand caring little what she might be smearing onto the sleeve of her expensive designer jacket. Her outfit is less obviously flashy than her typical attire but only by virtue of the locale. The hoodie, obviously a size or two too large for her slender frame, hangs loosely about her shoulders. The front of the gray garment is completely unzipped leaving the soft pale flesh of her torso that isn't covered up by a lacy tube top exposed to the night air.

Letting out an involuntary shiver, she pulls the hood up over her head, covering her raven black hair with a pair of massive cat ears stitched onto the top. A ridiculous garment anywhere else, it blends in seamlessly with the sort of fashion quite common among Japanese youths. More importantly, it covers up the pair of twin horn-like protrusions at the top of her head. Going incognito isn't usually her style but the recent attack on the city has left its defenders a bit wound tight and she's not really in the mood to be the whipping boy for all of the NOL's pent up frustrations tonight.

Digging around in the pockets of a pair of excessively tight black jeans, she manages to fish out a small pink cell phone. She squints blearily at the screen as it lights up with the intensity of the sun, managing to read the blurry text with the aid of the computer embedded into her left eye. Hah! Bet the nerds at S.I.N. never thought she'd be using the world's most advanced battle software to cruise the Internet for local bars. The thought makes her giggle uncharacteristically as she scrolls through a listing of tourist destinations.

"Nah. Nope. Lame. Been there already. Shitty food. Smells like a dumpster..."

She rattles off a list of reasons to reject each and every name on the list, talking out loud for no particular reason. This goes on for nearly a full minute before she notices a name that is unfamiliar to her. Frowning, she taps the icon and peers at the description.

"A hostess club? Shit, didn't those go out of style around the time disco died?"

She grins stupidly, pulling up the address. This place sounds hilarious and her buzz is already starting to wear off. And being sober just isn't on her list of things to do tonight.

Roughly fifteen minutes later, she arrives at her destination. The presence of the long line of people waiting to be let it does nothing to dissuade her from waltzing towards the front doors. The large hand that clamps down on her shoulder is more effective. Tilting her head up to regard a bulky man in an expensive suit, her brain eventually categorizes the idiot she's about to kill as a bouncer.

Nah. There's no need to be hasty. Surely, he just doesn't know who she is. She is wearing a disguise after all.

Turning towards the burly gangster, Juri puts her a hand on her hip and gives the man her best dismissive teenager stare. Leaning forward, she jabs a finger into his chest, swaying slightly.

"Listen up, goon. You're gonna get out of my way. Because if you don't, I'm gonna kick you so hard you'll... you'll..."

She wobbles unsteadily, reaching out to grab hold of the expensive suit to hold herself upright.

"Look, just fuck off out of my way... or you'll regret it."


Tairyu's conversation with his assistant is cut abruptly short as the front door to the club literally explodes off its hinges in a blast of searing neon purple light. A massive humanoid shape tumbles bonelessly into the foyer like an oversized cannonball, bits of the ruined door that his body shattered flying in all directions as he skids ass over end a good twenty feet into the club before finally coming to rest face down. The sounds of panicked screams pour into the newly created hole in the wall drowning out the soft pleasant music being played by the live band.

As the dust starts to settle, a second much smaller shape saunters through the ruined doorway. Juri smirks as she steps drunkenly into the club, leaning on the ruined doorframe because it makes her look cool and definitely not because she's having trouble standing up. She shrugs at the unmoving shape of the bouncer, flipping him the bird with a finger sporting bright pink nail gloss.

"Told ya."

There's very few ways to end a conversation as effective as a door getting annihilated by a burly man sent flying through it and the ensuing screams from bystanders caused by the display of violence. The sound reaches the club floor proper too well enough that the music is brought to an abrupt stop by the attention of more or less everyone inside getting caught.

Naturally, this does mean Tairyu's attention has been pretty firmly brought over to the door, too... or rather, what remains of the door, and the young woman leaning against the frame of the door that used to be there.

"... I suppose it was only a matter of time," he mutters, in a tone much calmer than should be warranted by the situation. The attendant on the other side of the counter is more than making up for the club owner's lack of panic, though, even while Tairyu calmly snaps the reservation book closed in his hand and slides it over the countertop.

"Check our insurance, will you?"

There's no urgency in Tairyu's step, either, when he moves up to the prone bouncer who had the misfortune of being turned into a wrecking ball, and lightly taps his toe against his side. There's a low groan and a little twitch. Okay, good, he's not dead.

"While I admire the determination get inside," Tairyu speaks out then, while his green gaze moves up from the unconscious guard up to the culprit herself, with brows slightly raised up. He seems suspiciously *not* upset by the property damage she's caused.

"We still don't have any free seating at the moment. You're going to have to wait... Hm. Kashiwagi!"

"Eh?! Yes!"

Tairyu's head cranes back just enough to peek back to the shaking maitre'd, and he asks simply, "How long until until the next reservation runs out?"

"What? But, that's-- the next--"

"Just check the list and tell me."

"Y-y-yes sir!"

There's a quick, panicked rustling of the reservation book and the pages within, a few seconds passing before the maitre'd finally comes up with the answer: "F-f-f-five minutes!"


And thus his focus turns back to Juri. "Five minutes."

That's not exactly the kind of response most business owners would be giving to a drunkard wrecking their place, is it?

The young woman seems content to bask in the aftermath of her aggressive introduction. The looks of terror and panic from the patrons and most of the staff are quite satisfying to her drunken teenage ego. She doubts any of them recognize her personally, otherwise they would already be running, but this is a good start.

The suspicious lack of said terror and panic in one individual quickly marks him as the primary target for the predatory gaze of the unexpected guest. Juri's gaze shifts towards the gangster as he assesses the damage dealt to his unfortunate employee, remaining silent until the large man confirms he survived by twitching a little.

"Guess you must be the manager..."

The teenager grins smugly, her voice practically dripping with conceited amusement. Every word comes out in a sultry purr that seems intentionally designed to sound as arrogant and aloof as possible yet has an unmistakably alluring undertone to it. The light slurring of her words only slightly detracts from the appeal.

"Your thug was quite rude to me. It seemed only appropriate to teach him some manners. Lesson One was how to open the door for a lady."

Juri's superior smirk fades into an annoyed scowl as the over-dressed buffoon checks with his accountant, or whatever the other stuffy peacock is supposed to be. Don't have any free seats? Her eyes shift to the array of tables and booths, each currently occupied by wide-eyed patrons and attractive escorts. Looks like a whole lot of options available to her.

"You don't seem to get it, huh?"

Pushing away from her perch on the door frame, the girl slinks towards Tairyu with the grace of a predatory beast. Even her obvious drunkenness can't conceal the underlying finesse that drives her movements, each slow and purposeful step hinting at hidden potential. She comes to a stop about two steps too late, crowding right up into the Yakuza's personal space hard enough to practically be standing on his toes. If it wasn't yet obvious that she's been overindulging on the sake tonight, the stench of alcohol on her breath at this range is unmistakable.

"Tell me..."

Her fingers dig into the front of his silly shirt using it as an anchor point to pull herself up closer to the annoyingly tall man's face. Okay, she'd meant to tug him down to her level but raw strength has never been her thing. The teen gives him an annoyed glare, one eyebrow quirking upwards questioningly as she tilts her chin towards the unconscious lump.

"Do I look like someone who fuckin waits on other people?"

To Tairyu's credit, he doesn't seem to so much as flinch while Juri approaches him. Nevermind that he must, surely, recognize the power packed into her body, and that it's beyond foolish to try to stand up to her.

And yet, even when she tugs on his partially unbuttoned shirt (with potentially another button popping loose from the the rough handling), he keeps himself still, save for his green eyes tracking the predatory girl's movements, and locking them on straight into her own once she's brought herself up to meet his face.

"No, I do understand quite well," he claims, in answer to her, with his own brow quirking up in a mirror of her own. "You're going to beat up me and my security if I don't give you what you want in an instant. Right? But I wonder..."

A subtle tilt of the man's head to the side there, but beyond that, he doesn't make any other move. Even the eye contact isn't broken, and he doesn't make even a token effort to push the girl off of himself.

"What kind of people are going to be coming through that door to investigate all those blasts of concentrated energy by the time you're done with me? I hear the military and the Librarium in town are real twitchy about that sort of thing right now. Can't imagine it'll be easy to enjoy the drinks like that."

His head shifts itself back upright, and the subtlest of twitches tugs one corner of the man's mouth slightly upwards. "Or, you can wait the five... well, I guess it's closer to four minutes now. And after that booth's freed up, you can spend your evening with a boy or girl of your choice, instead of finding out who comes knocking. Which way is it going to be, dear customer? I'm not too fussed myself."

"Beat you up...?"

The words are spoken with equal parts confusion and amusement. Juri's eyes slide closed and she rocks backwards on her heels, tossing her head back to let loose a cackle that can only be described as maniacal. The poofy hood of her jacket falls away to reveal the infamous 'horns' of her rather unique hairstyle, a dead giveaway to her identity should the gangster be familiar with the more important faces of the criminal underworld.

Juri in particular tends to be quite well known thanks to her personality. A sadist to the core, she thoroughly enjoys playing the role of Shadaloo's assassin and knee-breaker. Most of the time she doesn't even need orders, she just does it for fun, taking her time to toy with her victims and slowly break them while they scream and beg for mercy. Not that she ever gives them any. Even if he isn't familiar with her face or other physical attributes, the stories of the killer girl with the glowing purple eye have spread far and wide since her debut.

The teenager's laughter carries on for an awkward amount of time, the girl seeming to find his statement far funnier than should be warranted. It's probably the alcohol, she always was a tipsy drunk. Her fingers remain tightly coiled in Tairyu's shirt as she giggles away, holding onto the expensive fabric for support as she leans backwards. After a minute or so she slowly starts to regain her composure, wiping at her eyes with the sleeves of her hoodie.

"Oh, that's a good one. I'll have to remember that. Beat you up... hehehe!"

When she lifts her face back up to regard the Yakuza again, the smug grin is neatly back in place. Of far more distressing note, however, is the neon pink star that has blossomed to life in her left eye. Shining with all the overblown brilliance of an ill-placed lens flare in a J.J. Abram's movie, the ominous unnatural light literally radiates raw malice so intense that it he can feel it in his brain. Negative chi, the dark side of the Force, psychic energy - whatever you want to call it, it's pure evil given form and she's got it in spades.

Juri doesn't have to bother trying to be intimidating as she grins up at the foolish man trying to have a dick waving contest with her. She just is. That's what happens when you're given the sort of power that she commands. But it's more fun when you rub it in the faces of the insects scurrying around your feet. She likes to let them sweat as she lifts her foot, never knowing if she'll smash it down on them out of pure whimsy until it's too late. Not that they could stop her if they wanted to.

The world's deadliest teenager lifts her free hand and extends her pointer finger and middle fingers, walking them casually up Tairyu's chest as her voice drops into a low sultry tone. The way she speaks more closely resembles someone trying to seduce a partner into their bed rather than scare the living shit out of them. A spider tempting yet another fly into its silken web.

"You needn't concern yourself with who might come running to your rescue... tough guy."

When her fingers reach the bottom of his collar, she dances them upwards rapping the tip of his nose with a 'playful' flick.

"By the time I'm done here, there won't even be /walls/ for those chumps to come knocking on."

There's two obvious things that happen there. Firstly, the club owner's brow twitches visibly with annoyance prompted by the laughter.

But much more importantly, recognition flickers in Tairyu's gaze. It's not as if he personally knows Juri, no -- but the hairstyle is a dead giveaway. And when it comes down to it, the young woman's reputation precedes her enough to be known in these circles.

Whatever concern that comes with that doesn't make him try to back away or push her away from him yet, either way. It's not as if though either of those things would do much good right now. Not even when She makes that obvious threat and sends a flick to his nose, leaving it wrinkling from the irritating physical contact.

"And here I was hoping for just a calm drink," the Yakuza mutters, brows furrowing deeper down while he continues the futile staredown with the teenager, and security through the club floor starts corralling people to getting off their seats and towards the back exit. The people waiting up outside have surely cleared off by now after the initial kicking in of the door.

"You expecting me to beg? Even if I wasn't too stupid for that kind of thing, I'm sure it wouldn't do a thing anyway."

It's now that his hand finally moves out, reaching up over to the hand she's holding onto his shirt with. Not quite grabbing, not yet at least, so much as just laying over her wrist.

"You going to do what you came here to do, or you going to keep dancing over it?"

Juri's gaze follows the hand now resting on her wrist. There's no pressure there, no attempt to overpower her and pry her away. Recognition seems to have dawned on the man as to what level of calamitous misfortune has wandered through his front door. Death wearing the guise of a capricious teenager looks up at him and grins.

"Beg? Mmm... nah. Normally, I'd be into it. Taking tough guys like you and breaking them over my knee is one of the greatest joys in life. The look on a man's face when he realizes his life is in the hands of some scrawny teenage girl?"

The girl in question finally releases her grip on Tairyu's shirt as she takes a step back. Her hands come up, thumbs and forefingers extended to create a mimicry of a camera which she uses to frame the gangster's disgruntled expression. Juri's tongue pokes out slightly from between her lips, dragging from one side of her mouth to the other as if savoring the after-taste of some particularly savory morsel.

"Mmmmmm... so good."

Staggering sideways after a few seconds of mocking him, the teenager giggles drunkenly as she slides over to the nearest wall to keep her balance. In so doing, she catches sight of all the guests being cleared out of the club via some rear exit. The baleful light of the Feng Shui Engine winks out as it returns to its dormant state almost instantly, taking with it the heavy psychic pressure that was attempting to squeeze the gangster's brain into a gooey paste.

"Ugh... really?!"

Juri throws her arms out towards the retreating patrons with an exasperated noise and casts an annoyed glare at Tairyu. All this melodrama for nothing?

"If you were willing to shove em out the back door, why didn't ya just do that in the first place? I could already be chilling out with a couple of your fancy whores and a fresh bottle of..."

She trails off, head swiveling around to scan her surroundings for some signs of a bar.

"The fuck do you even serve in a place like this? I bet it's some overpriced garbage from Europe with pretentious names."

Slinking further into the club, Juri looks around for a few moments before making a direct line towards the biggest and fluffiest seat she can find and throws herself onto it with a sigh. An almost orgasmic groan escapes her lips as she sinks into the cushions, stretching out like she owns the joint.

"Mmm, that's better."

After a few moments of luxuriating in this new-found pleasure, Juri tilts her head back far enough to call out towards the gangster.

"Hey, you gonna find me some company and a drink or do I gotta lodge another formal complaint?"

She lifts a single hand and snaps her fingers sassily in the air a couple of times as if giving commands to a butler.

"And get that band back out here. This place is Dullsville."

"Figures that'd be the kind of thing that gets you off," Tairyu's voice rumbles, just before the two seperate. He already fully expects that created distance between the two of them to be but a temporary respite.

"That ain't how I plan to die."

While not outright defiant, there is a certain stubborn air in the man, even while his foot slightly shits back with a slight bend of a knee, even while a single bead of nervous sweat drips down to glisten into his brow. Is he really prepared for death, right here and now?

But then, all that built up tension, all that steeling of nerves -- it all practically fizzles away. Maybe not in that moment when the glow fades away from the teenager's eye and the overwhelming metaphysical pressure draws back, but definitely in that instant she throws her arms out and complains.


So shocked is the club owner by this complete turn of intent in Juri that he doesn't even manage to gather the sense to explain the real intent behind the clearing of the club behind him (and that might be for the best right now anyway), or even immediately bring himself turning around when she just... casually steps right past him.

He needs a second or two to just regather the metaphorical pieces of his mind off the floor and fully catch up with the fact that, no, he has not in fact been disintegrated into a billion atoms by some blast of Psycho power.

A sensible man would likely just take this particular opportunity to run like hell and avoid that off chance that Juri decides on the more violent playtime again instead.

But not Tairyu, apparently. For better or worse, a certain sense of principle not only keeps him here right now, but even guides him to stepping after Juri, in place of an attendant that's... well, nowhere to be found anymore.

And with her req- no, it's really a demand, isn't it? With her demand, the gangster throws a slow look over their immediate surroundings, and notes, in complete deadpan, "... I am almost positive you scared everyone off," before letting out a deep sigh. "... But I can get you a drink, at least. What's your poison?"

Playing butler to a girl younger than him definitely wasn't how he expected this day to go for him, but what are you gonna do?

Juri gives a long exasperated sigh, kicking her shoes off lazily. Of course, everyone ran away. That's what they always do when she shows up, skitter off to hide like the insects they are. Whatever. She's too comfortable and woozy to do anything about it now. Though that second part is starting to get less true with every passing moment.

"My poison?"

The girl barks out a laugh, reclining sideways on the couch with an exaggerated flop.

"I /am/ poison, tough guy. That's why they call me Spider."

With the potential need for violence having passed now that she's gotten what she wanted - well, mostly - Juri's demeanor returns to that of a seductive vixen. She purrs her words in a low velvety tone that seems designed to entice him to lower his guard and be drawn in to her suggestive embrace. The fact that she was about two seconds from turning him into a pasty smear on the wall of his own establishment doesn't seem to factor in. Perhaps this is just simply how she always is, a deadly siren calling out to everyone caught in the maelstrom that is her existence.

"Just grab something strong. I'm starting to lose my buzz here."

Figures she should say something like that. Fortunately for Tairyu, he manages to keep himself from rolling his eyes. Now is surely not the time to be getting snarky.

"... I'll be right back, then."

Another opportunity to run away, considering the distance he has to actually make to get the requested drink. But no. At the end, Juri will still find the club owner returning to the cushioned booth she claimed for herself (along with the rest of the club...). With two bottles and a single glass in his hands, no less.

"Thought you might like to have options," he offers, now with the proper air of a customer service professional rather than that of a fighter preparing to go out in a blaze of glory, as he leans down and settles the items on the table in front of them. Firstly; an expensive-looking blue bottle of Junmai-sake bearing the kanji for Hakkaisan Tokubetsu upon it. Secondly; a top-shelf bottle of Suntory whiskey.

Sure, Juri may have effectively just ruined an entire night's worth of business with her sole presence alone, and just barely chosen *not* to annihilate Tairyu, but he will be *damned* if anyone has an excuse to claim he's not treating a guest properly.

By the time he returns with her drink, Juri has adopted the air of a petulant spoiled rich girl as opposed to a coiled predator ready to strike. She lies stretched out on the booth's sofa on her side, head propped up lazily on one hand, her long legs entwined together at the ankles. The thick hoodie has been pulled down off her shoulders and hangs loosely about her arms leaving her well-toned flesh exposed to the more pleasant climate of the club. Like Cleopatra herself waiting to be attended to.

The teenager's eyes shift sideways to regard Tairyu as he steps into view, fixating on the two bottles in his hands. She licks her lips at the prospect of a fresh drink to keep her happy time rolling.

"About time. I was starting to think I'd have to find some... other way to entertain myself."

She stretches in a fashion that cannot be classified as anything but suggestive with those words, her expression shifting to a sultry half-lidded smile. But teasing this uptight gangster is a lot less exciting of a prospect than getting a fresh dose of poison down her throat. Her unoccupied hand lifts lazily into the air, flopping back and forth in a playfully indecisive fashion between the two bottles.

"Mmmm... oh, I dunno... that one, I guess."

She extends a finger to tap the bottle of sake a couple of times, her movements slow and deliberate. The glass exterior tinks as the tip of her painted nail raps on its surface, the sound unusually clear in the silence of the empty club.

"I hope your sense of booze is better than your taste in fashion."

Tairyu's brow twitches. How the hell did his evening turn out like this? Suppose this is still better than risking the wellbeing of a collection of bystanders or losing the club entirely.

But still. Even if the girl isn't exactly hard on the eyes, it's hard not to feel a small measure of frustration here, what with her acting like the daughter of some feudal lord of past. Thank the heavens he wasn't born into those times.

"... Very well," he rumbles, before taking the bottle and glass both. Uncapping the first to pour more than a healthy amount of the faintly-aromatic rice wine to the latter. He can't really complain too much about having to do *this*. The hosts and hostesses here pour drinks for their clients all the time.

It's just the first time he's had to play host himself.

He even draws one knee down once the drink has been poured, to close himself in to Juri's seating proper and hold out the glass with both hands. Hey, maybe he'd make a decent butler afterall.

"What's wrong with my clothes?" Comes a deadpan question as he does, however, with another subtle twitch of an eyebrow. It wouldn't really be the first time someone called his suit atrocious, but somehow he *still* seems completely oblivious about the state of his fashion sense. Or lack thereof.

Juri watches the man she's reduced from owner to bartender by her sheer dominating presence pour the drink for her with a smug little smile. Normally, she not really the sort of person who gets a lot of pleasure from being waited on hand and foot. Her father had been an extremely successful and wealthy lawyer before crossing Shadaloo. Having maids and butlers tend to her every need is hardly anything new to the girl. But after losing her family and devoting herself to the path of furious vengeance she's never quite managed to find happiness in the vast wealth left to her by her parents passing.

Not that she hasn't tried to fill that hole in her heart with all the things that wealth can buy. Expensive cars, fancy clothes, wild parties. She's the poster child for what happens when you give an unsupervised teenager access to almost limitless money. But it didn't take long for her rebellious angst to turn into something darker and more destructive. What she wanted wasn't going to be found at the bottom of a bottle, no matter how expensive its contents. She needed power, the power to take revenge on the man who ruined her chance at a normal life.

And she got it. Not from the most savory of places but that didn't matter to her. Whatever the source, whatever the cost, she wanted it and whatever stood in her way was just an obstacle to be smashed apart. Even before the twisted technology of S.I.N. granted her the power of a demi-god, the adorable little Korean girl that she once was had long since been consumed by the demon born from the fires of unquenchable hatred.

Reaching out to accept the glass offered to her by Tairyu, Juri smirks at his attempt to remain professional in spite of her antics. Dedication to his purpose. That's something she can respect. That or this is his way of trying to placate her so she won't annihilate his little corner of the world in a fit of whimsy. She can respect that too, though not without feeling a familiar surge of disappointment at the possibility.

Ironically, her ascent to apex predator has shown her just how pathetic and pitiful most of humanity is, robbing her of much of the enjoyment of crushing them under her feet. It's so rare to find someone capable of keeping up with her any more. For the most part, it's just... him.

The girl's expression sours as her mind moves conjures up an image of that stupid butt-chinned monster. She quickly puts the glass to her lips and chugs its contents down in a few deep gulps. The liquid burns on its way down but it is a pleasant heat rather than the sharp sting of cheap booze. She's experienced enough high quality alcohol to know this is some of the good stuff.

"Mmmm, fuck... that's what I needed. Come to momma, darling."

Pushing herself up to a cross-legged sitting position, Juri leans forward and nabs the bottle off the table. Reclining, she pours herself a fresh glass, eyeing the Yakuza up and down as he questions her critique of his ensemble.

"Seriously? You look like a reject from an old porn movie from the 70's. I'm surprised those pants don't have bell bottoms."

If nothing else, at least there should be some satisfaction to know that the customer is satisfied with the drink brought to her. ... Nevermind that Juri is *hardly* the regular kind of customer by any stretch of the imagination.

The Yakuza straightens up after she's snatched the bottle wholesale for herself, only to end up looking down at himself - his chosen clothes - with visible bemusement.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," he insists, spreading his hands out slightly while his own gaze draws along the black blazer jacket and the partially-unbuttoned red dress shirt. "I'd have thought this was much more muted than what you see around on the streets these days."

Depends on the street, probably.

He lets out a low sigh over that, and lets his arms fold loosely together just below his ribcage, while his gaze considers the girl sitting there now. Irritation slowly turns into something else. Furrowing brows relax, and his head slowly cocks slightly over to one side. Something seemed a bit off with her, to him, before she got her hands on the sake.

"Something on your mind?"

Juri snorts at the gangster's pitiful attempt to defend his choice of clothing, shaking her head slowly.

"That's the problem! Who the hell wants to be 'muted'?"

Taking another swallow from her drink, the teenager sprawls out on the couch, resting her arms across the back of the sofa. One leg extends in his direction, her big toe pointing at him like an accusing finger. Just like her fingers, the nail is coated in a shiny bright pink coat of gloss that reflects the soft lighting.

"Don't ya have a voice? Or is it part of male Japanese DNA that makes anyone over the age of twenty want to dress up like some corporate business drone?"

The glass of sake is relieved of its contents and refilled again in short order, giving time for the gangster to voice his apparent concern for her mental state. A flash of anger washes over the teenager's face at the question, her fingers tightening around the glass so hard that a small crack forms in the side. For a moment it looks as if he might have stepped on a hidden landmine. But, after a few seconds of glowering at the bottle in her hand, Juri relaxes and takes another drink. The booze seems to refresh her good cheer, returning her expression to its lazy drunken smirk as she gives Tairyu a lopsided look.

"What, you tryin to be my fucking psychologist or something? Gonna sort out all the messed up shit in my head? Help me come to terms with my grief and anxiety? Pfft."

She blows him off with a dismissive wave of her hand, turning sideways to recline against the arm of the couch again.

"You want to make me happy, go find one of those escorts of yours. Happy time is a lot more happy with company."

She gives the man a seductive smile, her eyelids drooping low and her voice turning suggestive. Well, /more/ suggestive. She prods him playfully in the chest with her toe, tugging at the topmost fastened button with unusual dexterity.

"If you know what I mean... tough guy."

"I wouldn't let myself be caught in a cubicle even if it paid millions, if that's what you're thinking," Tairyu protests with a low grunt. "I just like these clothes, that's all there is to it."

But then, the brief glint of anger doesn't go noticed. It would be hard to go unnoticed even if it wasn't for the crack forming along the glass in her hand. The Yakuza doesn't seem to recoil over the realization, though. There's very little he could do in that instant, anyway, beyond waiting to see which way it goes.

It's rather fortunate then, that the booze seems to placate her. And whatever explanation he might have for the words she blows him off with, none of it likely matters anymore, and he merely gets to shrug slightly before she's already moving on.

His bright-green eyes finally make their way down to that outreached foot, by the time it's reaching for his chest. And the toes are hooking into the topmost button that's still closed - third down from up - and even that is loose enough that it pops open easily with the sheer finesse from her tugging toes, leaving the lapels of the shirt spreading apart further, and exposing firmly-toned, strong pectoral muscle from beneath all the more.

"I'm afraid it seems as though everyone has already left," he points out calmly, with the same kind of tone given by a service industry worker informing a customer that they are currently out of a particular cut of steak. In the meantime, he's drawing one hand up, to slowly take a loose hold of the intruding foot. It's not the kind of grip meant to pull it away, though, or even stop her from moving it on her own accord, instead guiding fingers to kneading lightly along it. "It may take a little time to call one of the... escorts, here, but if you don't mind waiting..."

Oh, this is an interesting development. She didn't take Tairyu for the sort to give foot massages to pushy teenagers. Seems like it would damage his tough guy image. But, as he so aptly points out, there's no one around to see him debase himself for her amusement. How convenient.

"I suppose I can be a little patient..."

Juri takes another healthy gulp of the expensive booze, settling into the cushions. Her toe withdraws from his shirt, lifting up to be level with his face. She reaches out and taps him on the tip of the nose a couple of times with it then wiggles the digit back and forth playfully.

"But only a little."

The teen's tongue peeks out from the corner of her mouth, dragging sensuously across her bottom lip in slow motion. The teasing comes to her easily, instinctively. She's always known how to push people's buttons, men in particular. This one probably won't respond to her obvious attempts at toying with him. Too much pride and machismo underneath that out-of-date suit. But she can have fun with that too.

"And only if you make me feel... real... good."

Truth be told, Tairyu was expecting to be shoved away by the foot he's caught. Expecting her to blow off the need to wait and either storm off in frustration... or take that frustration out on him.

And instead comes that proposition of patience, to be given in return for making the wait an entertaining one.

His eyes do squint shut when his nose gets tapped by her big toe again. Perhaps he's not into feet enough to enjoy getting them shoved into his face. He doesn't recoil from it, at least, it doesn't seem to push him away from her.

"That sounds like a challenge you're giving me," the Yakuza's voice rumbles, in a slightly lower volume, while he peeks past the foot he's still massaging with one hand, and down her leg to meet her eyes, first, and then deliberately drawing down further along her figure.

A challenge, he says. And now he's shifting his own feet slowly to lead himself closer to her, even if it means ending up with that foot rubbing against his cheek momentarily. Perhaps *that* was the right button to press then.

"It wouldn't do to leave a customer unsatisfied."

Sigh. It's almost too easy.

As Tairyu adopts his bedroom voice and starts rubbing her down with his eyes as well as his hands, Juri can't help but snicker. It amuses her endlessly how easy it is to manipulate people with little more than a few suggestive words and a sexy expression. Even without access to the deadly psycho power granted by Shadaloo's many experiments on her, it's oddly comforting to know that she could get her way almost as much without it. Guess even tough guys have their weak spots.

But, as amusing as the thought of letting this chump get handsy with her might be, it's a lot more fun to ruin his excitement.

As Tairyu leans in to get closer to her, the teenager's foot shifts sideways. Instead of getting a gentle caress on the cheek, he finds his face stopped short by the soft sole now pressed vertically against it. Juri's expression twists into a sadistic grin as she smooshes the thug's nose in, twisting her foot back and forth as she pushes him away.

"Hahaha! Really? That's all it takes to get you eating out of my hand, huh? A little bit of flirting and batting my lashes."

The girl sneers at him, obvious contempt oozing out of her expression and voice.

"Oh that really is /pathetic/. I've had people sniveling and groveling before, grown hardened military men begging for their lives at my feet... but you're the first to offer to get on your knees and start licking them!"

Her derisive laughter is muffled briefly as she downs the rest of her drink, almost spilling it all over her chest as she chortles into the glass. Wiping at her mouth almost as an after thought, Juri leans back and thrusts her foot out towards the gangster. Her smirk is positively Cheshire in size now and laced with an almost maniacal amount of amusement as she wiggles her toes at him.

"Well? Your customer is waiting... tough guy."

"Mrrgh--" Suddenly, foot in face! Of course. In hindsight, just having seen as much of the girl's personality as he already has, Tairyu probably should have seen this coming.

A low snarl hisses against his own grit teeth, muffled further by the foot smooshed to his face and against his nose, and then he's pushed further away. There's certainly an underlying strength he can feel in there, but a bracing of his foot against the floor keeps him from being shoved too far out.

"Mrh... Told you though, didn't I..." He mutters, one hand drawing up to wipe the back of it over his face quickly. "Begging's not my style."

The foot thrust towards him is eyed with a deep frown, accompanied by a low sigh. "... And I'm not afraid to face the music, either."

A quick peek sent down to Juri's face past the foot, with a hint of a twitch at the corner of his mouth. This isn't exactly dignifying, no. But it would be just as shameful to try to run away.

"So..." His hand takes hold of the heel of her the raised foot for support. "Revel in that, then, customer."

There's only a half a second's worth of hesitation, before he leans in. Intending to not let himself show any further shame than that, he dips his face right up to the upper upper base of the foot, all the way where his lips brush against the bared skin, first, before... well, she did say to lick her feet. So those lips part, then, to let his tongue slip out and draw it up, slowly, in a languid, warm lick that ends at the tip of her toes.

Guh. The things he has to do for this club sometimes.


Oh, this is just priceless.

Not only is he actually doing it but he's /proud/ of it. She's met some pretty crazy people in her life - some might be bold enough to put that label on her, quietly and out of kicking distance - but this definitely has to be her favorite one. Dedication to honor and duty is one this but this is some next level bushido bullshit right here. Every time she thinks she's seen it all Japan is there to raise the bar in new and baffling ways.

A sudden flash of light greets Tairyu as his face crests the top of her feet. The momentary blindness it brings on fades after an instant to reveal the back of a bright pink cell phone held in the girl's hands, the small clear lens of its built-in camera staring right at him like the barrel of a smoking gun.

"Caught in 4k~."

Juri singsongs her triumph, peering out from behind the girly phone to give him the smuggest grin she's managed thus far. This kitty definitely got the cream tonight.

"Oh, this ish definitely going in my gallery."

Yanking her foot away from the gangster, the teen tucks the phone back into her pants, safely out of reach, unless he plans to get a lot more bold. That might be amusing too. Instead of filling her glass again, Juri takes a swig right from the bottle, guzzling down an unhealthy amount of the powerful wine in one pull. Her cheeks light up with fresh color as the booze heats her up from the inside out leaving her giggling like a schoolgirl when she finally pulls it away from her mouth.

"Hehehe...! I had a lotta fun, tough guy... but, I think itsh time for me to..."

Her words trail off slowly, a look of confusion spreading across her features. Her baffled expression is rapidly replaced with a look of horrific realization as her eyes go wide. Turning to drape over the back of the couch, the unmistakable sounds of violent retching fill the empty club as most of the expensive sake she'd just partaken of comes back up in a rather unpleasant fashion.

After emptying her stomach all over his fancy carpet, the teen slumps back into the couch, absent-mindedly wiping some residue from her mouth. She opens her mouth to say something but rather than words all that comes out is a foul burp. Rather than be embarrassed by such vile behavior, Juri just smiles drunkenly and giggles again.

"Heh, I made a bit of a mesh. But, itsh cool, you have... goons for that schit..."

"Another burp tries to escape but she closes her mouth in time to muffle it, swallowing hard as if trying to keep down any further attempts by her stomach to declare mutiny.

"I'm gonna go home now..."

Pushing off the couch, the assassin wobbles onto her feet and starts to stumble towards the back door. Her movements are still surprisingly accurate considering she seems to be completely sloshed - she only staggers into pieces of furniture once or twice on the way.

And what a photo it ends up being. In the phone screen, the still life image captured of the Yakuza leaned up right into that foot, with his tongue tantalizingly curled along her big toe.

Too bad for him that the annoyed look came only *after* the camera's shutter had worked itself.


As if mirroring the pulling-back of her foot, one of his, too, slides back subtly to shuffle him back away by a few inches, staring at the girl - or more specifically, the phone getting slipped into a pocket - with an uncontrollably twitching brow.

"Listen," he grunts, with a bold forward step taken to bring himself towards her before she can follow through on her plans to depart and stand up. "You--bweh?!"

The complaint that was meant to come is lost to the ages, practically washed away by the contents of Juri's stomach splattering onto the floor... and on his shoes. And after everything? All that Tairyu can do is just stand there and take it, staring blankly down at the drunken assassin over the pure disbelief of how the fates have decided to conspire against him today. Never let it be said that a day in Southtown is boring, though, huh?

And in the end, he doesn't even turn to look after her after she's passed him on the way to the door, only muttering, "...At least make a reservation next time," with a heavy, exasperated sigh. "So you don't have to break the door."

By the time she's out of the building proper, a distant sound echoes in through the massive hole left behind by the korean's violent entry. The telltale klaxon call of sirens from emergency response teams. Oh. Makes sense that someone from staff made a call. After that particular show, there might actually be a decent chance that someone from NOL is going to be coming along to investigate, too.

But rather than being relieved by this realization, the Yakuza Boss slash Club Owner can only groan out in further frustration, and momentarily bury his face against one hand.

"What the *fuck* am I going to tell them..."

Log created on 14:33:47 02/25/2021 by Juri, and last modified on 03:53:27 02/27/2021.