Shioda Yoshiro had not stepped out of unit training for her security company in over a decade. But today? Today she had made a marked exception for the soon-not-to-be-anonymous man in her recent text messages. An exception that had Chiyo remote updating an impromptu dossier onto her phone, still held in one hand as she stepped out of a sleek, black towncar and onto the sidewalk. More exposed than usual in a dark tank and fatigue trousers, traditional yakuza ink moved over hard muscle as she stalked down the street toward the target building, her demeanor and stride alike intimating a kind of danger which made several pedestrians cross the street to avoid her.

Neither her appearance nor demeanor, however, swayed the executor of the event into letting her by without an impromptu questionnaire, and she is fairly certain but unperturbed that several tables were likely privy to the brief back and forth that included, "What kind of question is that? Fine. Doesn't matter, as long as I'm on top. Yes. That table. I'm aware. Thank you."

Hooking klaus anchoret 's date's chair with one boot, Yoshiro slid it back from the table, lifting her chin in scarce indication that the other woman should leave, and abruptly. She dropped into the newly vacant chair, head tilted back as her dark eyes flitted from his shoes back up to his magenta-red gaze, as self-assured of her own power over this moment as a king upon a throne.

klaus anchoret

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Klaus blinks rapidly as his date is pushed aside, his face slowly turning ashen when Yoshiro seats herself without a word; he quickly begins to fidget beneath her heavy gaze, a startled, "What the fuck?" spilling from his lips at the sudden development. His hands clamp down in his lap, the young man shrinking back in his chair.
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Casting a hopeless look at his date who has promptly abandoned him, Klaus looks timidly at Yoshiro, his face a brilliant scarlet and his anxiety flaring anew. Mouth opening and closing, a soft squeak sounds from the depths of his throat, the words caught there stubbornly. Closing his eyes a moment, he takes several breaths before looking at Yoshiro again, somewhat disappointed she remains and is not a figment of his imagination. Klaus briefly considers flagging down one of the volunteers for the event, but Yoshiro's heavy gaze pins him motionlessly in his seat.
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He swallows audibly, Klaus's voice barely audible as he whispers a constricted, "Can I h-help you?"
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As if it would diffuse the situation, he extends a visibly shaking hand and pipes out with entire too much forced cheer, "I'm Klaus. It's nice to meet you?" A strained smile is splashed across his face, too many teeth displayed for it to be anything other than forced and terrified.
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+ yoshiro shioda

[attr="class","pokeclass"]

Her jaw set subtly and dark gaze betraying little, Yoshiro merely observed the other (presumably unwilling) participant of this speed date. There was something about the particular emotion that she was feeling that was sharply grating, like the time she and Chiyo had leapt out a window on a high-rise job and spent the rest of the evening picking bits of glass out of their skin. She couldn't say she was enjoying it.

Yoshiro noticed the rise of colour to his features, the tremor in his hands. They couldn't have been more different, she and he. She noticed the bitter sensation worming in her chest, and summarily dismissed it. There would be a time to address that later, not now. Now was the time to tend to business, and she was a Shioda Oyabun...albeit one dressed like a paramilitary gym rat, shaking down a trembling lighthouse keeper for his phone over a text message from-

Right.

She'd definitely unpack this later. Probably with a bottle of sake.

Maybe it wasn't too late to take Oba Guiying up on her offer of therapy, after all.

"Anchoret," she observed idly, "Of Lilycove Lighthouse."

A tattooed hand reached out to take his own, shook it with an appropriate, albeit not unkind firmness before releasing it. She did not rescind it, however, but left it palm-up as she met his eye.

"Shioda Yoshiro. I'd like to see your phone."

yoshiro shioda

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Klaus's strained expression does not change as his surname and occupation are listed, his constricted voice piping out a "Yup," in response; his grip meets Yoshiro's with a surprisingly firmness before his fists ball together in his lap.
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At the directive of his phone, however, a muscle pulls taut in his cheek. Who the hell was this woman? A plains clothes cop? His anxiety morphs into something else entirely, his magenta-rose eyes narrowing subtly as they take in the sight of Yoshiro - a street thug given the tattoos, or a gym rat given the clothing?
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"No, thank you," Klaus answers, the warble in his voice replaced with a faint undercurrent of warning. His hands unballing, he straightens his shirt's collar, displaying several of his now-chipped blue painted nails, and moves to stand.
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"It was a pleasure meeting you," Klaus intones as he moves to leave.

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+ yoshiro shioda

[attr="class","pokeclass"]

Yoshiro tilted her head subtly to one side at his abrupt shift in demeanor, her own darker gaze revisiting his at the altered tone, and a sort of understanding seemed to dawn in her own expression. She allowed her arm to fall to her lap, and as simply as that, the aura of aggressive energy to her diminished substantially, leaving in its wake only a sense of frustration more aimed at herself than at him.

"Fuck me." Yoshiro murmured to herself in exasperation as he moved to stand. She wasn't interested in making more of a scene, but tailed him toward the door and out onto the street, her hand dipping into her pocket to pull out a carton of cigarettes, matches, and a moneyclip. "It isn't what you think, whatever that face was for."

Lighting the cigarette, Yoshiro counted out a few hundreds and folded them tidily in half, holding them out with a simple, "You had a date with a blonde girl earlier. Maybe forget her number. Maybe don't, but if this is a clout thing or I see one word in a magazine-"

She showed her teeth briefly, expression displeased as she took another drag from her cigarette. The last thing Amber Lenoir needed was someone else trying to profit off her by association, riding the coattails of her fame straight into the tabloids.

And she hadn't been there last time, had she? Or the time before. Or the one before that. That was the only reason for her current mood, wasn't it? It didn't have anything to do with the festival.

Keep telling yourself that, Junya.

"God, I am clearly going through some shit today," Yoshiro muttered more to herself than anyone else, exhaling smoke in the opposite direction.

klaus anchoret

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While Klaus walks towards the front door he pulls on his jacket, the collar popped to block the chilly afternoon air; spring was almost here, but still not quite. The sound of footsteps following after him on the pavements draws the young man's attention, though he does not turn. Instead, he says "Hansel," softly, his hands moving to sign 'Watch me.' before his hands still and are hidden in his jacket's pockets. The Dhelmise gives a soft drone of acknowledgement and fades from sight behind his trainer.
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He frowns deeply when he turns to face Yoshiro, a single eyebrow quirked as she recants his date with Amber Lenoir. Glancing from the offered money to Yoshiro face he states blandly, "I'm not a fucking prostitute." He does reach towards Yoshiro, but instead of taking the money pilfers a cigarette and motions to one of the matches which is then used to light it - he hadn't smoked since high school but by Arceus what a nightmare of a day.
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"Look," Klaus finally says after he takes a drag of the cigarette, his voice rough from the smoke. "She was nice. She's coming out for some photoshoot at the lighthouse and that's it. I don't need that kind of attention."
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Another deep drag is taken of the cigarette, his eyes closing briefly as the smoke curls through his lungs, suffocating him until it spills languidly between his lips. Klaus was going to crave this later, but thankfully it would be too much of a hassle to buy any once the craving hit. The lighthouse was too remote to just pop on down to the drug store. One small blessing at least.
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"Take it up with her next time, not me," Klaus demands in agitation.

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+ yoshiro shioda

[attr="class","pokeclass"]

Yoshiro did not comment upon his first statement, but the taut muscle in her cheek said enough. Nonetheless, she neither protested his pilfering of one of her imported cigarettes, nor her matchbook, printed with the address and number of the cover business for one of Hoenn's few truly decent underground clubs. Her dark eyes read him, discerned something about him that said that there was more than the tightly wound anxiety, more to the sharpness revealed when pushed too far.

Not many had historically chosen to stand up to her, whether knowing or unknowing of her affiliations. The last had been Botan, and she had offered him a job.

"You have more spine than half of Slateport," is all Yoshiro answered, the neatly-folded bills tucked back into her pocket as if an attempted bribe had never been attempted in the first. She would find a better use for it. Taking another deep lungful of smoke, she called on the exhalation, "Torao."

The Arcanine that prowled over from near the concert-hall entrance was brutish, well-muscled, a prowling beast lashed over in the tell-tale signs of a many a hard-fought, hard-won battle. He huffed a soft wisp of smoke from between his teeth, however, butted his head into her shoulder.

"We'll leave you to your evening."

klaus anchoret

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