By contrast, it seemed hardly fair that Shioda Yoshiro was not a stranger to the abandoned warehouse scene, whether it pertained to the more run of the mill illicit activities, or the one that she had recently burned down to dispose of the body of Amber Lenoir 's previous head of security detail. But that was neither here nor there, and this warehouse, despite all outward appearances, was decidedly anything but abandoned, instead packed with a crowd of people unpleasantly sweating beneath the spotlights.

Crammed into this makeshift...was it a ring of spectators for an arena, then? Rocking up onto her toes, she scanned the surroundings as best she could, unable to discern whether this one in particular was for human or pokemon combatants, but noting a decided lack of blood. Not her usual, then. And where was...

"Boss!"

Ah. There they are. Chiyo and Botan, her proverbial left and right hands, both standing next to a door that looked as if it could be anything from an exit to a storage area. In their line of extracurriculars, it could be almost anything. Shouldering through the crowd, and doing the first loud drunk to jostle into her the courtesy of being thrown bodily back into it, she makes her way over.

"Do I want to know what we're doing here?" she inquires smoothly above the sudden uptick in music from the loudspeakers, obviously meant to amp the spectators up for...something. Withdrawing a hand-rolled cigarette from its neat carrying case in the interior of her silk jacket, she has only just lit it when Botan snatches it out from between her fingers, almost seeming incredulous with himself as he looks from it to her as if he had just seized a live snake from an even...more dangerous snake.

"Really?" Yoshiro inquires, a brow arched at him in query as her hand remains upraised as if awaiting it being replaced.

He throws it to the floor, stomping it out hurriedly with a half-hearted expectation of they don't have enough time, and she is summarily ushered into the dimly lit backroom with some expediency - where Chiyo seems intent on removing her jacket so she won't get any blood on it even though Botan is insistent it isn't that kind of arena. With the certain, steady patience of one who is well aware they wouldn't idly waste her time, or perhaps, one that hopes not, Yoshiro carefully drapes her jacket over Chiyo's awaiting arm.

"Are you planning to tell me why you called me for...whatever this is," she gestures idly at nothing in particular, "Two hours before a d-"

"Swap shirts?" Chiyo interjects, a sharp and appraising glance made over the oyabun before she glances toward the other yakuza.

"For sure swap shirts," Botan concurs firmly.

"Before a date," Yoshiro emphasizes each syllable in a low, dangerous timbre, but nonetheless hooks the collar of her shirt with her fingertips, pulling it over her head to toss that over to Chiyo as well. The replacement is a... sequined tank top, all brilliant orange with black stripes in a way that somehow still manages to clash horribly with the existing, and obvious Arcanine tattoos that cover most of her exposed skin.

"I bought popcorn," she elaborates as if this were an important fact, pulling on the offered, hideous shirt, "I paid extra for the channel with all those shitty Johto melodramas. If I'm late..." She pats down her pocket at Chiyo's insistence, handing over her phone, wallet, keys, and perhaps most reluctantly... her pokemon, all of which are secured in a lockbox for her.

"We'll send her a picture of your whole David Zangoose moment, don't bitch," Chiyo assures as she reaches out to straighten the shirt, pausing at the look on Yoshiro's face and clearing her throat softly.

"What our associate meant to say, is we'll make sure you aren't late. But we also don't have much time, and if you can keep the crowd distracted, we can work on getting..." Botan cuts off suddenly at the entrance of the rather oily-looking announcer, an insincere smile upon his features as he hedges, "That thing you wanted."

She almost doesn't catch what Chiyo is on about with the announcer, who nods in the affirmative, before she's adorned in an orange ski-mask and shoved toward the door with the sage advice of, "It's tapout only - don't kill anyone and put on a good show so we can catch up with our contact. Go get 'em, tiger."

"You have to be fucking kidding me," is all she has the time to murmur before she's ushered through the door and into the spotlight, a loud click heard behind her as the exit is latched.

Blinking back a bit of moisture at the sudden brightness, her gaze solidifies on the...what exactly the fuck is going on here? Is this kid dressed in a cape and a...realization hits her like a lightning bolt.

"AND NOW FOR HIS OPPONENT, GIVE IT UP FORRRR....ARCANINE-OUT-OF-NINE."

Yeah, she's going to skin them both.

Beau Fontaine

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