The Snake Pit

Yakumo narrowed his eyes slightly as the man in front of him had answered so down to earth and without the hint of bullishness og pride - he knew at least one other who could benefit from his example.
"I like you." he finally said and inclined his torso into a small bow. "I'm Yakumo Teiko, a simple silk shop owner." he said thinking it would be proper to continue in the spirit of humbleness. "I come here and I sometimes bet on people who show promise - and I hope you're right in the extend of your own skills as I have already placed a small bet on you." he said and smiled without revealing what that amount actually turned out to be.

"A medical background?" Yakumo asked rubbing his chin. "If you're looking for wounds you might have found the right place to be." as Yakumo nodded towards the ring where their close fight seemed to have been settled as one guy were being carried out with a broken nose and blood splattered on his torso - both his own and his opponent's it seemed. Really the difference between the winner and the loser looked mostly to be that of chance with the other guy by some luck still stood upright.

"That fight was quite brutal." Yakumo commented with a neutral expression and nodded towards a guy sitting a few paces from where they stood who had narrow steely eyes, a thin but athletic body and a 'billy' type hairdo cut short in the sides. "That one is Fubiyoku-san, a guy who's normal work is to shake money from people who can't pay. I believe you're pitted against him in the next fight." Yakumo revealed to Matvey starting to feel curious as to whether the foreigner could take on someone like that and win.

The bouncers at the door of the bar did a slight double take as the newcomer came through. It was not uncommon for someone who looked out of place to step into a bar such as this. A nobleman trying to look discreet, a nervous shopkeeper coming to pay a debt or protection fee, a foreigner who did not realize what kind of viper's den they were walking into. So why then did the man who just walked into the bar warrant a double take even from people as jaded as the bouncers of the Snake Pit doubtless were?

The answer was that it was rare for someone to look out of place in so many ways, yet also like they belonged in so many other's. The man's garb and accouterments made his profession clear, he was obviously a priest of some order or another and holy men were certainly in short supply in bars. Yet the man's scarred face and scowl made one think he was one wardrobe change away from looking just like one of the triad members who ran the Snake Pit.

Combine this dichotomy with a smell that suggested he had already done some drinking that night, but a level of disheveled uncleanliness that suggested he belonged at a far cheaper bar than the Snake Pit, and the incongruity of his appearance crystalizes. The bouncers were taking a second look because they weren't sure if they would have to toss the priest out on his ass, which was surely, if not a first, then definitely a rare occasion.

The odds of them needing to toss out the man were low though. Yes, Isamu Ping, exorcist of no particular temple, had been drinking but he wasn't drunk. Or well, not drunk enough that he'd behave in a way that would get him booted from a bar. He'd only been on his fourth cup of sake when he'd felt... well he wasn't sure what he'd felt. But it had put him in the mind of violence and anger, which had, in turn, lead him to a place where people tended to die in violence and anger. Perhaps it had been some kind of premonition, perhaps he'd simply come down with a dark humor. It was hard to tell the difference between the two some days.

Either way, he was still thirsty so, his staff tapping against the wooden floors, he makes his way to the bar. Once there, he orders a glass of the cheapest sake they have.

Even the cheap sake in a place like this was nicer than what Isamu was used to. Which meant it was pricier than he'd like. When your primary source of income was whatever people could afford to give you, which was more often than not just a hot meal, money tended to be tight. But that was the life of an exorcist and for all he was a bastard, Isamu would never charge a flat rate for his services. If he did, then some people might not be able to afford them and he wasn't good with that.

Downing the sake in one long pull he looks over at the man who just sat down. Some down on his luck sod who was apparently seeking some kind of absolution or reasoning behind his sorry excuse for a life. "I'm an exorcist, I don't know the secrets of the universe, and if I had to guess you did something wrong in this life." Isamu's voice is gravelly and hoarse, but not yet slurred. There wasn't an ounce of sympathy in it though it was clear that if Torakichi was hoping for a kindly priest he'd once again been dealt a bad hand.

Matt stared back, eyes more neutral than anything as he scanned his opponent and got into position, low and bunched up. Rarely could he say his height was an advantage, but in fighting it turned out to be remarkably useful, with easy access to organs that he could quickly tag. He could recognize a braggart when he saw one, and that always made for a delicious fight. He was used to being underestimated, and when Fubiyoku started talking, Matt couldn't help but smile. Instead, all he replied was a simple, "I think you are very lucky that I am a doctor."


He attempted to dodge the uppercut coming toward him, refusing to let himself get hit with such a low brow move this early on in the match, and on the recovery, he threw a left hook toward Fubiyoku's side, aiming for the liver.

Torakichi’s shoulders slumped even more. “You’re right… it’s this life,” he sighed. “I try to do everything right, you know? But I’m just so unlucky… No matter how much I win at han-cho I always lose in the end, I got targeted by some crazy ronin who tried to torture me for no reason and set me on fire, all the friends I make end up leaving me, and just when I thought I’d got out of the company of scary people and thugs I ended up here having to work for him,” his eyes mournfully slid over to the back of the room where Fubiyoku was warming up to pummel the crap out of some unwary foreigner.

“It’s like I’m cursed or something. Cursed!” He picked up his pathetically small cup of sake and took a pathetically small sip to make it last just a little longer. Then it seemed as though an idea took hold of the man, and he sat up straight suddenly and turned towards the priest with look of what could have been called enthusiasm.

“Saaaay, mister exorcist. Maybe … maybe the reason I’ve been having such bad luck is because a spirit has possessed me! Yes! A spirit! It must be. Can you … can you exorcise me? Make me Lucky Tora-chan again? The one who used to have his head rubbed by the Yakuza before they laid their chips down at the Corner Dragon?” His wavering smile was so hopeful, and there were almost tears in his eyes as he looked beseechingly up at Isamu, clasping his hands together in a prayerful gesture.

Matt took the kick to the chest, stumbling back a little as some of the wind was knocked out of him. His opponent had power, sure, but he was sloppy, too sure of himself to ever win in a fight like this. Matt allowed himself to step back for a moment, regain his breath, and then rush in, attempting to punch directly into his opponent's crotch. A little bit of a low blow, but Matt wasn't above a little bit of dirty fighting.

Matt stepped back, surprised himself at how quickly the man had gone down. Sure, getting punched in the genitals wasn't the best experience, but someone who boasted that much should be able to take a punch a little better, surely. "You will be fine, I did no permanent damage," he said idly, looking over at the referee. At the mention of a show, he scoffed a little. He wasn't some showboat, he was here for a fight, and a fight he... got? Perhaps not the one he wanted. He still smiled and nodded though, walking out to meet Yakumo.

"I appreciate you watching my things," he said. "I do hope that was a good fight. Did not last as long as I had hoped." He seemed a little out of breath, stretching out as he looked back at his opponent. "I hope I made you good money. I assume not many people bet on the foreigner, yes?"

The man's display was all kinds of pathetic and when it ended with less coin than Isamu was currently carrying on his own person, the exorcist nearly felt bad for the sod. Nearly. Picking out the scant few coins he pocketed them and with a grunt, he shrugs. "Watch all you would like." Reaching into his satchel Isamu withdraws a rectangular sheet of paper, a brush, and his blessed ink.

Dipping the brush into the ink Isamu expertly moves it across the paper, drawing the character for banishment in a rapid series of strokes. His hand wavered a bit due to the drink but it was still perfectly legible, speaking to the innumerable times Isamu had performed this act. Once the word is written, Isamu withdraws a small blade, pricking his thumb he lets a drop of blood splash into the ink. Then he sprinkles the ink with sand waiting for it to dry for a few moments.

Once it is dried he folds his hands over the paper and begins to chant a prayer. With every syllable, he utters the talisman begins to glow. Brighter and brighter until other people in the bar take notice as the talisman goes from candle to campfire, to nearly as bright as the sun. When the last word is uttered Isamu scoops up the paper and without a word he slaps it into the sod's forehead hard. The light discharges into Toakichi and he would feel the divine light of nirvana enter his very being for a second before it leaves him. The man would feel no different. after the fact and Isamu would shrug.

"If you had a spirit possessing you it is gone now." The man's gravely voice sounds utterly disinterested. He doesn't tell the sod that there hadn't been a spirit, this wasn't a foolproof exorcism but if there had been anything it would have made its presence known when faced with the divine power if it wasn't outright destroyed by it.

Torakichi was wide-eyed and reverent as he closely watched Isamu’s brush moving over the paper. The spectacle of it impressed him, and his tense awe seemed only to increase further with each step of the ritual. He gave a small wince when the blood was let from Isamu’s finger, then gasped as the exorcist’s prayer made the talisman begin to glow. As it became brighter still, he ducked off his chair and scampered behind Isamu, watching over his shoulder with the fear and deep respect of the easily gulled. He let out a thin squeal as the talisman was pressed onto his head, his eyes clamped shut, and a strange feeling overcame him briefly before the “divine light” left him.

Torakichi blinked his eyes open and stood upright, for he had entered a kind of cowering hunch for the duration of the ritual. He stretched his arms wide, took a deep breath and lifted his head, “I’m cured!” he announced confidently. “Never again will this Torakichi be plagued by bad luck or evil spirits!” he stated, pointing at himself while the other hand rested upon his hip. “Thank you, sir,” he said to the exorcist. “Thank you, thank you. May the gods or kindly spirits or suchlike bless you.” He bowed three times to Isamu, no longer in such a grovelling way, but with a straight back.

And now to put his new luck to good use, for he was free of evil influences and no longer needed to worry about being unlucky or working for losers like Fubiyoku. “This will really change my life, mister exorcist, just you wait and see!” Whether or not Isamu decided to wait and see or not, Torakichi had a plan in mind. He strode over towards the back room, just in time to see the foreigner make short work of his former boss. Torakichi knew he was pretty strong, and he was ready to have a go in the Fighting Pit! All he had to do was get together some money so he could bet on himself. Since he’d spent his last few coins on the talisman (which had been the best bargain he had ever made, he was certain), he would need to borrow some. A moment or two before he would never have dared such a bold move but now, he made his way towards the impressive figure of Yakumo Teiko.

Approaching, he announced himself with a cough and then bowed. “Teiko-sama, um, would you please lend this Torakichi who finds himself a little underfunded, some cash. I am feeling super lucky tonight, and I wish to take on the reigning champion!” Torakichi turned towards Matvey and locked eyes with him very briefly before his gaze slid off again. Torakichi wasn’t used to being quite that bold with people just yet. “Yes, I wish to bet on myself! Lucky Torakichi they call me! Please, if you would, Teiko-sama.” He awaited judgement bravely.