Chapter Text
Dreams were a young man’s game. So why, he thought, was he having one now? He was dreaming of Shibuya bathed in blood, a twisted white tower in the distance, the air warping with twisting colours and red swirls. To his right, a café seemed to stand out, the only thing that seemed to still be open in the empty Tokyo of his dream.
And behind the counter was a man even more wizened than himself, with grey hair around the edges, a bald top, and a long drinker’s nose. The place was upholstered in lavish blue velvet, which matched the name he had seen outside. It was odd, then, that the barista greeted him by saying the name again. Maybe it was a chain thing?
“Welcome,” he said smugly and in a high voice, “to my Velvet Room.”
“Ah, it’s your place, huh?” Sojiro Sakura took a seat, seemingly interrupting the proprietor in a way that surprised him. He decided not to worry about it and continued. “Let me have the house blend, then.”
“Peculiar,” the hook nosed man mused, steepling his hands. “It is unusual for one to arrive here and not be disoriented. Most do not speak, only listen, the first time they come here.”
“I’ve been in stranger joints,” Sojiro shrugged. “Outside is weirder, even, but I think I saw it once before so…”
“If I may continue…?” the odd man asked, and the younger man shrugged one more time, and nodded his assent. “Thank you. This place exists between dreams and reality, between mind and matter. I trust given your state that you are aware of which you are currently in?”
“A dream, of course,” Sojiro ventured an answer.
“Indeed. And usually only those who have entered into a contract may enter this place. Perhaps you are destined to enter such in short order. If you do not mind, would you indulge me in what you may consider a hobby of mine?” The man bowed, flourishing one begloved hand. “I am Igor, keeper of this place.”
“Sure, but what about a coffee?” Sojiro rubbed his temples.
“Ah, the surroundings, of course. I should explain,” the man called Igor said, and as he did, he swept his hand across the counter, as a series of three beautiful blue Tarot cards appeared. “This place is connected, you see, with the mental state of its guests. I imagine that coffee is, in some way, important to you, as a person. Now let us see…” he flourished his hand over the first card, which flipped itself. “Ah, the Heirophant, in the upright position. This may indicate that you have let yourself simply ‘be’ up to now, not challenging the nature of your world, coasting, as it were.”
It wasn’t an inaccurate description. In the last few months, his life seemed to have been on auto-pilot. He had much less worry about taking care of Futaba since she enlisted at school. Shujin may have had a bit of a name for itself now, and not in a great way, but her friends were there, and they kept her, if not out of trouble, out of the way of its consequences. The café was as barely-profitable as ever and now all he had each day was that to look after, since his other ward had returned to his home town. But he wasn’t about to put real stock in a dream-weirdo drawing tarot cards. He looked around at the shelves, trying to identify beans. If this ‘Igor’ didn’t serve him soon he felt he might even brew his own.
“Ah,” said Igor as he flipped the next card with his magic hand-waving. “Death, also upright.”
“Excuse me?” Sojiro sobered for a moment. Death was an unpleasant enough word to hear anywhere, after all.
“Oh, do not worry,” Igor smiled, “Death is seldom literal. A transition or change is coming in your immediate future, that is all.”
“Look, can I please get a coffee?” Sojiro sighed.
“Indeed not. There is no coffee here, contrary to appearances. Now,” one more flourish, the third card was facing Sakura instead of the strange man. “The Wheel of Fortune, in the reverse.”
“And I suppose that means I’m in for ill fortune?” Sojiro scoffed. No coffee... maybe he hadn't been in stranger joints.
“Perhaps, or perhaps you are destined to break some cycle. Certainly an interesting fate awaits you. It is rare for a man of your years to face such a destiny. Perhaps you have been touched by a younger soul? One with a penchant for the extraordinary?” The image of Ren Amamiya came unbidden into Sojiro’s mind, and he smiled a soft smile. “It seems so. In any case, you will have to leave soon,”
“And without so much as a whiff of a good brew,” Sojiro let out a hefty sigh. “It’s been an interesting dream, Igor, but I got a real life to get to, enjoy your empty coffee shop.”
“And you enjoy yours,” Igor nodded as Sakura stood, and made his way to the door.
It was morning, and the smell of something being prepared woke him. Hardly a real breakfast, it was the smell of, probably, instant ramen, but they had taken to taking turns making breakfast and it was such a transformation in Futaba to see her getting into routines that he forgave her for her complete lack of tastebuds. He was at least going to make his own coffee, he thought, scratching the back of his head as he wandered into the dining room. Her hair now up in a ponytail to keep its length from being problematic during the school day, the ginger girl he considered a daughter was just putting the ramen cups on the table. It was going to take him at least all of her first year at Shujin to get used to seeing her in its uniform. He associated that with the kid, his ward, Amamiya, and seeing her in it was… something. She grinned sheepishly at him.
“It’s just the basic grey-quality this morning Sojiro,” she declared. He chuckled.
“It’s not… really grey is it?” he asked, taking a seat.
“What? Nooo. Grey is the lowest quality. By comparison, your Currys are Gold, SSR, Five Star!”
“I’m going to smile and nod now.” Actually, he understood some of it. But only because, since going to school and getting back into normal, real world, sensible things, Futaba had taken to playing that stupid Featherman game on her phone, and kept asking him for a little extra allowance when ‘A high ranking SSR in the current meta’ became available. He smiled and nodded anyway.
“You gotta get some interests outside of pretending to go on dates, old man,” Futaba flapped a hand slowly at him as she started shoveling noodles into her face. Sojiro was still getting used to her being sociable enough for breakfast, let alone sociable enough to go to school, so he was a little lagging when his brain caught up with what Futaba was saying as he ate his mediocre noodles.
“Wait wha- pretending..? Futaba-”
“Master of digital surveillance,” she pointed at herself with a chopstick, face deadpanning. “Sojiro, either you gotta let me teach you how to play some games other than retro arcade stuff on Ren’s console, or get a hobby or, and I cannot believe I am suggesting this to mister ‘I don’t keep men’s numbers in my phone’ Sakura, go on a real date . The ladies’ man act is kinda tired. Maybe try living in reality.”
“Coming from a former thief who operated in the world of the mind,” Sojiro sighed. “Thanks for your concern, kid, but I got plenty to keep me busy. I got you-”
“I’m at school all day and with the gang most weekends,” she interjected.
“-and the shop,” he tried to go on, as if she hadn’t interrupted.
“The empty coffee shop. Face it, Sojiro,” he really wished she would call him dad. That was their relationship, anyway. She had said it… once, maybe twice. It had nearly made him cry. He thought maybe she was trying to avoid that, even though he didn’t want her to. They had been near-tears of happiness. “You don’t have much to do. Get a girlfriend or get a hobby.”
“How about you let me, the parent, do the parenting,” he grumbled, “and you get your nose out of it? And stop hacking my phone. Where’s the trust?”
“Fiiine,” Futaba threw her hands up. “Far be it from me to try and help. Ren was so much better at this .” She stood up, slinging the Shujin bag over her shoulder. The coffee shop owner looked at it, half expecting a disgruntled meow from the roughness of his adoptive daughter’s motions… but then, this bag never had a cat in it. He shook his head.
“Damn right. Mind your own business since you got so much business of your own these days,” he smiled, stroking his pointed beard. “You want a ride to school?”
“Uh-un,” the orange ponytail whipped side to side as she shook her head. “Next time I send Ren my monthly social-skill levelling briefing I plan to totally impress him with how I’ve been commuting all by myself.” She struck a too-proud pose, and Sojiro knew she was being suspicious.
“So… someone gonna meet you at the station?” he asked, chuckling.
“Literally all of them. I can’t get the protective SoBs to leave me alone.”
“Tell them to stop by for coffee some time,” he grinned.
“Riiight, can’t get any real dates so you’re gonna piggyback off my high-school friendships?” The ginger girl grinned, and then dashed out of the door before Sojiro could put a rebuttal to that together.
The rest of the morning, he minded a coffee shop that he was shocked to find was more empty than usual. Really? Not one morning commuter? Absolutely empty…
“And you enjoy yours,” he remembered the hook nosed old geezer saying, and the master grumbled discontentedly. Great, prophetic dreams and flashbacks to when Tokyo went briefly crazy. He almost considered sending the kid a message about it, see if he, expert in the world of the mind, thought it meant something. But nah, that boy deserved the peaceful country life he was living now back in his hometown, away from criminal conspiracies and psychic warfare. Sojiro sat at the end of his bar, newspaper crossword under his gaze. Seven Across, six letters, hopes for the future or nighttime imaginings. He scratched it into the space with a pencil, sighing.
Dreams. Dreams were a young man’s game.
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Absolutely unmanageable. She stared at the bill, biting her lip. How’s anyone supposed to live in the city anyways? That was what Chihaya thought as she stared at the numbers. Not only did the bill intimidate her by being large, it also swam in her vision - she hated numbers. At least the complex imagery of her cards didn’t try and take off across the table like this! She glanced out of the window at the late April showers - there went her chances of any kind of income this afternoon. This was her third apartment since coming to the city, too. Each looked more like a shoebox, and none were affordable if she couldn’t work. She looked at the newspaper on her fold-out low table, sighing at the job postings. Was it really going to come to that? Making her dream into her ‘side gig’?
At least one of them was close to her usual spot for readings, she thought, grabbing the paper and looking at it. Crossroads. That was one of the bars, right? She sighed, praying that it wouldn’t turn out to be a hostess-lite bartending job like most of the others in that part of town. The country girl picked up her phone, and took a deep breath, tamping down her accent and putting her ‘phone voice’ on.
“Hello, is this Escargot-san? I’m calling about the ad you placed for part time help…” The deep voice that replied to her did not give her very high hopes, but she had been wrong about not hoping, once before, so she dared to push her immediate reaction down.
“San? Oh honey , it’s chan, Lala- chan . And such a sweet voice you have, quite a change of pace from the last help - you come on down, we’ll see if you can handle the variety this place throws at ya.”
It was going to be a darned drag bar, wasn’t it?
Her first impressions within the bar seemed to confirm her suspicions. Lala was a significant woman, that was the polite way Chihaya chose to phrase it in her mind as she sat at a booth and the matron of the bar made her way around to come sit and interview her. She didn’t bring any paperwork, just a drink and her significant self. Chihaya herself was dressed, for once, not in her new-age finest. Wrong as it felt to be in a jacket and blouse instead of a sweater and loose dress, she needed money to keep living in Tokyo. There just wasn’t enough foot traffic for her to make the most of her gift and her passion anywhere else. So she came dressed for interview.
“Just as sweet looking as the voice,” Lala chuckled, deep and gritty in voice. “Honey, I might have to worry about drawing in too many customers with you behind the bar.
“I-I’m not so sure,” the fortune teller denied.
“Oh honey, rule one, we don’t sell ourselves short here,” Lala waggled a finger at her. “Now you ever tended bar before? Or had any other customer-facing roles?”
“I’ve been reading fortunes in Shinjuku for well over a year,” she said. “I know it’s not bartending, but you don’t get much more customer-facing than direct one-to-one interaction…”
“Oh my my! You’re the Tarot-cutie from round the corner! My friends Angel and Julien get a reading from you every week!” Lala’s voice went up half an octave as she clapped her hands together gleefully. Granted half an octave higher for Lala was still well below any part of Chihaya’s own register. Chihaya could only nod, acknowledging her identity and hoping it didnt count against her. “Well you should have said! I’m guessing you need this job to supplement living expenses?”
“Y-yes…” she admitted a little sadly.
“Well hell, you got it, honey. We in the Shinjuku family should really look out for each other more. I like to think of myself as much more of a local gal than the owners of the bawdy host joints…” Lala opened a fan and wafted it over herself. It seemed more affectation than something she needed, but Chihaya was too busy being dumbstruck to pay much attention to it.
“Wh- I… got it?” She gawped.
“Mhm.”
“Just like that?”
“Honey if you don’t want it…”
“I do!” She sat up, and bowed her head. “Thank you. I… I don’t wanna end up back in the sticks. I can read for so many more people here… um… Lala-... chan? Should I be coming in… men’s clothes?” Lala’s booming laugh was almost infectious.
“Hahah, no, honey, come as you are, at Crossroads…Now I wonder why the hired help always ask something like that?” She closed the fan and pressed it against her lips thoughtfully. Chihaya didn’t know if she was being sarcastic or not…