Need my name? Call me Leon Kirkland. Otherwise, call my agent.
I am Hong Kong; breathless energy, dancing lights, martial arts legends, weaponised umbrellas, and the best counterfeits that have ever ripped you off. Enjoy yourself.
[independent rp blog for APH Hong Kong]
- Can be overconfident in their ability to influence and understand others.
you know i think this sums her and leon’s entire conversation and why it fell apart
… oh good grief yeah i can see that
I DID A DOODLE DUMP AND LIKED IT
also au things in the corner
YELLS, FURIOUSLY REBUGS FOR AU THINGS
TWEWY AU WHERE THE REAPER’S GAME IS PLAYED IN HONG KONG AND LEON IS THE COMPOSER OF THE CITY
that same au in reverse where joshua is the personification of shibuya
Day 8 of 100 Happy Days in HK:
Sometimes happiness is just a cup of HK 奶茶. Especially when all you’ve felt was 45F/7C for the past 48 hours since Hong Kong has no concept of insulation. Or heating.
There are many regulations for the gamblers, but only three for the fighters:
Stop fighting when the ref says so.
You win when your opponent yields, loses consciousness, or dies.
“There we go.”
With one last tug, Síu Chūn deemed the knot secure, and his knot-tying skills impeccable; these bandages were going to have to take a lot of punishment if his brother was going to have his way with them. And Shìhóng couldn’t go breaking his hands now, not on the night just before his grand debut.
"That too tight? Give it a flex, make sure it feels okay."
Síu Chūn had to fight off a smile. His brother almost managed to look intimidating. There was something feral in his eye, something that Síu Chūn lacked and could never emulate— something pacing, something with a ravenous hunger. Something they were only now beginning to train and tame. The past few weeks they had been hard at work sharpening its claws and suiting that feral thing up to fight.
From his earliest memories, he knew Shìhóng had always been a fighter. He was all hard rope and sinew, all power, speed, and reach, each move flickering and snapping back like a snake’s bite; from his earliest memories, Síu Chūn had thought it wisest and safest to stick to his honeyed words in a fight, thank you very much.
"… Don’t go at it too hard, we’ve practised enough that you don’t have to cram it all in the night before. Besides, they’ll probably put you up against a rookie or something— sāp sāp seoǐ lāah! I’d bet all my money that even I could beat them, if I didn’t kind of have it lined up for you. You’re coming out of nowhere, you know? So I figured out, the way it works out, they’re totally underestimating you and you have, like, the best odds right now.”
Most importantly, his brother had the best kind of grin, the kind that made people want to wipe it off his face with their fists. All the better when they tried and couldn’t.
"Just think, this time tomorrow night we’ll have a fistful of money each and we’ll eat like kings. … Sure, you might have a black eye or two but you know what? You’re a genius, you know that, an absolute screaming genius.”
Shìhóng had always been able to talk him into the craziest things.
He had not the courage to stop him from turning into what would be the worst in everybody’s eyes. But now, he did not know; their futures only looked bright. Fights, fame, and bloody smiles, well-placed bets, inside information and weaknesses let slip— a bit of manipulation, a bit of recon, but that was of course half the sport— shattering fists paired up with a silver tongue.
The world felt right in their hands and they were going to squeeze the good life out of it for the first time in their lives.
"Okay— get your gloves and mine. One more round of sparring just for luck. Then you need some rest. I’ll even let you sleep in tomorrow, okay?”
He was always like this before a fight. All anticipation, all full on drive to win. Even, if it was just a simple sparring round with Síu Chūn. Shìhóng lived for these fights, for lack of a better phrase. So he did was he was told, flexing his fingers under taunt layers of cloth. Not too loose— yet not so tight that they made movement impossible, the bindings were perfect.
This energy he possessed, as well as the excitement of the debut ahead, mixed and churned into something contagious, which increased with every breath he took.
He said, examining his bandages once more before laughing at what his brother said next. There was no doubt in his mind that he would win this upcoming match, but that might’ve just been his own pride, if not anything else.
"I think easy's a little bit of an understatement. I'm thinking either way I'll kick ass, rookie or not. Food'll be on me regardless.”
With a bark of a laugh, Shìhóng nodded, and as Síu Chūn said, trotted off to retrieve the gloves, but not before drumming his brother’s shoulders teasingly with his hands. The gloves were thin, with only some padding and open fingers. Enough to cushion a blow so you don’t break your hands, but not enough to be any form of protection without bandages underneath. He slipped his pair on with ease before coming back with Síu Chūn’s, which he set in his brothers hands without a hint of grace.
"I was a genius before all this anyhow. Flattery won’t get you anywhere right here."
This statement, is followed by a grin, and a mockingly light punch to the shoulder.
"Yeah, yeah, I know it won’t. And here I thought I might be able to talk you into going easy on me. Shows what I know, right— that hasn’t worked on you in ages.”
He grinned, flicking his gaze up to meet his brother’s before focusing back on pulling the gloves on. Honestly, they wouldn’t even have four if they hadn’t been cheaper that way. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have had any need; there was only one real fighter between the two of them and they both knew it. Not to say that Síu Chūn was helpless— they had grown up from the same street litter after all— it was simply that he knew his real strengths, and had chosen to hone those instead.
Pretty words might not have worked on Shìhóng, but getting caught in the side of the head by an elbow strike would have worked on pretty much anyone. Barely a second into the fight and Síu Chūn was flinching and recoiling on the defensive, flickering out of the way with an exhilarated grin, more ready to block than fight back; he didn’t think Shìhóng would try to crack him apart, but he knew his brother didn’t like holding back and he’d rather not give him the chance.
If he could help it. A sudden flash and a shock of pain in his head served as a more effective warning to heed.
He blinked hard and shook his head and damned the length of his hair and did his best to fight back. And he wasn’t totally sure, but he thought he might have caught Shìhóng laughing at him.
Fair enough really.
It was Síu Chūn who caught the cowardice first and pleaded his defeat.
It had taken a few shouts before Shìhóng actually stopped.
With the thought of tomorrow, it would have been reassuring, because it spoke well of Shìhóng’s endurance; at that very moment, though, it was just annoying. Doubled over and trying to catch his breath, Síu Chūn had left himself wide open for a bit of vicious fraternal teasing, which was staved off only by a bit of eye-rolling and vague, exhausted, dismissive gestures from the loser.
"… As if either of… as if either of us expected any different. Come on."
He shook his head, sweaty hair clumped in his eyes, breathless from both exertion and a silent laughter. “This is why you’re the one fighting, not me.”
At least there was some good in it; a bit of non-lethal fighting before bed helped sleep come easy. This wasn’t always the case in the grimy, claustrophobic cage the two of them dared call home. At his side, barely within arm’s reach, Síu Chūn was sure his brother was already asleep.
Good. He would need it. In the corner, a small rotary fan droned on, turning side to side and back again, occasionally blowing muggy air across the boy’s still-damp fringe. He’d have to pay for a shower tomorrow if he wanted to look prim enough to have his bets taken seriously. That would cut out of his money; Shìhóng’s entry fee had already been rationed out of it. But he’d need to make sure his brother got something to eat tomorrow, too, so he could fight…
The only proper suit of clothes that either of them owned hung on the wall above a makeshift-made bed; really, it was little more than a dirty mattress with a blanket tossed over. Still— it was something to be proud of, if it was going to give them enough sleep until they could haul themselves up into a better life.
He wondered what his brother was worrying about. Or has he ever worried at all? The thought of it didn’t seem to suit Shìhóng.
The fan blew past him again. Even the breeze felt uncomfortably warm.
… Well, he supposed, that’s what I’m here for. That’s why they were a team in the first place. The ruthless prize fighter Domino and his silver-tongued manager, Chess. The names still sounded kind of cheesy and silly, to him— but they made him laugh, too.
And besides, names can carry an odd sort of power in them. They weren’t just Shìhóng and Síu Chūn, the luckless, wretched brothers with a destitute fate; they had a plan. They had something greater. Domino and Chess.
Sleep took him smiling.