Eggplant Sweat [Geminae/Closed]

Kevin flopped over in bed, reaching for the frantically buzzing cell phone phone clumsily and grumbling half-formed profanities as he knocked it off the bedside table and onto the floor. His eyes could make out that he’d successfully managed to sleep in past when he was supposed to, making him wonder if that was really his alarm or if Meridith was calling him up to arrange their meeting. He really fucking hoped not. Maybe Japan just had early sunrises. Rising sun and all that stuff had to mean something.

He finally managed to locate the phone by trailing the power cord down. A quick check did confirm that he’d missed three alarms, two fresh texts, and a whole lot of mobile notifications about shit he didn’t care about. Opening the phone, he was surprisingly happy to see that the texts, both sent within the last ten minutes, told of Meridith’s wishes to take some extra time to recover before they headed out. He quickly shot her back encouraging messages, going into unneeded levels of detail about how pitchers normally needed half a week to a week before they could actually go out and pitch again.

After sitting on read for a few minutes, Kevin realized that Meridith must be busy or asleep and decided that he wasn’t going to get much done by just sitting around. He wouldn’t be hunting any Hollow, not that he had any idea how to actually do that, but he should probably find a shrine and ring a bell somewhere to cover his bases, just in case the crow he killed had indeed been a baseball spirit and not an evil monster bent on consuming souls.

Once he’d taken a shower, Kevin tossed on a comfortable pair of grey slacks, a nice yet breathable black dress shirt, a black and white patterned tie, and some cool shades. After eating a light yet nutritious late breakfast courtesy of the hotel he was crashing in, Kevin got himself a ride to the best reviewed shrine in town, at least according to the wonderful people at Google. On the way, he flipped through his notifications, not paying any attention whatsoever to the road until he had arrived at his destination. Stepping out of the car, he tapped the roof in appreciation of the driver’s efforts, grabbed his duffel bag containing his various sports accessories, and looked around.

Something was wrong, horribly wrong. He looked down at his phone and opened up the address he gave the driver and, covering his face with his palm, realized that he had accidentally come back to the burger restaurant he had stopped at previously. ”Awww son of a bitch,” he muttered, walking into the burger joint. He returned to the sidewalk outside a few minutes later with a single burger in a wrapper as, a special order of ‘just a bun’ in his bag, and his phone programmed to help him walk to the nearest shrine. If he was going to pay respects to the bird, he felt it best to come with an offering, and old people loved feeding birds bread.

Slowly munching on his burger and enjoying the extra several inches of height he had on most of the people walking about, Kevin’s wandering eyes came upon the a fine figure that also stood apart from the crowd. Figuring he had plenty of time to kill since his entire itinerary for the day consisted of ‘pray for bird’, he made his way over to his fellow foreigner and, with a nonchalant ease, addressed her in English, hoping she would understand.

”Heyyy. ‘Sup?”

Pausing mid-bite of a pita, Geminae looked up from her cafe plate as the shadow the man cast loomed in her peripherals. Covering her mouth, she forced the timid bite down only half chewed as she reached for her napkin. Turning to look this imposing figure over her eyes went wide at the out of place man with a large bag in one hand and a half-eaten burger in the other.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est?" she blurted as she reached for her water and took a small sip.

The cafe was busy and their outdoor seating was popular; it was a lovely day and the lunchtime rush had been good to this rustic almost-bistro. A friend stood guard on Geminae's right shoulder as Kevin approached boldly from the left. The two ladies were somewhere around half-finished with their midday repaste, a messy mix of a BLT for the friend and a chicken pita for Geminae. A pile of steak fries between them. A dollop of ketchup. A bottle of Mitsuya cider with a straw in it. All in all, a rather tame but adequate lunch.

"Oh," her inflection dropped as she recovered from the pure shock of her guest's bold action. Perhaps subconsciously, the corner of her mouth twitched ever so slightly as she resisted the urge to reflexively scowl.

"You must be an American", the woman lilted in modestly accented English. Wiping the corners of her mouth she looked to her friend who smirked at the two of them, grabbed her phone, and mumbled something about being right back in Japanese.

"Do you need help ordering?" She asked a safe and innocent question. This gentleman didn't have the leer that some did when they approached her; perhaps he was just after the bastion of some familiar language in this foreigner sea. A little slice of home, even if only by proxy. Tough to fault that as few could be as well-traveled and comfortable abroad as she could afford to be.

She was French, huh? That was a language Kevin could work with, at least at a level well below that of an elementary school student. They hadn’t really let him off the grounds all that much when he was undergoing his training at his mother’s family’s estate on the western outskirts of Strasbourg, but he’d picked up enough bits and pieces to make himself sound like an absolute idiot if he really put forth his best effort.

Thankfully for all parties involved, Kevin did not want to do that, but not for the reason anyone would have likely suspected. She was one hell of a looker, but Kevin had seen his fair share of lookers during his career. No, Kevin had diverted his march to ring a bell because he desperately needed someone he could talk to without needing to filter his thoughts through the three deadly filters of the Japanese language, grammar, and politeness.

”I’m good,” he cheerfully replied in his bland middle American accent at her request to assist him in ordering, ”I was just walking by and couldn’t help but notice you. I hope I’m not being too presumptive here, but I’ve been speaking Japanese pretty much constantly since I arrived here and, when I saw you, I realized how much I needed the chance to talk normal to someone again.”

Stepping a little closer, he tapped the chair that the other woman had left abandoned with his burger-free hand. ”Would you mind if I finished off my lunch here? It’s been a long couple of days and I’d appreciate the opportunity to unwind with someone I didn’t have to translate every damn thing I’m thinking to. The name’s DuBrow, by the way. Kevin DuBrow.”

"Of course you..." she trailed off, stopping herself before she started. She moved her plate slightly and rearranged the setting to accommodate the man's very wide shoulders and took the opportunity to unleash a much-needed eye-roll at the quintessential Americanisms he had already managed to bring to the table in their short encounter.

"Yes Mister Kevin Dubrow, you may join me. I would say that ze locals would not enjoy you finishing a meal you purchased elsewhere at their establishment but I'm sure they'll be too busy gawking to say anything uncivil." She smiled politely and bit off about half of a fry.

Despite the somewhat predictable first impression, the emotion behind his words had a sort of..endearing honesty to them. If it was a pretense, it was certainly a hell of lie and that alone would warrant begrudging respect. But something about the man's demeanor, presence, warmth gave the impression that the relief was welcomed and well meant no matter how long it lasted. It can be truly disarming, confusing, depressing to be trapped with all these thoughts you want to express and no language on hand to share them.

Geminae and her friends spoke English almost ironically growing up. Sure, they all learned it and were 'conversationally proficient' but they were in France. They spoke French. Sometimes German, sometimes English, sometimes Spanish, and on rare occasions they'd all get drunk on Limoncelo and pretend they could speak Italian. At the end of the day, they had French. She thought in French, she swore in French, she moaned in French. And then one day that was simply over.

One plane ride to America and it was just done.

Sure, some locals politely offered to try but it was a bit like a puppy communicating its feelings about your upcoming walk. The meaning was there, but it was ultimately just...borking. Yips and snips and barks and nothing. It wasn't really a complete thought, no real depth or nuance.

English had so many fucking rules. Rules she thought she could keep straight but it seemed that everyone in America became an expert on their own language, which they knew fucking nothing about, whenever she tried to speak.

They treated her like trying to correct a parrot.

Like it was just some sort of duplicitous mimicry.

She spoke French for fuck sake. Of course she understood.

And now that she was out of America, even after having gone to France and now back to Japan, all she wanted was those American friends she could bullshit in her sometimes broken English with.

She could give Kevin this little peace. Might lead her to some as well.

"Dubrow. Your family must have roots in the Old Country but you sound wholly American. Are you an international story, or what is it that finds you for Japan?" She furrowed her brow for a moment, performing a self-correct. "Brings you to Japan."

Kevin brushed off her worry about the staff being upset about his burger with a nonchalant wave as he slipped into the chair and made himself at home. If he needed to, he’d just buy an extra something here and snack on that in the afternoon. Glancing at her order, he figured requesting his own side of fries ought to be enough to keep them at bay. He could always stuff the burger into his bag if he really needed to and chalk it up to cultural misunderstandings. That always worked well enough for him aside from the times that it didn’t.

He smiled and nodded her assessment of his speech, counting down places he’d lived with the enthusiasm of an outgoing new kid at school. ”Guilty as charged. Pennsylvania, Texas, Ohio, Tennessee, Indiana, Arizona, Minnesota, Florida, Oklahoma for like a month, back to Tennessee, Winnipeg of all places, Illinois, California, then I spent some time in Alsace,” he enumerated, trying to ditch his American accent for just a moment to not butcher the name of the place he’d undergone his training.

Kevin knew he’d missed a few stopovers in his list. He’d been the new kid in town several times growing up thanks to his father’s professional baseball career, and there had been one or two stops that had been less than a month long. Even on the long stops, he never really got settled in a place for more than three years before it was time to pull up roots again and make new introductions at whatever private institution they picked out for him. While that might have made it hard for some kids to get friends, Kevin had flourished in that environment, fitting in thanks to his easy-going demeanor and general enthusiasm for life. Hitting an early growth spurt and using his father’s gym to add on a couple dozen extra pounds of muscle over all but the biggest bullies he ran into helped, too.

”Anyway, I got sent on some family business.” He decided to skirt around the whole evil ghost slaying part of the reason for his trip. His mother’s family had explicitly told him to not overshare, and he might have been able to fully stick to that plan, but they hadn’t mentioned how mind-numbingly frustrating it was going to be to not be able to talk to anyone. What was the point in cornering this young woman and harassing her into letting him vent to her if he couldn’t actually vent? ”I retired a couple years back, actually. Used to play baseball back in the states, but I fucked up my arm bad in spring training so I had to quit, so now I do very part time stuff for my family.”

He shrugged and took a bite of his burger, chewing on it for a few seconds before he started to open his mouth to speak again. Maybe it was the eyes he’d already drawn to himself or, more likely, it was the fact that this woman reminded him so much of the upper class French women he’d met during his time at the family estate that he remembered his manners. Raising his index finger slightly, he pressed the knuckle to his lips and swallowed the food down before addressing her again. ”What about yourself?”

"You retired? Alors, you look barely thirty. These baseball must pay well." She practically scoffed even though he had tried to transition the question back onto her. She loved to hate talking about herself.

"So now zat you are retired, you troll around foreign countries looking for foreign girls to sit down and eat lunch with?" Although the criticism was equal parts challenge and joke, it might be tough for another person to pick out. After all, she had been accused of resting bitch face before and it wouldn't be a shock for her words to be taken less-than-well by more delicate personalities. There was something resilient about Kevin though, something behind his eyes.

A toughness.

A sort of worldly awareness that opened him up to just such ploys by people like her but this openness wasn't naivete, it was deliberate. This was a man who took hooks to the chin and pulled himself back up. This was a man who lost his home again and again and kept coming back for more. And even after all of that, he was still giving up his own free time to attend to 'family business'. Yeah, that was character. Or a total lack of brains.

She raised her fizzy up and sipped on the straw, lilting about herself as she let a slow sigh and continued to people-watch. "I finished université several months ago and wanted to spend some time in the East. I've been to Hong Kong but never Japan. I'll probably visit Seoul for a few weeks before returning to France. No retirement for me I am afraid; the hunt has only just begun."

At that she smirked, setting her fizzy down. It was a pretty lazy entendre but she felt secure enough. Involuntarily, a few small dribbles and drops of her spiritual energy flowed out and ebbed back in as her emotions changed. Far too little to bother any normal person, but she was in...refined company.

”Lovely country for that, Japan,” Kevin remarked, raising his eyebrows at the slight shift in his dining partner’s spiritual signature but showing no other immediate outward registration of it. He relaxed his face, forcing his casual smile back overtop any look of surprise as he pointed a finger at her. ”I suppose I ought to congratulate you on your degree. College and me never got along that well, but I respect anyone who puts in that kind of effort.”

He brushed his burger-free hand back through his hair in thought as he mulled the implications of her entendre internally. So that was what stood out about her. Kevin had put the urge down to her just being out of place like him, but was there something greater at play there? It had only been a day since he’d run into Meridith, and here he was bumping into someone else with some kind of gift of their own. Were all the westerners in this town here to take care of the same stuff he’d been sent for, or was it just limited to the cute younger women? Whatever it was that had drawn him to her, Kevin set that aside. There were worse things to be than a lightning rod for supernatural ladies.

Fuck, I hope that Crow wasn’t a woman.

Setting his burger down on the table, Kevin fished around in the bag he’d brought along. The flare-up in energy could be a perfectly inoffensive thing for all he knew, but he wasn’t about to play things that loose. He figured he’d know soon enough about her intentions as he found what he was looking for at the bottom of the duffel. Moving the bag to the ground, he slipped his hand into the glove and flexed his fingers.

”It’s not a full retirement. I still do practice,” he admitted, turning the glove so she could see the Quincy cross sewn into the back, ”I just don’t pitch to the same sorts of opponents anymore.