Just-afternoon sunlight slanted through the wooden blinders of the present establishment, leaving the foyer flooded with more light than desired. Beyond, nestled behind a sumptuous set of pink-on-black divider screens resided Osha, enthroned deep in an overstuffed black leather couch, long, thin smoking pipe held elegantly in his hand and issuing a constant stream of smoke from the tip. A smattering of dancers spanned the range of every conceivable hair color, skin type, sex, and level of clothed, spinning and gyrating up on a raised stage slightly behind the booth Gyokusho sat in.
Though a few people came and went as the servers refiled drinks, most people did not recognize him clad in a yellow leather jacket and opaque, diamond shaped sunglasses in door. His mane of golden hair may in some way give him away to super fans, but many others had taken up that kind of hairdo so betting on that to meet a star tended to pay off less and less as time went on. His eyes gave him away much more readily, hence the shades indoors. Plus, they looked absolutely fabulous.
In fact, he had hoped to meet up with one of the dealers that occasionally hung around this more affluent part of town. His recent conscription into military service had been... much more lax that initially anticipated; indeed, the academy proved quite simple for a rather sharp and well-educated adult. Go figure that a 25 year old could easily pass ninja-elementary school. His powerful lineage also helped. But beyond that, the powers of the village thus far had left him free to his own devices. Primarily he had continued to tinker with his music, but the constant threat of dispatch ensured that he had to divide his time into other endeavors. It turned out that the militarized state had a constant need of crafted good, fancifully engineered weapons, and various poisons. Thus, palace of sin. Perhaps some of the available drugs could inspire him, or he could simply reverse engineer them and make some money. With so many of his performances cancelling he needed some supplementary revenue stream.
Though a few people came and went as the servers refiled drinks, most people did not recognize him clad in a yellow leather jacket and opaque, diamond shaped sunglasses in door. His mane of golden hair may in some way give him away to super fans, but many others had taken up that kind of hairdo so betting on that to meet a star tended to pay off less and less as time went on. His eyes gave him away much more readily, hence the shades indoors. Plus, they looked absolutely fabulous.
In fact, he had hoped to meet up with one of the dealers that occasionally hung around this more affluent part of town. His recent conscription into military service had been... much more lax that initially anticipated; indeed, the academy proved quite simple for a rather sharp and well-educated adult. Go figure that a 25 year old could easily pass ninja-elementary school. His powerful lineage also helped. But beyond that, the powers of the village thus far had left him free to his own devices. Primarily he had continued to tinker with his music, but the constant threat of dispatch ensured that he had to divide his time into other endeavors. It turned out that the militarized state had a constant need of crafted good, fancifully engineered weapons, and various poisons. Thus, palace of sin. Perhaps some of the available drugs could inspire him, or he could simply reverse engineer them and make some money. With so many of his performances cancelling he needed some supplementary revenue stream.
