Chapter Text
Kiriko couldn’t slow down. She couldn’t slip up. She had to get it right, or everyone else would fall behind. She was the tempo, she was the rhythm. So, it was up to her to hold the group together.
Sticks slammed on pads, cymbals crashed, her foot drove into her pedal like she was racing a car. Thrill and adrenaline urged her forward, finding new places the rhythm could go. She wanted to follow where it took her, but she had a job to do. She laser focused on keeping her band together. They’d let her loose soon, she just needed to wait…
And then there it was. The intentional fry of the guitar hanging on to its last strum. She smiled, closed her eyes, and went to work.
No, work wasn’t the right word. She went into flow. The drums weren’t a separate thing- they were part of herself. She didn’t need to think about playing them in the same way she didn’t need to think about moving her fingers or turning her head. It felt like lowering her body to her thrumming motorcycle, taking a sharp turn, close enough to kiss the ground. It felt like dancing, weaving between bodies and feeling them feeling her. It felt like living. Noise faded to the edge of relevance as she played. It wasn’t about what you could hear- it was about what you could feel.
Kiriko.
She played harder. The high of pushing herself lifted her, exertion pairing with thrill as the solo reached its crescendo.
Kirko!
She dropped her foot hard on the pedal. She flowed like water. She was water. She was the-
“Kiriko!” a voice called as her headphones were yanked off her head. She opened her eyes and whirled around as Hana eyed her. “You have an order.”
Kiriko looked up and saw the small screen, newly displaying a message:
Iced Late - Oat Milk
She sighed and dropped her ‘drum sticks’ (which were actually just some stirring sticks she’d snagged) and got to work on the order. The shop was snailslow, so Hana leaned back against the counter and asked, “Where were you playing?”
Kirko smiled, “Oh, I was doing my world tour. I think I was playing in Spain but… well, everything's a blur when every night is a new party.”
“Okay rockstar,” Hana teased. “Was I singing?”
“Pfft, no,” Kiriko laughed. “You were on guitar. You know, because you’re actually good at guitar.”
Kiriko didn’t really need to focus on making the coffee. She was pretty sure she could follow the recipes with her eyes closed and ears plugged. She’d been working at the coffee shop for about a year while she tried to make ends meet between college and her, admittedly, expensive hobbies.
Hana feigned offense. “You know, lots of people love my voice.”
“Bro, incels over voice chat in your games don’t count,” Kiriko said as she moved the cup over to the completed counter and called out the name on the side of the cup. “They’re just impressed that a girl can play their favorite nerd game.”
“Our favorite nerd game,” she corrected. Fair point. Kiriko wasn’t usually the type to play video games, but Hana had sucked her into her current favorite hero shooter. That was how their dynamic usually worked. They took turns sharing interests and trapping the other. Kiriko was the reason Hana had bought her first guitar and Hana was the reason Kiriko had bought her first gaming laptop (the choice to get a laptop still drew plenty of teasing from Hana).
“We playing tonight?” Kiriko asked.
“Actually, I’m gonna be meeting with Brig to study,” she started.
Kiriko jumped in, “You mean a study date?”
Hana made her fake angry face and hit her arm. Kiriko just laughed and pushed her back. “Oh, sorry, did I misread things, bunny?” Kiriko asked, using Brig’s nickname for Hana against her.
“It’s not a date!” she urged. “She’s bringing the new student, too.”
“New student?” Kiriko asked.
“Yeah, you didn’t hear?” Hana continued. “She’s another international- from Peru I think? Apparently she’s got some electives with Brig.”
“Poor girl,” Kiriko started. “She has no idea what a third wheel she’s about to become.”
Hana rolled her eyes.
That night, Kiriko kneeled in front of her home shrine. It was decorated with memorabilia, stickers, polaroids, and prints from her time growing up in Kanezaka. It held memories, too, but those were exclusive to Kiriko’s vision. They were hidden behind the pictures themselves, in the eyes of her parents, who stood side by side with Kiriko between them. They looked proud. She wished she knew if they would still be proud.
She would never get an answer, but she would ask anyway. It was how she always ended their conversations. She would kneel before the shrine, poised and proper, then explain her day. As she did, she usually relaxed, laying down or picking at the floor or her skin with her fingertips.
She told her parent’s picture about the customers she’d dealt with, about the annoying rush right before close, about the schoolwork she was drowning in, and finished off by asking her usual question.
“Are you proud of me?”
They, like usual, didn’t respond. She huffed and flopped onto her bed, which wasn’t far from the Kanezaka shrine. Her phone hadn’t gotten a single notification. She sighed, then opened reels or shorts or whatever dopamine pit she could distract herself with. Eventually, Hana sent:
Hana:
Hey girllll! Guess what!!!
Kiriko:
dude. u and brig kissed? no, fucked?
Hana:
-_-
…
you shit. none of the above.
remember how Brig said she’d sing for our band if we had everyone else ready?
Kirko:
ya
we still need bass
Hana:
not anymore.
remember the peruvian girl I mentioned?
she plays!
Kiriko grinned. She didn’t know who this mystery transfer was, but whoever she was, she could kiss her.
Her dream of starting a band had its origins back to her childhood. The dream grew with her as she learned to play drums, then really set its roots in high school. She remembered watching band interviews and play sessions and seeing concerts, dreaming that one day it would be her moving people the way her favorites had moved her. Something had always stopped that dream, though.
First, she didn’t know anyone that played an instrument. Then, in college, she met Hana, who could play guitar. Neither could sing. Then, Hana met Brig, who was a singer and a song writer, but couldn’t play bass. Now, they finally had the big four. Yes, she could’ve started with just the three of them, but she’d wanted to ‘do it right’.
Then, she got a notification from her Instagram.
Hana created a group chat
Hana changed the group name to ‘MEKA’
Kiriko changed the group name to ‘Yokai’
Brigitte changed the group name to ‘Kattgänget’
Kiriko:
yeah, no dude. i’m gonna veto that one for sure
Brigitte:
It means ‘Cat gang’!
Kirko:
it doesn’t matter what it means, it sounds like someone’s choking
Hana:
sorry Brig!
i’m gonna have to side with kiri on this one
Brigitte:
Et tu, Hana?
While Hana and Brigitte went back and forth, Kiriko opened the group. Hana and Brig were at the top, then Kiriko, and the mystery girl at the bottom. Her account name seemed to just be her name, IllariQRuiz, with an empty profile photo. She didn’t have any posts or any followers besides Hana and Brigitte. She must’ve made the account just to join the chat.
Rather than wasting more time on trying to figure out a band name before the band had ever come together, Brigitte sent:
When can we all meet?
And thus began the mess of scheduling. There were few things more difficult than getting a group of people in their early twenties to find a time and place to meet. Brigitte juggled class with late shifts at her father’s shop, while Kiriko and Hana were between classes and the coffee shop. Illari never said a word until, finally, the three of them had found a time later that week. Brigitte asked if that worked and she simply responded:
Yes.
The period threw Kiriko for a loop. That was definitely an… interesting first impression. Usually people didn’t use periods in texts unless they were angry or Brigitte. Had she somehow already done something to annoy their mystery girl? Usually she at least had to meet people to annoy them, maybe this was a new record.
She set her phone and worries aside. She could deal with Illari when the band met later that week. For now, she had a project she’d procrastinated to bullshit her way through.
The week took a month to pass. Everyday was somehow slower than the last, as if Kiriko would have to drag time to the end of the week by hand. If there was one thing Kiriko was no good at, it was waiting. So began her routine of school, work, practicing at the Gozan. The last ritual was the thing that kept her going the most. Soon, it wouldn’t just be her in the small, ramshackle bar & venue practicing on the off hours, but her band.
It was the middle of some philosophy class she’d taken for the credits where she found herself distracted by Illari’s blank profile. Hana and Brigitte were just about flirting in that chat, bringing Kiriko’s attention to the lack of messages from their bass player. She hadn’t texted since the meet up conversation and hardly even opened the group chat as far as Kiriko could tell. Still only two followers, Brigitte and Hana, and Kiriko supposed she might as well request. What harm could that do?
She fidgeted with the idea in her head. Maybe she should find out a bit more first.
While Dr. Zenyatta lectured about Hinduism or cosmetology or… something, she tabbed out of her notes and started searching the name Illari Ruiz. Nothing. Illari Q Ruiz. Nothing. No old embarrassing Facebook, no LinkedIn, nothing.
“Looking for something?” a voice beside her asked. Kiriko alt-tabbed in a second, despite knowing it was too late.
“No,” Kiriko muttered. “Just… uhm…”
“I know a thing or two about digital stalking,” the girl next to her said. She wasn’t kidding. Olivia, or Sombra as she liked to be called, was the person you went to when you wanted to know as much about a person as there was to know. Kirko questioned how legal some of her methods were, at times, but they were certainly effective. “How about you buy me lunch tomorrow and I’ll tell you what I find out.”
Kiriko was… very tempted by the offer. Part of her reasoned that she was only so curious because she was concerned. After all, this girl was a total stranger. How could she trust them? A bit of digging couldn’t hurt. Besides, if she had nothing bad to hide then it wouldn’t matter, would it? She danced between the choice, weighing it in her head. If only there were some sort of class that tried to teach what was morally right and wrong.
“What kind of food do you like?” Kiriko asked.
And that’s how she ended up at Calaveras, a crappy Mexican-American bar and grill in a part of town almost as bad as some parts of Kanezaka after the Hashimoto had dug in their roots. She’d met with Sombra because she agreed to but she’d already come to a decision on her own.
“I'll buy lunch cause I agreed,” Kiriko started as they sat down. “But I don’t want to know what you know. If it’s important, it’ll come up. I can’t start a friendship by snooping. I don’t want to be that kind of person.”
Sombra raised an eyebrow as their waitress brought a basket of chips. Kiriko quickly picked at one.
“Look who’s all high and mighty now,” Sombra said. “Weren’t you googling her name yesterday? And putting it into virtually every social media platform?”
Kiriko rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I did, but I didn’t find anything.”
“Same thing,” Sombra said with a shrug. “You did the exact same thing I did, only a worse job. You’re no better than I am, carnala.”
“Okay, dude, I suck,” Kiriko said. “I still don’t want to know.”
Sombra just shrugged again. “No skin off my back. I didn’t find much, anyway. She’s a ghost.”
“Really?” Kiriko said. “The great Sombra? Bested by-”
“Not bested,” she cut in. “I know that she graduated top of her class at-”
“Ah!” Kiriko blurted, covering her ears with her hands. “Not listening!”
“Fine, relax,” Sombra said. Kiriko’s phone buzzed. When she looked, she had one notification from an unsaved number.
Top of her class in Runasapi.
“How did you do that?!” Kiriko demanded. Sombra just smiled and flagged down the waitress to order her drink. Kirko learned two hard lessons that day. First, she couldn’t dig where people clearly didn’t want her looking. It just wouldn’t end well. Second, never take a deal with Sombra. Her order racked up 35 dollars on the tab, not even counting the tip. Kiriko would be begging for hours next week if she wanted to keep gas in her motorcycle.
Finally, Friday. She was the first in the Gozan, setting up her drums and hauling out the amps the guitar and bass would need. The basement of the Gonzan was a concrete block with fairy lights, a small bar, and a couple stools slapped around with a small wooden stage at one end. It wasn’t the highest end venue, but it was her favorite spot for a reason: For her, it was free.
As she set up, Ryōta laughed at her, teasing her for how anxious she was. She insisted she wasn’t anxious, but… well, she did feel a little bit like if she stopped moving she would die.
Finally, footsteps sounded off down the creaky, worn staircase. Hana and Brigitte stepped down, Hana with her guitar case on her back and Brigitte with a notebook in her hand, a nervous expression on her face that only eased when she looked at Hana. Barf. Get a room.
Then, behind them both, their mystery bassist. She was…
Look, Kiriko tried to find a better word. She really did. She wanted something that would sum her up perfectly and not be quite so basic but the only word that came to mind- and the only word that seemed right- was gorgeous. Illari Quispe Ruiz was, objectively, one of the most gorgeous women Kiriko had ever seen.
Her skin was dark, with black tattoos along her cheeks and on her forward. From the point the black, sun-like tattoo touched her hairline, three golden strands of hair spiked out before running along her black hair that was pulled in a braid. She wore a black, denim jacket over her sleeveless turtle-neck top. For ornamentation, she wore gold bands on her wrists and in her ears, with a small golden necklace around her neck.
Her face was stern, like she was laser focused on something Kiriko was somehow missing. Or like she was glaring at the whole room, Kiriko wasn’t quite sure.
“This is Kirko!” Brigitte said as she reached the bottom of the steps. Illari soon followed after, just barely taller than Hana, which was not a very high benchmark. “And Kiriko, this is Illari.”
Apparently you didn’t pronounce the Ls, at least by how Brigitte said her name. Great. This woman was gorgeous, had a name that sounded gorgeous, and had a cool and mysterious past to boot. Kiriko felt dramatically underprepared, like she was failing some sort of competition. She suddenly found her casual clothes too casual, found herself standing a little straighter, and, apparently, acting much stupider.
“Kiriko,” Kiriko said, sticking out her hand to shake Illari’s.
What.
What the fuck
Put your hand down.
She didn’t.
What is happening.
This isn’t a job interview.
Get a grip.
KIRIKO!!!!!
“I heard,” Illari said. She didn’t say it like a joke. Maybe it was just her accent? When she saw Kiriko’s outstretched hand, she said, “I don’t like touching people.”
“Haha, yeah, me neither,” Kiriko said. Finally, she put her hand down.
“Brig! Could you show Illari around?” Hana asked. “I need to talk to Kiriko really quickly!”
Thank god.
The pair toured the bar, the stage, and eventually, thankfully, left into the greenroom.
“Girl,” Hana said.
“Duuude,” Kiriko groaned. “Was it that bad?”
Hana burst into laughter. “You’re never living this one down. Never. Ever.”
“Won’t have to worry about living it down if I kill myself out of shame,” Kirko said. “C’mon, let’s get to work.”