Open THEY MADE ME CHOOPED!!!: The Black Market Beauty Clinic

[Midori Futotta]

The first sign something had gone wrong was the man’s eyebrows. They were glowing…

Not subtly. Not romantically. Not even in a tasteful enchanted shimmer. They were glowing with the aggressive, unwavering intensity of lighthouse beams cutting through fog! Those two radiant bars of neon blue hovering above a deeply embarrassed face. The tall 9'5 vampire medic stared at him from across her cramped clinic, rubbing her chin wondering… ‘How?’

“…Tell me,” she said slowly, “did vu like… purchase zis procedure from zomeone vhoze shop vas located in a alley zat smells like zpoiled glue und poor decizions?”

The man swallowed. His eyebrows pulsed brighter, as if reacting to stress. “They had a loyalty card,” he offered weakly. “Every fifth enchantment was half off.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling through her nose. This black market beauty clinic is starting to become a real problem. First, it was a person who requested skin that LOOKED like gold, which weighed too much for them to move. Now, this. Midori pushed herself away from the cluttered desk that was bolted to the floor… A necessity when one weighed as much as she did. The floorboards of the clinic groaned in relief as her weight shifted.

At nine feet and five inches tall, Midori usually had a tough time maneuvering through the official clinic. Usually because to navigate through most buildings was like a very large, very soft ship through a canal (note to self: request raised ceilings on the clinics as well). It also didn't help that though she was tall she was also undeniably chubby with a body type that usually suggested jolliness or grandmotherly baking. Combined with the pale grey complexion of a vampire and the pristine white dress she wore that gave her the imposing aura of a battleship disguised as a large curtain. Finally making her way out of the clinic, she instructed another nurse to help the man with the glowing eyebrows while she went off to the black market herself to hopefully persuade that rubbish beauty clinic to stop creating abominations of beauty.

The back alleys of kumo were grimy and damp with the smell of garbage and ozone. It was perfect for shady backdoor deals and crime. Midori squeezed sideways through a narrow gap between two brick buildings, her soft hips brushing the damp stone on either side. It was a tight fit; usually she had to walk the long way around, but she was feeling motivated plus it was a shortcut for her destination. On the main street of the underground district, the atmosphere shifted from "sewage" to "neon-drenched crime." The market stalls were bright and loud. Midori squeezed past a stall selling suspicious meat kabobs. Her size usually cleared a path for her as she looked around to see where the devil was this beauty clinic that was making people chopped.

“Hmm.. Finding zis clinic is going to be harder zan I originally zought.. Maybe I schould ask around.” she thought to herself. Looking around to see if there is anyone with anything ‘strange’ in terms of their appearance.

 

[Horigome Sukejuro]

There are so many things I just can't understand.

Let's spill color onto a pure white canvas.​

Little by little, it will begin to take shape.​

Click... ...
...Click....​

He tapped a series of metal-tipped points, tempered steep blades stitched and welded into a beastly clawed guantlet, attempting to assuage the pit of gnawing anxiety and guilt, of longing and inadequacy - if life were different he liked to think, things might have been different. It was difficult to grapple with the reality of things.

Everyday was a chore, more than likely his own doing however if there was one quality anyone could possibly attribute with the slightest of generousity he'd wager, it was atleast his tenacity and his ability to thrive. He stalked these ways as they reminded him of his past, yes, every day filled with dissociation and self-inflicted misery as it seemed to be his fate yes? Long sweeping stark white cloak, he likedthe contrasting colors, cobbled together from an assortment of self-made metal parts pieced together from whatever decent fabrics he could afford as a Chuunin.

Hissing through his filter built into the full-head helmet, rolling his his head, shifting the immaculately fabricated hose leading to a cylindrical filtration packon his back, for the sake of keeping it from getting tangled in his hair as strands tended to occasionally not work with him very well, very bad hair.

He hoped that this time the voices were voices and not some unfortunate byproduct of a life of instability and neglected sleep because there was a woman how appeared to be quite tall. He'd squint through a pair of opaque blue glass lenses fit into the smooth, satin-matte polish of smooth, almost bone-like steel, an almost organic aesthetic. He didn't recognize her naturally but he was amused enough as it was a break from the existential nightmares.

"Eh...never seen you around here. How're you?" he'd ask, he did try to be polite, after all it was a safe bet if they were in the walls this deep they couldn't be an enemy, and if they were? Eh.

幸福への道は、長い間苦しみで舗装されている。
The path to happiness is paved long with suffering.​

He'd missed the nature of the conversation naturally, largely uninterested in eavesdropping if he could, it was a bit difficult for him to even deal with the person in front of him, if it eren't for his immense curiosity for the unusual individual standing before him, such as an uncommon occurrence, something he generally was never truly privy to. People just at times felt like faceless specters, they came and went, and nothing ever changed. It was a welcome change of pace as he straightened out, realizing he had forgotten his manners Oh! I must apologize, I've been so consumed with y thoughts. My name is Horigome Sukejuro, would you happen to require a hand if you're going further? The passages can be tricky...I grew up in the Cronopolis an I like to hang around here." He'd come to think of it, he'd kind of been slacking on his duties as a Shinobi too, stifling a sign of dread.

 

[Midori Futotta]

As the tall vampire Shinobi looked for someone out of place, she noticed this person first by the sound. Not his voice, nor the faint mechanical rasp of his breathing, but the small, nervous clicking of metal against metal. Precise and restless, like an instrument being tuned for an uncertain performance. In a market of shouting hawkers and sizzling oils, the rhythm stood out with surgical clarity.

Midori would turn to face the stranger, looking down at the male who she was towering over.. The man, being a good 6 '3, seemingly measured up to Midori’s hips.The man in question wore a white cloak and a polished mask with tubing and metal like the anatomy of some patient... Clearly he did not look like a customer of beauty clinics. He looked like someone who had learned long ago that survival sometimes required building one’s own armor.

‘Interesting,’ she thought, folding her hands neatly against her stomach.. Both to allow the man to introduce himself while also making herself seem innocent since she didn't mean him any harm. When he spoke, she lowered her gaze properly to meet him, her expression settling into the gentle neutrality she reserved for the uncertain, the injured, and the possibly unstable. When he introduced himself, she lifted her hands up then gave him a warm smile as she would introduce herself. “Vhy, hello there my dear. I'm doing quite vell.. Zough zhere iz vork to be done..” she replied, her accent clearly present. “I am Midori Futotta, medical captain und presently investigator of illegal cosmetic catastrophes.”

Her pale eyes drifted briefly over the filtration pack, the gauntlet, the glass lenses. Not judgmental but cataloguing. She gestured vaguely to the surrounding chaos of stalls and neon. “I am searching for a clinic. One zat specializes in… enhancements. Zhe sort zhat glow, sag, petrify, or othervise ruin lives.” Her mouth tightened faintly at the thought of the lighthouse-browed man.

“You say ze passages are tricky,” she continued, studying him with quiet interest. “Zat suggests you know where zhe devil that I'm looking for hides, no?” She paused, her golden eyes locked on the cold dead eyes of the mask. “Tell me, Sukejuro… haf you noticed anyone around here vith modifications zat look… medically irresponsible? Berhaps vu can help me catch zee scoundrel..”

Inside, Midori felt the familiar tug of purpose settle into her chest. A doctor could not fix a city. But she could perhaps begin with one alley if not this one.