Cabaret Girls (Majima x F)

Futomaki and Flattery

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Sushi dates were always lovely.

To be fair, any date was pretty lovely.

She'd probably be in the dating scene if only she had the time and energy to invest into it. As much as she hated to admit it, she missed the attention and validation that having a partner brought- though, having friends would have eased the sting of loneliness, but even friends she barely had time for, and with each passing month the ones she used to have grew more distant.

Besides, dating was technically an option; she was fairly attractive with long, black hair and unusually warm, brown eyes. People claimed there were flecks of gold in them. They also claimed that she skin was fair and 'desirable' despite her finding beauty in the exact opposite. So it wasn't that someone couldn't be attracted to her...

But-

Going on a fake date? It was even better when there were no pretenses. Together with Majima, they made it to his favorite conveyer belt restaurant and sat opposite at a booth. The hum of the conveyer belt was relaxing. ((A little server bot rolled by to deliver their first round of waters-- I completely forgot we be in like, the late 80's. For all intensive purposes, I will be pretty loosey goosey with the time period. Not adding robots loosey goosey but-)). She set her bag beneath the table that half hid his bat and did her best to appear normal. She kept glancing at a single, dried trail of blood on Majima's bare chest- it certainly wasn't his.

"I'm taking a whiskey. Want one?" Majima asked.

"No, thank you. I don't really drink," Misako replied, which was only half a truth; she'd be fine trying one if she wasn't so wound up by what happened. She needed the last bits of her sanity intact.

"Oh? Would it make you uncomfortable if I drank around you?" Majima asked, holding off on ordering. The question was so kind and warm, she shyly waved him off and told him to go on ahead without her, that it was fine.

"By the way... Because you're paying for my next few days off, I'm paying for dinner," Misako did her best to sound set in her decision, picking plates from the conveyer.

"Ouh- What kind of man would I be to make a lady pay?" he asked. Majima looked rather off in such a common place. With eccentric clothes and a uniquely decorated face, he stuck out like a sore thumb, making it all the more alluring to see how he'd act confined in the public. He was rather gentlemanly, really- strange for some rough looking mafia man: he kept his plate stack tidy and tried not to make too much mess for the wait staff. He even went so far as to get extra napkins and sauce and a new drink all in one go to keep them from coming back again and again.

Funny enough, it seemed tamago was his favorite kind of sushi and he pulled quite a few from the belt. "Tamago, really?" she teased softly, changing the subject, "I always wondered what kind of person liked the egg sushi. I've never actually seen anyone choose it before. Guess it takes a weirdo," she laughed.

"H-hey!" he half laughed, immediately defensive, "You can tell how good a place is by their tamago! It either makes or breaks them. That's how you can tell what the rest of their food will be like. At least I'm not going for the scraps with futomaki,"