flonnebonne (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
flonnebonne) wrote2011-03-22 03:03 pm
flonnebonne) wrote2011-03-22 03:03 pm
Entry tags:
[Hikaru no Go] Fic: Yang Hai is a Pimp
Yang Hai is a Pimp by flonnebonne
Hikaru no Go, Isumi, Yang Hai, Zhao Shi, 1452 words, PG-13
Written to fulfill![[info]](https://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=2)
februaryfour's request for Isumi/Yang Hai. Thank you for donating to the Red Cross, Ai & Doug!
Isumi was in deep trouble. And not just because he was losing a game against a tiny little Chinese boy. No, he was in deep trouble because, about twenty moves in, Zhao Shi proudly announced in Japanese, "Yang Hai is a pimp.”
Isumi assumed at first that this was a linguistic mistake. He cracked open his Mandarin dictionary, found the word “pimp” and showed it to Zhao Shi, who nodded vigorously.
Shit.
Isumi put down a black stone on the board without really thinking about it. He looked around the game room for someone to help him, but no one was around this late at night. He checked his dictionary one more time. He was stalling, but not very well.
Finally, Isumi gathered up his courage and asked, in Japnaese, "By ‘pimp,’ do you mean that he has a fancy car, or that he has a cane, or something fairly...neutral like that?" He didn't sound very sure of himself even to himself.
"Cannot answer," Zhao-kun replied mysteriously. Then he said a few things in Mandarin that Isumi didn't catch at all, while simultaneously playing a white stone that took complete advantage of Isumi's last distracted hand. That was Zhao Shi for you. He was a baby-faced ten-year-old whose earnestness was only rivalled by Le Ping’s brattiness, and he was also a terrifying, take-no-prisoners tyrant on the go board. And now he was also apparently a budding gossip monger.
With his next hand Isumi made one last desperate bid for the game and one last desperate bid for his own sanity. “Are you sure you know what that word means?”
Zhao-kun tilted his head to the side, obviously not understanding the Japanese, and said nothing. He simply played yet another devastating hand and waited for Isumi’s response.
“I have totally lost,” Isumi mumbled, opting out before the situation got any more embarrassing. Zhao-kun just gave him one of his beaming, sweetheart smiles.
By the time Isumi made it back to the dorm room he shared with Yang Hai, he’d resolved not to say anything about Zhao-kun’s...insinuations, because how could they possibly be true? Yang-san was a serious, dedicated go professional! Well, mostly serious. And pretty dedicated. Except when he wanted to play computer games or talk about Japanese celebrities. But when he felt like it, the guy could be pretty intense. Just not like that.
Also, Yang-san just didn’t dress well enough to be a pimp. Isumi knew nothing about Beijing outside of the confines of the Go Institute, but he was pretty sure that pimps didn’t roam the capital in slippers and Hawaiian shirts. Probably. Maybe.
He had a sudden image of Yang-san making shady deals in shady alleys wearing nothing but his bedtime shorts and wife-beater tank top and a shark-like grin on his face, and shuddered.
“Yaugh,” he said aloud.
“What’s ‘yaugh’?” came Yang Hai’s voice from behind him.
“Ah, hi,” Isumi said intelligently as Yang-san slouched into the room. “Nothing.”
Yang-san’s thin, expressive eyebrows quirked up. “You sure? Anything you want to talk about? I’m supposed to be coaching you to be able to control your emotions better after all.”
Definitely not. “No, that’s all right. I...think I’m pretty worn out today. Going to hit my bed a little earlier than usual.” Isumi suddenly felt very uncomfortable mentioning his bed around Yang Hai.
“Suit yourself,” Yang-san shrugged. He wasn’t the type to pry. He sat down at his computer chair, his back to Isumi, and started typing away. “You gonna get changed for bed now, Isumi-kun?”
“Ah, right. Of course.” Isumi fumbled around in his duffle bag for his spare t-shirt and pyjama pants. Yang-san had told him to get changed. He was probably just concerned about the progress of Isumi’s training, that was all. He wasn’t going to do anything pimp-like--that was just Zhao Shi’s overactive imagination turning tricks on him.
Playing tricks on him, he mentally corrected himself.
“Hey, since tomorrow’s our day off, I’m going to take you shopping to get you some new clothes,” Yang-san said suddenly. “You have hardly anything here.”
Isumi, who was just pulling on a ratty old black t-shirt, felt a tingly horror creeping its way up his spine.
“Thank you, but that’s not necessary,” he said awkwardly. “I can make do with what I have.”
“You’re putting on that Richard Kern shirt right now, aren’t you?” Yang-san said, spinning his computer chair around so he could face Isumi. “I’ve heard of Richard Kern. Reeeeal interesting work he does. Wanna see?” With that, Yang Hai typed something on his computer and slid his chair aside to let Isumi have a view of the screen.
Wow, that sure looked like porn. “Um,” Isumi said, and didn’t know what to say after that as Yang Hai clicked on several images in rapid succession.
“Pretty artsy stuff,” Yang-san muttered. “Figures you’d have that kind of taste.”
“I don’t--”
“I’m not here to judge.” Yang-san looked up at Isumi with a big lopsided leer on his face. His eyebrows were wagging up and down as if eyebrow wagging was going out of style. “I’m just not sure you want to advertise it to the whole world.”
“I didn’t know!”
Yang-san leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. “Sure, sure! Nothing to be ashamed of.”
“At least I’m not a pimp,” Isumi retorted without thinking.
Yang-san’s chair tipped over and he fell onto the floor, ass over teakettle.
“Shit,” he said, twisting around to look up at Isumi, eyes wide. “You heard that thing?”
“Oh god, so it’s true,” Isumi said incredulously.
“No, no!”
Isumi moaned (but not like that) and covered his face with this hand. He would have to start staying at the hotel again. It was almost certainly going to interrupt his training. Who was going to play with him in the evenings? (but not like that!) How was he going to get enough money to pay for the hotel? He’d only decided to stay in China for two whole months because he’d expected to get free lodging. Free lodging in a pimp’s room. He was indebted to a pimp and he was broke. He knew enough about the world to know what the next step in this sordid little tale was. What if it that was Yang Hai’s plan all along, getting Isumi at his mercy like this?
Yang Hai had gotten up off the floor and he was pacing around and babbling in Mandarin or his Yunnan dialect or maybe even Korean--Isumi had no idea. He was clueless and totally dependent on Yang Hai here. He needed to escape.
“I want to go home,” Isumi said, trying to sound like a strong and confident young go player and not like a future heroin-addicted rent boy.
Yang Hai finally switched to Japanese again. “No, I’ve been trying to say--it’s just a stupid rumor! People are making jokes because you’ve been sleeping in my room and you’re younger and good-looking and everyone knows I have a thing for Japanese guys--look, it’s really stupid. Don’t leave over something as stupid as this!”
Isumi gave Yang Hai a hard look. Yang-san’s face was scrunched up in what looked like genuine distress. He was standing up straight and facing Isumi head-on instead of slouching around the way he usually did.
And...he was wearing slippers and ugly shorts and he puttered the Chinese Go Institute all day, and in his spare time he fiddled with his computer and spouted ludicrous dreams about building a go-playing supercomputer. How could someone like that be a pimp?
Isumi deflated, his accusations draining out of him as quickly as they’d come. He sat down heavily on his bed. He felt very stupid. “Boy, do I feel stupid,” he said, just to punctuate the point.
Yang-san scratched his head and sat down gingerly next to Isumi. “Sorry about the stupid.”
Isumi gave him a sheepish look. “You can’t control what other people say.”
“But you can maybe control what kind of t-shirt you wear.”
Isumi winced inwardly, and he involuntarily looked up at the computer monitor, which still showed...those pictures. “Yeah, let’s go shopping tomorrow.”
Yang-san let out a relieved sigh and said, “Yeah, sounds like a plan. Let’s do that. We’ll go nice and early. Before most of the morons around here are up, so they can’t make any comments. I’m gonna go brush my teeth and get changed for bed.”
He got up and started trudging his way to bedroom. Isumi kind of just stared after him for a few seconds before remembering something that had Yang Hai had blurted out earlier.
“What was that you said about liking Japanese guys?”
Btw, has anyone noticed that LJ's richtext editor is being stupider than usual lately?
Hikaru no Go, Isumi, Yang Hai, Zhao Shi, 1452 words, PG-13
Written to fulfill
februaryfour's request for Isumi/Yang Hai. Thank you for donating to the Red Cross, Ai & Doug!Yang Hai is a Pimp
Isumi was in deep trouble. And not just because he was losing a game against a tiny little Chinese boy. No, he was in deep trouble because, about twenty moves in, Zhao Shi proudly announced in Japanese, "Yang Hai is a pimp.”
Isumi assumed at first that this was a linguistic mistake. He cracked open his Mandarin dictionary, found the word “pimp” and showed it to Zhao Shi, who nodded vigorously.
Shit.
Isumi put down a black stone on the board without really thinking about it. He looked around the game room for someone to help him, but no one was around this late at night. He checked his dictionary one more time. He was stalling, but not very well.
Finally, Isumi gathered up his courage and asked, in Japnaese, "By ‘pimp,’ do you mean that he has a fancy car, or that he has a cane, or something fairly...neutral like that?" He didn't sound very sure of himself even to himself.
"Cannot answer," Zhao-kun replied mysteriously. Then he said a few things in Mandarin that Isumi didn't catch at all, while simultaneously playing a white stone that took complete advantage of Isumi's last distracted hand. That was Zhao Shi for you. He was a baby-faced ten-year-old whose earnestness was only rivalled by Le Ping’s brattiness, and he was also a terrifying, take-no-prisoners tyrant on the go board. And now he was also apparently a budding gossip monger.
With his next hand Isumi made one last desperate bid for the game and one last desperate bid for his own sanity. “Are you sure you know what that word means?”
Zhao-kun tilted his head to the side, obviously not understanding the Japanese, and said nothing. He simply played yet another devastating hand and waited for Isumi’s response.
“I have totally lost,” Isumi mumbled, opting out before the situation got any more embarrassing. Zhao-kun just gave him one of his beaming, sweetheart smiles.
- 0 - 0 -
By the time Isumi made it back to the dorm room he shared with Yang Hai, he’d resolved not to say anything about Zhao-kun’s...insinuations, because how could they possibly be true? Yang-san was a serious, dedicated go professional! Well, mostly serious. And pretty dedicated. Except when he wanted to play computer games or talk about Japanese celebrities. But when he felt like it, the guy could be pretty intense. Just not like that.
Also, Yang-san just didn’t dress well enough to be a pimp. Isumi knew nothing about Beijing outside of the confines of the Go Institute, but he was pretty sure that pimps didn’t roam the capital in slippers and Hawaiian shirts. Probably. Maybe.
He had a sudden image of Yang-san making shady deals in shady alleys wearing nothing but his bedtime shorts and wife-beater tank top and a shark-like grin on his face, and shuddered.
“Yaugh,” he said aloud.
“What’s ‘yaugh’?” came Yang Hai’s voice from behind him.
“Ah, hi,” Isumi said intelligently as Yang-san slouched into the room. “Nothing.”
Yang-san’s thin, expressive eyebrows quirked up. “You sure? Anything you want to talk about? I’m supposed to be coaching you to be able to control your emotions better after all.”
Definitely not. “No, that’s all right. I...think I’m pretty worn out today. Going to hit my bed a little earlier than usual.” Isumi suddenly felt very uncomfortable mentioning his bed around Yang Hai.
“Suit yourself,” Yang-san shrugged. He wasn’t the type to pry. He sat down at his computer chair, his back to Isumi, and started typing away. “You gonna get changed for bed now, Isumi-kun?”
“Ah, right. Of course.” Isumi fumbled around in his duffle bag for his spare t-shirt and pyjama pants. Yang-san had told him to get changed. He was probably just concerned about the progress of Isumi’s training, that was all. He wasn’t going to do anything pimp-like--that was just Zhao Shi’s overactive imagination turning tricks on him.
Playing tricks on him, he mentally corrected himself.
“Hey, since tomorrow’s our day off, I’m going to take you shopping to get you some new clothes,” Yang-san said suddenly. “You have hardly anything here.”
Isumi, who was just pulling on a ratty old black t-shirt, felt a tingly horror creeping its way up his spine.
“Thank you, but that’s not necessary,” he said awkwardly. “I can make do with what I have.”
“You’re putting on that Richard Kern shirt right now, aren’t you?” Yang-san said, spinning his computer chair around so he could face Isumi. “I’ve heard of Richard Kern. Reeeeal interesting work he does. Wanna see?” With that, Yang Hai typed something on his computer and slid his chair aside to let Isumi have a view of the screen.
Wow, that sure looked like porn. “Um,” Isumi said, and didn’t know what to say after that as Yang Hai clicked on several images in rapid succession.
“Pretty artsy stuff,” Yang-san muttered. “Figures you’d have that kind of taste.”
“I don’t--”
“I’m not here to judge.” Yang-san looked up at Isumi with a big lopsided leer on his face. His eyebrows were wagging up and down as if eyebrow wagging was going out of style. “I’m just not sure you want to advertise it to the whole world.”
“I didn’t know!”
Yang-san leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. “Sure, sure! Nothing to be ashamed of.”
“At least I’m not a pimp,” Isumi retorted without thinking.
Yang-san’s chair tipped over and he fell onto the floor, ass over teakettle.
“Shit,” he said, twisting around to look up at Isumi, eyes wide. “You heard that thing?”
“Oh god, so it’s true,” Isumi said incredulously.
“No, no!”
Isumi moaned (but not like that) and covered his face with this hand. He would have to start staying at the hotel again. It was almost certainly going to interrupt his training. Who was going to play with him in the evenings? (but not like that!) How was he going to get enough money to pay for the hotel? He’d only decided to stay in China for two whole months because he’d expected to get free lodging. Free lodging in a pimp’s room. He was indebted to a pimp and he was broke. He knew enough about the world to know what the next step in this sordid little tale was. What if it that was Yang Hai’s plan all along, getting Isumi at his mercy like this?
Yang Hai had gotten up off the floor and he was pacing around and babbling in Mandarin or his Yunnan dialect or maybe even Korean--Isumi had no idea. He was clueless and totally dependent on Yang Hai here. He needed to escape.
“I want to go home,” Isumi said, trying to sound like a strong and confident young go player and not like a future heroin-addicted rent boy.
Yang Hai finally switched to Japanese again. “No, I’ve been trying to say--it’s just a stupid rumor! People are making jokes because you’ve been sleeping in my room and you’re younger and good-looking and everyone knows I have a thing for Japanese guys--look, it’s really stupid. Don’t leave over something as stupid as this!”
Isumi gave Yang Hai a hard look. Yang-san’s face was scrunched up in what looked like genuine distress. He was standing up straight and facing Isumi head-on instead of slouching around the way he usually did.
And...he was wearing slippers and ugly shorts and he puttered the Chinese Go Institute all day, and in his spare time he fiddled with his computer and spouted ludicrous dreams about building a go-playing supercomputer. How could someone like that be a pimp?
Isumi deflated, his accusations draining out of him as quickly as they’d come. He sat down heavily on his bed. He felt very stupid. “Boy, do I feel stupid,” he said, just to punctuate the point.
Yang-san scratched his head and sat down gingerly next to Isumi. “Sorry about the stupid.”
Isumi gave him a sheepish look. “You can’t control what other people say.”
“But you can maybe control what kind of t-shirt you wear.”
Isumi winced inwardly, and he involuntarily looked up at the computer monitor, which still showed...those pictures. “Yeah, let’s go shopping tomorrow.”
Yang-san let out a relieved sigh and said, “Yeah, sounds like a plan. Let’s do that. We’ll go nice and early. Before most of the morons around here are up, so they can’t make any comments. I’m gonna go brush my teeth and get changed for bed.”
He got up and started trudging his way to bedroom. Isumi kind of just stared after him for a few seconds before remembering something that had Yang Hai had blurted out earlier.
“What was that you said about liking Japanese guys?”
-End-
I think my LJ just lost what little respectability it had.
Btw, has anyone noticed that LJ's richtext editor is being stupider than usual lately?
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♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥
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I, too, love your icon
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Cute story. I really like how you used Zhao Shi as the manipulator (he totally would! That cute face hides a devious soul... Kuwabara as a child?)
Merci buckets!
I was thinking Kuwabara too! Zhao Shi must be more devious than he seems--he's friends with Le Ping, after all. And he keeps Yang Hai's MD player.
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This was a nice revisit to one of the gayest moments in the manga.
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Thanks! When I reread this part of the manga the whole thing just seemed more hilarious than ever to me. Poor clueless Isumi!