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It's been a long few weeks, and Yasushi has spent much of it working himself to the bone - there are things he won't allow his men to do, even as final construction on the pièce de résistance of his career is coming to a close - the hotel, of course. It's Yasushi that chooses every aspect of security, access, room layouts (Masami takes care of the decorative aspects, credit cards burning holes in her lovely gold Prada wallet - but she's good at what she does), food, booze, gambling - he has permits for everything but the last, hidden away discreetly in plain sight and everything, everything is perfect because when it isn't, bad things happen.
The latest aspects of things not pertaining to the hotel are pushed to the back of his mind - three men dead, another four wholly incapacitated, and dealings with an assassin whose name he barely knows.
In any case, it makes life exciting.
At present he's standing in the middle of a partially put-together lobby, unlit cigarette dangling from his lips as he stares, blankly, at a piano.
A piano that is broken in half, to be precise.
His head tilts, almost curiously, at the skill with which this fuck up was executed. A silver lighter comes out and he inhales after a flick and a light, turning to the workman that is staring at him in something like horror. A hand waves, lazily.
"Buy another one. Don't fuck it up this time. My men will transport it, to take the load off of your men's shoulders."
The implication of their incompetence is there, and the man is angry - he has no right to be, but he is, nonetheless. Yasushi doesn't notice, as he's too busy moving to inspect elsewhere. Perhaps he'll find something interesting.
The latest aspects of things not pertaining to the hotel are pushed to the back of his mind - three men dead, another four wholly incapacitated, and dealings with an assassin whose name he barely knows.
In any case, it makes life exciting.
At present he's standing in the middle of a partially put-together lobby, unlit cigarette dangling from his lips as he stares, blankly, at a piano.
A piano that is broken in half, to be precise.
His head tilts, almost curiously, at the skill with which this fuck up was executed. A silver lighter comes out and he inhales after a flick and a light, turning to the workman that is staring at him in something like horror. A hand waves, lazily.
"Buy another one. Don't fuck it up this time. My men will transport it, to take the load off of your men's shoulders."
The implication of their incompetence is there, and the man is angry - he has no right to be, but he is, nonetheless. Yasushi doesn't notice, as he's too busy moving to inspect elsewhere. Perhaps he'll find something interesting.
