Tabac Iberez
Member
- Pronouns
- Is male
There was something special about Japan, I mused retrospectively. It wasn’t the cars, or the peace, or even the language that was so odd. Really, when I thought about it, the strangest thing was the heroes. Back home in Ectapec, the line between a hero and a villain was slim. The rules were fast and loose, the cartels- the ones that hadn’t cleaned up their acts like our family had- were vicious, and the money and violence made the career much like a young man’s dreams- bloody and lucrative. As for me? Why would a young man like me be going to be a hero? I’d hide that answer for a bit, so you can get a clearer picture of me. After all, if you’re here reading my sorid story, you might as well know who I am.
It wasn’t a fun story, this life of mine, that of Arsenio Ordura de la Veracruz. I was born with responsibilities, as part of the de la Veracruz family. We owned several dozen square kilometers of avocado plantations, bought up in the turmoil after the emergence of quirks. The root of the family’s money still came from cocaine, though, and as Abuelo Chuy passed on the business fell to my father and uncle. My uncle Hector Francis de la Veracruz, already practicing to become a hero, became one of the first great Mexican villains-- El Bronco-- while taking over the cocaine distribution half of the family’s empire. He wasn’t terribly enthused with it, but considering his pure machismo as he bulled his way through problems literally and figuratively I could understand why Abuelo Chuy sliced the pie that way.
My father, meanwhile, earned a degree in finance UPN, got his basic hero license to look respectable and to publically beat the shit out of his idiot brother. After that settled down, he then took over the family’s money laundering. Cue the price of cocaine plunging like a rock because the EU- er, no, the US, I’m recording this in English damnit- had a massive, massive spike in civil unrest. Give every man a Quirk, and things were naturally going to get pretty damn harry with tensions the way they were. Drug patrols went down, cocaine got dirt cheap, and suddenly the money was in clean goods. El Bronco went clean, publically turned his heel through the revolving door of romantic newspaper work, and the family's cartel dried up as we slowly turned into plantation barons.
Now, though? Things were contracting, and Papa had decided now was a great time to take advantage of Mama’s ties to the Japanese food industry to get us out of the metro for the District Federales and into someplace nice and safe. The young bravos and chulos were getting antsy, and we were clean, so they thought we were soft. My fists and claws made short work of some of them, and a few others ended up with piano neckties when they pushed at my sisters. Papa was a viscious man when his daughters were threatened, and he had six of them.
Yes, growing up was hell sometimes, but it was that stiffening, familiar type of hell that made sure you knew things that nobody expected you to know.
Either way, as things escalated, I had to do my part on planning to bail. I was far from inconspicuous, being a full heteromorph, so getting my visas and passports in line took time. I also had to crash through three years of Japanese lessons in eight months, wrap things up with my clubs and friends, and threaten the chulos after my sisters- especially the ones they liked. Ain’t like any of ‘em were good enough, anyway. Still, sitting at the table doing paperwork, I had to listen to Mama and Papa talking about high schools. Didn’t they know I’d already sent in a dozen applications? Whatever; if my stuff had gotten lost in their inboxes, it wasn’t my fault.
“It has to be Suchin.” Mama said while I tried to figure out how the hell kanji worked again. Did I draw that as an upstroke or a downstroke? How did I read this mess again? God, it made English look simple!
“I still say we file an application at UA.” Papa muttered, stroking his beard. “Look at how his hero work is helping Hector out! That man’s gotten away with so many dodgy drug busts-”
“And we’re not talking about that in front of our son…”
“He’s known about the family business for years, with those sharp ears of his!”
I wish Papa was being allegorical, but my ears were quite pointed. My quirk, Ocelotl, was a heteromorphic quirk that gave me several jaguar traits, including the splotchy coat, tail, claws, and to my eternal dismay the fluffy ears and canines. While there was balance in all things, the tradeoff wasn’t really worth it- especially girls trying to “pet the kitty”. Do that one more time, Maria, and I might decide to pet back!
Speaking of Maria, I was probably obligated to give her a call and tell her I was going to Japan for a few months. She was nominally my girlfriend right now, even though I really wasn’t in it for more than the sex. While I was sure she’d understand, it would also be best to do this from, say, the airport, in case she called my tio Hector and I had to listen to him give me the third degree about responsibility and shit, hypocrite that he was. The piles of condom wrappers should have been more than enough proof as to that! Besides, we were both sixteen, and it’s not like there was much else we had in common except an appreciation of each other and the ability to tango in the horizontal. And music, I guess. Maybe art, if doujinshi counted. Maybe anime too? We’d met watching a club screening of the dub of Neon Genesis Evangelion, and I had to admit the Spanish dub was amazing.
Anyway, back to the argument at hand. “I already sent out my entrance requests to sit the exams of both.” I said, sighing. “It’ll be fine, guys.”
“If you’re sure, Arsenio.” Papa said carefully, ruffling my head. I play-swiped at him, and we both grinned.
“And you! Call your girlfriend, Arsenio, and make sure she doesn’t blow her stack.”
“...yes, Mama.”
-/-/-/
It was two weeks later that I landed in Japan, after Maria had extracted dire promises to maintain my health and wellbeing. The first thing I noted getting off the plane was the oppressive heat, and I groaned under my polo. Right, sea level, which meant humidity and heat and air. On the plus side, aside from having to chew the air, it was really fucking cool to see all this stuff that was different. The women were exotic, the shops were labeled in kanji and hiragana I could sometimes read, and the food was new and exciting.
Equally importantly, the airport food was still trash. Choking down a bowl of ramen at an airport kiosk, I fished around in my pockets for my credit card, grinning. Mama had flown on ahead a week ago; Papa would be flying in a few days. I had to find someplace to crash, meanwhile. Digging into my phone, I sighed. God, this was going to be such a headache.
The thing about doing business in Japan was that it wasn’t what you knew, it was who you knew, and to what biblical extent you knew them. In this case, we’d be looking back to El Bronco, who’d taken a few years off back in the day to study in Japan in what was the result of both an incredible spate of weeabooism and an attempt to get a trans-Pacific cocaine smuggling network going. While connections were not fruitful in terms of cocaine dealing or money laundering, El Bronco did make several friends in the Hero community, including one Senorita Ryouko. While my Tio Hector had been at that point happily married for a year, he still regaled me with private tales of a wildcat romance with the leader of the then-in-planning Wild Wild Pussycats. Thanks to international e-mail-- and Mexico not publicizing their List of Most Wanted Villains since the contents shifted around rapidly due to factional infighting and the mostly vigilante nature of justice up in Chiuaua and Coahuila-- the sometimes steamy and always dramatic communique continued to this day.
Now I was going to throw myself on that connection mercilessly. Tio Hector had already sent a nominal letter of introduction explaining I was his beloved nephew, in desperate need of a couch to sleep on while Mama got the family an apartment in Chiba and Papa dealt with the farmer’s unions (blatant lies) and got certain parts of the business ready for the next big step in international expansion (honest truth) before the family was ready to operate together. Scanning my telephone carefully, I grinned. There was the public number and address of the Wild Wild Pussycats office in Nermia. Punching in the number, I tapped my foot carefully. C’mon, pick up…
“Wild Wild Pussycats home office, Pro Intern Failsafe speaking~” a cheery voice said, full of the chirpy enthusiasm I knew had to be faked or a sign of terminal madness.
“Hello. I am Arsenio de la Veracruz, and I believe my uncle’s correspondence with… Pixie-Bob? Should have gone through.”
“Ah, certainly! Let me ask her, you’ll be on hold for just a minute. I promise!”
Rubbing my ear, I winced. God, this place was loud for my poor cat-ears. I’d need to hit up Immigration at some point too, and that would just be a mess. Meanwhile, the phone call hold just droned on while I made myself comfortable on a bench, and just watched the crowd. There were a lot more Emitter quirks here, about a third of them, but only a tenth were Heteromorphics like me. Finally, the intern managed to figure out how to use his- or her, that was a hell of a squeaker on the other end of the line- switchboard, and I heard the good Sra. Ryuko.
“Hello, this is Pixie-bob!” I heard in my ear, and after I shifted sides I smiled.
“Hola, senorita!” I said back, smiling widely as I put my soul into the act. Just had to turn on that old charm, and here we go. “I know I am calling about an unwarranted favor-”
I was cut off by a laugh. “Ah, c’mon, I know Bronco’s-” and I had to credit her for saying Bronco, and not Barunko “-kid couldn’t possibly be an imposition! Besides, he told me you might consider interning with us if you got into a Hero school! With your Quirk, you’d be a total shoe-in!”
Tio Hector, what the flying fuck did you tell this woman?! I wasn’t your son- unless he’d lied about that, since it made more sense that one Heteromorph would lead to another. Oh God. He’d totally lie about that. Mama was going to kill me when she found out, then Papa would try and kill my uncle again, and then there’d be another shoot-out, and ugggg. Three-quarters of the reason Mama y Papa tolerated my antics with Maria was because her family had an apartment in Puebla they let me crash in when things got hairy, like the time El Bronco and Lucerne (My Papa’s retired Hero persona) had to go through a feud again.
Where was I? Yeah, talking to sra. Ryouko. “Of course! I would love to intern with your group.” I said, laying it on like cement “I’m applying to U.A. and a few other schools over the coming weeks, and when the opportunity comes up I’ll be sure to put in with your agency.”
“Excellent! Are you still at the airport?”
“Yes, although, please don’t send a car.” I begged carefully, “I have a taxi fare, and besides, most of my luggage is waiting at my mother’s family’s property to be mailed down later.”
“Perfect! Tiger’s been wanting to try out the new company car, and our intern needs to learn the area around there anyway! We do enough flying to warrant it! Once you’re through with Immigration, just head out to the Red parkway- you can’t miss us! Ciao, darling!”
As the line ended with a -click-, I just rolled my eyes. To the hell of Immigration, I go with no regrets. This is the only path; Unlimited Documentation Works.
-/-/-/-/
Sweating bullets as the herd of kei cars flew around me on the Red parkway, I kept an eye out for something that just screamed “Cats” on it in neon. Checking my wristwatch, I groaned. 4:30pm, so rush hour would be starting soon. If I pulled at the dial and wound it backwards, though, it would tell me it was exactly fuckit o’clock back home. Perfect time to call Tio Hector, and and express my opinion of what the fuck did he even do. As the phone rang, I waited idly.
“It is I, El Bronco!” my uncle said, picking up the phone with a roar. I could practically see his massive horns, and the stamp of his hooves. “Who has my personal number at one in the morning?”
“It is I, Ocelotl, and you have fucked up big time mi tio!” I roared back, my voice dropping the octave that made it a true roar. Next to a big cat like me, all others were mere impersonators. “Why the hell does Ryuko-san think I’m your son? What did you tell her? Who do I have to scalp to set this right? Tell me, old man!”
“It happens, alright?” Hector yelled back, frightened. “She just gets you and Periso mixed up, nothing I can do about it!”
I was floored. “Does that mean…”
“I sent her video of his trick shooting competition; she sent congratulations to your father. Twice.” Hector confirmed, now thoroughly beaten into a reasonable shape. “I just forgot to tell you all.”
“Goddamnit.” I muttered. Then I saw the car. Oh God in his heaven and Mary his mother, that was a kei car in tiger stripes, with a pair of ears on it. Inside in the front seat, Tiger was comfortably crunched in, while the intern was piled into the shotgun seat like a folding suitcase. Walking up to it, I sighed. Was this my life now?
“Hey kid! Get in- Ragdoll and the rest want to see you something fierce!” Tiger yelled out the window, while the intern looked like she had made a terrible, terrible mistake. I didn’t blame her, really, holding her cat-ear headdress in her lap while trying to stay decent with the short, short skirt. I’d have loved to look, but bigger things needed to be handled. Opening up the rear passenger door, I tossed my cary-on in, and smiled with as much feline grace as I could. There’d be cat jokes for the next forever, but I could deal.
“You need to go anywhere before we head to the base?” Tiger asked, grinning. “Fur trim, manicure, trip to the bathhouse? I know some good ones if you need ‘em that don’t ask questions.”
“Later.” I said as my smile got more strained. “I need to meet Pixie-bob, and after that, well, who knows?”
“Mandalay, probably.” Tiger replied, before pulling out into traffic and driving like a man possessed. “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine.”
As I watched my life flash before my eyes, I gulped. The more things changed, the more things stayed the same- like people driving like god-damn idiots with their pants on fire and the road markings as nothing more than a faint suggestion. As we nearly took off two wing mirrors and forced a daihatsu to lock its brakes up swerving, I grinned sickly through my canines.
This place would feel like home in no time at all, as long as it didn’t kill me first!
(AN: My girlfriend, Shiro253, challenged me to write an MHA thing since I was in a bit of a rut,. So, let's see how we do here, eh?)