In Cold Blood [Ash Lynx] - Banana Fish

Twenty-Two - Woke Up In Japan

Eyes screwed shut as the light from the window streams into the room, Ash sits up, the sheet laying across his lap, chest bare, with stitches across his abdomen and shoulders.

His hair a mess, he runs a hand through it in an attempt to tame it as he yawns and stretches out.

Damn low blood sugar— not helped by the jet lag either.

Turning to the side, he gulps down the rest of the bottled water, grabbing his white t-shirt and dark jeans from the floor. He throws them on, leaving the sheet screwed up on the mattress behind.

Standing at the window, he looks out at the street, Tokyo already seeming very different from New York. Not just because of the obvious signs written in Japanese, but the streets seem cleaner than back home, people keeping to themselves but still remaining polite. Vending machines filled with refreshments are around almost every street corner, as well as convenience stores.

The road where the house is seems to be much quieter than the area closer to the airport, despite landing in the city in the evening. The street outside is streets away from any other big buildings, a restaurant, convenience store and gym opposite and a park next to the apartment and dojo building.

Ash is startled by a loud shout coming from downstairs and he grabs his jacket, walking away from the window and towards the staircase. He creeps down the stairs, the wooden floorboards creaking slightly beneath his feet as he goes.

The next level of the house is a kitchen, seemingly tidy with two armchairs facing the tv, a glass coffee table for a living area in the room over. He glances around, taking it in properly as the night before he was rushed upstairs by Tora in the dark and left to sleep this morning. He also notices another door off of the living room, presumably another bedroom.

Continuing down the next flight of stairs, the shouts are louder and Ash can hear the sound of an older man's Japanese voice, the tone deeper and slightly wheezy.

"Ichi, ni, san, igo!"

Turning down the stairs, he makes his way to the ground floor dojo, wooden floors and all. The right wall has tall mirrors along the length, the wall opposite holding various martial arts weapons on it. The length of the room is windows with a half-open sliding door and a small deck outside with a table and a bench. The back wall has two free-standing pillars and springboards attached to their fronts with a few sets of small concrete jars on the floor for weight training.

In the middle of the room facing the mirrors is Tora wearing a pair of black trousers, a black sports bra and her hair scraped back in a ponytail, chest and face dripping with sweat. She stands with her arms up and fists clenched, controlled breathing and tensing as the old Japanese man stands behind her, digging his fingers into her shoulders and striking down.

Slim frame ever so slightly hunched, his agile fingers pull up the sleeves of his white martial arts gi jacket —trousers to match— with a faded pink belt around his waist, threads pulling apart at the worn seems. His grey hair is cropped neatly and his complexion is tanned with a few age spots along his creased forehead.

Her face screws up as he strikes onto her shoulder blades, his shins kicking her thighs and calves.

"Strong, Yuri. Strong."

"Hai." She responds, tensing her stance and arms as he continues to strike.

He nods, the expression on his face staying the same, and he talks to her in a mix of Japanese and broken English words. "Shumu. Break now, five."

Rolling her aching shoulders, she grabs the towel from his hand and wipes her hot face of sweat. He turns away, hands together behind his back as he walks over to the sliding doors and sits outside on the decking bench with a newspaper.