Work Text:
The distant sound of the city’s heart floats in through the ajar window, a muted cacophony of chatter, soles on pavement, and rolling engines. The climate is an odd mix of arid and humid this time of year. The sun is shining, grand cumulous clouds are painted generously just above the horizon, and the sky’s endless blue makes for a good medium to drown oneself in. It’s a beautiful day.
Reigen sits back in his sofa with an open book sitting in his lap and an unlit cigarette in hand. He leans heavily on his side as he twirls the cigarette in his hand. His gaze darts up to the lighter sitting next to the ashtray.
For now, both the eastern and western-facing windows are ajar, inviting a gentle breeze that both cools and keeps the air fresh. There have been no customers to walk in since opening up. He contemplates having his fourth smoke of the day.
The two-note chime signalling a customer rings out in the empty office, and his aborted movement shifts as he moves the book to the end table in a fluid motion. He tucks the unlit cigarette into his jacket pocket for later.
The door to the office closes with an audible click, and he spins around as he affects his brightest smile. “Yes, hello, welcome! What do you need?”
The first thing Reigen thinks is that the man who just walked in looks awfully cool for such heavy clothes. A black turtleneck? Seems a little much this late in spring, in his opinion, and the grey blazer over it doesn’t seem to be made of a light material in the slightest.
The man blinks, then smiles--a small, but strangely warm thing from a stranger. “I guess I’m here for a consultation.”
Reigen has been in this business for a year, which is plenty of time to develop a sense for the type of people that generally frequent this building. Troubled is a solid, general term that fits, as is uncertain (and privately, “gullible” is another, though he prefers to use the words “trusting” and “wise” out loud). A quick glance gives Reigen the impression that the man doesn't seem particularly troubled or uncertain. But he doesn’t turn away potential customers, so.
“I see, I see,” he says as he strolls over to his bookshelf to grab the small chair nestling at its corner. He scoots it into place directly before his desk and makes his way to his own seat, gesturing in front of him with his smile still in place. “So what seems to be the problem?”
The man just manages to make it to the chair when Reigen continues to speak, arms waving about in wide motions. “Is there a heavy weight on your shoulders? Shooting pains? A feeling of someone--or some thing-- watching? A sudden turn of bad luck? Whatever it is, I can surely resolve it!” He pauses, affecting a look of belated realization before turning to his stack of flyers to the side. “In fact, I have a bargain going on right now, with varying reduction rates depending on which course you go with…”
“There isn’t a problem.”
Reigen pauses to glance at the client. His expression is hard to read, but he still seems relaxed.
“Not really, at least,” the man continues. “It’s...something that’ll smooth out eventually. I suppose I’m just passing the time, for now.”
“But if you wait , the problem could get worse !” Reigen shouts emphatically, leaping from his chair. “ That sort of lackadaisical attitude is exactly what leaves clients at a loss, making possession a very terrifying possibility and leading to an even worse situation--especially when a particularly malevolent spirit is involved!” He slams his hand down on his desk, staring down the man with a grave look. “Waiting for things to blow over never works with spirits. The more time you spend not doing anything, the more time they have to--“
“No, I think I’m all right,” the man interrupts smoothly. He looks amused. “But thank you.”
Reigen takes a moment to examine the individual sitting across from him, expression smoothing out into one of neutrality. “... Well, if you don’t need any help then I don’t see any reason for you to stay.” He falls into his chair and throws his arms out in a shrug. “I understand that you might be bored while you wait for, for whatever it is to fix itself, but I’m running a business. Can’t afford to lose foot traffic just because a window-shopper without any issues is hanging around.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll pay you for your time.” The man fiddles with a strand of hair to the side of his face. It’s a bit of an old-fashioned look, but it’s worn well. Seems like one that he’s comfortable with.
A lot about the man seems to be comfortable and relaxed.
Reigen isn’t as much.
“My prices are cheap compared to a lot of other places,” he says, “but it still isn’t something pocket change can cover. My cheapest price for exorcism runs at two-hundred.”
The man waves his hand in the air dismissively. It’s an uncomfortably familiar motion. “I have the money, it’ll be fine.”
Reigen bites back the immediate reply of no , and takes a quick glance at his watch. It’s half-past three, and aside from the man sitting across from him he hasn’t had anyone walk into this office since opening up. He doesn’t run this business for money, but it’s pay he could use, and it isn’t as though there’s any guarantee an actual customer will come by anytime soon.
(And if they do, he can just kick the guy out. Or sucker him into helping, if he’s so keen on sticking around.)
“Fine. You can hang around or whatever for a little while.” He juts his finger at the man, eyes narrowed in an intimidating way. “But don’t try anything funny. I’m a green-belt in Shorinji Kenpo and I get ornery customers all the time.”
The thinly veiled threat doesn’t elicit the desired effect. Instead, the reply is a small shrug and a simple, “yes, of course,” before the man about-faces and wanders over to the coffee table.
Reigen pulls his laptop closer and adjusts the angle of the screen when the glare shines harshly in his eyes. He watches the man through his peripherals, his gaze lingering somewhere in the corner of his laptop screen.
He seems to wander the room a bit, taking in the structure and placement of objects and...who knows, really. He picks up the ashtray and inspects it for a few moments before putting it back down in its original position.
He hardly seems to care that he’s hanging around a stranger’s workspace, whether it’s discomfort at the fact he’s in an unfamiliar place or common courtesy in the “don’t touch what isn’t yours” way. Reigen doesn’t really care, and if he did he wouldn’t have relented in the first place.
He does feel an odd swell of offense when the man walks over to the plant and pointedly swipes a finger across one of the leaves, rubbing dust between his fingers. He doesn’t even look over at Reigen but the message (self-fabricated or not) is still there.
A couple more minutes of quiet observing and mere curiosity has Reigen relaxing, figuring the man is trustworthy enough to not filch anything. (Not that there is anything particularly worth stealing here, but Reigen still likes his belongings right where they are, so. The worry was still there.)
With one last glance to the uninvited guest, Reigen pulls up a webpage and decides to surf the internet to pass the time.
Cat video. Cats. Oh, that’s a cute dog. What a good dog. Huh, I didn’t know snakes could do that. What is he doing with that hose? A how-to-bake video… Chocolate chip cookies sound good right now. Oh. It’s one of those videos. With the eggs. Why is he wearing a pink bodysuit?… Is he okay? Oh shit that--fireworks to the ass, all right. Ouch.
Reigen clicks on the next video with an interesting-looking thumbnail, leaning heavily on his left arm when a black screen pops up. He taps his mouse impatiently as he waits for the five second timer to end.
It’s a twenty-second video. Why does it even have an advertisement?
Personally, he thinks it’s a waste of money to have these useless ads on videos. There’s a five-second cooldown that makes any minute-or-more advertisement pretty much pointless, since anyone there for the video is guaranteed to skip the ad. It’s not like it actually nets a large amount of customers. If anything, in Reigen’s own experience, it just makes him want to spitefully avoid whatever it is that’s being advertised.
He also knows he’s talking (thinking) out of his ass and just irritated at nothing.
Now, making his own videos and letting big corporations burn cash by setting their skippable ads on his content… That’s something that could work, actually. Maybe. How does monetizing on this website work? Reigen’s never really thought about it before, but business has been pretty slow this month. Maybe he could use whatever business opportunities reaching out to the internet communities will give him…
He pauses halfway down the FAQ page and sits back in his chair with a sigh.
Of course, he’s not even sure he’s going to continue this business for much longer. The original appeal of having his own spirits consultation office has faded away to a feeling of monotony. He mostly gives people massages, and being a masseur isn’t anything really interesting to him.
Something is dropped on his desk, and his gaze darts over to the book now sitting to the side of his laptop. It’s the book he was skimming earlier.
“Throw this away.”
Reigen turns his gaze up to the man staring down at him, a remark already on the tip of his tongue--
“Ibara Masato is a scam artist,” the man says before he can get a word out. Looking carefully, his expression is more dead-serious than anything priggish. “His works have some credence, but it’s mostly due to him collecting official works from licensed individuals and piling them together to create something that’s half truth and half bullshit.”
Reigen takes a moment to mentally interject I got that book for free, so that’s not too surprising, followed by I guess all con artists operate by that code.
“Read something from Lian, or Zang-hee. They’re licensed individuals with experience in the field.” A pause. “I wouldn’t recommend you try acupuncture without formal training, though.”
Reigen snatches the book away, waving his free hand in the air as though dismissing the thought. “ Obviously . I only read the books, I don’t--I’m just curious. I wouldn’t actually try something like that on a customer.”
He’s not even lying, either--his interest in this book in particular was only for the information on pressure points. Massages are one thing, acupuncture not only requires the proper materials but is a pretty invasive procedure. Sure, he’s entertained the idea, maybe to test on himself first but…
“I figured I’d let you know anyway. It’s better than trying it on yourself and accidentally paralyzing your arm for a day.”
Well that’s weirdly specific.
Reigen stares at the book in his hand, scrutinizing it carefully as if gazing at it long enough will magically reveal all of its secrets. Unsurprisingly, nothing happens.
He settles for placing the book at the edge of his desk for later consideration. When he looks up, he finds the man is seated in the far sofa, apparently having commandeered another one of Reigen’s books to actually read instead of criticize this time.
~o~o~o~
Something in the corner of Reigen’s eyes shifts, and he forces the startled surprise from showing on his face when he remembers that yes, there was someone else here.
I forgot he was here. How did I forget there was someone here? I mean, he doesn’t look like anyone really memorable sure, but he’s in my office and--how…?
The man walks up to the desk and Reigen affects a questioning, expectant look.
“I have to go soon,” he says, withdrawing what looks to be a small notebook from his pocket. He motions for Reigen to take it, and hands it over.
It’s not a notebook.
“What--” Reigen stares in shock at the bills folded neatly between leather, but he isn’t so shocked that he can’t thumb through them surreptitiously and shift them into the light to check for counterfeit--oh, okay, they’re real. Holy shit .
Did… Did the guy just give him his damn wallet ?
“Um.” A true intellectual inspiration.
“It’s not my wallet if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“It’s not your wallet,” Reigen blurts out, “then whose wallet is it!? I don’t--I’m not going to take stolen money !” He feels just slightly frantic because, sure, he runs a business that isn’t entirely honest but he doesn’t steal and--
Just who the hell is this guy if he stole this much money!?
Silence falls in the office, Reigen waiting for the man to pull out a knife or something and say that it was all a ruse, blah blah “ give me all the money you have, ” while the maybe-maybe-not criminal stares at him with wide-eyes.
The moment passes and the man laughs .
Which, is kinda surprising, but why beyond “oh god he’s laughing, is that confirmation or something else” is something Reigen can’t actually figure out. Maybe he shouldn’t have come to work today.
“It’s not stolen, either,” the man says eventually, laughter subsided but eyes still creased around the edges. “It’s honest money. I just… I can’t take it with me, is all.”
Reigen is doubtful, but the man doesn’t really… seem ...like he’s lying. And Reigen has enough pride in his ability to handle people that he trusts his intuition. Sorta. “This is still too much,” he says, grimacing as he holds the money--a small fortune, why the hell is this guy carrying around a small fortune in his pocket--out to the man. “About a whole digit...or two...too much. This isn’t--“
“Use it to buy some better reference materials. And maybe something for the empty corner over there.” He glances over to said empty corner by the door. He turns back and smiles, the tilt barely discernable but genuine all the same. “This was interesting.”
He blinks, expression fading back to neutrality, and turns. “I’ll show the client in.”
Reigen glances from the man, the far wall, and the wad of cash in his hand. He is confused.
But as the man reaches the door, the chime goes off. A quiet “Excuse me,” is heard, and Reigen hears the man reply “he’s right inside.”
Reigen stands abruptly as the woman is led inside. The man smiles, nods his head and disappears around the corner.
It belatedly occurs to him that he never learned his name.
“Um, excuse me?” the woman hedges tentatively, “I’m here for a consultation…”
True to form, Reigen snaps back to reality. “... Uh. Ah, I mean--yes! Yes, come in, make yourself comfortable…”
He makes one last glance to the door, now shut, before directing the client to his desk.
(It’s something a quick massage fixes easily, and not even an hour later the client is leaving with a content smile on her face. Reigen leans heavily into his sofa and wonders about possible careers, weird customers with too much free time, and bowl cuts.)
(Five minutes later, a client of diminutive size and voice steps into the office. He is troubled.
His name is Kageyama Shigeo, and he is an esper.)