J u n j i x H a r a d a
Japan • #cc0e0e
The flight from Tokyo to Swizerland meant seventeen hours in the sky, with a single stop somewhere in the middle. Airtravel was comparable to being stuck in a limital zone: an in-between state without the demands of the normal world. It'd be uncomfortable if not for his first-class ticket, which afforded him the luxury of stretching out in the otherwise crampt compartment. Junji let himself do nothing but drink and watch old movies, content with the lightweight feeling flying brought him. Childishly, he sunk into the lounge chair beneath the complimentary blanket, nursing a whiskey or beer or whathaveyou halfway across the world.
He arrived in Switzerland in quite a state. Beyond tipsy yet bottles away from blackout, Junji drifted through the airport like a sleepwalker. He followed the motions, breezed through customs without incident, to suddenly find himself out in the crisp, morning air, accompanied by his two compatriots. Three from Kiku no wa were sent here on this so-called diplomatic assignment. Their organization feigned neutrality and preferred limiting their cooperation with other agencies, but they still had a stake in the game. The other two were his superiors: Tanaka Keiko, a mature woman, and Inoue Noboru, a grim man. They were older and permeated an air of sophistication, whereas he filled the role of their vigilant bodyguard. Ideally, the conference will end well, and he won't have to do much of anything.
When waiting for the shuttle they smoked together, to which he cringed at the foreignness of Swiss tobacco. No one talked, they shared in the silence and would until they arrived at the hotel. They were polite people, who fit into polite society, and as he understood it, that's how the world worked.
They entered the resort like a small murder of crows. Everyone wore their black suits, topped with heads of neat, black hair and the same morbid expression. If this persona was a mask then he smiled beneath it, finding their entourage amusing for the commitment to rigidness. While they spoke to the hostess he appreciated their surroundings, a modernist retreat dropped in the middle of the Alps. Grand windows connected the ceiling and the floor, giving the illusion of endless, open space. Nonetheless, the glass acted as a barrier between the civilized world and the wilds beyond. Dotted along this line were people clearly positioned to protect it, and his appreciation soon turned to scrutiny. Who was just a hotel employee, and who was brought here by the International Agents' Network? The uniformity created vagueness, and he made the mental note to not overlook even the most insignificant employee.
By the time they stood by the elevators, now with their lanyards and keycards, a wave of exhaustion came over him. The energy he felt from drinking now dipped to sluggishness, worsening the jetlag that already attacked his internal clock. However tired as he was, he could not collapse and sleep the day away for the most practical reasons. He needed coffee, desperately, and so the promise of a breakfast buffet kept him on his toes. First, he needed to throw his bags in his room, unable to trust anyone else to handle his things - even more so when surrounded by so many like himself. In front of his superiors, he eyed the descending numbers of the elevator, up until it announced its arrival when he stepped forward and hit a solid force.
Shit. Real professional. He collided with a young woman and cursed in Japanese beneath his breath. She apologized quickly, composing herself by the door of the elevator. Naturally, it felt wrong to accept an apology after nearly bulldozing her over, and he had to save face in front of Inoue and Tanaka. "No, I'm sorry. Are you okay?" he asked, immediately switching to English.