[ This, actually, seemed to throw the drunk dude for a loop. Maybe it was the yelling part. Maybe it was the American part. Maybe it was the part where Tim had bull horns and had shoulders like a goddamn linebacker.
"The fuck? Whas... who?"
That was all the man managed to get out as the other yakuza descended on him and his pals. ]
Alright, ya know what? Yeah, let's get outta here.
[ Because while Majima was sure that the illusionary Tojo could handle their own turf, there was no point getting caught up in a fake street fight where he couldn't even hit anyone, probably. Instead, he tugged Tim in the direction of a glitzy building front, decorated with a fucking gold painted elephant statue and the words MAHARAJA plastered up in bold. A bass line could be heard from all the way across the street, and red-carpeted stairs led up to the entrance.
no subject
"The fuck? Whas... who?"
That was all the man managed to get out as the other yakuza descended on him and his pals. ]
Alright, ya know what? Yeah, let's get outta here.
[ Because while Majima was sure that the illusionary Tojo could handle their own turf, there was no point getting caught up in a fake street fight where he couldn't even hit anyone, probably. Instead, he tugged Tim in the direction of a glitzy building front, decorated with a fucking gold painted elephant statue and the words MAHARAJA plastered up in bold. A bass line could be heard from all the way across the street, and red-carpeted stairs led up to the entrance.
THE EIGHTIES. ]