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100promptsTitle: 'Magnificent Macchan'
Fandom: Downtown no Gaki no Tsukai ya Arahende!!
Character/Pairing: Hamada Masatoshi, Matsumoto Hitoshi
Rating: PG (some language)
Summary:
Notes: Fic = Mine. Characters = Not Mine. Crossposted tocreativechallenges, inspiring_tables, shortfics, and whatif_au
Out on the sidewalk, as he was leaving home to get to work, Hamada spotted a strange man. The man was a bit taller than him, buried in a ratty-looking coat, with a wool cap pulled low over his eyes. In front of him was a small, collapsible stand, with a sign dangling from it that said Magnificent Macchan.
Squinting, Hamada peered closer at this oddity, then smiled. The self-proclaimed magnificent man was doing magic tricks for a group of middle-school students. They hung on every motion, apparently overcome with awe.
Hamada approached. He hated the idea of ruining the kids' fun, but they were probably late.
"Hadn't you better get going to school," he asked them, giving each a friendly grin.
Groans came from each of them in reply. Nonetheless, they went on their way, waving to the strange Macchan.
As for him, he didn't appear put out by losing an audience. Instead, he bowed to Hamada, before pulling a series of scarves out of his sleeve.
"That's not much of a trick, is it," Hamada teasingly scolded. "It's fine for little children, though. Have a nice day."
He turned to go on his daily trek. Behind him, he could hear a clattering noise; no doubt the stand being disassembled.
When he looked behind him, there was no trace of Magnificent Macchan, his sign, or his stand. Instead, the scarves were being wafted gently down the street in the morning breeze.
"Huh. That's odd," Hamada mumbled.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
As usual at this time of day, the train was crowded with commuters heading for school, work, or other errands. Taking a rare free seat, Hamada set his briefcase on his lap, and got started organizing papers. They'd have to be in order, or his presentation at the office would be thrown off. Once he was satisfied that they were perfect, he set them back in his briefcase, and snapped it shut. Then, he took a look around to see how close the train was to his stop.
Directly across from him sat the Magnificent Macchan.
Wide-eyed, Hamada could do nothing for a moment but stare at him. Then, he nodded politely.
"Hello, again. Good morning," he said.
Macchan grinned. Pulling open his tattered coat, he brought out a bright orange rose. He reached out and offered it to Hamada.
He stared blankly at it. "You want me to take it," he asked. When the rose was not withdrawn, he shrugged. "Thank you," he said, taking it.
His eyes twinkling beneath the wool cap, Macchan motioned for him to give it a sniff.
"Why don't you say something," Hamada grumbled softly, lifting the rose to his nose. A stream of hot water burst out of its center. "Owww! Hot hot hot," he cried, dropping the flower. Digging into his coat, he took out a handkerchief and mopped his face dry. "Why the hell would you do something like that," he demanded. "Huh? Answer me!"
But the train was slowing. Looking out the window, Hamada saw that they'd reached his stop. He leapt from his seat, hurrying for the doors.
"I'm glad to leave that lunatic," he groused.
Glancing back over his shoulder, he could see the Magnificent Macchan turning the rose into a cluster of butterflies for a pair of toddlers.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It was a ten-minute walk from the train station to Hamada's office. But, as jittery as he was by his encounters with the peculiar magician, Hamada made it in record time, with about four minutes to spare. He yanked open the door with more force than it deserved, and stomped to the elevator.
As it slid open, he let out a shout, and leaped backward roughly half a meter.
Smirking in amusement, his collapsible stand and sign in place, Hamada's mischievous Macchan stood right in the middle of the elevator.
"I..." Hamada swallowed, feeling his heart racing from the shock--or was it paranoia? "I'll take the next one."
That day, he took the stairs, instead.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Somehow, in spite of the increasing stress that he was feeling, and how frequently he found himself looking over his shoulder for a glimpse of the pursuer he dreaded, Hamada got through his presentation with no difficulties whatsoever. He even had a feeling that there was a pay raise in his immediate future.
"I'm glad that's over with," he murmured, entering his office--and groaning in dismay.
For there was Macchan, perched casually on his desk.
As his skin started to crawl, Hamada threw his briefcase aside. "Why are you following me," he shouted, pointing at the other man, the one who had been dogging his footsteps all morning. "Why? Is it because I sent those kids to school earlier? What could I do? They were gonna be late for class! That doesn't justify your stalking of me! Enough's enough--go home!"
Macchan just sat there, his arms folded across his chest. He didn't seem the slightest bit perturbed by the tirade. After a moment, he pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pants pocket. An inquiring look in his eyes, he offered one of the cigarettes.
"No--no, thank you," Hamada firmly replied, backing away a bit and waving a hand dismissively. For all he knew, the damn thing might explode in his mouth.
With a careless shrug, Macchan tapped one out, lit it, and took a few puffs. To Hamada's surprise, each puff of smoke was a different color, instead of the usual gray. Blue, fuchsia, a bright neon green...Hamada was transfixed.
"How are you doing that," he whispered, staring at the smoke.
As he watched, the smoke began to take different shapes. A sparkling silver dragon began to chase an orange samurai, before both were set upon by rainbow-hued ninjas. They clustered and writhed in their melee, and Hamada, like an eager little boy, kept struggling to decide who to root for. Then, each smoke figure separated into a burst of iridescent soap bubbles.
Laughing--the first vocalization he'd made, to Hamada's recollection--the Magnificent Macchan proceeded to poke a finger into each bubble, popping it. Then, bowing, he walked out of Hamada's office.
He left the cigarettes and lighter lying on the desk.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
After the combined stresses of having his presentation to make, and of being chased by a madman of a magician, Hamada was grateful to sit down at his favorite restaurant, after several hours of not encountering his stalker. Amid the chatter of other eaters, and with a bit of sake in front of him, he was sure that he'd finally have a good opportunity to relax. Outside, the sun was going down, and the lights of the city were coming up. A plate of oshizushi was set before him, and he dug in.
Nearby, a group of patrons were clapping and cheering wildly. Idly glancing their way, curious as to what had their attention, it was all Hamada could do not to drop one of the box-shaped nuggets he was trying to eat.
The patrons were watching eagerly as a chef entertained them. The chef in question was magnificent.
The Magnificent Macchan, to be more precise. To give him credit, at the moment, he didn't look like a raggedy, homeless oddball. Instead, he wore the traditional uniform of a sushi chef, with a cap pressed onto his close-shaven head.
He waved a hand over a plate of nattÅmaki. The rolls hopped off of the plate, and wedged their way underneath it, like wheels beneath a car, before taking the plate up and down the counter in what could only be described as a joy-ride. For an encore, he snapped his fingers at a pair of inarizushi, which proceeded to have a kendo standoff with some chopsticks. The finale was equally remarkable. Wiggling the fingers of his left hand over some ayu no shio yaki, he caused the sweetfish to seem to come to life and swim in front of the patrons, as if the fish were still in Lake Biwa.
His audience was thrilled. Hamada, however, was...well...
"That's impressive," he admitted to himself, under his breath.
He could have sworn that the magician-turned-chef looked his way and winked.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Just as Hamada expected, the Magnificent Macchan was on his homebound train. Sitting right across from him again. And right back in his scruffy-looking clothing.
This train was considerably less crowded, with people either at work or night classes, or else out enjoying the night life. Only a few people were scattered here and there.
"Why do you have to sit right there," Hamada asked, by now accustomed to not receiving a verbal reply.
As usual, the response was more physical. Macchan rose from his seat, turned, and opened the window directly above it.
Hamada shivered, gathering his coat around him. "What did you do that for," he fussed. "We'll all freeze!"
Instead of paying any heed to the complaint, the magician reached out and snatched at something as the train passed a light post. With each post that the train went by, he snatched again and again, until he drew into the train six glowing orbs. Hamada leaned forward and tried to stare further down the line. At this rate, he wouldn't be all that surprised if Macchan had snatched the very bulbs from the lights!
Not bothering to close the window, Magnificent Macchan stood in the middle of the train car. He hoisted the orbs into the air--and Hamada cringed, expecting there to be a glassy crash as they hit the floor.
But the orbs hovered there, in midair, in a graceful arc over their manipulator's head. He waved his hands, and they began to slowly dance through the car. As they did so, Macchan snapped his fingers, and the train's lights went out, leaving the car illuminated only by the shining spheres. Smiling triumphantly, Macchan sat back down.
"I'm sorry for what I said earlier," Hamada told him. "You've proven that you're very impressive. Why just entertain people on the street and the train? You could be on television, with that talent."
The train was slowing to a halt at Hamada's stop. He rose; and Macchan hopped onto the seat, waving the orbs to himself. Taking each in his hands, he blew softly on them, and they drifted out of the window, which afterward was closed behind them.
"Will wonders never cease," Hamada murmured, shaking his head, as he disembarked.
The train pulled out again, and Macchan stood on the other side of its doors, waving at him. He seemed to be laughing.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
For all that he'd long since become accustomed to that figure everywhere he looked today, it was still jarring to Hamada when he reached his street, and found the Magnificent Macchan waiting for him. This time, though, his stand and sign were not in place. Instead, adding to his long list of quirks, he now had a long black cloak wrapped around him.
"Please, tell me why you've been after me all day," Hamada moaned. "I've had a long day, because of you. Is it because I insulted you? Are you taking revenge?"
Macchan just smiled.
"Okay. I apologize. I was out of line this morning. Please forgive me," Hamada said to him, bowing low. "I was thoughtless."
Clapping his hands, the magician laughed delightedly. He returned the bow, opening his cloak wide.
Then, rapidly straightening, he removed the cloak and whipped it around himself several times. With each pass, he seemed to grow increasingly transparent to Hamada's eyes. Eventually, only the cloak remained. It dropped to the ground--then turned into a flock of blackbirds, which flew away into the night. Their cawing sounded just like Magnificent Macchan's laughter.
Hamada looked around him, no less befuddled than he'd been throughout this long, weird day.
"I hope that's the end of it," he muttered. "I hope that all that's left of everything that's happened will be the memory."
Fandom: Downtown no Gaki no Tsukai ya Arahende!!
Character/Pairing: Hamada Masatoshi, Matsumoto Hitoshi
Rating: PG (some language)
Summary:
Notes: Fic = Mine. Characters = Not Mine. Crossposted to
creativechallenges, inspiring_tables, shortfics, and whatif_auOut on the sidewalk, as he was leaving home to get to work, Hamada spotted a strange man. The man was a bit taller than him, buried in a ratty-looking coat, with a wool cap pulled low over his eyes. In front of him was a small, collapsible stand, with a sign dangling from it that said Magnificent Macchan.
Squinting, Hamada peered closer at this oddity, then smiled. The self-proclaimed magnificent man was doing magic tricks for a group of middle-school students. They hung on every motion, apparently overcome with awe.
Hamada approached. He hated the idea of ruining the kids' fun, but they were probably late.
"Hadn't you better get going to school," he asked them, giving each a friendly grin.
Groans came from each of them in reply. Nonetheless, they went on their way, waving to the strange Macchan.
As for him, he didn't appear put out by losing an audience. Instead, he bowed to Hamada, before pulling a series of scarves out of his sleeve.
"That's not much of a trick, is it," Hamada teasingly scolded. "It's fine for little children, though. Have a nice day."
He turned to go on his daily trek. Behind him, he could hear a clattering noise; no doubt the stand being disassembled.
When he looked behind him, there was no trace of Magnificent Macchan, his sign, or his stand. Instead, the scarves were being wafted gently down the street in the morning breeze.
"Huh. That's odd," Hamada mumbled.
As usual at this time of day, the train was crowded with commuters heading for school, work, or other errands. Taking a rare free seat, Hamada set his briefcase on his lap, and got started organizing papers. They'd have to be in order, or his presentation at the office would be thrown off. Once he was satisfied that they were perfect, he set them back in his briefcase, and snapped it shut. Then, he took a look around to see how close the train was to his stop.
Directly across from him sat the Magnificent Macchan.
Wide-eyed, Hamada could do nothing for a moment but stare at him. Then, he nodded politely.
"Hello, again. Good morning," he said.
Macchan grinned. Pulling open his tattered coat, he brought out a bright orange rose. He reached out and offered it to Hamada.
He stared blankly at it. "You want me to take it," he asked. When the rose was not withdrawn, he shrugged. "Thank you," he said, taking it.
His eyes twinkling beneath the wool cap, Macchan motioned for him to give it a sniff.
"Why don't you say something," Hamada grumbled softly, lifting the rose to his nose. A stream of hot water burst out of its center. "Owww! Hot hot hot," he cried, dropping the flower. Digging into his coat, he took out a handkerchief and mopped his face dry. "Why the hell would you do something like that," he demanded. "Huh? Answer me!"
But the train was slowing. Looking out the window, Hamada saw that they'd reached his stop. He leapt from his seat, hurrying for the doors.
"I'm glad to leave that lunatic," he groused.
Glancing back over his shoulder, he could see the Magnificent Macchan turning the rose into a cluster of butterflies for a pair of toddlers.
It was a ten-minute walk from the train station to Hamada's office. But, as jittery as he was by his encounters with the peculiar magician, Hamada made it in record time, with about four minutes to spare. He yanked open the door with more force than it deserved, and stomped to the elevator.
As it slid open, he let out a shout, and leaped backward roughly half a meter.
Smirking in amusement, his collapsible stand and sign in place, Hamada's mischievous Macchan stood right in the middle of the elevator.
"I..." Hamada swallowed, feeling his heart racing from the shock--or was it paranoia? "I'll take the next one."
That day, he took the stairs, instead.
Somehow, in spite of the increasing stress that he was feeling, and how frequently he found himself looking over his shoulder for a glimpse of the pursuer he dreaded, Hamada got through his presentation with no difficulties whatsoever. He even had a feeling that there was a pay raise in his immediate future.
"I'm glad that's over with," he murmured, entering his office--and groaning in dismay.
For there was Macchan, perched casually on his desk.
As his skin started to crawl, Hamada threw his briefcase aside. "Why are you following me," he shouted, pointing at the other man, the one who had been dogging his footsteps all morning. "Why? Is it because I sent those kids to school earlier? What could I do? They were gonna be late for class! That doesn't justify your stalking of me! Enough's enough--go home!"
Macchan just sat there, his arms folded across his chest. He didn't seem the slightest bit perturbed by the tirade. After a moment, he pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pants pocket. An inquiring look in his eyes, he offered one of the cigarettes.
"No--no, thank you," Hamada firmly replied, backing away a bit and waving a hand dismissively. For all he knew, the damn thing might explode in his mouth.
With a careless shrug, Macchan tapped one out, lit it, and took a few puffs. To Hamada's surprise, each puff of smoke was a different color, instead of the usual gray. Blue, fuchsia, a bright neon green...Hamada was transfixed.
"How are you doing that," he whispered, staring at the smoke.
As he watched, the smoke began to take different shapes. A sparkling silver dragon began to chase an orange samurai, before both were set upon by rainbow-hued ninjas. They clustered and writhed in their melee, and Hamada, like an eager little boy, kept struggling to decide who to root for. Then, each smoke figure separated into a burst of iridescent soap bubbles.
Laughing--the first vocalization he'd made, to Hamada's recollection--the Magnificent Macchan proceeded to poke a finger into each bubble, popping it. Then, bowing, he walked out of Hamada's office.
He left the cigarettes and lighter lying on the desk.
After the combined stresses of having his presentation to make, and of being chased by a madman of a magician, Hamada was grateful to sit down at his favorite restaurant, after several hours of not encountering his stalker. Amid the chatter of other eaters, and with a bit of sake in front of him, he was sure that he'd finally have a good opportunity to relax. Outside, the sun was going down, and the lights of the city were coming up. A plate of oshizushi was set before him, and he dug in.
Nearby, a group of patrons were clapping and cheering wildly. Idly glancing their way, curious as to what had their attention, it was all Hamada could do not to drop one of the box-shaped nuggets he was trying to eat.
The patrons were watching eagerly as a chef entertained them. The chef in question was magnificent.
The Magnificent Macchan, to be more precise. To give him credit, at the moment, he didn't look like a raggedy, homeless oddball. Instead, he wore the traditional uniform of a sushi chef, with a cap pressed onto his close-shaven head.
He waved a hand over a plate of nattÅmaki. The rolls hopped off of the plate, and wedged their way underneath it, like wheels beneath a car, before taking the plate up and down the counter in what could only be described as a joy-ride. For an encore, he snapped his fingers at a pair of inarizushi, which proceeded to have a kendo standoff with some chopsticks. The finale was equally remarkable. Wiggling the fingers of his left hand over some ayu no shio yaki, he caused the sweetfish to seem to come to life and swim in front of the patrons, as if the fish were still in Lake Biwa.
His audience was thrilled. Hamada, however, was...well...
"That's impressive," he admitted to himself, under his breath.
He could have sworn that the magician-turned-chef looked his way and winked.
Just as Hamada expected, the Magnificent Macchan was on his homebound train. Sitting right across from him again. And right back in his scruffy-looking clothing.
This train was considerably less crowded, with people either at work or night classes, or else out enjoying the night life. Only a few people were scattered here and there.
"Why do you have to sit right there," Hamada asked, by now accustomed to not receiving a verbal reply.
As usual, the response was more physical. Macchan rose from his seat, turned, and opened the window directly above it.
Hamada shivered, gathering his coat around him. "What did you do that for," he fussed. "We'll all freeze!"
Instead of paying any heed to the complaint, the magician reached out and snatched at something as the train passed a light post. With each post that the train went by, he snatched again and again, until he drew into the train six glowing orbs. Hamada leaned forward and tried to stare further down the line. At this rate, he wouldn't be all that surprised if Macchan had snatched the very bulbs from the lights!
Not bothering to close the window, Magnificent Macchan stood in the middle of the train car. He hoisted the orbs into the air--and Hamada cringed, expecting there to be a glassy crash as they hit the floor.
But the orbs hovered there, in midair, in a graceful arc over their manipulator's head. He waved his hands, and they began to slowly dance through the car. As they did so, Macchan snapped his fingers, and the train's lights went out, leaving the car illuminated only by the shining spheres. Smiling triumphantly, Macchan sat back down.
"I'm sorry for what I said earlier," Hamada told him. "You've proven that you're very impressive. Why just entertain people on the street and the train? You could be on television, with that talent."
The train was slowing to a halt at Hamada's stop. He rose; and Macchan hopped onto the seat, waving the orbs to himself. Taking each in his hands, he blew softly on them, and they drifted out of the window, which afterward was closed behind them.
"Will wonders never cease," Hamada murmured, shaking his head, as he disembarked.
The train pulled out again, and Macchan stood on the other side of its doors, waving at him. He seemed to be laughing.
For all that he'd long since become accustomed to that figure everywhere he looked today, it was still jarring to Hamada when he reached his street, and found the Magnificent Macchan waiting for him. This time, though, his stand and sign were not in place. Instead, adding to his long list of quirks, he now had a long black cloak wrapped around him.
"Please, tell me why you've been after me all day," Hamada moaned. "I've had a long day, because of you. Is it because I insulted you? Are you taking revenge?"
Macchan just smiled.
"Okay. I apologize. I was out of line this morning. Please forgive me," Hamada said to him, bowing low. "I was thoughtless."
Clapping his hands, the magician laughed delightedly. He returned the bow, opening his cloak wide.
Then, rapidly straightening, he removed the cloak and whipped it around himself several times. With each pass, he seemed to grow increasingly transparent to Hamada's eyes. Eventually, only the cloak remained. It dropped to the ground--then turned into a flock of blackbirds, which flew away into the night. Their cawing sounded just like Magnificent Macchan's laughter.
Hamada looked around him, no less befuddled than he'd been throughout this long, weird day.
"I hope that's the end of it," he muttered. "I hope that all that's left of everything that's happened will be the memory."
