DAISUKE
Emi objects to my line of questioning. “It’s not that I wasn’t prepared, it’s that I didn’t know you’d be here!”
“Isn’t that just another way of saying the same thing though? I mean I don’t blame you, but you offered that ride. What did you have in mind if I hadn’t come prepared?”
“Umm…” She leans forward a bit and looks back over her shoulder. “I think we could have figured something out.” I swear she practices that pout in a mirror.
“Aww, don’t give me that look. You’re pretty good at winging it, and I’ve been thrilled with the results every time thus far. You’re right too, I couldn’t reasonably expect you to prepare for a surprise visit. That’s why I made a guess and prepared for this. I mean, not much loss if I was wrong, right?” Her smile is authentic.
“Can I ask you something?” She suddenly sounds a bit restrained.
“Of course! You can ask me anything you want. I reserve the right not to answer, but I’ll only invoke it in emergencies.”
“Alright then… how many times did you prepare for?”
I don’t know what question I expected, but that wasn’t it. Since I’m laughing too hard to string together more than a syllable at a time, I just hold up four fingers, then fold one. That seems to get the point across.
“You’re quite the optimist, aren’t you.”
“Always. It’s not even like I can spend the night, either. My associates are giving me space, but eventually they’re going to wonder where I am. I should probably check in with them to let them know I didn’t get hit by lightning or anything… or that I survived the lightning, in any case. Let’s hope it strikes twice.”
She curls up beside me and lays her head on my shoulder, and old memories come pouring back to me. I haven’t smoked in three years, but I have an almost unbearable urge for a cigarette right about now. I let my mind wander as it will, knowing there’s very little I can do to stop it, only stall. I stare at nothing and think about everything until Emi taps her fingers on my sternum.
“Who are you thinking about?” Not what, but who. Very astute. “I could see you silently talking to them.”
I draw a deep breath, then let it out again. I don’t know if I’m ready to delve into this right now, but then I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready. Just gonna have to roll the dice on this one I guess. “Her name was Julia. Please forgive me, it’s been three years but I still remember like it was yesterday. I probably always will.”
She gives me a few moments of silence, then huddles in even closer. “There’s nothing to forgive. You had a life before we met too, and I never expected it to be any other way.”
“Actually you’d be surprised just how little of a life I had. It’s been all work work work, and before that, busting my ass to get through law school. But it’s all I had left.” I wonder if she noticed the use of the past tense there.
“So what happened between you? I mean… if you want to tell me. Don’t feel like you have to.”
“You mean like why did it end?” She nods. “Death has a way of doing that.” She frowns, but says nothing, her fingers idly drawing doodles on my skin. “You want the epic or the Cliff Notes?”
“Whatever you’re comfortable with. If I don’t get something, you can fill in the gaps later.”
“Okay, let me start somewhere roughly around the beginning then. I met her six years ago.” Is that really all? It feels like a lifetime, yet it’s still fresh. “I first saw her playing Dance Dance Revolution at a local arcade, and she was kicking some serious butt. Nobody could keep up with her. I gave it my best, but it was nowhere near enough. But it was when she looked at me in the front of the line of challengers and beckoned me over with a finger that I knew I was doomed, even before the first note of the first song. She had those eyes… so very much like yours, with that intensity that is so compelling. I knew if I left that arcade without her, or she without me, that I’d regret it forever. So I didn’t.”
Emi’s green eyes go wide. “Just like that, she went home with you?”
I can’t help laughing. “Oh hell no! I’m not that smooth, and I was even rougher around the edges then. But she didn’t get away without giving me her number. I even repeated it back to her... wrong. When she corrected me, I knew I was on to something good. In any case, I shouldn’t have to tell you Julia is a foreign name, so I wondered where she was from. She had a bit of an accent, but not enough for me to place it. In any case, I was intrigued and apparently so was she, because we met in the same place at the same time the very next night… only this time we didn’t hang around. We just walked, and talked, and I ended up with a parking ticket. Totally worth it though.”
“That hardly sounds like a glorious start. I’d be a little bit peeved at least.”
“I was, of course, but she just said ‘looks like you already paid your share, how about I pick up dinner?’ Needless to say, I accepted. That’s when I found out she was an American student studying political science. Does the name Watanabe ring a bell?”
“The guy you called «Asshole» Watanabe?”
“One and the same. Well, she got the honor of having to deal with him a year and a half before I did, and I even went in forewarned, thanks to her. Things between us escalated pretty fast, and within a month we’d already moved in together. It wasn’t a very big place, but then she hadn’t really planned on having two people in it. By summer break, we were planning a wedding.”
“Oh… wow. I guess that did escalate pretty quickly.”
“Indeed. We were married in October, over the break between semesters. We only had a few days to ourselves before we had to dive right back into the schoolwork. It wasn’t so bad for me, but she was going into her final semester and there’s very little margin for error at that point, if someone wants to graduate on time. That’s why we were less concerned than we should have been, when she started falling, having balance problems, things like that. She’d get checked up by a doctor, but it was always the same answers – vertigo, inner ear infection, stress. Nobody really wanted to look any deeper. She managed to keep it together though the end of the year, but by our first anniversary, she was already walking with a cane. We knew something wasn’t right. Still, she kept a lid on it, and found work as a translator for a large company. This meant we now had the resources to get this investigated properly, but it did little to prepare us for the blow that followed.” I swallow and try to keep it together.
“It’s alright, if you need to stop, you can. I mean, I couldn’t get through my story the first time either.” She looks at me with tears in her eyes as well.
“No, no… I’ve had a while to think about this. I knew you’d want to know, and it’s only fair that you do.” Her expression hangs somewhere between anticipation and dread as I continue. “Six months of tests. Poking, prodding, checking for every possible condition that could explain her obvious decline was bad enough, but it didn’t get any better when the tests stopped and we got the news. It was a particularly aggressive form of motor neuron disease, and they couldn’t tell us how long she’d be able to live with it. I mean look at Stephen Hawking, he’s hung on for decades that way. But he’s lucky enough to have chosen a highly brainy profession, and we had no such luxury. She was barely functioning with the cane by the time we got the diagnosis, and by our second anniversary she needed a wheelchair to get around. We discussed all manner of things – what treatments were available, what the costs and benefits were to each, and what she might expect to get out of them in terms of the quality of her life. But we never, ever discussed quitting. Giving up was not on the agenda.”
“Gee, I know a few people like that.” She smiles at me. If you think this has a happy ending, you haven’t been paying attention.
“Do you really? People who put on a mask, a painted smile, and tell you everything will be alright when they know perfectly well that it won’t, just because they don’t want you to worry about them? If so… I’d rather not know about it. She pulled the wool over my eyes, thoroughly and completely. I knew she was angry. I knew she was having a hard time accepting the hand that fate had dealt her. I didn’t know she’d fold, and there is hardly a day that goes by that I don’t ask myself why not. Two months before our third anniversary, and three years to the day from when I proposed to her, I came home from work to find the house dark. I figured maybe she was sleeping, or perhaps she’d had a rare day where she felt good enough to go out with a friend, but my hopes didn’t last long… excuse me.” I take a couple sips from the water bottle on the nightstand, return it to its resting place, close my eyes, and take a couple deep breaths.
“I found the note first. It said ‘I can’t continue to ruin your life when I don’t even have one myself any more. Please forgive me, and yourself.’ That was it, taped to the bathroom door. I took a look inside to find she had swallowed a handful of pills, filled the tub, and slipped beneath the water. It only took one glance to know that I was much too late. I was afraid to touch anything, called the police, and they came out and did their business, but I never even got a chance to say goodbye properly. And just like that, I was all alone in our humble home.”
“Oh… shit. That had to be hard to deal with.” Well no shit. In all fairness though, I probably couldn’t have come up with anything better.
“What made it worse was that I couldn’t even attend the service. As an American, she was repatriated and buried where she was born, but I didn’t even have a passport. It had never occurred to me that I would need one, and I had no time to secure one before it was too late. I begged for a delay – I only needed a couple weeks – but the authorities and her parents alike were united in denying my request. With nothing left to do, I decided I would not leave my fate or the fate of the ones I love in someone else’s hands ever again. I hit the books hard, crammed my way through law school with a smile painted on my face, went to work for Muramoto last year. It was all I had, and I pretended the shit sandwich they fed me tasted wonderful. I’m not going to be able to keep that up much longer, but I don’t have a backup plan either. I buckled down, went all-in, and got what I was aiming for… only to realize I hate it. It’s not the law part, it’s the egos I have to work with, and the unsavory types I have to defend. Getting the call for your case is quite frankly the best thing that has happened to me in three years… or at least it was until tonight, but without that call, tonight wouldn’t have happened.”
Nekonomicon series continuation?
Re: The Neko Story: Book 1 (...And Nakai Makes Three) releas
NEKO
Wow. Of all the pickup lines that I’ve ever heard or tried, “I want to have your abortion” doesn’t even make the list. I’m not sure if it does now, I think all I may have done with it is rouse him from a snooze. Wash. Rinse. Rinse again. Next. I set aside each piece as I finish with the rinsing – the wringing out will have to wait. Once I get to his shirt, I need to pay closer attention to make sure there’s nothing left to set in and stain. A stained towel I can deal with, but I’d feel at least a little bit bad if I ran up Hisao’s wardrobe bill.
Interesting scatter pattern, a sign of a healthy prostate I suppose. That probably wasn’t very smart of me though. Accidents can still happen, panties and pills notwithstanding. It’s the sort of thing I haven’t had to worry about for the past year. Oh. Shit. I guess the wash isn’t the only thing that needs to come clean some time in the near future.
With the bare necessities of washing out of the way, I get to the wringing. It’s a bit of a struggle to keep my arse out of the sink, but this countertop wasn’t really made for sitting on. You’d think they’d have considered such things, since other facilities seem reasonably well adapted to the needs of various Yamaku students. At least it seems sturdy enough. I need the support if I’m going to get a grip on both ends of a piece of cloth at the same time. I also use the faucet itself as an anchor, but that can shred the delicates. Probably best if I just squeeze those out as best I can and let them air dry.
At last, I have moved everything from the ‘soaking wet’ pile to the ‘not so soaking wet’ pile. I load everything back into the basket except the towel, and swing myself over the side of the counter for the hop down. Last but not least, I load up the towel with warm water, and squeeze it out to the point that it doesn’t drip.
“«Oh loverboy!»” I announce my return as I open the door and flip the towel to Hisao. He snatches it out of the air, but it still manages to spray him just a bit with water. “«That should let you finish any cleanup you have left. There better not be a wet spot in the bed, ‘cause I’m sure as hell not sleeping in it.»”
He wipes down with one hand and feels along the mattress with the other. “«I do not feel any wet.»” I’m not in a mood to correct his grammar, it made enough sense.
I still have the basket hooked over the short arm as I string up a temporary clothesline, long since measured to go exactly between the desk and the bookshelf. Sturdy binder clips ensure it’s not going anywhere, even with the weight of damp clothing dangling from it, and I strategically position the waste bin under the drippiest items. I deposit the now empty basket next to the television, which is still paused on the pillow talk scene.
“«You seem… prepared for this.»”
“«Yeah well, monthly girl thing, you know? Slip-ups happen and I’m not fond of airing my knickers in public.»” Time to lose this skirt. I let it drop to the floor and hop out of it before flipping it across the room and out of the way. “«I’m not planning on going out again tonight… unless you like me better with it?»”
“«Uh, no. This is good for me.»”
I take a peek in the fridge. Not much left but there’s an open bottle of wine we can split, and a take-out container of rice. That will have to do. I hold the container of rice out in Hisao’s general direction. “«Say love, would you be so good as to heat this up? I’m feeling a bit peckish. Must have burned off some of dinner there a few minutes ago.»”
He gestures at his bare chest. “«Like this?»”
I hop to the dresser and fetch him an oversize shirt. Sure it’s Hello Kitty. Deal with it. He shrugs and wanders off to heat up our snack, leaving me time to reassemble the bed, fetch out some paper cups, and split the last of the leftover wine between them. Class all the way, baby. I put the folding table back out, complete with our empty soup bowls from earlier, our beverages, two pairs of clean chopsticks (at least I’m pretty sure they’re clean), and a small jar of pickled ginger, then settle in to await his return.
The door opens, and Hisao walks in holding the take-out container wrapped in a paper towel. I guess he took the mission seriously. I gesture to the place settings. “«Go ahead and split it up.»” I grab the jar of ginger, pin it between my foot and my knee, and twist off the lid.
I catch him looking impressed and nodding at me. “«Not bad!»”
“«So I’ve been told, but I do things like that all day. Always have. Either I can adapt and figure out how to do these things for myself, or they just don’t get done. Anyhow… let’s eat.»” I place the opened jar on the table and pluck some ginger out, placing a little on each of our bowls of rice. I hold up a slice. “«You know what this has always looked like to me?»” He shakes his head, and I give him a sneaky grin. “«If you’re good, maybe later I’ll show you.»” And if you’re bad, maybe you can even have a taste.
Wow. Of all the pickup lines that I’ve ever heard or tried, “I want to have your abortion” doesn’t even make the list. I’m not sure if it does now, I think all I may have done with it is rouse him from a snooze. Wash. Rinse. Rinse again. Next. I set aside each piece as I finish with the rinsing – the wringing out will have to wait. Once I get to his shirt, I need to pay closer attention to make sure there’s nothing left to set in and stain. A stained towel I can deal with, but I’d feel at least a little bit bad if I ran up Hisao’s wardrobe bill.
Interesting scatter pattern, a sign of a healthy prostate I suppose. That probably wasn’t very smart of me though. Accidents can still happen, panties and pills notwithstanding. It’s the sort of thing I haven’t had to worry about for the past year. Oh. Shit. I guess the wash isn’t the only thing that needs to come clean some time in the near future.
With the bare necessities of washing out of the way, I get to the wringing. It’s a bit of a struggle to keep my arse out of the sink, but this countertop wasn’t really made for sitting on. You’d think they’d have considered such things, since other facilities seem reasonably well adapted to the needs of various Yamaku students. At least it seems sturdy enough. I need the support if I’m going to get a grip on both ends of a piece of cloth at the same time. I also use the faucet itself as an anchor, but that can shred the delicates. Probably best if I just squeeze those out as best I can and let them air dry.
At last, I have moved everything from the ‘soaking wet’ pile to the ‘not so soaking wet’ pile. I load everything back into the basket except the towel, and swing myself over the side of the counter for the hop down. Last but not least, I load up the towel with warm water, and squeeze it out to the point that it doesn’t drip.
“«Oh loverboy!»” I announce my return as I open the door and flip the towel to Hisao. He snatches it out of the air, but it still manages to spray him just a bit with water. “«That should let you finish any cleanup you have left. There better not be a wet spot in the bed, ‘cause I’m sure as hell not sleeping in it.»”
He wipes down with one hand and feels along the mattress with the other. “«I do not feel any wet.»” I’m not in a mood to correct his grammar, it made enough sense.
I still have the basket hooked over the short arm as I string up a temporary clothesline, long since measured to go exactly between the desk and the bookshelf. Sturdy binder clips ensure it’s not going anywhere, even with the weight of damp clothing dangling from it, and I strategically position the waste bin under the drippiest items. I deposit the now empty basket next to the television, which is still paused on the pillow talk scene.
“«You seem… prepared for this.»”
“«Yeah well, monthly girl thing, you know? Slip-ups happen and I’m not fond of airing my knickers in public.»” Time to lose this skirt. I let it drop to the floor and hop out of it before flipping it across the room and out of the way. “«I’m not planning on going out again tonight… unless you like me better with it?»”
“«Uh, no. This is good for me.»”
I take a peek in the fridge. Not much left but there’s an open bottle of wine we can split, and a take-out container of rice. That will have to do. I hold the container of rice out in Hisao’s general direction. “«Say love, would you be so good as to heat this up? I’m feeling a bit peckish. Must have burned off some of dinner there a few minutes ago.»”
He gestures at his bare chest. “«Like this?»”
I hop to the dresser and fetch him an oversize shirt. Sure it’s Hello Kitty. Deal with it. He shrugs and wanders off to heat up our snack, leaving me time to reassemble the bed, fetch out some paper cups, and split the last of the leftover wine between them. Class all the way, baby. I put the folding table back out, complete with our empty soup bowls from earlier, our beverages, two pairs of clean chopsticks (at least I’m pretty sure they’re clean), and a small jar of pickled ginger, then settle in to await his return.
The door opens, and Hisao walks in holding the take-out container wrapped in a paper towel. I guess he took the mission seriously. I gesture to the place settings. “«Go ahead and split it up.»” I grab the jar of ginger, pin it between my foot and my knee, and twist off the lid.
I catch him looking impressed and nodding at me. “«Not bad!»”
“«So I’ve been told, but I do things like that all day. Always have. Either I can adapt and figure out how to do these things for myself, or they just don’t get done. Anyhow… let’s eat.»” I place the opened jar on the table and pluck some ginger out, placing a little on each of our bowls of rice. I hold up a slice. “«You know what this has always looked like to me?»” He shakes his head, and I give him a sneaky grin. “«If you’re good, maybe later I’ll show you.»” And if you’re bad, maybe you can even have a taste.
Re: The Neko Story: Book 1 (...And Nakai Makes Three) releas
HISAO
I woke up the next morning, Neko wasn't there. My clothes were neatly folded and placed on the desk next to the television, and the bag with my pills was lying on top along with a folded slip of paper. On the paper there were no words, just a triangle with a line sticking out of the top. No, wait, I'm holding it upside down. That's supposed to be a symbol for “antenna”. I guess I know where she went then, as if I couldn't have guessed on my own.
I need a shower worse than I can remember for... ever, really. It's not that I stink, but I feel clammy, much like waking up after sleeping with too many blankets and the heat on, only times ten. Since I'm headed back to my room anyhow, I leave the pills on the desk and get dressed. Although my shirt is dry and unstained, it is still hopelessly wrinkled and is likely to remain so until I have a chance to iron it. I also have a terminal case of bed head, but a borrowed hairbrush gets that under some semblance of control. I hope she doesn’t mind me borrowing the brush, if she even notices. It’s not like we haven’t swapped more delicate things than a few hairs recently.
This gets me to thinking – just what happened last night? I mean the events themselves are perfectly clear, but the motivations behind them are just the opposite. Where does that leave us? Are we a couple now because we… hell, I don’t even know what to call what we did. It was just about everything short of the legal definition of sex.
Once in the shower, I am grateful that Kenji is the only one I ever have to share a bathroom with. Visions of paper-thin sliced ginger intermingle with images of female flesh, and I can practically taste both. My body is unable to distinguish fantasy from reality, and I am forced to give myself release before it will let me relax. I finish as quietly as I can and wash away the evidence.
Back in my room, I gulp down my pills and dress. Some fresh clothing makes me feel like a new man. Even my persistently unruly lock of hair is staying put for the moment. No doubt this will change once I dry off, but I can enjoy it while it lasts. I make my way to the roof, stopping only once for breath. I don't think last night would be the kind of exercise Nurse would recommend, but hey, all cardio is good cardio, right? I step out onto the roof to find it sparsely but distinctly occupied. A few people are sitting in a group, taking turns reading aloud and sometimes laughing. Others are scattered about as individuals, doing various things from stretching to texting to sunbathing.
Everything seems so damn ordinary. Nobody checking pulses, no spotlight on the guy who might need the epi pen in his pocket at any moment, no IV bags dripping fluid. When it comes right down to it, isn’t that the point of this place? To be a silent support system, one we can almost forget exists? Part of the reason I’m here is to try to wean me off that silent support, but some of the people in front of me will never be free of it. When they graduate from here, they’re still going to be reliant on others just for the basic necessities it takes to get through the day. I’ll just have to choke down a bunch of pills and watch my limits.
I make my way across the roof to meet with the master at denying the limits even exist. The anti-katawa. Along with Emi, she’s among the least crippled of the entire student body, despite having a total of four good limbs between the two of them. While the two of them are certainly on good terms, I wouldn’t go so far as to say they’re close friends. I suppose it’s just a lack of common interests.
I slip into the room as silently as possible, which seems to be appreciated as Neko clamps the headset tightly to her ear with her short arm while taking notes. I notice she elected not to wear the prosthetic again today. She glances at me and grins for an instant, and that’s about all the brainpower she has to spare before she’s back to scribbling. I take up horizontal residence on the couch as I wait for… I don’t know what exactly, but at least she knows I’m here.
“Hey! Feet off the furniture!” She slaps my legs as they ride the arm of the couch.
What? Oh, I must have dozed off. “Hey, I’ve seen you do it.”
“Yeah, but it’s my couch. Surely you don’t think the school provides anything that comfortable?”
I certainly have to admit to its comfort, and some of the prior scenes of Neko abusing furniture start to fit into a pattern in my mind – it does look just like the one in her bedroom at the ranch. “No, this lulls me to sleep faster than the standard-issue mattress, that’s for sure.”
“Well it’s gotta hold up another year and a three quarters. After that I don’t much care what they wanna do with it, or anything else in this room for that matter. So… at least take your shoes off next time, okay? Do you know how many innocent naugas had to die to make this?”
What? It’s fake leather? That actually makes it more impressive, like finding a 500 yen bottle of wine has been successfully passed off as an esteemed vintage – something I bet her family has also done.
“So what were you so engrossed in when I showed up that you let me fall asleep on your couch?” Let’s try turning the tables just a little bit.
“Code practice. Transcribing Morse code, by ear, is hard enough. It’s ten times as bad when I’m not even sure if I can hear the signal or not.”
“How do you know, if it’s really that hard to hear?”
“I’ll just share notes with someone who heard it better and posts their transcript. Might even be the source. That’s the whole reason code still exists though. If there’s someone listening, a carrier wave message is a lot more likely to survive transmitting under adverse conditions than voice ever will be. Rag-chewing is fun, but you’ll be glad folks like me did things like this when the power goes out… everywhere.”
“So I’m not only expected to learn another language now, I’m expected to learn an ancient cipher version of that language?” Maybe this isn’t going to be as fun as I thought.
“Oh, calm your tits. Nobody is asking you to learn Morse code. But then, nobody is asking you to survive World War Three either. Or the next time something like the solar storm of 1859 strikes. Which it will. Maybe not in our lifetimes… but I prefer to hedge my bets.”
Well that’s not exactly the way I was looking to start a discussion of ‘us,’ but it’s a foot in the door and I’ll take it. “Speaking of lifetimes…” I just look at her, not knowing how to proceed from here.
“Yeah, we do need to talk about that before I fall back under the watchful gaze of Her Infernal Majesty. I think you and I, we have something special, something I’d like to pursue further. But understand that I’m not completely free to follow up on this the way I’d like to, and don’t take it the wrong way if I have to decline some of your invitations.”
Are you really that afraid of your mother? I guess I might be too, if she was literally just around the corner. “Alright. Do you have some sort of code of your own that I should know about?”
“Well I didn’t, but now that you ask…” She pauses for a moment to consider, then strikes her chest with her thumb, directly over the heart. “Let that be our signal, it means ‘not here, not now.’ That should cover most circumstances that come to mind.”
“That works for me. I might not tap though, it causes me problems.” I hold my open hand across my chest, thumb extended upward. “Still clear enough?”
“It looks like you have heartburn, but I think I can figure it out. If it’s an actual, like, medical emergency, I’d imagine you’d be clenching your fist.”
“This…” I place my hand flat over my chest without extending my thumb. “...is heartburn. This…” I extend my thumb. “...is a signal. Not that I can think of any time I might need it.”
“«To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.» Better that we are prepared than not.”
I woke up the next morning, Neko wasn't there. My clothes were neatly folded and placed on the desk next to the television, and the bag with my pills was lying on top along with a folded slip of paper. On the paper there were no words, just a triangle with a line sticking out of the top. No, wait, I'm holding it upside down. That's supposed to be a symbol for “antenna”. I guess I know where she went then, as if I couldn't have guessed on my own.
I need a shower worse than I can remember for... ever, really. It's not that I stink, but I feel clammy, much like waking up after sleeping with too many blankets and the heat on, only times ten. Since I'm headed back to my room anyhow, I leave the pills on the desk and get dressed. Although my shirt is dry and unstained, it is still hopelessly wrinkled and is likely to remain so until I have a chance to iron it. I also have a terminal case of bed head, but a borrowed hairbrush gets that under some semblance of control. I hope she doesn’t mind me borrowing the brush, if she even notices. It’s not like we haven’t swapped more delicate things than a few hairs recently.
This gets me to thinking – just what happened last night? I mean the events themselves are perfectly clear, but the motivations behind them are just the opposite. Where does that leave us? Are we a couple now because we… hell, I don’t even know what to call what we did. It was just about everything short of the legal definition of sex.
Once in the shower, I am grateful that Kenji is the only one I ever have to share a bathroom with. Visions of paper-thin sliced ginger intermingle with images of female flesh, and I can practically taste both. My body is unable to distinguish fantasy from reality, and I am forced to give myself release before it will let me relax. I finish as quietly as I can and wash away the evidence.
Back in my room, I gulp down my pills and dress. Some fresh clothing makes me feel like a new man. Even my persistently unruly lock of hair is staying put for the moment. No doubt this will change once I dry off, but I can enjoy it while it lasts. I make my way to the roof, stopping only once for breath. I don't think last night would be the kind of exercise Nurse would recommend, but hey, all cardio is good cardio, right? I step out onto the roof to find it sparsely but distinctly occupied. A few people are sitting in a group, taking turns reading aloud and sometimes laughing. Others are scattered about as individuals, doing various things from stretching to texting to sunbathing.
Everything seems so damn ordinary. Nobody checking pulses, no spotlight on the guy who might need the epi pen in his pocket at any moment, no IV bags dripping fluid. When it comes right down to it, isn’t that the point of this place? To be a silent support system, one we can almost forget exists? Part of the reason I’m here is to try to wean me off that silent support, but some of the people in front of me will never be free of it. When they graduate from here, they’re still going to be reliant on others just for the basic necessities it takes to get through the day. I’ll just have to choke down a bunch of pills and watch my limits.
I make my way across the roof to meet with the master at denying the limits even exist. The anti-katawa. Along with Emi, she’s among the least crippled of the entire student body, despite having a total of four good limbs between the two of them. While the two of them are certainly on good terms, I wouldn’t go so far as to say they’re close friends. I suppose it’s just a lack of common interests.
I slip into the room as silently as possible, which seems to be appreciated as Neko clamps the headset tightly to her ear with her short arm while taking notes. I notice she elected not to wear the prosthetic again today. She glances at me and grins for an instant, and that’s about all the brainpower she has to spare before she’s back to scribbling. I take up horizontal residence on the couch as I wait for… I don’t know what exactly, but at least she knows I’m here.
“Hey! Feet off the furniture!” She slaps my legs as they ride the arm of the couch.
What? Oh, I must have dozed off. “Hey, I’ve seen you do it.”
“Yeah, but it’s my couch. Surely you don’t think the school provides anything that comfortable?”
I certainly have to admit to its comfort, and some of the prior scenes of Neko abusing furniture start to fit into a pattern in my mind – it does look just like the one in her bedroom at the ranch. “No, this lulls me to sleep faster than the standard-issue mattress, that’s for sure.”
“Well it’s gotta hold up another year and a three quarters. After that I don’t much care what they wanna do with it, or anything else in this room for that matter. So… at least take your shoes off next time, okay? Do you know how many innocent naugas had to die to make this?”
What? It’s fake leather? That actually makes it more impressive, like finding a 500 yen bottle of wine has been successfully passed off as an esteemed vintage – something I bet her family has also done.
“So what were you so engrossed in when I showed up that you let me fall asleep on your couch?” Let’s try turning the tables just a little bit.
“Code practice. Transcribing Morse code, by ear, is hard enough. It’s ten times as bad when I’m not even sure if I can hear the signal or not.”
“How do you know, if it’s really that hard to hear?”
“I’ll just share notes with someone who heard it better and posts their transcript. Might even be the source. That’s the whole reason code still exists though. If there’s someone listening, a carrier wave message is a lot more likely to survive transmitting under adverse conditions than voice ever will be. Rag-chewing is fun, but you’ll be glad folks like me did things like this when the power goes out… everywhere.”
“So I’m not only expected to learn another language now, I’m expected to learn an ancient cipher version of that language?” Maybe this isn’t going to be as fun as I thought.
“Oh, calm your tits. Nobody is asking you to learn Morse code. But then, nobody is asking you to survive World War Three either. Or the next time something like the solar storm of 1859 strikes. Which it will. Maybe not in our lifetimes… but I prefer to hedge my bets.”
Well that’s not exactly the way I was looking to start a discussion of ‘us,’ but it’s a foot in the door and I’ll take it. “Speaking of lifetimes…” I just look at her, not knowing how to proceed from here.
“Yeah, we do need to talk about that before I fall back under the watchful gaze of Her Infernal Majesty. I think you and I, we have something special, something I’d like to pursue further. But understand that I’m not completely free to follow up on this the way I’d like to, and don’t take it the wrong way if I have to decline some of your invitations.”
Are you really that afraid of your mother? I guess I might be too, if she was literally just around the corner. “Alright. Do you have some sort of code of your own that I should know about?”
“Well I didn’t, but now that you ask…” She pauses for a moment to consider, then strikes her chest with her thumb, directly over the heart. “Let that be our signal, it means ‘not here, not now.’ That should cover most circumstances that come to mind.”
“That works for me. I might not tap though, it causes me problems.” I hold my open hand across my chest, thumb extended upward. “Still clear enough?”
“It looks like you have heartburn, but I think I can figure it out. If it’s an actual, like, medical emergency, I’d imagine you’d be clenching your fist.”
“This…” I place my hand flat over my chest without extending my thumb. “...is heartburn. This…” I extend my thumb. “...is a signal. Not that I can think of any time I might need it.”
“«To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.» Better that we are prepared than not.”
Re: The Neko Story: Book 1 (...And Nakai Makes Three) releas
KENTA
I’m out on the track with only the casuals this morning. I may have taken the unprecedented step of canceling all organized practice for the next three days, but it is still best to maintain my scheduling habits. I’m the only one of the four of us, by my own decree – if I saw any of the others I’d send them off. Haruhiko managed to catch something, probably on the flight up to Hokkaido, and I don’t want him spreading it to any of us, if it’s not already too late. Emi is not even capable of walking right now, let alone running. Nurse managed to find a pair of forearm crutches with enough adjustment for her, and she’s hobbling about on those and just one leg, which looks rather odd. I’ve seen her with a variety of legs, including none at all, but this was the first time I’d ever seen her wearing just one. Sadly, this destroyed any opportunity to see which of us was walking more oddly after our encounters.
The big problem though is Miki. Since she’s suspended from the team at the moment, she can’t even use the track. She managed to avoid being suspended from classes thanks to the video provided to the administration, and now having seen it myself, I imagine she’ll be reinstated soon enough. It’s all for show anyhow, she’s in no condition to run at the moment. She seemed to have weathered the blow respectably enough on Saturday evening, but we had a great deal of difficulty getting her woken up and packed the next morning. She still doesn’t seem to have her head screwed on quite securely, though I’m not sure she ever does. Chances are it’ll be a medical clearance that keeps her off the track longer than any suspension.
I don’t suppose it really matters right now. There is no next race to prepare for anyhow. Our cross-country season is over, and the track season doesn’t start until after summer break. The Muramoto folks are worried that we may be facing an Emi-less track season, which I’m sure would be an absolute disaster for her, never mind what it does to the team. I’m not even sure we’ll be able to field a girls’ relay team without her, but it’s her mental state that concerns me. On the bright side, if there is a way to get her declared eligible, there’s a certain young lawyer that’s highly motivated to do so.
So I guess that leaves just myself to worry about. Ryu and I still have not had ‘the talk.’ It seems like he knows I’m trying to pin him down for it, and he has kept all our encounters short and public. It’s frustrating, maybe even more than if he was just avoiding me entirely. What the hell, it’s time I take some initiative here. The next time my running brings me to the stands, I have a seat and start texting.
I’m out on the track with only the casuals this morning. I may have taken the unprecedented step of canceling all organized practice for the next three days, but it is still best to maintain my scheduling habits. I’m the only one of the four of us, by my own decree – if I saw any of the others I’d send them off. Haruhiko managed to catch something, probably on the flight up to Hokkaido, and I don’t want him spreading it to any of us, if it’s not already too late. Emi is not even capable of walking right now, let alone running. Nurse managed to find a pair of forearm crutches with enough adjustment for her, and she’s hobbling about on those and just one leg, which looks rather odd. I’ve seen her with a variety of legs, including none at all, but this was the first time I’d ever seen her wearing just one. Sadly, this destroyed any opportunity to see which of us was walking more oddly after our encounters.
The big problem though is Miki. Since she’s suspended from the team at the moment, she can’t even use the track. She managed to avoid being suspended from classes thanks to the video provided to the administration, and now having seen it myself, I imagine she’ll be reinstated soon enough. It’s all for show anyhow, she’s in no condition to run at the moment. She seemed to have weathered the blow respectably enough on Saturday evening, but we had a great deal of difficulty getting her woken up and packed the next morning. She still doesn’t seem to have her head screwed on quite securely, though I’m not sure she ever does. Chances are it’ll be a medical clearance that keeps her off the track longer than any suspension.
I don’t suppose it really matters right now. There is no next race to prepare for anyhow. Our cross-country season is over, and the track season doesn’t start until after summer break. The Muramoto folks are worried that we may be facing an Emi-less track season, which I’m sure would be an absolute disaster for her, never mind what it does to the team. I’m not even sure we’ll be able to field a girls’ relay team without her, but it’s her mental state that concerns me. On the bright side, if there is a way to get her declared eligible, there’s a certain young lawyer that’s highly motivated to do so.
So I guess that leaves just myself to worry about. Ryu and I still have not had ‘the talk.’ It seems like he knows I’m trying to pin him down for it, and he has kept all our encounters short and public. It’s frustrating, maybe even more than if he was just avoiding me entirely. What the hell, it’s time I take some initiative here. The next time my running brings me to the stands, I have a seat and start texting.
Re: The Neko Story: Book 1 (...And Nakai Makes Three) releas
MIKI
Mondays always suck, but this one sucks something fierce. It started with the worst hangover ever, except that I didn’t even get to drink first. Trying to get up yesterday I felt like I was sedated, but today was just agony. I thought maybe throwing up would make me feel better. It usually works when I’m sick. Nope, not today. All it did was give me a sore throat to go with the headache, dizziness, and nausea. Worse, someone seems to think it’s funny to tell me aspirin and Tylenol are all I get.
I hear a knock at my door. If it’s Neko, she’ll let herself in soon enough, so I do nothing until the knocking gets more insistent. I open the door a crack, and am pleasantly surprised to find it’s Suzu, already fully dressed and ready for class.
“Well are you going to let me in, or do I get to eat this all by myself?” Food isn’t exactly high on my list right now, but I let her in, and she brings the rolling cart in with her. “Damn. I still could, you know. Eat it all myself, that is.” She takes the lids off the bowls and the smell is enough to lift food from last on my list to somewhere in the middle. “French onion soup. I heard you weren’t real interested in chewing right now, and it’s something I can make in a microwave. I brought the cheese separately, since I didn’t know if you’d want it.” She picks up one slice of cheese and drops it on top of her soup.
“I think I can handle a bit of cheese.” I place the remaining slice on my own soup and wait for it to melt, then pick up the spoon and dip in. The steam warns me it’s still hot, so I carefully sip from the edge, blow across the top for a few seconds, then finish off the rest of the spoonful. My stomach does half a backflip, but my throat feels better. “You did this in the microwave? You’re gonna have to show me how.” It’s a perfect fit for my level of cooking ability.
“Yeah no problem. It says right on the package.” She shrugs and slurps up a bit more soup.
“You’re a life saver. Talk about a role reversal. I was really surprised to see you at the door.”
Slurp. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Shit, what are friends for? You want me to report in for you? I’ll bring you my notes, if there’s anything worth noting.”
Assuming you’re awake to hear it. Not that I stand a much better chance of staying awake through classes. “Yeah, that’d be great.” At least any notes she does take will make sense, unlike the time I had to borrow class notes from Misha. Apparently when she has to restrain herself from laughing out loud, she writes it down instead. This may help keep her from distracting us, but a page half filled with WAHAHAHA~! did me no good at all. “If you miss anything important, maybe Hisao will lend us his notes.”
Another shrug. “Sure, if he takes any. He’s almost as bad as Shizune, and she at least has the excuse that it’s hard to watch and write at the same time.” Yet both of them seem to absorb everything.
“Whatever, just do the best you can. I’m sure it’ll be cool.”
***
It’s going to be alright, Maria. I won’t let him touch you. I won’t let him hurt you. Stay with me tonight. He wouldn’t dare try anything so long as we stick together.
Another knock at the door. What time is it? Quarter past twelve? That wouldn’t be Suzu with her notes then. The door slowly opens before I have a chance to get there.
“Are you decent?” Neko’s voice comes through the small slit.
“No, but since when has that stopped you?”
The door closes, then re-opens after a pause, and Neko lets herself in and closes the door behind her. “Hey now, no need to bite my head off. I just wasn’t the only one in the hall and didn’t want to expose you if you weren’t prepared for it.” She takes a seat on the edge of the bed.
“Who gives a shit, let ‘em look. If they want to see me with a half-moon face and bed head, they’re welcome to it.”
“How are you doing? They give you anything for the pain?”
“Aspirin and Tylenol, isn’t that a riot? They warned me not to drink with the Tylenol, so I almost didn’t take it, but I realized I already felt like I’d had too much to drink.”
“Well I think this should be safe enough.” She pulls a plastic-wrapped item from her purse. “Mum had Ben deliver it. There was another one, but I eated it. I’ll come fly with you after class, it should just be getting rolling by then. We can watch stupid movies or something.”
“Suzu may show up too. She made and brought soup for breakfast.”
“No problem, she knows what’s in mum’s cookies as well as anyone else, even if she never eats them. She’s more partial to the coffee.”
Mondays always suck, but this one sucks something fierce. It started with the worst hangover ever, except that I didn’t even get to drink first. Trying to get up yesterday I felt like I was sedated, but today was just agony. I thought maybe throwing up would make me feel better. It usually works when I’m sick. Nope, not today. All it did was give me a sore throat to go with the headache, dizziness, and nausea. Worse, someone seems to think it’s funny to tell me aspirin and Tylenol are all I get.
I hear a knock at my door. If it’s Neko, she’ll let herself in soon enough, so I do nothing until the knocking gets more insistent. I open the door a crack, and am pleasantly surprised to find it’s Suzu, already fully dressed and ready for class.
“Well are you going to let me in, or do I get to eat this all by myself?” Food isn’t exactly high on my list right now, but I let her in, and she brings the rolling cart in with her. “Damn. I still could, you know. Eat it all myself, that is.” She takes the lids off the bowls and the smell is enough to lift food from last on my list to somewhere in the middle. “French onion soup. I heard you weren’t real interested in chewing right now, and it’s something I can make in a microwave. I brought the cheese separately, since I didn’t know if you’d want it.” She picks up one slice of cheese and drops it on top of her soup.
“I think I can handle a bit of cheese.” I place the remaining slice on my own soup and wait for it to melt, then pick up the spoon and dip in. The steam warns me it’s still hot, so I carefully sip from the edge, blow across the top for a few seconds, then finish off the rest of the spoonful. My stomach does half a backflip, but my throat feels better. “You did this in the microwave? You’re gonna have to show me how.” It’s a perfect fit for my level of cooking ability.
“Yeah no problem. It says right on the package.” She shrugs and slurps up a bit more soup.
“You’re a life saver. Talk about a role reversal. I was really surprised to see you at the door.”
Slurp. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Shit, what are friends for? You want me to report in for you? I’ll bring you my notes, if there’s anything worth noting.”
Assuming you’re awake to hear it. Not that I stand a much better chance of staying awake through classes. “Yeah, that’d be great.” At least any notes she does take will make sense, unlike the time I had to borrow class notes from Misha. Apparently when she has to restrain herself from laughing out loud, she writes it down instead. This may help keep her from distracting us, but a page half filled with WAHAHAHA~! did me no good at all. “If you miss anything important, maybe Hisao will lend us his notes.”
Another shrug. “Sure, if he takes any. He’s almost as bad as Shizune, and she at least has the excuse that it’s hard to watch and write at the same time.” Yet both of them seem to absorb everything.
“Whatever, just do the best you can. I’m sure it’ll be cool.”
***
It’s going to be alright, Maria. I won’t let him touch you. I won’t let him hurt you. Stay with me tonight. He wouldn’t dare try anything so long as we stick together.
Another knock at the door. What time is it? Quarter past twelve? That wouldn’t be Suzu with her notes then. The door slowly opens before I have a chance to get there.
“Are you decent?” Neko’s voice comes through the small slit.
“No, but since when has that stopped you?”
The door closes, then re-opens after a pause, and Neko lets herself in and closes the door behind her. “Hey now, no need to bite my head off. I just wasn’t the only one in the hall and didn’t want to expose you if you weren’t prepared for it.” She takes a seat on the edge of the bed.
“Who gives a shit, let ‘em look. If they want to see me with a half-moon face and bed head, they’re welcome to it.”
“How are you doing? They give you anything for the pain?”
“Aspirin and Tylenol, isn’t that a riot? They warned me not to drink with the Tylenol, so I almost didn’t take it, but I realized I already felt like I’d had too much to drink.”
“Well I think this should be safe enough.” She pulls a plastic-wrapped item from her purse. “Mum had Ben deliver it. There was another one, but I eated it. I’ll come fly with you after class, it should just be getting rolling by then. We can watch stupid movies or something.”
“Suzu may show up too. She made and brought soup for breakfast.”
“No problem, she knows what’s in mum’s cookies as well as anyone else, even if she never eats them. She’s more partial to the coffee.”
Re: The Neko Story: Book 1 (...And Nakai Makes Three) releas
NEKO
Asamiya’s monotone voice, complete with his odd, syncopated delivery, is considerably more amusing with a buzz, and I’m definitely starting to feel that cookie over the last hour of class. By the time the final bell rings, perma-grin is starting to set in. I’d better get out of here before anyone catches on. I take the unusual step of hitting the cafeteria before returning to the dorm, to find something Miki will be able to eat without having to chew too much. Rice pudding and a banana sound just about perfect.
Knock knock. Damn, I was hoping I wouldn’t have to juggle, but I manage to get to my keys without having to set everything down. Once inside, I observe that she’s out cold, facing the wall. I close the door behind me quietly. The afternoon light angles through the gap in the curtains, so after setting down the goodies, I make sure they overlap. I need to wake her, and it might as well be dark when I do.
I take a seat behind her and grab her shoulder. She swats at me with her bandaged arm. At least she’s still alive. “Hey, I’m supposed to check up on you and make sure you don’t sleep all day. How are you feeling?”
“On a scale of one to ten? About a minus three. I think someone filled my head with fog.”
“That might have a little something to do with what you had for lunch. Relax, it’s supposed to be fun. Are you feeling up to some entertainment?”
“No movie, please. I think the motion would make me sick.”
Fair enough. I flip through her media player to find something suitable to listen to. About half of the list appears to be in English, and a good deal of the remainder looks like Spanish. I just pick something I recognize, and put the player back on the dock before starting it up.
«It's all my head I know
So they tell me so
Until my head explodes
Into my head it goes»
“You would pick that today, wouldn’t you.” She swats me again.
“Sorry, I don’t recognize half the stuff on there and I didn’t want to spend all day looking through it. I brought you some things I thought you could eat comfortably.”
She rolls onto her back, then finds her way into a seated position, leaning into the corner for support. “Oh yeah? Like what?”
I gesture at the pudding and the banana. “I’d have gotten yogurt, but either they didn’t have any, or they had already taken it off the display.”
She eyes her prizes. “I’ll take them. Beats what I thought I’d be stuck with, smoothies and baby food for a week. I’m starting to feel like my teeth are committed to sticking around at this point.” Maybe, but you still sorta look like a chipmunk. “So whatcha wanna do?”
“What we’re already doing – sit, talk, chill. It’s pretty obvious you bought yourself a concussion, so I didn’t expect we’d be doing calisthenics or anything. It’s not very often that we just talk.”
“Funny, I was thinking the same thing yesterday. I mean, it’s all good fun, but…” She tilts her head slightly, and her eyes seem to defocus. “But… what are we? I mean you, me, we…” She cups her wrist in her hand. “...we’ve never actually talked about what it means, and I think I may have violated your trust. But I don’t really know.”
“Like… how? I thought you were rather busy getting your brain rattled this weekend.”
“Well, yeah, that’s all true. But there’s something about going toe-to-toe with someone that leaves me all wound up, even if I lose. We kinda got put on lockdown to make sure there would be no more trouble. It was just our team, and the shark team…”
“Team? It wasn’t just one guy?” Mum’s gonna hate seeing that expense bill.
“Nope, he was there but there were a few others running around with video cameras and shit. So anyhow, Sharky came around and reminded me how stupid I was, as if I needed that. Then he and Emi kinda chased me out of the room, and the only place to go was the other room with the guys.”
“Wait. I thought you disliked that Suzumiya guy…”
“I thought I did too, except he actually turns out to be not so bad. Anyhow, he wasn’t there at that point and this isn’t about him.”
“Kenta kicked him out to get his groove on too? I mean everyone knows he’s about as straight as you.”
“Nah, Haruhiko was swimming with the sharks. He was the only other person on the team to actually witness…” She mocks punching herself in the jaw. “Kenta didn’t get a chance to bring anyone in either, it was just him. I still had blood and dirt in my hair, and needed a shower. And at that exact moment, we both needed someone. Anyone.”
“You mean to tell me that after all the times you have told me you don’t go for the D, you end up getting it from the gay guy? And he went along with this?” I’d probably be more upset if I wasn’t so baffled.
“Oh no, not at all! He doesn’t work that way, and neither do I. He’s a catcher, not a pitcher.” She makes a big show out of removing the bandage from her arm, and examining the stump before putting her fingertips to a spot just a few centimeters from the elbow. “It took a lot of lube, but it fit.” Wow. That sounds… uncomfortable. “Do you think you can forgive me?”
“I think I can manage, if you can. I mean… you weren’t the only one behaving badly Saturday night.”
“Ha! No, I wasn’t. For all we know, Emi may have a baby shark in the oven already.”
That wasn’t what I meant. Dammit, you stepped on my segue. The music in the background rolls on.
«You're a head case with a smile
Can't stop to make up your mind
Education is so lame
When you bitch and you moan
You're a loose girl, I'm a guy
You're a truth freak with a lie
The situation is so strange
It's a TV show»
“I wasn’t even thinking about Emi. Neither one of us is responsible for her.” I look down at my hand in my lap, then back up at Miki. “I was talking about me.”
“Can’t say I’m all that surprised. I’ve known you were stalking Hisao for a couple weeks now – at least I assume that’s who you were with. You’re here with me, now, so I take it you didn’t find what you were looking for?”
“Actually I think maybe I did, but I still didn’t come here to dump you. Unless that’s what you want, of course. I’m not sure just what direction things are going just yet, but I’d like to see if we can work this both ways for the moment.”
“Excuse me, but isn’t going both ways how you got in this mess in the first place?”
Alright, I deserved that, but I’m still not going to take it silently. “I’d say your adventure counts as crossing over as well, wouldn’t you? It might have been totally arse-backward, but you still pegged a dude.”
“Maybe… but I’m not looking to do it again, even if he is. So, did you…” She does little pelvic thrusts.
“Just about everything except that. We didn’t actually…” I make a crude gesture that would be more clear with two hands, but if anyone will get the meaning, it’s Miki.
“Oh come on, you can drop F-bombs on me. Now if you don’t have anywhere better to be, would you mind curling up with me for a while? It’s been a long few days.”
Why am I always the one pinned against the wall? And why did she call me ‘Maria’?
Asamiya’s monotone voice, complete with his odd, syncopated delivery, is considerably more amusing with a buzz, and I’m definitely starting to feel that cookie over the last hour of class. By the time the final bell rings, perma-grin is starting to set in. I’d better get out of here before anyone catches on. I take the unusual step of hitting the cafeteria before returning to the dorm, to find something Miki will be able to eat without having to chew too much. Rice pudding and a banana sound just about perfect.
Knock knock. Damn, I was hoping I wouldn’t have to juggle, but I manage to get to my keys without having to set everything down. Once inside, I observe that she’s out cold, facing the wall. I close the door behind me quietly. The afternoon light angles through the gap in the curtains, so after setting down the goodies, I make sure they overlap. I need to wake her, and it might as well be dark when I do.
I take a seat behind her and grab her shoulder. She swats at me with her bandaged arm. At least she’s still alive. “Hey, I’m supposed to check up on you and make sure you don’t sleep all day. How are you feeling?”
“On a scale of one to ten? About a minus three. I think someone filled my head with fog.”
“That might have a little something to do with what you had for lunch. Relax, it’s supposed to be fun. Are you feeling up to some entertainment?”
“No movie, please. I think the motion would make me sick.”
Fair enough. I flip through her media player to find something suitable to listen to. About half of the list appears to be in English, and a good deal of the remainder looks like Spanish. I just pick something I recognize, and put the player back on the dock before starting it up.
«It's all my head I know
So they tell me so
Until my head explodes
Into my head it goes»
“You would pick that today, wouldn’t you.” She swats me again.
“Sorry, I don’t recognize half the stuff on there and I didn’t want to spend all day looking through it. I brought you some things I thought you could eat comfortably.”
She rolls onto her back, then finds her way into a seated position, leaning into the corner for support. “Oh yeah? Like what?”
I gesture at the pudding and the banana. “I’d have gotten yogurt, but either they didn’t have any, or they had already taken it off the display.”
She eyes her prizes. “I’ll take them. Beats what I thought I’d be stuck with, smoothies and baby food for a week. I’m starting to feel like my teeth are committed to sticking around at this point.” Maybe, but you still sorta look like a chipmunk. “So whatcha wanna do?”
“What we’re already doing – sit, talk, chill. It’s pretty obvious you bought yourself a concussion, so I didn’t expect we’d be doing calisthenics or anything. It’s not very often that we just talk.”
“Funny, I was thinking the same thing yesterday. I mean, it’s all good fun, but…” She tilts her head slightly, and her eyes seem to defocus. “But… what are we? I mean you, me, we…” She cups her wrist in her hand. “...we’ve never actually talked about what it means, and I think I may have violated your trust. But I don’t really know.”
“Like… how? I thought you were rather busy getting your brain rattled this weekend.”
“Well, yeah, that’s all true. But there’s something about going toe-to-toe with someone that leaves me all wound up, even if I lose. We kinda got put on lockdown to make sure there would be no more trouble. It was just our team, and the shark team…”
“Team? It wasn’t just one guy?” Mum’s gonna hate seeing that expense bill.
“Nope, he was there but there were a few others running around with video cameras and shit. So anyhow, Sharky came around and reminded me how stupid I was, as if I needed that. Then he and Emi kinda chased me out of the room, and the only place to go was the other room with the guys.”
“Wait. I thought you disliked that Suzumiya guy…”
“I thought I did too, except he actually turns out to be not so bad. Anyhow, he wasn’t there at that point and this isn’t about him.”
“Kenta kicked him out to get his groove on too? I mean everyone knows he’s about as straight as you.”
“Nah, Haruhiko was swimming with the sharks. He was the only other person on the team to actually witness…” She mocks punching herself in the jaw. “Kenta didn’t get a chance to bring anyone in either, it was just him. I still had blood and dirt in my hair, and needed a shower. And at that exact moment, we both needed someone. Anyone.”
“You mean to tell me that after all the times you have told me you don’t go for the D, you end up getting it from the gay guy? And he went along with this?” I’d probably be more upset if I wasn’t so baffled.
“Oh no, not at all! He doesn’t work that way, and neither do I. He’s a catcher, not a pitcher.” She makes a big show out of removing the bandage from her arm, and examining the stump before putting her fingertips to a spot just a few centimeters from the elbow. “It took a lot of lube, but it fit.” Wow. That sounds… uncomfortable. “Do you think you can forgive me?”
“I think I can manage, if you can. I mean… you weren’t the only one behaving badly Saturday night.”
“Ha! No, I wasn’t. For all we know, Emi may have a baby shark in the oven already.”
That wasn’t what I meant. Dammit, you stepped on my segue. The music in the background rolls on.
«You're a head case with a smile
Can't stop to make up your mind
Education is so lame
When you bitch and you moan
You're a loose girl, I'm a guy
You're a truth freak with a lie
The situation is so strange
It's a TV show»
“I wasn’t even thinking about Emi. Neither one of us is responsible for her.” I look down at my hand in my lap, then back up at Miki. “I was talking about me.”
“Can’t say I’m all that surprised. I’ve known you were stalking Hisao for a couple weeks now – at least I assume that’s who you were with. You’re here with me, now, so I take it you didn’t find what you were looking for?”
“Actually I think maybe I did, but I still didn’t come here to dump you. Unless that’s what you want, of course. I’m not sure just what direction things are going just yet, but I’d like to see if we can work this both ways for the moment.”
“Excuse me, but isn’t going both ways how you got in this mess in the first place?”
Alright, I deserved that, but I’m still not going to take it silently. “I’d say your adventure counts as crossing over as well, wouldn’t you? It might have been totally arse-backward, but you still pegged a dude.”
“Maybe… but I’m not looking to do it again, even if he is. So, did you…” She does little pelvic thrusts.
“Just about everything except that. We didn’t actually…” I make a crude gesture that would be more clear with two hands, but if anyone will get the meaning, it’s Miki.
“Oh come on, you can drop F-bombs on me. Now if you don’t have anywhere better to be, would you mind curling up with me for a while? It’s been a long few days.”
Why am I always the one pinned against the wall? And why did she call me ‘Maria’?
Last edited by NekoDude on Thu Oct 23, 2014 5:54 am, edited 1 time in total.
Re: The Neko Story: Book 1 (...And Nakai Makes Three) releas
EMI
“So do you think you’ll be up and about by then? I know this is sort of unexpected and everything, but the band that would normally be there had a bit of an accident. Their drummer fell off a ladder and broke his foot, and they don’t have time to train up a replacement.” A voice over the phone is a poor substitute for a face to face talk, but it will have to do for now.
“They wouldn’t let me in on crutches? What kind of a place is this?”
“No, they won’t let you in if you’re under twenty, I checked, not even if you’re with the band. There is a way around this though. You just have to be in the band, and that means being able to get on and off the stage.”
“Waittaminnit… how do you expect to pull that one off?”
“Shouldn’t be too hard. Usually toward the end of our third set I’ll do some acoustic stuff, and Danny comes out from behind the kit and sings. You just have to sing a song with me, and that makes you part of the band for the night – I already cleared this with the owner. Just don’t expect to get paid.”
I don’t know what I’d sing, and the last time I did any singing in public, I had legs. It would be fair to say that I’m just a little bit rusty. I’ve told people I’m awful just to keep them from bothering me, but I’m really not sure if that’s true or not. “You really think we could pull it together that fast? I mean, I don’t exactly do this much… like… not since grade school.” Even then, I had ten other people along side me singing the same thing.
“We can try. If not, we have our normally scheduled gig a couple weeks after that. What do you say we give it a shot, and if it doesn’t come together in time, we’ll aim for the next one. Anything we can do as a guitar-and-vocal duo is fair game. Anything in Japanese or English, that is. We’ve never tried anything else on these folks. Famous is better, but we can work with obscure too.”
Five days! That should be long enough to learn one song, right? “Are you going to sing with me?” Maybe I could start looking for a duet.
“No, not this time. Believe it or not, I never did master the trick of singing and playing at the same time. It’s one or the other for me, unless I spend a lot of prep time putting one or the other on auto-pilot.”
Ideas. I need ideas. “So what kinda songs do you usually play?”
“Oh, whatever the crowd’s feeling that night. This isn’t our usual night, so I don’t know what kind of crowd we’ll have. We’ll probably have to wing it a little bit. You seem to be pretty good at that though, it shouldn’t worry you.”
The tortoise lays on its back, trying to turn itself over, but it can't, not without your help. But you're not helping. “Alright then, you said we’d probably do this in the third set. What did you play in the third set last time?”
“Hmm. I think we opened with «Crossroads»… Cream, not Robert Johnson. Something ZZ Top, but I can’t remember exactly. All the sets start running together after a while. «Another World». Kirikirimai – the crowd seems to enjoy watching Danny sing and play at the same time, and he enjoys screaming at them. Zeppelin. Hendrix. Rush. The Police. And the acoustic stuff of course. We did «More Than Words» like usual, but maybe we should skip it this time, too soon after to the last time we played there. We closed with a medley of «Riders on the Storm» and «The End».”
Maybe I should be asking my mother for help picking out songs then. Most of this sounds like her generation, not mine. “Does it have to be old?”
“Nah, not everything we play is old, just most of the stuff in English, which is admittedly most of our repertoire. And we’re only talking one song here. Think about it. I’ll need time to work up my part, so let me know as soon as possible. Even a text will do.”
“So do you think you’ll be up and about by then? I know this is sort of unexpected and everything, but the band that would normally be there had a bit of an accident. Their drummer fell off a ladder and broke his foot, and they don’t have time to train up a replacement.” A voice over the phone is a poor substitute for a face to face talk, but it will have to do for now.
“They wouldn’t let me in on crutches? What kind of a place is this?”
“No, they won’t let you in if you’re under twenty, I checked, not even if you’re with the band. There is a way around this though. You just have to be in the band, and that means being able to get on and off the stage.”
“Waittaminnit… how do you expect to pull that one off?”
“Shouldn’t be too hard. Usually toward the end of our third set I’ll do some acoustic stuff, and Danny comes out from behind the kit and sings. You just have to sing a song with me, and that makes you part of the band for the night – I already cleared this with the owner. Just don’t expect to get paid.”
I don’t know what I’d sing, and the last time I did any singing in public, I had legs. It would be fair to say that I’m just a little bit rusty. I’ve told people I’m awful just to keep them from bothering me, but I’m really not sure if that’s true or not. “You really think we could pull it together that fast? I mean, I don’t exactly do this much… like… not since grade school.” Even then, I had ten other people along side me singing the same thing.
“We can try. If not, we have our normally scheduled gig a couple weeks after that. What do you say we give it a shot, and if it doesn’t come together in time, we’ll aim for the next one. Anything we can do as a guitar-and-vocal duo is fair game. Anything in Japanese or English, that is. We’ve never tried anything else on these folks. Famous is better, but we can work with obscure too.”
Five days! That should be long enough to learn one song, right? “Are you going to sing with me?” Maybe I could start looking for a duet.
“No, not this time. Believe it or not, I never did master the trick of singing and playing at the same time. It’s one or the other for me, unless I spend a lot of prep time putting one or the other on auto-pilot.”
Ideas. I need ideas. “So what kinda songs do you usually play?”
“Oh, whatever the crowd’s feeling that night. This isn’t our usual night, so I don’t know what kind of crowd we’ll have. We’ll probably have to wing it a little bit. You seem to be pretty good at that though, it shouldn’t worry you.”
The tortoise lays on its back, trying to turn itself over, but it can't, not without your help. But you're not helping. “Alright then, you said we’d probably do this in the third set. What did you play in the third set last time?”
“Hmm. I think we opened with «Crossroads»… Cream, not Robert Johnson. Something ZZ Top, but I can’t remember exactly. All the sets start running together after a while. «Another World». Kirikirimai – the crowd seems to enjoy watching Danny sing and play at the same time, and he enjoys screaming at them. Zeppelin. Hendrix. Rush. The Police. And the acoustic stuff of course. We did «More Than Words» like usual, but maybe we should skip it this time, too soon after to the last time we played there. We closed with a medley of «Riders on the Storm» and «The End».”
Maybe I should be asking my mother for help picking out songs then. Most of this sounds like her generation, not mine. “Does it have to be old?”
“Nah, not everything we play is old, just most of the stuff in English, which is admittedly most of our repertoire. And we’re only talking one song here. Think about it. I’ll need time to work up my part, so let me know as soon as possible. Even a text will do.”
Re: The Neko Story: Book 1 (...And Nakai Makes Three) releas
HISAO
“You wanna do it at lunch, or after class?”
Excuse me? I stare at Neko incredulously, and her expression hardens.
“Get your mind out of the gutter. I meant swimming.” She shakes her head. “Sheesh. Boys.”
Oh, that. “Yeah, sure, I knew that. Uh, after class would probably be better. Then I can get showered and not smell like chlorine all afternoon.”
“Okay, I’ll check up on Miki over lunch then. You’re right, that probably does work better.”
“How’s she doing? It was pretty obvious that she didn’t come to class yesterday, and some people were a little bit worried. Come to think of it, she wasn’t the only one missing.”
“Haruhiko? Yeah, he’s got the flu or something. Anyway, she’ll recover, but it may take a little while. Concussions are kinda weird like that. Sometimes they get worse before they get better. We saw a few of them around the ranch Down Under, people falling off horses and such. At least her jaw isn’t broken, but she got smacked around pretty good. I hope she learned something.”
“«Best block, no be there.» Even I know that lesson, and I didn’t have to have it pounded into me.”
“Hopefully you never will.” She leans over and gives me a quick kiss before we head our separate ways to morning classes.
***
I show up at the pool as agreed, but Neko’s running late. I change and warm up on my own, since she may show up prepared for all I know. About fifteen minutes pass before I see her step through the doors, and I already have a hundred and fifty meters under my belt by then. Or at least I would if I was wearing a belt. She waves and heads straight for the locker room.
A minute or two later, Nurse walks in through the same doors and takes a seat in one of the chairs at poolside. He too just waves. I get in one more lap before Neko returns, carrying a race-style starting block. “Does anyone know how to attach this thing?” Not me. Nurse shakes his head as well. “Right, I guess I’ll have to figure it out.” She flips it around a bit to inspect it, looks at the ground itself, then pokes something with her finger, and a little trap door pops up. “Aha! I think I got it.” She inserts the center pole of the starting block into the hole exposed by the trap door and gives a knob a couple of twists before yanking on the platform to make sure it’s not going anywhere. She nods in satisfaction and sits down to remove her leg.
Nurse watches from the side of the pool. “It’s time to show me that flying start.” And fly she does, launching herself into the water like a torpedo and staying under for the full length of the red section of the lane rope before surfacing. She grabs the lane rope and turns to Nurse.
“Well, what do you think?”
“I think you should ask him, not me.” He gestures in my general direction.
“Okay… so Hisao, do you think you could handle hitting the water like that?”
“Me? Um, probably… except I don’t think I would hit the water like that, and screwing it up might be bad.”
“Yeah, I thought the same thing. That’s why we have medical assistance standing by.”
I guess it’s now or never then, huh?
“You wanna do it at lunch, or after class?”
Excuse me? I stare at Neko incredulously, and her expression hardens.
“Get your mind out of the gutter. I meant swimming.” She shakes her head. “Sheesh. Boys.”
Oh, that. “Yeah, sure, I knew that. Uh, after class would probably be better. Then I can get showered and not smell like chlorine all afternoon.”
“Okay, I’ll check up on Miki over lunch then. You’re right, that probably does work better.”
“How’s she doing? It was pretty obvious that she didn’t come to class yesterday, and some people were a little bit worried. Come to think of it, she wasn’t the only one missing.”
“Haruhiko? Yeah, he’s got the flu or something. Anyway, she’ll recover, but it may take a little while. Concussions are kinda weird like that. Sometimes they get worse before they get better. We saw a few of them around the ranch Down Under, people falling off horses and such. At least her jaw isn’t broken, but she got smacked around pretty good. I hope she learned something.”
“«Best block, no be there.» Even I know that lesson, and I didn’t have to have it pounded into me.”
“Hopefully you never will.” She leans over and gives me a quick kiss before we head our separate ways to morning classes.
***
I show up at the pool as agreed, but Neko’s running late. I change and warm up on my own, since she may show up prepared for all I know. About fifteen minutes pass before I see her step through the doors, and I already have a hundred and fifty meters under my belt by then. Or at least I would if I was wearing a belt. She waves and heads straight for the locker room.
A minute or two later, Nurse walks in through the same doors and takes a seat in one of the chairs at poolside. He too just waves. I get in one more lap before Neko returns, carrying a race-style starting block. “Does anyone know how to attach this thing?” Not me. Nurse shakes his head as well. “Right, I guess I’ll have to figure it out.” She flips it around a bit to inspect it, looks at the ground itself, then pokes something with her finger, and a little trap door pops up. “Aha! I think I got it.” She inserts the center pole of the starting block into the hole exposed by the trap door and gives a knob a couple of twists before yanking on the platform to make sure it’s not going anywhere. She nods in satisfaction and sits down to remove her leg.
Nurse watches from the side of the pool. “It’s time to show me that flying start.” And fly she does, launching herself into the water like a torpedo and staying under for the full length of the red section of the lane rope before surfacing. She grabs the lane rope and turns to Nurse.
“Well, what do you think?”
“I think you should ask him, not me.” He gestures in my general direction.
“Okay… so Hisao, do you think you could handle hitting the water like that?”
“Me? Um, probably… except I don’t think I would hit the water like that, and screwing it up might be bad.”
“Yeah, I thought the same thing. That’s why we have medical assistance standing by.”
I guess it’s now or never then, huh?
Re: The Neko Story: Book 1 (...And Nakai Makes Three) releas
LILLY
“I understand you’re trying to get all the lyrics, but if you would play it all the way through once, I could probably help you.” Either that or let me come back when you’re done, this is driving me crazy. I’m starting to regret offering to help Emi learn this song, and I haven’t even heard all of it yet, nor have I heard her try to sing it.
“Alright, alright. Rolling.”
I flip through an old photo album and whisper “thank you”
To the person in my heart
Who is always there to comfort me.
On clear days, on rainy days
That smile enters my thoughts.
Even though my memories fade into the distance,
I’ll look for the traces you left behind
And remember you on a tearful day
My my, what an upbeat little ditty. I think I’m going to need some tea. She resumes taking her notes as I busy myself with the water. I make enough for the both of us, since a little hot water is good for opening up the pipes, and it’s enough time for her to get her words on paper. I keep to myself the fact that I already have them committed to memory, as most people are quite uncomfortable when they find out I can do that.
I switch on the small portable keyboard I brought up. “Shall I help you get warmed up?” I run through the lower half of F-sharp major: do-re-mi-fa-sol-fa-mi-re-do. “Sing it along with the keyboard, a simple la la la will be fine.” Oh dear. Not even close. I slow down to give her time to lock in on each note, but she’s still coming up a good twenty or thirty cents flat.
“Sit up straight and give it some breath support. It will help you bring the pitch up.” And it’s pointless to make faces at me, even though I know you are. We resume walking up and down the scale, her voice still missing the mark by a good margin. Luckily I’m saved by the bell when her phone rings.
“Hello dear!” Pause. “What key? Umm… I have no idea. Why?”
I interject quietly. “F-sharp major.” That’s why I had you warming up in it.
“Oh, I guess it’s F-sharp major.” Pause. “Yeah, yeah, the Rimi Natsukawa version.” Pause. “I don’t know, but I sort of have a vocal coach helping me out here. Would you rather talk to her? I think she might be able to answer your questions.” Pause. “No problem. Lilly, would you mind talking to him? I don’t know all this musician jargon.”
I feel something hard, presumably Emi’s phone, pressing on the back of my hand, so I take it. “Lilly Satou, at your service.”
“My name is Daisuke Suzuki. I don’t presume we’ve ever met?”
“Not as far as I am aware, but I suppose you could say I don’t do well remembering faces. The name sounds familiar though. You’re involved with responding to the protest, right?”
“I suppose you could put it that way. Let me get straight to the point – how does it look? Have I made a grievous error to think this could happen in four days?”
It takes me a moment to come up with a diplomatic response. “It might be safe to say you were a little optimistic. She may be able to perform this song, but not in four days.” Or it may never come together. I’ve heard worse, though.
“I see, thanks. Would you mind letting me talk with our new roadie? I think her name is Emi.”
That wasn’t nice. You made me shoot tea out my nose. I hold out the phone. “I think he’s about to change the offer. I suggest you accept it.”
“I understand you’re trying to get all the lyrics, but if you would play it all the way through once, I could probably help you.” Either that or let me come back when you’re done, this is driving me crazy. I’m starting to regret offering to help Emi learn this song, and I haven’t even heard all of it yet, nor have I heard her try to sing it.
“Alright, alright. Rolling.”
I flip through an old photo album and whisper “thank you”
To the person in my heart
Who is always there to comfort me.
On clear days, on rainy days
That smile enters my thoughts.
Even though my memories fade into the distance,
I’ll look for the traces you left behind
And remember you on a tearful day
My my, what an upbeat little ditty. I think I’m going to need some tea. She resumes taking her notes as I busy myself with the water. I make enough for the both of us, since a little hot water is good for opening up the pipes, and it’s enough time for her to get her words on paper. I keep to myself the fact that I already have them committed to memory, as most people are quite uncomfortable when they find out I can do that.
I switch on the small portable keyboard I brought up. “Shall I help you get warmed up?” I run through the lower half of F-sharp major: do-re-mi-fa-sol-fa-mi-re-do. “Sing it along with the keyboard, a simple la la la will be fine.” Oh dear. Not even close. I slow down to give her time to lock in on each note, but she’s still coming up a good twenty or thirty cents flat.
“Sit up straight and give it some breath support. It will help you bring the pitch up.” And it’s pointless to make faces at me, even though I know you are. We resume walking up and down the scale, her voice still missing the mark by a good margin. Luckily I’m saved by the bell when her phone rings.
“Hello dear!” Pause. “What key? Umm… I have no idea. Why?”
I interject quietly. “F-sharp major.” That’s why I had you warming up in it.
“Oh, I guess it’s F-sharp major.” Pause. “Yeah, yeah, the Rimi Natsukawa version.” Pause. “I don’t know, but I sort of have a vocal coach helping me out here. Would you rather talk to her? I think she might be able to answer your questions.” Pause. “No problem. Lilly, would you mind talking to him? I don’t know all this musician jargon.”
I feel something hard, presumably Emi’s phone, pressing on the back of my hand, so I take it. “Lilly Satou, at your service.”
“My name is Daisuke Suzuki. I don’t presume we’ve ever met?”
“Not as far as I am aware, but I suppose you could say I don’t do well remembering faces. The name sounds familiar though. You’re involved with responding to the protest, right?”
“I suppose you could put it that way. Let me get straight to the point – how does it look? Have I made a grievous error to think this could happen in four days?”
It takes me a moment to come up with a diplomatic response. “It might be safe to say you were a little optimistic. She may be able to perform this song, but not in four days.” Or it may never come together. I’ve heard worse, though.
“I see, thanks. Would you mind letting me talk with our new roadie? I think her name is Emi.”
That wasn’t nice. You made me shoot tea out my nose. I hold out the phone. “I think he’s about to change the offer. I suggest you accept it.”
Re: The Neko Story: Book 1 (...And Nakai Makes Three) releas
NEKO
“I hope you don’t mind if Miki comes to the ranch with us. She’s feeling well enough, and I think she could use some fresh air.”
Hisao shrugs. “Sure, why not? She’s been kind of ‘out of it’ in class, but that’s not all that unusual. Normally she’s not like that the entire time though. It’s like she was just there, taking up space, so she wouldn’t get in trouble for not being there. You’re right, maybe a change of scenery will be good for her.”
That might be because she’s so baked you could stick a fork in her and have it come out dry. I’m glad you’re on board with this though, since it probably means no soup for you.
The line-up resembles that from two weeks ago, except with Miki in Junpei’s place in the front seat. Fortunately, we don’t have to drag Suzu out of bed. She’s actually alert enough to help us shepherd Miki around, and we don’t need the cart when we get there.
Unusually, Mum hangs around with the car rather than parking it immediately. “Kat, dear, I need your help with something.” She nods, and we get back in the car as the others make their way into the house without us. No sooner have we closed the doors than she reveals the reason for this little conference. “I thought speaking English on the drive would be less than private, so I had to get you alone. Who are you here with?”
“With my friends. You know them all.” It seems like an odd question.
“No, I mean who are you with? I thought it was you and her, then last trip it was you and him, and now you’ve brought both of them home with you. What am I to think?”
Oh. I guess I haven’t been fooling anyone after all. “Uh, I didn’t think you knew… about her, I mean. We thought it would upset you.”
“I know everything that goes on around here. It’s my business. Dear, I’m not looking to lecture you on your romantic interests, but I also want harmony under my roof. How much do they know?”
“She pretty much knows everything. He… doesn’t. It’s a work in progress.”
She nods as we exit the car and the garage. “Just a word of advice, dear. Your father and I know you have never been terribly interested in the family business, and we’ve never pushed it on you, but someone has to take up the reins when we get older.”
What the hell does that mean? “Surely you’re not expecting me to give you a grand-child!”
“Oh heavens no! If bloodlines were what we wanted, we’ve had plenty of time to take care of that ourselves. You’ve already delivered the heir to the throne. Just don’t get on her bad side. No matter what happens between you, you’re going to be dealing with her for a long time.”
“I hope you don’t mind if Miki comes to the ranch with us. She’s feeling well enough, and I think she could use some fresh air.”
Hisao shrugs. “Sure, why not? She’s been kind of ‘out of it’ in class, but that’s not all that unusual. Normally she’s not like that the entire time though. It’s like she was just there, taking up space, so she wouldn’t get in trouble for not being there. You’re right, maybe a change of scenery will be good for her.”
That might be because she’s so baked you could stick a fork in her and have it come out dry. I’m glad you’re on board with this though, since it probably means no soup for you.
The line-up resembles that from two weeks ago, except with Miki in Junpei’s place in the front seat. Fortunately, we don’t have to drag Suzu out of bed. She’s actually alert enough to help us shepherd Miki around, and we don’t need the cart when we get there.
Unusually, Mum hangs around with the car rather than parking it immediately. “Kat, dear, I need your help with something.” She nods, and we get back in the car as the others make their way into the house without us. No sooner have we closed the doors than she reveals the reason for this little conference. “I thought speaking English on the drive would be less than private, so I had to get you alone. Who are you here with?”
“With my friends. You know them all.” It seems like an odd question.
“No, I mean who are you with? I thought it was you and her, then last trip it was you and him, and now you’ve brought both of them home with you. What am I to think?”
Oh. I guess I haven’t been fooling anyone after all. “Uh, I didn’t think you knew… about her, I mean. We thought it would upset you.”
“I know everything that goes on around here. It’s my business. Dear, I’m not looking to lecture you on your romantic interests, but I also want harmony under my roof. How much do they know?”
“She pretty much knows everything. He… doesn’t. It’s a work in progress.”
She nods as we exit the car and the garage. “Just a word of advice, dear. Your father and I know you have never been terribly interested in the family business, and we’ve never pushed it on you, but someone has to take up the reins when we get older.”
What the hell does that mean? “Surely you’re not expecting me to give you a grand-child!”
“Oh heavens no! If bloodlines were what we wanted, we’ve had plenty of time to take care of that ourselves. You’ve already delivered the heir to the throne. Just don’t get on her bad side. No matter what happens between you, you’re going to be dealing with her for a long time.”
Re: The Neko Story: Book 1 (...And Nakai Makes Three) releas
DAISUKE
“Lunch is gonna be pizza and beer, it’s sort of traditional for me. You’re free to pass up the beer if you want though. I should have other drinks around, or we can make coffee, whatever. Then I’ll show you how to work with the camera, and you can practice with it if you want. It’s very retro, so you may not be familiar with the controls. Then you get to witness my pre-show ritual, something nobody else has ever seen.” I switch the Gripmaster to the left hand and continue the rhythm.
“Should you really be doing that while you drive?”
“If I have to think about it, I’m doing it wrong. Total auto-pilot. I’ve kept one of these in reach pretty much everywhere I go for the last ten years. It helps keep the strength up when I can’t get in enough practice time. There are tennis balls under the seat too, same purpose. I don’t play tennis.”
It takes about twenty minutes to make the drive today, and we’re safely parked under the building not long after – perfect, pizza should be here in ten or fifteen. We encounter nothing other than the birds that have built a nest in the pipes above my parking spot. I can hear the babies crying out to be fed as soon as I open the door, and the parents who just fled from me soon return to lecture me on invading their territory. I just flip them a bird of my own.
Emi looks around at everything as we walk through the parking garage and the lobby to the elevator. Once the elevator doors close behind us, she finally speaks. “What was that all about?”
“What, the birds? They think they own the damn place and shit all over my car. I don’t see them paying any rent, so I gave them my opinion. I tolerate them, but I don’t have to like them.”
We make our way up to the third floor, and the elevator opens onto another lobby, tiled in the same horrid avocado green as the ground floor. From there it’s through one door, past the laundry room, turn left and there’s my door. It’s a tiny place, but I’m lucky enough to not share a wall with anyone. Sometimes I can hear people in the halls, but at least I don’t have to worry about being quiet all night. I unlock the door and let Emi in as I hit the light switch. I almost trample her as she stops and gasps.
“Oh my gawd… are all these your guitars?” She sneaks up on them as if they were going to flee from her approach.
“Nah, it’s a breeding program. As you can see, it’s been pretty successful.” I only have six actual guitars, including the acoustics. I suspect she may think basses, ukuleles, and mandolins count as guitars.
I cross the ‘dining room’ in three steps and pick up the Stratocaster that gets the most use. I flick the power on the amp while I get the strap over my shoulders, then turn up the volume on the guitar itself to about three. I wouldn’t want to miss the phone when the pizza is delivered. After a check to make sure it’s still reasonably in tune, I give her a quick rendition of the beginning of «Little Wing». Maybe she’s part snake, I know she’s completely charmed. I want to get to as many of them as I can before the phone rings, so I move on to the steel-string acoustic and give her a complete run-through of «Never Going Back Again».
“I thought you said you couldn’t do that, play and sing at the same time… but that was amazing!”
“It took me weeks to learn to do it for just the one song. On the plus side, I could play it in my sleep now. Auto-pilot. Want another one?” I pick up the 12-string and give her «Wish You Were Here». I’m midway through the chorus when the phone rings.
“Aoki’s.”
“Yup, I’ll buzz you in.” I hold 9 and then hang up the phone. “So, they all do something different. That’s why I have so many.” I set down the guitar and await the knock at the door.
What is there to say about pizza and beer, other than that they pair best when the pizza is hot and the beer is cold? Emi drinks coffee, since I don’t have anything else she considers suitable, but soon enough we’ve both had our fill. I’m a little surprised she doesn’t balk at my selection of toppings – ham and pineapple. I had thought she might pick the pineapple off, but I was wrong. She even uses the red pepper packets. Soon enough it’s time to introduce her to the camera, which has been in my personal possession longer than any of my guitars.
“Darling, I adore you, but I’ve had this a lot longer and it’s irreplaceable. Please don’t make me choose between you.” I place the camera bag between us. She opens it carefully, and her eyes go wide.
“Ohh… wow!” She gingerly lifts the camera body from the bag, and immediately goes for the 50 mm f/1.4 lens. “Is it charged?” She looks for the power switch, and I help out a bit with that. “Thanks… not used to that part.”
“Oh, so you’re comfortable with an SLR? This might be a good idea, not just one to get you in the door. I’m glad you thought of it.” Thus far, the only band pictures we have are those taken by fans and posted online.
“Yeah, I have a little bit of experience, only with film.” She holds the camera to her face and focuses on me, leans back, refocuses, and fires.
“Now this is really starting to sound like a plan. I was going to ask that you shoot on film tonight. I only put on the digital back so you could get in some practice time.” I watch her pick through the bag for another lens, and she pulls out my ‘baby,’ the 80mm f/1.4. I watch with a bit of trepidation as she swaps lenses, but everything goes flawlessly.
“I’ll be able to get right up on top of you guys, right? Is there an ultrawide in this bag?”
“You know there’s only three of us and the stage is tiny, right? This place only holds a couple hundred people. I’m not sure you need to be right under our noses all the time.”
“Are you questioning my artistic choices already? Hmph.” She goes digging for herself. “21, f/2.8? That should work. I think I want to see what this one can do for now though.” She starts wandering among the instruments, framing and focusing, but not always firing. She makes another pass through with the 50mm, shooting where she didn’t shoot the last time. Finally she turns to the 21mm, and starts in again. This time she is really right up on top of things, and using unconventional angles at times. At one point she’s laying on the floor, pointing straight up.
“So, what’s this ritual you spoke of?” She sits up.
“Um, I really didn’t intend for that part to be photographed. It’s potentially embarrassing. I don’t really mind if you see it, but the world doesn’t need to.” I return the two lenses not currently in use to the camera bag.
She just shrugs. “Digital. Why would anyone need to see it?” You have a point.
“Okay then… Lemme just prepare myself.” I start to strip down, while she looks on with a puzzled expression. Once down to nothing but boxers, I pick up the Strat, set up a microphone, and turn everything up as high as I think the neighbors will tolerate. Then I start to run through a typical set list, concentrating on things that actually give me trouble.
For a while, Emi watches from that same position on the floor, directly beneath the instruments hanging from the wall. Then she moves back to the couch and the camera bag, dismounts the lens she was using, and goes back to ‘my baby’.
I close my eyes as I often do on stage, and always do during my prep time. If she’s clicking away, I don’t notice, and she makes herself unobtrusive. It only takes three or four songs and a few major bobbles before I’m sweating profusely and I’m ready to quit. Instead, I switch guitars and force myself through a few of the harder bits I do on the 8-string, also with my eyes closed. Only then do I allow myself a break.
“What was that all about?” Her face registers equal parts amusement at my discomfort, and concern for my sanity.
“Nightmares. Haven’t you had nightmares where you showed up in public naked, or without pants or something? It’s my defense against stage fright. By putting myself through something worse at home, I get the jitters out of the way right here. Everything we do tonight will seem like a breeze by comparison.” I pick up my pants and put them back on. “Now, if you don’t mind… I’d like you to meet «Dice».” Time for me to tune in ‘Tokyo’.
“Lunch is gonna be pizza and beer, it’s sort of traditional for me. You’re free to pass up the beer if you want though. I should have other drinks around, or we can make coffee, whatever. Then I’ll show you how to work with the camera, and you can practice with it if you want. It’s very retro, so you may not be familiar with the controls. Then you get to witness my pre-show ritual, something nobody else has ever seen.” I switch the Gripmaster to the left hand and continue the rhythm.
“Should you really be doing that while you drive?”
“If I have to think about it, I’m doing it wrong. Total auto-pilot. I’ve kept one of these in reach pretty much everywhere I go for the last ten years. It helps keep the strength up when I can’t get in enough practice time. There are tennis balls under the seat too, same purpose. I don’t play tennis.”
It takes about twenty minutes to make the drive today, and we’re safely parked under the building not long after – perfect, pizza should be here in ten or fifteen. We encounter nothing other than the birds that have built a nest in the pipes above my parking spot. I can hear the babies crying out to be fed as soon as I open the door, and the parents who just fled from me soon return to lecture me on invading their territory. I just flip them a bird of my own.
Emi looks around at everything as we walk through the parking garage and the lobby to the elevator. Once the elevator doors close behind us, she finally speaks. “What was that all about?”
“What, the birds? They think they own the damn place and shit all over my car. I don’t see them paying any rent, so I gave them my opinion. I tolerate them, but I don’t have to like them.”
We make our way up to the third floor, and the elevator opens onto another lobby, tiled in the same horrid avocado green as the ground floor. From there it’s through one door, past the laundry room, turn left and there’s my door. It’s a tiny place, but I’m lucky enough to not share a wall with anyone. Sometimes I can hear people in the halls, but at least I don’t have to worry about being quiet all night. I unlock the door and let Emi in as I hit the light switch. I almost trample her as she stops and gasps.
“Oh my gawd… are all these your guitars?” She sneaks up on them as if they were going to flee from her approach.
“Nah, it’s a breeding program. As you can see, it’s been pretty successful.” I only have six actual guitars, including the acoustics. I suspect she may think basses, ukuleles, and mandolins count as guitars.
I cross the ‘dining room’ in three steps and pick up the Stratocaster that gets the most use. I flick the power on the amp while I get the strap over my shoulders, then turn up the volume on the guitar itself to about three. I wouldn’t want to miss the phone when the pizza is delivered. After a check to make sure it’s still reasonably in tune, I give her a quick rendition of the beginning of «Little Wing». Maybe she’s part snake, I know she’s completely charmed. I want to get to as many of them as I can before the phone rings, so I move on to the steel-string acoustic and give her a complete run-through of «Never Going Back Again».
“I thought you said you couldn’t do that, play and sing at the same time… but that was amazing!”
“It took me weeks to learn to do it for just the one song. On the plus side, I could play it in my sleep now. Auto-pilot. Want another one?” I pick up the 12-string and give her «Wish You Were Here». I’m midway through the chorus when the phone rings.
“Aoki’s.”
“Yup, I’ll buzz you in.” I hold 9 and then hang up the phone. “So, they all do something different. That’s why I have so many.” I set down the guitar and await the knock at the door.
What is there to say about pizza and beer, other than that they pair best when the pizza is hot and the beer is cold? Emi drinks coffee, since I don’t have anything else she considers suitable, but soon enough we’ve both had our fill. I’m a little surprised she doesn’t balk at my selection of toppings – ham and pineapple. I had thought she might pick the pineapple off, but I was wrong. She even uses the red pepper packets. Soon enough it’s time to introduce her to the camera, which has been in my personal possession longer than any of my guitars.
“Darling, I adore you, but I’ve had this a lot longer and it’s irreplaceable. Please don’t make me choose between you.” I place the camera bag between us. She opens it carefully, and her eyes go wide.
“Ohh… wow!” She gingerly lifts the camera body from the bag, and immediately goes for the 50 mm f/1.4 lens. “Is it charged?” She looks for the power switch, and I help out a bit with that. “Thanks… not used to that part.”
“Oh, so you’re comfortable with an SLR? This might be a good idea, not just one to get you in the door. I’m glad you thought of it.” Thus far, the only band pictures we have are those taken by fans and posted online.
“Yeah, I have a little bit of experience, only with film.” She holds the camera to her face and focuses on me, leans back, refocuses, and fires.
“Now this is really starting to sound like a plan. I was going to ask that you shoot on film tonight. I only put on the digital back so you could get in some practice time.” I watch her pick through the bag for another lens, and she pulls out my ‘baby,’ the 80mm f/1.4. I watch with a bit of trepidation as she swaps lenses, but everything goes flawlessly.
“I’ll be able to get right up on top of you guys, right? Is there an ultrawide in this bag?”
“You know there’s only three of us and the stage is tiny, right? This place only holds a couple hundred people. I’m not sure you need to be right under our noses all the time.”
“Are you questioning my artistic choices already? Hmph.” She goes digging for herself. “21, f/2.8? That should work. I think I want to see what this one can do for now though.” She starts wandering among the instruments, framing and focusing, but not always firing. She makes another pass through with the 50mm, shooting where she didn’t shoot the last time. Finally she turns to the 21mm, and starts in again. This time she is really right up on top of things, and using unconventional angles at times. At one point she’s laying on the floor, pointing straight up.
“So, what’s this ritual you spoke of?” She sits up.
“Um, I really didn’t intend for that part to be photographed. It’s potentially embarrassing. I don’t really mind if you see it, but the world doesn’t need to.” I return the two lenses not currently in use to the camera bag.
She just shrugs. “Digital. Why would anyone need to see it?” You have a point.
“Okay then… Lemme just prepare myself.” I start to strip down, while she looks on with a puzzled expression. Once down to nothing but boxers, I pick up the Strat, set up a microphone, and turn everything up as high as I think the neighbors will tolerate. Then I start to run through a typical set list, concentrating on things that actually give me trouble.
For a while, Emi watches from that same position on the floor, directly beneath the instruments hanging from the wall. Then she moves back to the couch and the camera bag, dismounts the lens she was using, and goes back to ‘my baby’.
I close my eyes as I often do on stage, and always do during my prep time. If she’s clicking away, I don’t notice, and she makes herself unobtrusive. It only takes three or four songs and a few major bobbles before I’m sweating profusely and I’m ready to quit. Instead, I switch guitars and force myself through a few of the harder bits I do on the 8-string, also with my eyes closed. Only then do I allow myself a break.
“What was that all about?” Her face registers equal parts amusement at my discomfort, and concern for my sanity.
“Nightmares. Haven’t you had nightmares where you showed up in public naked, or without pants or something? It’s my defense against stage fright. By putting myself through something worse at home, I get the jitters out of the way right here. Everything we do tonight will seem like a breeze by comparison.” I pick up my pants and put them back on. “Now, if you don’t mind… I’d like you to meet «Dice».” Time for me to tune in ‘Tokyo’.
Last edited by NekoDude on Mon Nov 03, 2014 1:37 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Re: The Neko Story: Book 1 (...And Nakai Makes Three) releas
EMI
Where did Daisuke go? The guy who I shared a pizza with, who handed me a camera worth as much as a car, who stripped down to his underwear and played guitar, he’s just… gone. Some guy who looks just like him seems to have taken his place. He’s walking around shirtless, tuning guitars and checking cables. He tests some mystery box that makes him sound like three guys when he sings, checks each of the pedals he has attached to a board, and starts putting microphones and cables and the mystery box into a case. The pedal board turns out to be the lid. He heads for the refrigerator for what I think is going to be another beer, but stands there with the door open, looking inside.
“Miss Ibarazaki?” It takes a moment to register that he’s talking to me. He has never used my family name outside of official business before… oh! Business mode. I see.
“Yes, Dice?”
“As official touring photographer for Three Blind Mice, it is up to you to choose your weapons for the evening.” My weapons? I have already chosen my weapons, and they come in 21, 50, and 80 mm varieties. What else does he mean? I make my way over to the refrigerator, not knowing what to expect when I get there until he gestures at the upper rack. The corner is filled with little boxes – orangish-yellow, green, white – which bring back some memories, even if the names are not entirely familiar. «Kodak Supra. Fuji Velvia. Ilford XP. Kodak T-Max.»
“You’re going to want me to shoot without a flash, right? Existing light only?” I can’t imagine they like flashes going off in their faces.
“There are no rules against it, people take flash pictures all the time. But if you plan to be right on top of us, as you put it, then it probably would be best to avoid the flash.”
I start picking through the boxes, least familiar first. Ilford XP2 – a C-41 black and white film? Interesting, but too slow. Kodak Supra 800 sounds like a worthy candidate. I set two rolls aside. Fuji Velvia: an ISO 50 slide film? Give me a break. Finally I turn to the T-Max.
I hold up a box in either hand. “What do you think? Sharpness or speed? TMY or TMZ? I’ll probably be pushing a couple stops either way.”
“It’s a bar, the lighting isn’t going to be that bright. Then again, it’s right over our heads, so I can’t really say. Better take both and decide when you get there. My preferred lab can handle whatever you choose to do with them. Just make sure we tell them about it.”
I take the four selected rolls back to the camera bag. “I’ll need you to swap out the back, I’m too afraid to. I think it’s probably worth more than my mother’s car.”
“Quite likely. Might as well leave it for now though, so you can shoot with it some more.”
I tinker with the settings a bit. “Does this go past 800?”
“Yeah, it’s the setting marked ‘push’.” Ah, I see it. Kinda cute, considering that’s exactly what I intend to do with the film. He returns to packing up equipment, putting guitars in cases and stacking them against the wall by the front door. Finally he settles in on the couch, still shirtless and beer in hand. “I always feel like I’m forgetting something. It’s rare that I do, though it has happened, but the feeling is constant.” He rubs both temples.
“So what is it you want, space to think, or a distraction?”
“If I did forget something, I’m probably not going to remember it right now. I just wish my head would shut up. Cheers.” He raises the beer bottle and drinks from it. “We’ve got three hours. I don’t know why, but this part always bothers me the most.”
“Then why don’t you let Daisuke come back? I kinda miss him. I get what you’re doing, but can’t you press ‘pause’ for a little while?”
His expression changes. It’s subtle, but I’m pretty sure I’m not imagining it. The kiss lets me know for sure.
Where did Daisuke go? The guy who I shared a pizza with, who handed me a camera worth as much as a car, who stripped down to his underwear and played guitar, he’s just… gone. Some guy who looks just like him seems to have taken his place. He’s walking around shirtless, tuning guitars and checking cables. He tests some mystery box that makes him sound like three guys when he sings, checks each of the pedals he has attached to a board, and starts putting microphones and cables and the mystery box into a case. The pedal board turns out to be the lid. He heads for the refrigerator for what I think is going to be another beer, but stands there with the door open, looking inside.
“Miss Ibarazaki?” It takes a moment to register that he’s talking to me. He has never used my family name outside of official business before… oh! Business mode. I see.
“Yes, Dice?”
“As official touring photographer for Three Blind Mice, it is up to you to choose your weapons for the evening.” My weapons? I have already chosen my weapons, and they come in 21, 50, and 80 mm varieties. What else does he mean? I make my way over to the refrigerator, not knowing what to expect when I get there until he gestures at the upper rack. The corner is filled with little boxes – orangish-yellow, green, white – which bring back some memories, even if the names are not entirely familiar. «Kodak Supra. Fuji Velvia. Ilford XP. Kodak T-Max.»
“You’re going to want me to shoot without a flash, right? Existing light only?” I can’t imagine they like flashes going off in their faces.
“There are no rules against it, people take flash pictures all the time. But if you plan to be right on top of us, as you put it, then it probably would be best to avoid the flash.”
I start picking through the boxes, least familiar first. Ilford XP2 – a C-41 black and white film? Interesting, but too slow. Kodak Supra 800 sounds like a worthy candidate. I set two rolls aside. Fuji Velvia: an ISO 50 slide film? Give me a break. Finally I turn to the T-Max.
I hold up a box in either hand. “What do you think? Sharpness or speed? TMY or TMZ? I’ll probably be pushing a couple stops either way.”
“It’s a bar, the lighting isn’t going to be that bright. Then again, it’s right over our heads, so I can’t really say. Better take both and decide when you get there. My preferred lab can handle whatever you choose to do with them. Just make sure we tell them about it.”
I take the four selected rolls back to the camera bag. “I’ll need you to swap out the back, I’m too afraid to. I think it’s probably worth more than my mother’s car.”
“Quite likely. Might as well leave it for now though, so you can shoot with it some more.”
I tinker with the settings a bit. “Does this go past 800?”
“Yeah, it’s the setting marked ‘push’.” Ah, I see it. Kinda cute, considering that’s exactly what I intend to do with the film. He returns to packing up equipment, putting guitars in cases and stacking them against the wall by the front door. Finally he settles in on the couch, still shirtless and beer in hand. “I always feel like I’m forgetting something. It’s rare that I do, though it has happened, but the feeling is constant.” He rubs both temples.
“So what is it you want, space to think, or a distraction?”
“If I did forget something, I’m probably not going to remember it right now. I just wish my head would shut up. Cheers.” He raises the beer bottle and drinks from it. “We’ve got three hours. I don’t know why, but this part always bothers me the most.”
“Then why don’t you let Daisuke come back? I kinda miss him. I get what you’re doing, but can’t you press ‘pause’ for a little while?”
His expression changes. It’s subtle, but I’m pretty sure I’m not imagining it. The kiss lets me know for sure.
Re: The Neko Story: Book 1 (...And Nakai Makes Three) releas
AKIRA
“S-So where are we going tonight? Y-You still haven’t t-told me.” Hanako looks at me through her veil of bangs as always. “I n-need to know how to d-dress.”
“Just dress the way you do when we go out to shoot pool. That’s not what we’re doing, but it’s close enough for jazz.”
“Oh.” She grabs a beret and a denim jacket. “I-I think, I think I’m r-ready.”
I smile to relax her. “You look wonderful. Don’t worry about anything. Just show them this at the door, they won’t look at it too hard.” I hand her a card – one that cost me a fair bit of pocket change because I was in a hurry, but hopefully it will make events like this possible.
“Th-this is a… d-d-driver’s license? You w-want me to d-drive?”
“No, I want you to pass an ID check. Driving is the one thing I don’t want you to do with it. Any traffic cop would know it’s a forgery.” It’s a good forgery, but it will obviously fail a records check because there’s nothing in the system to back it up. “If it’s a license you want, we’ll work on getting you a real one. You’ll be eighteen by the time I get back, I’ve got a car, it’s no problem. Speaking of which…” I give a ‘let’s go’ tilt of the head.
I’m glad I decided to delay the flight out until the morning. Father’s pissed, but fuck him. I wasn’t going to put myself or Lilly through the stress of making a tight flight schedule. They waited how many years to call us back? They can wait sixteen hours more.
Parking under Club Shaft is easy when you arrive early, and half past seven is pretty damn early in the bar business. Even if the place is empty, there’s a pool table. We’ll find ways to entertain ourselves. As I promised, the doorman doesn’t even look Hanako in the eye, let alone scrutinize her ID. “See what I told you?” I remark as we climb the stairs. “No questions asked. You’re with me.” She looks quite embarrassed, even blushing.
At the top of the stairs are both bathrooms, then a hallway leading past them and turning left to open onto the club itself. Coming around that corner, I take a look around to see that the place is slow but not dead, and that there is an amplifier and some guitar cases on the stage already. Wait a minute… Skunk Funk doesn’t have any guitars, at least not the last few times I’ve seen them. Oh well, I find us a table for two and immediately signal for service.
“Take a quick look at the wine list. It’ll be a minute or two before they send someone out to… make me eat my words.” The barmaid is standing right there. “«Umm, what do you have on tap?»” I already know exactly what they have, but having her run through the list gives Hanako a few more seconds to make a selection. I wait until she finishes and look thoughtful for a few moments. “«Jura Superstition, double, neat. Don’t worry, I’ll order a pint next round.»”
The barmaid turns to Hanako, who sets down the list. “«A f-friend of mine said you… you have The Macallan eighteen year? N-not a double though.»”
You could drive a lorry through the tunnel that is my open mouth right this moment. The barmaid smiles and walks away, and Hanako has already gone back to looking shy before I can speak. “What friend is this? And why haven’t you introduced me to them?”
“Online friend. I had… I had no idea if they’d, if they’d have it here or not, but you did order a p-pretty obscure label y-yourself.”
I hear noise from the general direction of the stage as two people come walking out from the back. One is a good-looking guy in jeans and a Ramones T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off of it. He looks familiar, but I’m pretty sure he’s not in Skunk Funk. Then it’s a truly tiny girl, carrying guitar stands. She also looks familiar, but I can’t place her. Then I hear Hanako gasp.
“Wh-what in the world is she d-doing here?” she whispers from behind her hand. There is panic in her eyes.
“The little one? I’m pretty sure I’ve seen her before too, and it wasn’t here. Who is she?”
“Her n-name is Emi… and she’s a f-fellow student. She’s… she’s not s-supposed to be here!”
“Well neither are you, legally. Maybe she did the same thing?” If so, I hope she paid less than me.
“Oh no… nononononono...” I follow her gaze. They’re both headed this way.
I know who he is! “Relax… breathe…” I wave at them, since it’s obvious they’ve spotted us. “Dice!”
He grins. About three meters from the table he opens his arms as I stand up. “You remember me!” He gives me a quick hug and a pat on the back.
“That I do! I had no idea you had joined Skunk Funk, and I come to see them fairly often.”
He looks momentarily confused. “Oh! No, I’m not with Skunk Funk, is that who was scheduled to play tonight? We got a late call to cover, their drummer got hurt. It’s Three Blind Mice tonight.” He turns to his companion. “Emi, Akira Satou. We went to school together.” I notice the red wristband she’s wearing, as opposed to his purple one.
“Well ain’t that a coinkydink?” Emi’s voice is high pitched and slightly grating, then there is the sound of a chair being pushed away from a table and Hanako is running toward the hall we entered through.
“Excuse me.” I follow at a reasonable distance, just close enough to see whether she turns into the bathroom or heads down the stairs. There are no other options. Fortunately, she chooses the bathroom, and I descend the stairs to speak to the doorman.
“I think my friend is having a bit of a nervous reaction to something or other. You remember her?” He hesitates, then nods. “Good.” I hand him a couple thousand-yen notes. “If she tries to leave, I need to know immediately. Slow her down if you can but don’t touch her. Got it?” He nods again. Fine, I wasn’t in a mood for a conversation anyhow.
I poke my head into the bathroom on the way back up, but I don’t hear anything particularly alarming. I’ll just wait it out. Returning to our table, I see that I have it to myself. Emi and Dice are setting up gear, and before long, Emi is walking around the stage and the area directly in front of it with a camera in hand, stopping often to look through the viewfinder.
Our drink orders arrive before Hanako returns, but at least she does. She takes her seat and tries to make herself as inconspicuous as possible.
“C-can we g-go?”
I look at her for a moment, to try to assess the damage. “Can we? Of course. Will we? Not on your life. We just got our drinks, and there’s no way you’re going to abandon that. That would be alcohol abuse. Enjoy your drink, then we’ll talk. Here, try mine.” I push my glass across the small table.
She hesitantly picks it up and gives it a sniff, then another, before raising it to her lips. I can see she’s trying to conceal a bit of a shudder as she sets it back down.
“Well, what do you think?”
Her response is little more than a whisper. “It… it tastes like b-burning.”
I laugh as I take the glass back. “That it does! This one is particularly smoky. Yours should not be.” She still hasn’t touched it when the barmaid brings out a basket of garlic-salted chips still steaming from the fryer, and two glasses of water. “Do you mind if I taste it?” She pushes it a few centimeters in my direction, and I do the same thing she did, giving it a couple sniffs then tasting. “Nope, no burning. Just pure sherry-cask excellence.” I make sure to set it well on her side of the table so she knows I have no intention of finishing it for her.
I hear voices from the stage area again, and I look up to see that Dice and Emi have been joined by a third… no fucking way. That can’t be him. Now I want to hide. There is animated gesturing going on, which seems to be focused on Emi. “Oh God…”
“What?” Hanako has the glass in her hands.
“The guy over there who just showed up… see him? That would be Kenichiro… the ex-boyfriend I have told you about.” Looks like this is just our night for coincidences.
“S-So where are we going tonight? Y-You still haven’t t-told me.” Hanako looks at me through her veil of bangs as always. “I n-need to know how to d-dress.”
“Just dress the way you do when we go out to shoot pool. That’s not what we’re doing, but it’s close enough for jazz.”
“Oh.” She grabs a beret and a denim jacket. “I-I think, I think I’m r-ready.”
I smile to relax her. “You look wonderful. Don’t worry about anything. Just show them this at the door, they won’t look at it too hard.” I hand her a card – one that cost me a fair bit of pocket change because I was in a hurry, but hopefully it will make events like this possible.
“Th-this is a… d-d-driver’s license? You w-want me to d-drive?”
“No, I want you to pass an ID check. Driving is the one thing I don’t want you to do with it. Any traffic cop would know it’s a forgery.” It’s a good forgery, but it will obviously fail a records check because there’s nothing in the system to back it up. “If it’s a license you want, we’ll work on getting you a real one. You’ll be eighteen by the time I get back, I’ve got a car, it’s no problem. Speaking of which…” I give a ‘let’s go’ tilt of the head.
I’m glad I decided to delay the flight out until the morning. Father’s pissed, but fuck him. I wasn’t going to put myself or Lilly through the stress of making a tight flight schedule. They waited how many years to call us back? They can wait sixteen hours more.
Parking under Club Shaft is easy when you arrive early, and half past seven is pretty damn early in the bar business. Even if the place is empty, there’s a pool table. We’ll find ways to entertain ourselves. As I promised, the doorman doesn’t even look Hanako in the eye, let alone scrutinize her ID. “See what I told you?” I remark as we climb the stairs. “No questions asked. You’re with me.” She looks quite embarrassed, even blushing.
At the top of the stairs are both bathrooms, then a hallway leading past them and turning left to open onto the club itself. Coming around that corner, I take a look around to see that the place is slow but not dead, and that there is an amplifier and some guitar cases on the stage already. Wait a minute… Skunk Funk doesn’t have any guitars, at least not the last few times I’ve seen them. Oh well, I find us a table for two and immediately signal for service.
“Take a quick look at the wine list. It’ll be a minute or two before they send someone out to… make me eat my words.” The barmaid is standing right there. “«Umm, what do you have on tap?»” I already know exactly what they have, but having her run through the list gives Hanako a few more seconds to make a selection. I wait until she finishes and look thoughtful for a few moments. “«Jura Superstition, double, neat. Don’t worry, I’ll order a pint next round.»”
The barmaid turns to Hanako, who sets down the list. “«A f-friend of mine said you… you have The Macallan eighteen year? N-not a double though.»”
You could drive a lorry through the tunnel that is my open mouth right this moment. The barmaid smiles and walks away, and Hanako has already gone back to looking shy before I can speak. “What friend is this? And why haven’t you introduced me to them?”
“Online friend. I had… I had no idea if they’d, if they’d have it here or not, but you did order a p-pretty obscure label y-yourself.”
I hear noise from the general direction of the stage as two people come walking out from the back. One is a good-looking guy in jeans and a Ramones T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off of it. He looks familiar, but I’m pretty sure he’s not in Skunk Funk. Then it’s a truly tiny girl, carrying guitar stands. She also looks familiar, but I can’t place her. Then I hear Hanako gasp.
“Wh-what in the world is she d-doing here?” she whispers from behind her hand. There is panic in her eyes.
“The little one? I’m pretty sure I’ve seen her before too, and it wasn’t here. Who is she?”
“Her n-name is Emi… and she’s a f-fellow student. She’s… she’s not s-supposed to be here!”
“Well neither are you, legally. Maybe she did the same thing?” If so, I hope she paid less than me.
“Oh no… nononononono...” I follow her gaze. They’re both headed this way.
I know who he is! “Relax… breathe…” I wave at them, since it’s obvious they’ve spotted us. “Dice!”
He grins. About three meters from the table he opens his arms as I stand up. “You remember me!” He gives me a quick hug and a pat on the back.
“That I do! I had no idea you had joined Skunk Funk, and I come to see them fairly often.”
He looks momentarily confused. “Oh! No, I’m not with Skunk Funk, is that who was scheduled to play tonight? We got a late call to cover, their drummer got hurt. It’s Three Blind Mice tonight.” He turns to his companion. “Emi, Akira Satou. We went to school together.” I notice the red wristband she’s wearing, as opposed to his purple one.
“Well ain’t that a coinkydink?” Emi’s voice is high pitched and slightly grating, then there is the sound of a chair being pushed away from a table and Hanako is running toward the hall we entered through.
“Excuse me.” I follow at a reasonable distance, just close enough to see whether she turns into the bathroom or heads down the stairs. There are no other options. Fortunately, she chooses the bathroom, and I descend the stairs to speak to the doorman.
“I think my friend is having a bit of a nervous reaction to something or other. You remember her?” He hesitates, then nods. “Good.” I hand him a couple thousand-yen notes. “If she tries to leave, I need to know immediately. Slow her down if you can but don’t touch her. Got it?” He nods again. Fine, I wasn’t in a mood for a conversation anyhow.
I poke my head into the bathroom on the way back up, but I don’t hear anything particularly alarming. I’ll just wait it out. Returning to our table, I see that I have it to myself. Emi and Dice are setting up gear, and before long, Emi is walking around the stage and the area directly in front of it with a camera in hand, stopping often to look through the viewfinder.
Our drink orders arrive before Hanako returns, but at least she does. She takes her seat and tries to make herself as inconspicuous as possible.
“C-can we g-go?”
I look at her for a moment, to try to assess the damage. “Can we? Of course. Will we? Not on your life. We just got our drinks, and there’s no way you’re going to abandon that. That would be alcohol abuse. Enjoy your drink, then we’ll talk. Here, try mine.” I push my glass across the small table.
She hesitantly picks it up and gives it a sniff, then another, before raising it to her lips. I can see she’s trying to conceal a bit of a shudder as she sets it back down.
“Well, what do you think?”
Her response is little more than a whisper. “It… it tastes like b-burning.”
I laugh as I take the glass back. “That it does! This one is particularly smoky. Yours should not be.” She still hasn’t touched it when the barmaid brings out a basket of garlic-salted chips still steaming from the fryer, and two glasses of water. “Do you mind if I taste it?” She pushes it a few centimeters in my direction, and I do the same thing she did, giving it a couple sniffs then tasting. “Nope, no burning. Just pure sherry-cask excellence.” I make sure to set it well on her side of the table so she knows I have no intention of finishing it for her.
I hear voices from the stage area again, and I look up to see that Dice and Emi have been joined by a third… no fucking way. That can’t be him. Now I want to hide. There is animated gesturing going on, which seems to be focused on Emi. “Oh God…”
“What?” Hanako has the glass in her hands.
“The guy over there who just showed up… see him? That would be Kenichiro… the ex-boyfriend I have told you about.” Looks like this is just our night for coincidences.
Last edited by NekoDude on Sat Nov 11, 2017 7:34 am, edited 1 time in total.
Re: The Neko Story: Book 1 (...And Nakai Makes Three) releas
DANNY
I corner Dice after the first set. “I smell trouble. Kenny’s already half in his cups, and he’s acting particularly nasty tonight. This might be the night. You’re the one that has to take up the slack, so start thinking of what you want to do if it comes down to it.”
“Not just me, you’re going to have to sing everything if I’m gonna do the Charlie Hunter thing.” True. It seems the faster your hands move, the less your mouth works.
“Well we have our usual acoustic set stuff, but I’d rather not close like that. We want them to know we can still rock. So... if you could come up with a list for me, that would be great.” I smile as I stretch out the last word.
“I’m already a step ahead of you, I knew something was up the moment Kenny called «Don’t Stand So Close to Me» while staring at my date. I’m glad she doesn’t speak English.” He hands me a folded slip of paper. “I also think we should try that acoustic cover of Sayonara we’ve been working on.”
I take a glance at the list.
«We’re Going to be Friends
Roxanne / Walking on the Moon
Heart Shaped Box / Rape Me
We Will Rock You / Moby Dick»
Why the hell not? We’ll either melt their faces, or fall on ours.
I corner Dice after the first set. “I smell trouble. Kenny’s already half in his cups, and he’s acting particularly nasty tonight. This might be the night. You’re the one that has to take up the slack, so start thinking of what you want to do if it comes down to it.”
“Not just me, you’re going to have to sing everything if I’m gonna do the Charlie Hunter thing.” True. It seems the faster your hands move, the less your mouth works.
“Well we have our usual acoustic set stuff, but I’d rather not close like that. We want them to know we can still rock. So... if you could come up with a list for me, that would be great.” I smile as I stretch out the last word.
“I’m already a step ahead of you, I knew something was up the moment Kenny called «Don’t Stand So Close to Me» while staring at my date. I’m glad she doesn’t speak English.” He hands me a folded slip of paper. “I also think we should try that acoustic cover of Sayonara we’ve been working on.”
I take a glance at the list.
«We’re Going to be Friends
Roxanne / Walking on the Moon
Heart Shaped Box / Rape Me
We Will Rock You / Moby Dick»
Why the hell not? We’ll either melt their faces, or fall on ours.
Re: The Neko Story: Book 1 (...And Nakai Makes Three) releas
NEKO
Son of a bitch. Why does she always have to take my bed? At school or at home, if Miki’s sleeping, chances are better than even it’ll be my bed you find her in. Now I can’t even get a private conference with Hisao. Or could I have anyhow?
“I know everything that goes on around here. It’s my business.” Neko, you blithering idiot. There are ears everywhere. Eyes probably too. Time to find out just how far they extend.
I make my way laboriously up the stairs. “Oh loverboy!” Hisao glances back at me and resumes lining up his shot. He’s so damn cute like that, but if I molest him now, it’ll probably cost him money.
“Fuck!” The pink ball rattles around the pocket but doesn’t drop. “One.”
Suzu stalks around the table, plotting angles and follow-ons in her head, before lining up and taking a wicked topspin shot that pots a red, cannons into a cluster, and leaves her to easily pick up the pink Hisao just missed. The table is now opened up, greatly to her advantage. Another red, then black. Red. Blue. Red. Black again. She pots the last red, watches as the cue ball travels three rails, and pots the black again. She fails to get position on the yellow, but I don’t think she cares. She bumps the yellow into the baulk rail, while drawing the cue ball clean back to the opposite end and tucking it safely behind the black. “Thirty-seven.”
“Why do I even try?” Hisao waves a white towel and walks my way.
“So how much did that cost you?”
“Five hundred,” he says with a bit of a scowl.
“Ha! Is that all? That’s bloody cheap for a lesson with her. Don’t expect it to stay that way.” He follows me back down the stairs and out the front door without hesitation. Once we get out of earshot of the house, I let him in on my plan by whispering in his ear. “The house is bugged. I feel stupid that I didn’t know about it sooner, but I know now. Please smile and follow me like I just offered to ride you like a rented mule.” That’s too much smile. Screw it, it’ll have to do.
We walk hand in hand through the stable. I give him a summary tour of the facilities, but I’m really looking for where cameras might be located. Microphones could be anywhere. Finally I see a likely spot – a motion detector housing, supposedly there to turn on the lights if someone or something is wandering around at night. Taking up a spot within its probable gaze, I throw my arm around him and kiss him with feeling. We may be putting on a show, but that’s no reason not to enjoy the moment. A minute goes by, then two, and it’s not difficult to convince him to play along. What is difficult is knowing how far to escalate this little stunt, since it’s ultimately going to be frustrating for both of us… and sure enough, before you can say ‘motorboat,’ Abe comes along with a bucket and a brush, whistling loudly to announce his presence well in advance.
“Told you,” I whisper, and lead him by the hand out the back door of the stable before bothering to button up.
Son of a bitch. Why does she always have to take my bed? At school or at home, if Miki’s sleeping, chances are better than even it’ll be my bed you find her in. Now I can’t even get a private conference with Hisao. Or could I have anyhow?
“I know everything that goes on around here. It’s my business.” Neko, you blithering idiot. There are ears everywhere. Eyes probably too. Time to find out just how far they extend.
I make my way laboriously up the stairs. “Oh loverboy!” Hisao glances back at me and resumes lining up his shot. He’s so damn cute like that, but if I molest him now, it’ll probably cost him money.
“Fuck!” The pink ball rattles around the pocket but doesn’t drop. “One.”
Suzu stalks around the table, plotting angles and follow-ons in her head, before lining up and taking a wicked topspin shot that pots a red, cannons into a cluster, and leaves her to easily pick up the pink Hisao just missed. The table is now opened up, greatly to her advantage. Another red, then black. Red. Blue. Red. Black again. She pots the last red, watches as the cue ball travels three rails, and pots the black again. She fails to get position on the yellow, but I don’t think she cares. She bumps the yellow into the baulk rail, while drawing the cue ball clean back to the opposite end and tucking it safely behind the black. “Thirty-seven.”
“Why do I even try?” Hisao waves a white towel and walks my way.
“So how much did that cost you?”
“Five hundred,” he says with a bit of a scowl.
“Ha! Is that all? That’s bloody cheap for a lesson with her. Don’t expect it to stay that way.” He follows me back down the stairs and out the front door without hesitation. Once we get out of earshot of the house, I let him in on my plan by whispering in his ear. “The house is bugged. I feel stupid that I didn’t know about it sooner, but I know now. Please smile and follow me like I just offered to ride you like a rented mule.” That’s too much smile. Screw it, it’ll have to do.
We walk hand in hand through the stable. I give him a summary tour of the facilities, but I’m really looking for where cameras might be located. Microphones could be anywhere. Finally I see a likely spot – a motion detector housing, supposedly there to turn on the lights if someone or something is wandering around at night. Taking up a spot within its probable gaze, I throw my arm around him and kiss him with feeling. We may be putting on a show, but that’s no reason not to enjoy the moment. A minute goes by, then two, and it’s not difficult to convince him to play along. What is difficult is knowing how far to escalate this little stunt, since it’s ultimately going to be frustrating for both of us… and sure enough, before you can say ‘motorboat,’ Abe comes along with a bucket and a brush, whistling loudly to announce his presence well in advance.
“Told you,” I whisper, and lead him by the hand out the back door of the stable before bothering to button up.