Katawa Shoujo Forums

Over the past few days I've read all of your stories, and I have to say I've enjoyed them immensely. You are insane. Utterly insane. There is no other word for it. And you are probably one of the best fanfiction writers I've ever come across. You keep the story flowing, and don't have mindless rambles. Oh, And you are funny as heck. You make Kenji Kenji. You are Insane. Utterly Insane. Hilariously Insane. Please keep writing. You're damn good at it.

Gredd18 wrote:Over the past few days I've read all of your stories, and I have to say I've enjoyed them immensely.

Thanks, glad you liked them, and thanks for reading .

You are insane. Utterly insane. There is no other word for it.

I will not disagree with this sentiment . Well, eccentric might work, but I think you have to be rich to be eccentric.

And you are probably one of the best fanfiction writers I've ever come across.

I'll respectfully disagree with you there. I consider myself a half-decent writer with a quirky mind and the help of some very good editors, though I like to go it alone sometimes to improve my skills. I won't name names out of respect, but I can easily think of three or four writers on this forum much better then myself. Though obviously such things are open to interpretation and personal preference.

You keep the story flowing, and don't have mindless rambles.

No more mindless then my rantings usually are, anyway .

Oh, And you are funny as heck. You make Kenji Kenji. You are Insane. Utterly Insane. Hilariously Insane. Please keep writing. You're damn good at it.

Thank you once again, and fortunately I have no intention of ceasing writing; I already have a list of specials thought out till Christmas .

“Da red wunz go fasta.” –Ork maxim

Previous Chapter

Chapter Thirteen (Hanako): Haggle-Burger Hill


We left the hotel just after finishing breakfast, and Lilly had wanted to take a bus, but Emi insisted we walk—because Emi. Lilly's slow pace had forced Emi—being the bundle of energy she was—to constantly circle us like a sheltie trying to herd sheep, but that wasn't much of a problem—at least not for me. The noise of the city was making Lilly tense, and as the drone of cars and people washed over us, her arm wrapped around mine probably a bit tighter than was necessary. Meanwhile, I focused almost entirely on ignoring the crowds, guiding Lilly, and not drawing attention to myself.

Thankfully, people’s gazes tended to drift toward Lilly. Her blond hair and stature acted like a lightning rod for undue attention, which saved me from having to try too much to appear inconspicuous. Most bystanders generally didn’t bother looking, though. One advantage of the city is that people are usually too busy going about their own business to notice much of anything, which is most likely why no one reacted to the guy dressed in a stormtrooper outfit playing air guitar in front of the Starbucks we had passed ten minutes earlier. Unfortunately, with me focused on not panicking or getting Lilly lost, and Lilly a bit on edge from the city noise, Emi had had to lead the way on her own—hence, why we were lost.

“Okay,” Emi declared as her narrowed, green eyes scanned the music store map from over the rim of her pink, heart-shaped sunglasses, “I have no fucking clue where we are...”

Sighing lightly, I looked over Emi's shoulder to examine the map, but Lilly spoke before I could get a good look.

“Perhaps we should pause and take a break,” she suggested, “so we can get our bearings and rest a bit.”

Emi sighed and nodded, “yeah, good idea. There’s a bench up the street a couple meters.”

Lilly smiled and nodded, and I guided her to the mentioned bench. A simple metal city bench flanked by two trees, Lilly easily found her seat, scooting over as she sat so I could sit next to her. Emi could’ve fit in the remaining room, but she was pacing in front of us as she examined the map.

“Where the fuck did I screw up?” she grumbled, “We’ve been going in nearly a straight line the whole damn way.”

“We took a left some time ago,” Lilly reminded her, “which would be west, if I’m not mistaken.”

The sky was so clear that she probably could tell the sun’s angle by the heat on her skin. I glanced near the sun from below the brim of my hat, “she’s r-right,” I declared.

“Right, we head north, then west, then hang a right a few blocks to get to the store,” Emi stated, reviewing the route to the shop from the hotel out loud, “it’s just really far from the hotel…. Oh, I see what went wrong –we went south around that construction and I forgot to turn right to compensate.”

With my input, Emi managed to rework the route to get us to the music shop, with a few breaks on the way. Fortunately Emi had a small pack, which she used to store water for us, as well as some light snacks.

It took almost two hours of further travel and occasional resting, but we were finally only a few blocks from the music store. The walkways continued to be crowded and the streets full of rumbling vehicles and irate bicyclers, but Lilly and I managed to make our way without incident through the throng.

“Almost there!” Emi declared, still circling us like a hyper-active sheep dog with a particularly slow pair of sheep, “how you two holdin’ up?”

“I could use a break,” Lilly said, “since we’re going to be shopping when we arrive at the store, and that may take some time.”

I nodded, and ducked my head as a passing salaryman caught a glimpse of my face. His eyes widened and he picked up his pace to get passed us. I scooted closer to Lilly and tried to fight the sinking feeling in my stomach. His look of horror stung, and it was stirring up a lot of emotions, none of them good. Fortunately we were near another bench, so I was able to shrink into a seat while guiding Lilly down, albeit more forcefully then she was used to, but she didn’t say anything, thankfully. Emi actually sat next to us, apparently finally worn down enough to pause her blistering pace.

“Everything alright, Hanako?” Lilly asked me as Emi handed out water. My haste to sit down and my tensing body no doubt tipping her off something was wrong.

“Y-yes,” I lied. I closed my eyes and performed a brief meditation, cleansing my mind in an effort to forget the past and the horde of people around us.

“She okay?” I heard Emi ask.

“She must be meditating,” Lilly whispered.

I heard Emi make a noise, but stopped; presumably Lilly had held up a hand to silence her. I focused on my somewhat steady breathing, the quiet click of Emi’s tapping legs, Lilly’s shallow breathing, and the boisterous drone of the city beyond us. Remembering a few chants, which I recited mentally, I slowly opened my eyes, smiling bleakly as my eyes readjusted to the blazing summer light.

“Better?” Lilly asked, her look of concern probably more obvious than she meant it to be.

I nodded, “y-yeah.”

“Good to hear,” a grinning Emi stated, handing me a bottled water, which I accepted and sipped at slowly.

After a few minutes of silent rest, Emi bounded off the bench and hauled Lilly up, startling her as she grabbed my shoulder for balance. I giggled lightly at Emi’s energy as I made sure Lilly was okay before I hefted myself up.

“Break’s over!” Emi declared, “Let’s go shopping! I’ve been planning my outfit for weeks, along with some backups if I can’t find what I need for my favorite picks.”

Emi had clearly given her outfit choice a lot of thought, and her statements made me wonder what she had in mind for me. Hopefully nothing too revealing, or I’d spend the entire concert a nervous wreck, if I could be coerced out of the bathroom in the first place.

We continued our sojourn towards the promised music store, passing small local shops on the way. We had been passing mostly malls, department stores, restaurants, and office buildings for the past two hours, so the small shops were a welcome change in window dressing. Every now and then my eyes wandered to glance at something in a window, but I never stopped to look more closely. At least, not until I saw a certain mechanical marvel.

We were at the end of a block, maybe one or two more from the store, when something red and bulky in a window caught my eye. Pausing to look at it, I stopped in my tracks at the sight; an Indian Chief Motorcycle, bright red and sleek in the bulky way only a vintage motorcycle can be.

“Hanako?” Lilly asked, probably concerned that I had stopped, “Is something happening?”

I glanced at the building some more, looking for a sign. An old placard above an aged wooden and brass door declared in English letters “Corner Antiques.”

“We’re in front of an antique shop,” I explained.

Lilly nodded, and her tensed grip on my arm slackened, “do you see something in the window you would like?”

Perceptive woman, “m-maybe.”

“Hey,” Emi said, standing a meter ahead of us with her hands on her hips, “what’s the holdup?”

I pointed at the motorcycle and Emi followed my finger. Looking at the bike, she raised an eyebrow, “Huh, shiny. Wait, you’re into motorcycles?”

I shrugged, “m-machines are easy to f-fix, and w-working on them is… relaxing.”

“Zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance, huh?” Emi remarked. Glancing at her cell phone, she smirked and bolted for the store’s door, “well, come on, you wanna get a good look, you gotta do it in person.”

I violently shook my head, nearly knocking my hat off in the process, “w-we need to g-go.”

Emi humphed and grabbed me, “it can wait; how often are you gonna have a chance to look at it?”

Considering I lived with Hisao’s parents when not in school, probably sometime that summer. My argument went unsaid, however, because I needed to concentrate on not tripping as Emi grabbed me, and, by extension, Lilly, into the store.

“I do wish you’d warn me before doing that,” Lilly stated as we entered the building, Emi finally halting her charge once we were inside.

The inside was larger looking than the outside suggested, which made sense, as the shop took up most of the corner of the block. The place had a semblance of order, in that the piles and stacks of various items were arrayed in several rows along the length of the shop. Large display cases and counters lined both walls, and a desk with a polished brass cash register was crammed into the back corner across from the front door. An old white door was behind the counter, and in front of that, an older man sitting in a rolling office chair. The man was hidden behind a newspaper, but when the bell above us jingled, he tossed the paper aside and stood up.

“Howdy,” he greeted, and I found myself staring in astonishment.

The man was not Japanese, though he didn’t have an accent. His white and gray hair, long and tied back in a pony tail, his lanky frame covered in baggy blue jeans, and a tie dye T-shirt that looked almost as old as him, suggested he was an American. He looked to be in his late sixties, but seemed to have the energy of someone several decades younger. I could just see the shape of a tattoo on his left upper arm, but it was faded and I couldn’t make it out its details from across the room.

“Good morning,” Lilly said, oblivious to the hippie as she smiled and turned towards the voice.

“Anything I can help you lovely ladies with?” he asked.

I blushed and pointed to the window, “um, w-we j-just c-came in t-to l-look around a b-bit.”

“Do you have any stuffed animals?” Emi asked, surprising me slightly with her sudden interjection.

The man smiled and nodded, “toys and games are on the last shelf on your left. It’s a small selection, but I have a decent variety.”

Emi nodded and dashed off, leaving Lilly and us at the front of the shop.

“Speedy one,” the man quipped. Glancing at us, he asked, “Were you looking for anything specific, or just wanted to browse?”

“Actually,” Lilly said, “if you have any books in Braille, I would like to have a look at them.”

The man raised an eyebrow and looked at Lilly’s eyes, then her cane. He did it quickly and impassively, not reacting, just observing. It was different from the judgmental glares and looks I was used to seeing around me, and the fact that it didn’t bother me was reassuring in an odd way.

“Hmm,” the man scratched his head in thought, “I don’t carry a lot of books, but I might have something like that. They’d be on the second shelf on your left. There’s a lot of crap poking out and around, and I can give you a hand if you’d like.”

Lilly smiled lightly and nodded, “Thank you, it would be appreciated.”

“You’re very welcome,” the man said, smiling as he wandered over to us and carefully pinched Lilly’s left sleeve. As he did so, I got a good look at his tattoo. It showed a faded eagle over a globe with an anchor, under which was a bold, calligraphic caption that stated “semper fidelis.”

“Anything I can help you with, Miss?” he asked as he turned to look at me.

His gaze was locked with mine, friendly and impassive, and once again reassuring in an odd way, but a welcome change to the glares and leers I was used to. There was a hint of weariness to his eyes, though, that unnerved me a bit, and perhaps explained why he wasn’t bothered by our appearance.

I glanced down reflexively and shook my head, “I’m f-fine.”

I looked up in time to see him smile at me and nod, “if you need me, let me know. Ain’t exactly a line of people needin’ my help, after all.”

Part II:

With that, he carefully led Lilly around the various machines, parts, and contraptions that made up his stock. He seemed to carry a lot of mantiques, which made sense. My eyes wandered a bit more, taking in a large, aged, pre-war Mitsubishi sign, a jukebox that just screamed 1950’s America, and a small collection of elegantly carved wooden bonsai stands.

Eventually my eyes found the motorcycle again, and I felt myself moving towards it, taking in its sleek, shining red body. There was something about the speed and freedom that a motorcycle represented that appealed to me, and my mind again moved to the idea of getting a motorcycle license. I moved closer, my left hand slowly moving towards its front fender, reminding me of a tentative child wanting to pet an intimidating but eager looking dog.

“Ah,” I heard behind me, making me jump, “you found Red.”

The older man, who was probably the owner, had trotted over behind me at some point, and I wondered for a moment how long I had been gawking at the bike. Glancing at the bike and grinning at me, he asked, “You like it?”

I smiled and nodded, still ogling the bike, “y-yeah. It’s a 1938, right?”

The owner’s grin widened, “good eye, Miss. Yup, 1938 Indian Chief. If you want it, the starting price is eight-hundred thousand yen.”

My eyes widened in shock; that was way more than I had expected it to be. I wasn’t considering buying it, of course, but it was so inviting and expectant. It wanted me to pet it and take it home, to ride it at insane speeds in the backcountry roads of Hokkaido, or some remote suburb somewhere.

The appeal of the motorcycle overrode my frugal nature, and I started thinking through my financial situation. I had a decent amount in savings, and thanks to a scholarship, some extra money I hadn’t expected. It was nowhere near enough, though.

I sighed and turned to face the man, “s-sorry, b-but I can’t afford that.”

The man rubbed his chin, “I could do 700k, if that helps. That doesn’t include shipping, if you need it. That’d be an extra forty thousand yen.”

I shook my head, “s-sorry, I can’t c-come c-close. My offer w-would just in-insult you.”

The owner sighed and nodded, “fair enough… If you’re serious about buying one, though, I got a post war Chief in the back. It’s painted green, though.”

I shook my head, “I d-don’t want to be a bother.”

The man smiled and waved away my comment, “bother, schmother. C’mon, you came here to look at a motorcycle; you may as well look at two.”

It was hard to argue with such flaky logic, especially since the owner wandered off before I could formulate a response. I glanced back at the red motorcycle, then off towards where the man had wandered. Emi and Lilly were still nowhere in sight, so I carefully followed after him. He had bounded off to the back left of the shop, which looked more like a garage than a store. Parts, engines, tools from several centuries and nations, and the aging and rusted frames of dozens of bicycles and motorcycles were laid out or hanging on the wall. A large gray metal door was also in the back, and was presently slightly ajar. I just had time to start examining a large place of some kind of sloped metal when the door creaked open wider.

“Things heavier than I remember,” the owner grunted as he appeared in the doorway, “or I’m just getting older. Everyone here’s so damn obsessed with Honda, I hardly ever sell anything else.”

“It’s the fuel efficiency,” I said as the bike came into view.

It was sleeker than the other Chief, almost like a Scout model, and painted a vibrant dark green. A few of the parts looked like modern replacements, but most of it looked original, with the clean shine of repair work mixed with age to give it a look of charm and safety.

“She’s gorgeous,” I breathed, my hand once again reaching out to pet the expectant bike.

“That she is,” the owner agreed with a wide grin, “but don’t take my word for it; feel free to give her a closer look.”

I nodded absently and approached the motorcycle. I gently ran a finger along one of the handles, feeling the chill of metal on my skin. I cautiously lifted my right leg over the body, and slowly sat down on the seat.

“She fits you well,” the owner mused, and I could tell he meant it.

I smiled and pet the motor housing, imagining its roar as I pelted along the road. I shook my head lightly to shake the thought from my mind; if I was going to do this, I had to do it right. I examined the dials, which were definitely original, and fully restored to be both shining and safe. The motor housing retained some of its older, rustic charm, with a clean coat of paint under original metal that was likely older then even the shop owner, and just as sturdy. The engine was clean and perfect, though the new parts stuck out a bit. The seat was comfortable, the brakes solid, and I even checked the inside of the gas tank for rust.

“Not bad, I take it?” the owner asked when I stepped back from my examination.

I smiled and eyed the bike, like a kid at a toy store wanting something a shelf too high for them to reach. Maybe, though, I could reach this particular toy.

I glanced at the owner, one eye still focused on the bike, “…How much?”

No harm in asking, after all. Especially after spending so much time fondling the thing.

The owner hmm-ed and scratched his chin again, “well, it’s a 1948 model, couple of the motor parts are refurbished, and there’s the shipping –gotta have it sent via truck, rather than post. Whereabouts do you live?”

I gave him a rough idea of where I lived, then remembered I was a guest in someone else’s home, “p-please ex-excuse me one m-moment?” I asked.

The owner blinked and nodded. I bowed in thanks and shuffled off into one of the aisles. Pulling out my cell phone, I inhaled, exhaled, and slowly tapped out a text message to Mrs. Nakai.

(Mrs. Nakai, sorry to bother you, but I’m in an antique shop and found something I really want to buy-)

So apparently I was going to buy it after all; guess the paint scheme had overridden my skepticism.

(-but it’s rather large. Would it be okay if I had it delivered to your home? –Hanako Ikezawa.)

I examined the text message before sending it. I preferred texts because of the emotional and physical distance they created, but the lack of tone inflection made them a bit of a double edged sword. Fortunately, that’s what emoticons were for.

I walked back to the man, the phone still in my hand and set to vibrate, “I n-need to s-see if we have room for it, first.”

The man nodded, “fair enough. Anyway, price wise, I figure six hundred thousand yen –that includes shipping.”

That was still too much, but it was just close enough to make me consider it. The phone vibrated in my hand, and I apologized and skittered off to see who it was. Somewhat unsurprisingly despite the short amount of time, it was Hisao’s mother with a response.

(Sure, Hanacchan, go ahead! Glad you’re having fun on your trip, see you soon. –Mrs. Nakai.)

I smiled and walked back to the owner and the motorcycle. I had been so anxious when Hisao had offered me a place in his home, but his parents had been very supportive and understanding. They treated me like their own daughter, and I had started to think of them as future in-laws. But that’s a different tangent for a different time.

“That’s a bit steep for me,” I said, still a little surprised we were even discussing a price –not a lot of twenty year old women buying American vintage motorcycles in Japan, after all, “I c-could do…four-hundred and fifty thousand yen, with shipping. Th-the m-modern parts do affect its value.”

The man nodded, frowning slightly, “yeah, but not that much. With shipping included, the lowest I could do would be five hundred thousand.”

“Whatcha buyin’?” I heard behind me.

I turned around slightly to see Emi and Lilly. Emi was holding a fluffy brown stuffed rabbit that looked almost as old as the store owner. Lilly was carefully holding an aging book in one hand, her other on Emi’s shoulder for guidance. She had collapsed her cane and had its strap wrapped around her right arm.

I glanced at the motorcycle, “I m-might get the motorcycle, i-if the price is right.”

Emi raised an eyebrow, “good luck, this guy’s prices are insane,” glaring at the owner, she added, “when she’s done with you, I wanna word about this rabbit- vintage or not, 9,500 yen is nuts.”

“It’s a vintage velveteen rabbit look-alike,” the man countered, “and it’s been hardly played with. How’s eight thousand yen sound?”

Emi grinned and nodded, “I can do that. Have at ‘em, Hanako.”

I smiled lightly at Emi’s easy negotiation and turned back to the store owner, who also looked a little amused by Emi’s antics.

“I c-can’t quite do five hundred thousand,” I said. Well, I could have, but that was my entire savings, “I c-can do four hundred and eighty thousand, with shipping.”

The owner sighed and rubbed his head. Exhaling slightly, he glanced at me, the bike, and Emi and Lilly. No doubt Emi was giving him a death glare, but I was too focused on handling the haggling to turn and look. After a few moments of restless eye darting, the man grinned and shrugged.

“What the hell. The poor girl’s been here for ages, may as well give her a good home.”

He extended his hand and I grasped it immediately, only realizing as he we shook that I had proffered my right hand. He didn’t react thought, and the small smile from my victory grew wider.

“Th-thank you very much,” I said, “I-I’ll be very good to her, I promise.”

The man withdrew his hand and nodded, “I don’t doubt it, Miss. I can check all of you out at the counter. Oh, is that book’s price to your liking?”

Lilly nodded, “it is, thank you.”

“She found a first Braille edition of Murder on the Orient Express, whatever that is,” Emi explained.

“Good choice,” The owner stated, “nice to see the younger generation respecting the classics.”

The three of us walked over to the counter and paid the man. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about forking over a vast chunk of my savings for a hunk of metal that I couldn’t even drive yet, but it turned out, I enjoyed it. I never owned a lot of possessions, and had always had a quality over quantity mentality with the ones I did. My shiny new toy was definitely quality, and the idea of being able to buy something I wanted was always novel. Having a home to send it to was, as well, though I imagined the Nakai’s were expecting an armoire or a table, not a motorcycle.

“I’ll have that sent out as soon as I can,” the owner said as I handed him the address for shipping, “it won’t take long, so it’ll probably be sent out tomorrow and arrive same day. Depends on how they handle it, traffic, who I can wrangle to do the job, and so on. I’d send it out today, but pretty much every driver and teamster on this side of the city is either out already, or called in sick to go to that concert.”

“Th-thank you,” I said, smiling and guiding Lilly out of the store, Emi close behind, both of their purchases carefully wrapped and placed in a bag that Emi had placed in her pack.

“Not the shopping I had in mind,” Emi said when we were back on the street, “but still fun.”

I nodded, still smiling as the drone of the seating made my ears ring for a moment, “yeah.”

“It was nice,” Lilly agreed, “though a bit of a shame Hisao couldn’t be here; you two seem rather fond of antiquing.”

“And spoil how hot we’re gonna look when we’ve got new clothes?” Emi asked, “Hell, no! C’mon, we gotta make up for lost time!”

“Please don’t-” Lilly started to say. Her request was in vain, however, as Emi once again grabbed me and started bolting for the music store, Lilly still wrapped around my arm with her own, her collapsed cane flapping like a stiff banner as we pelted forward.

+++
Next Chapter

It has begun.

Hanako riding a motorcycle. I got the idea from a fic Helbereth wrote a ways back, and added it into my own setting. Readers have no doubt noticed that when it comes to other people’s better ideas, I am a shameless looter. Besides, everyone should be able to have one expensive hobby. I have several because I’m crazy like that.

As for why she’d be interested in them, in the words of Corporal Noël Kannagi, “Machines don't betray you.” If they break, you can fix them, or replace them. You can lose yourself in the task, forcing your past at bay while focusing on the present.

I do a similar thing with wargaming models and writing.

Next time, Hisao and the guys are a little ahead of schedule, so they do some window shopping of their own. In the process, Hisao makes a decision that could have severe ramifications for his relationship with Hanako.

What is this? A post of fiction from the lovely Hoitash and none has commented? This is an outrage! I demand to see the gods about this glitch on their watch!!!

Etokie wrote:What is this? A post of fiction from the lovely Hoitash and none has commented? This is an outrage! I demand to see the gods about this glitch on their watch!!!

For some reason I thought I did D: *shame*

But, yes, an awesome chapter. I hope to see more more wanton money spending coming up!

Etokie wrote:What is this? A post of fiction from the lovely Hoitash and none has commented? This is an outrage! I demand to see the gods about this glitch on their watch!!!

Everyone was distracted by "my brand!" jokes over at my one shot thread. I know it's being read, though, and thanks for reading .

DanjaDoom wrote: But, yes, an awesome chapter. I hope to see more more wanton money spending coming up!

Why, thank you . Funny you should mention spending...

G at the bike and grinning at me, he asked, “You like it?”

G? The hell is that G for?

than remembered I was a guest in someone else’s home,

then* *sharpens his claws*

So apparently I was going to buy it after; guess the paint scheme had overridden my skepticism.

This seems to be missing:
after all; I guess

Readers have no doubt noticed that when it comes to other people’s better ideas, I am a shameless looter.

I consider it an homage, not thievery, but I see your point.
I expect royalties.

Helbereth wrote:edits

Thanks for those; the G was supposed to be glancing. Also thanks for the pm edits, as well .

Readers have no doubt noticed that when it comes to other people’s better ideas, I am a shameless looter.

I consider it an homage, not thievery, but I see your point.
I expect royalties.

That's what the ebook is for, remember? 50% of sales and a 10% first payout bonus for illustrations.

Okay, I'm not gonna do this with the whole thing, but I sort of had a conniption looking over the start of this chapter. This is the edited version I came up with—explanations below.

Psst...if you're gonna copy/paste my recommendations, try not to include the notes.

Helbereth wrote:

Okay, I'm not gonna do this with the whole thing, but I sort of had a conniption looking over the start of this chapter. This is the edited version I came up with—explanations below.

Psst...if you're gonna copy/paste my recommendations, try not to include the notes.

I amused Silentcook, at least, so I call that a gaffe well worth the annals of my inglorious career.

Also, fixed. Apparently editing right after work/before lunch and post work nap is a bad idea. I did make a few tweaks since then, but not many -your ability to enter my mind and make my rambling prose worthy of Hemingway once again leaves me envious and in need of a drink .

That deal's for each book in the series, just to be clear. I have two written and five or six planned, presuming I remember where I put the notes. Where did I put the notes...

Hoitash wrote:I amused Silentcook, at least, so I call that a gaffe well worth the annals of my inglorious career.

Oh, did he PM you, too?

Hoitash wrote:That deal's for each book in the series, just to be clear. I have two written and five or six planned, presuming I remember where I put the notes. Where did I put the notes...

Yeah, I guessed that part. I have about half of chapter 2 finished editing. Also, why are we speaking in spoilers? It really isn't particularly secretive.

Helbereth wrote:

Hoitash wrote:That deal's for each book in the series, just to be clear. I have two written and five or six planned, presuming I remember where I put the notes. Where did I put the notes...

Yeah, I guessed that part. I have about half of chapter 2 finished editing. Also, why are we speaking in spoilers? It really isn't particularly secretive.

It looks cool? And you started it?

“The price has to be right.” –Rick Harrison

Previous Chapter

Chapter Fourteen (Hisao): Two Rings to Bind Them


I sighed and hefted myself off of the brick wall I had been leaning on. For reasons that can best be described as “fuck you, Kenji” we had been forced to walk to the music store, rather than take a bus. Though I was in okay shape thanks to Emi, the summer heat, clear sky, and city smog were taking their toll, and I had had to pause to catch my breath after a long and weary walk through the crowded city walkways.

“Here,” Kwan said, offering me a bottled water from his bag.

“Thanks,” I said, chugging the bottle and readjusting my sunglasses, which had gone slightly askew from my leaning.

Kwan nodded, wearing a baseball cap with the KBO logo on the front, while Kenji had donned his McCarthur sunglasses again. He was also still wearing that scarf of his, which I was starting to think was a totem from some demon that granted him the arcane power to see what he was shooting at when he played video games. Or perhaps a way to shut off his sweat glands, since he never seemed to show any discomfort wearing heavy clothing in the hottest time of the year.

I drained the bottle and handed it back to Kwan so he could stow it for refilling later, “where are the girls?”

“Still shopping,” Kenji replied, having borrowed my cell phone to text them. He handed me the phone back with obvious relief and sighed, “So we probably have another hour or two to kill.”

“Perhaps we should’ve waited until this afternoon to head out,” Kwan mused.

“Nah,” Kenji replied, “then we’d be stuck in all the traffic when the sheeple start tailgating and the roads get blocked off and they call in the black helicopters to prevent riots and vandalism.”

Kwan raised an eyebrow and glanced at me, “should I be worried that that made sense to me?”

I shrugged, “Kenji’s like an enema; just relax and let it wash through you in the knowledge that while unpleasant, it’s ultimately for the best.”

“Ahem,” Kenji coughed, glaring at my left ear, “I can hear you, you know.”

“In any case,” I said, trying to change the subject, “it’s probably another half an hour to the store the way traffic is right now, so we just need to find a shop to browse in for a while.”

“We’ve stopped by an antique store,” Kwan observed, “They’re usually good for browsing, I’ve heard.”

I turned around to see an old wooden and brass door with a sign above it that declared “Corner Antiques” in blocky black English letters. A large window by the door displayed an old red motorcycle, and several various nicks and knacks. A small pearl pendant displayed on a small stand with other bits of jewelry in the window caught my attention, sending my mind in a familiar if annoying direction.

“Could be a worth a look,” I mused, “we’re not too young to go antiquing… okay, we are, but fuck societal norms.”

Kenji patted my shoulder, “amen, man. Amen.”

With that encouraging pronouncement, Kenji was the first to step into the store. I glanced at Kwan, who shrugged and followed after him, me taking up the rear as we entered the shop.

As the bell jingled above us, my first impression of the antique shop was of a convenience store that had had all the food replaced with stuff. Shelves loaded with antiques of all sorts took up the inside, while the walls were lined with glass display cases and counters. My eyes focused on those first; what I wanted, if I wanted it, would be there.

“Hello,” a voice from the back said.

Glancing towards the back revealed the source of the noise; an older man dressed like an American hippie, which, considering his features and stature, he probably was. Despite being old enough to be the grandfather of any of us, he carried himself with the energy of someone several decades younger. As he stepped from behind the counter to walk closer to us, I could just make out the US Marine Corps tattoo on his left arm.

“Wow,” he said as he looked us over, his eyes having a passive analytical quality that reminded me vaguely of Hanako, “if I’da known things were gonna get busy, I woulda had my nephew come in to help. What can I do for you?”

“I’m good,” Kenji said, darting for a shelf loaded with military surplus and vintage tools.

“I’m just browsing, sir,” Kwan said, bowing lightly and wandering off.

“I uh…” I trailed off, unwilling to say what I was thinking and crystallized it. I was being stupid, I know, but that seems to be a recurring problem with me whenever I let the scientific side of my mind over think things. I did manage to utter, “er, what kind of jewelry do you have?”

The man grinned, “Ah, got a girl, I take it? Or guy?”

“Girl,” I stated. Enough people at the dorms had the wrong idea about me and Kenji; I didn’t need rumors finding their way to my parents or crawling throughout the city.

The man nodded and waved me towards the display cases, “well, I don’t have a whole lot –this is an antique store, not a jewelry shop. Anything specific in mind?”

“Engagement rings!” Kenji barked from one of the shelves.

“Pay no mind to the crazy man behind the shelf,” I said with a dismissive wave, “although… do you have any?”

The man grinned and nodded, pointing to a small case near a display counter that was full of rings of various shapes, designs, and metals, “got something in mind?”

“Er…” I muttered, “Not really.”

The man raised an eyebrow as he asked, “Alright, well, first off, you want a set?”

I nodded, able to respond to such a simple question easily enough, “yeah… and nothing too gaudy. It has to be tasteful, yet special.”

The man nodded, “alright. Hmm, sounds like gold’s out. Platinum might work, until people realize it’s platinum, then they go all ‘ooh, platinum’… How about silver?”

I scratched my chin in thought. Hanako didn’t own much jewelry. Actually, the only jewelry she owned was that silver flower cell phone trinket I had bought her back in high school. On the entire basis that she had liked that and still cherished it –still does, by the way- I nodded, “silver’ll work. Although I don’t know her ring size.”

Kenji piped up at that, stating her ring size and making me sigh.

“How the hell do you know that?” I asked.

“I’m motherfucking Kenji!” he replied, appearing into view holding an olive green combat helmet with a few scratches in it, “hey, is this genuine Army surplus?”

“Yup,” the man replied, “if you feel around inside, you can even find the mark from the sniper round that took out the owner.”

Kenji blinked, “really?”

The man grinned and shook his head, “Nope, but those scratches are genuine shrapnel marks; I can vouch for that personally.”

“Sweet,” Kenji declared, darting back into the shelf, presumably to look for something else old and of dubious value to a college student.

“Anyway,” the man said, turning to the case and opening it with a key he had procured from somewhere –probably his pocket, “silver, tasteful, and a set. I might not have anything, but maybe…”

While he proceeded to examine the collection of rings, my mind raced through what I was doing. I mean, I knew what I was doing –buying engagement rings. The problem was what that meant; at some point, I’d use them. With Hanako. I was buying engagement rings so that at some point I could ask Hanako to marry me. That line of thought started a whole other line, because I wondered what would be worse, her saying no, or her saying yes not because she wanted to, but because she was too meek to say no?

I knew that that was idiotic to think nearly as soon as I had thought it; Hanako was not afraid to speak her mind when she felt she absolutely had to. Whether through an icy stare or the rare times I had caught her offguard enough to actually yell at me –and despite her meek and calm demeanor, when Hanako is pissed off, she can really let you have it- I had learned what constituted going too far. At those times the guilt and pain I felt roiling in my gut for regressing back to the moron in high school who treated her like a gorram doll, and not a woman, was almost as bad as seeing the pain etched on Hanako’s features when she flew off the handle.

Besides, I knew she loved me; besides having told me, I had seen it in her eyes countless times. She’d say yes because she wanted to. The other question, then, was if we were in a place where engagement made sense. Waiting until after we graduated to marry would be the smart thing to do, but that would mean a two year engagement if I proposed before we graduated –which, considering my current course of action, was a possibility.

Worse, though, was that there was no guarantee of either of us getting decent jobs for some time; writers and journalists that made good money were rare and took time to create, and the economy coupled with population demographic issues meant there weren’t a lot of openings for secondary education teachers, either.

Hanako had had very little throughout her life, and I wanted to be able to provide a life for her that the state had not and could not. It would take time before I could do that, though, and by then she might find someone else, someone better. Someone who didn’t have a time bomb in their chest waiting to go off and take away one of the few good things that had happened to her since her parents had died.

“Finally!” the man exclaimed, driving me from my reverie, “I almost forgot I had bought these.”

Part II:

He reached into the cabinet and slowly pulled out two small black boxes with dull brass hinges and latches. He carefully opened one and turned it so I could see the ring inside.

With a small triumphant grin, he asked, “Whaddya think?”

The ring was silver, naturally, with a small, tasteful diamond that glittered and sparkled when the light caught it. Flanking the diamond on each side of the silver band was the chess symbol for a king and queen, respectively.

“Huh,” I said, putting on my poker face as my brain screamed Holy fucking shit this is the perfect ring you need to give it to her and ask her to marry you as soon as you can how the holy hell could you not buy this ring seriously buy them or you are the worst boyfriend in the history of the world!, “these should work.”

“Thought they would,” the man stated, grinning, “They’re Faberge knockoff’s from the early twentieth century. Nowhere near his quality or detail, of course, but still decent work.”

I nodded absently as I examined the ring, “looks like. So… how much?”

The man scratched his chin in thought for a moment before replying, “How’s 80,000 yen sound?”

I blinked and raised an eyebrow, “like my last tuition bill. It’s silver, not gold. I’d be more comfortable at… 50,000 yen.”

Stupid perfect rings making me want to buy them. It’s not like Hanako would ever find out if I didn’t get them. But thanks to Kenji I’ve watched enough American TV to know that the time to buy something like those rings is when you find it. I could always hold onto them for a while if I had to.

The man chuckled and shook his head, “they may be a knockoff, but they’re still a hundred years old. 65,000 yen.”

“Age doesn’t equal value,” I reminded him, “60,000 yen.”

The man smirked and rubbed his neck, thinking it over. He glanced to me, the rings, and back to me. He repeated the movement for a few moments, then sighed and shrugged.

“Eh, I already sold one big ticket item today. 60,000 yen it is.”

The man offered his hand and I shook it eagerly. It was a large chunk of change, but that’s what savings were for. I could always borrow textbooks from the library, anyway.

“You buy something?” Kenji asked, appearing from a shelf holding the combat helmet and what looked like an ammo bandolier from World War II.

“Maybe,” I conceded, “you seriously going to buy those?”

Kenji grinned and nodded, “hells, yeah. I’ve needed a new helmet for months, and now you can stop wearing that old double boiler pot during movie night.”

“And the bandolier?” I prompted, ignoring the inquisitive glance aimed at us by the store clerk, who based on previous experience with older men and antique shops, was probably the owner.

Kenji shrugged, “office supplies and shit for class. And spare ammo, of course.”

“Do I need to call someone?” the owner asked.

Kenji stepped back and his gaze darted to examine the owner, “Why? Who’re you workin’ for?”

“Down, boy,” I said. Turning to the man, I added, “don’t worry, he’s harmless. Unless you’re a member of the Illuminati or the Oprah Winfrey Book Club.”

Kenji eyed the man warily as he turned behind him to see Kwan appear from the back of the store. He was holding a small wooden chest that looked like it had been at the bottom of a sea somewhere for a few hundred years. The metal was green and crusty with rust and bits of coral, and the wood had the look of having been swollen with water before drying out slowly over the years.

“There’s something about this place,” Kwan stated, “that compels you to buy something.”

“I should post that on the front door,” the owner mused, “if you’re all done, I can check you out and wrap everything for you.”

“I’ll wear mine out,” Kenji said, slinging his jacket over his arm so he could wear the bandolier once he had bought it.

“Please don’t,” I pleaded, though I knew he’d do it anyway. Fortunately in a city the size of Tokyo, nuts like Kenji were barely worth a second glance. I’m pretty sure we had passed a Gamestop where the janitor was dressed like a xenomorph.

Kenji paid first, and unsurprisingly donned the helmet and bandolier before putting his jacket back on. Kwan paid next, and had apparently bought a small treasure chest recovered from a wreck in the Sea of Japan. That’s what he said the label said it was, at least. Why he bought it I wasn’t sure, though a small treasure chest had some versatility of use, at least. Maybe it was a gift for Emi; though what she’d do with a such an item I wasn’t sure.

As I paid for the rings, which were carefully packaged and stowed in my pockets for safekeeping, I couldn’t help feeling like I had made a major decision regarding Hanako and I’s relationship. Most likely because I had; buying the rings meant I had the rings, and, theoretically at least, intended to use them.

“I think I’m overthinking things again,” I muttered as we left the store.

“About marrying Hanako?” Kenji asked, “No shit.”

“Cut me some slack, man,” I grumbled, “this isn’t an easy thing to think out.”

Kenji snorted as he pulled out his map to the music store, “do you love her?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“Does she love you?” he prompted.

“Yeeeeessss,” I replied, unsure of where he was going with this.

Kenji wheeled around and jabbed a finger at me, poking me in the stomach as he barked, “then for the love of Princess Mako’s cosplay collection, just ask her and get it over and done with!”

I sighed and rubbed my temples in exasperation, “it’s not that simple. There are things that need to be thought out and considered. It’ll take some time to think everything through and work everything out, and I have to do it on my own.”

Kenji sighed and patted my shoulder, “I get that, man. Just, don’t let her go. She’s good for you. Right, Kwan?”

Kwan shrugged, “I just met you guys and my girlfriend has Daddy issues, so I don’t think I’m the best person to ask.”

I chuckled and looked down the street in the direction of the music shop, “I’ll figure something out. For now, has anyone texted the girls to see if they’re done?”

“I did,” Kwan said, “and they are. They also said when we get back to the hotel we are banned from going near their room under penalty of hot sauce snuck into our coffee.”

I smirked and glanced at Kenji, “well then, we best be careful when we get back.”

Kenji nodded, “we must always be wary of women and their ways. They are almost as insipid and devious as the Illuminati and their Templar rivals.”

“You really take that stuff seriously, don’t you?” Kwan asked as we started walking north.

“I have to, man, for you see,” Kenji ducked back and wrapped an arm around Kwan. Using his left hand to gesture skyward, he declared, “Illuminati. Illuminati everywhere.”

Kwan raised an eyebrow as Kenji withdrew. Kenji, meanwhile, reached into his jacket and pulled out a small pamphlet.

Handing the pamphlet to Kwan, he stated, “Here’s everything you need to know about the menace of the Secret Societies in simple, digestible format. Seriously, that’s edible paper. Eat it after memorizing it and sending in the clip-out to join my newsletter, Freedom from the Masses Monthly .”

“Isn’t the mail easy to track?” Kwan asked, apparently catching on to Kenji and his ways.

Kenji chuckled lightly and waved his hand dismissively, “that’s why I don’t use the mail. I use courier services, Mirror’s Edge style. Although I think these guys mostly do drug runs…”

Kenji trailed off as Kwan raised his eyebrow again. I focused on walking forward, my hand resting against the rings in my pocket. Now that I had them, I felt I needed to use them quickly, before I had a chance to change my mind. That would be stupid, though; I had to think things through, form a plan, or at least an idea. Running headlong into these kinds of things never worked out well for me, so I felt the weight of the need for patience bearing down on me as I felt the pocket’s contents.

I shook my head to drive the thoughts from my mind. I’d worry about that later; right now I had a music store to find, and cheap clothes to buy. Speaking of which…

I glanced behind me and looked at Kenji from over my sunglasses, “what was that about Princess Mako?”

+++
Next Chapter

Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.
One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

Big cities are awesome. Anonymity, coffee, great bars, nerd shops out the wazoo, coffee, anonymity, and coffee.

The threads of plot are weaving and intertwining, forming plots within plots. Like the Chaos god Tzeentch I plot and plan with the powers of sorcery and –what do you mean checkmate?!

CREEEEEDDD!!!!

…Next time, the girls get ready for the concert. With no boys allowed, it’s only a matter of time before things… oh, right. Sorry, looks like things are gonna stay strictly platonic. Expect a lot of chattering, hair styling, and relationship blather.

Normal girl talk, I guess.