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I couldn’t deny that Kenji was as good as a father to me, and had been for a while. It just took me some time to figure it out.
Miya, meanwhile, had practically adopted me the moment I first stepped into their home. Miya was kind of awesome that way.

Two lines of past tense in all this

I head over to Miya, whose chatting with Aunt Hana.

"who is"

“You’re Korean’s nearly better than mine,” I remark.

"Your"

Thanks for always coming back to write more of this.
Though Son Hee needs to get a clue about Hisato soon, or she'll come across as a bit slow

Mirage_GSM wrote:

I couldn’t deny that Kenji was as good as a father to me, and had been for a while. It just took me some time to figure it out.
Miya, meanwhile, had practically adopted me the moment I first stepped into their home. Miya was kind of awesome that way.

Two lines of past tense in all this

Since she's talking about the past in those instances, I'm inclined to leave them as is.

I head over to Miya, whose chatting with Aunt Hana.

"who is"

“You’re Korean’s nearly better than mine,” I remark.

"Your"

Thanks . Least there was only two of 'em.

Thanks for always coming back to write more of this.

You're welcome .

Though Son Hee needs to get a clue about Hisato soon, or she'll come across as a bit slow

You mean Akio, I imagine (Akio is Hisao's kid, Hisato is Kenji's son.) I know, lot of oc's, hard to keep track

Due to her previous traumas she's not really wired to see romantic interest or clues, I imagine. If she did ever figure it out, she'd probably be more horrified than anything.

Hoitash wrote:

Mirage_GSM wrote:

I couldn’t deny that Kenji was as good as a father to me, and had been for a while. It just took me some time to figure it out.
Miya, meanwhile, had practically adopted me the moment I first stepped into their home. Miya was kind of awesome that way.

Two lines of past tense in all this

Since she's talking about the past in those instances, I'm inclined to leave them as is.

You mean that by now she IS inclined to deny that Kenji is as good as a father to her? Or that Miya is no longer awesome that way?

Mirage_GSM wrote: You mean that by now she IS inclined to deny that Kenji is as good as a father to her? Or that Miya is no longer awesome that way?

...Point taken. Now, coffee.

From the deserts of North America! From the deserts of outer space! From the university dorms of Japan! The time has come! REJOICE! FOR CHAOS COMES! WORDS FOR THE WORD GOD! TROPES FOR THE TROPE THRONE!

Ahem.

Drink Hard on a Couch 5: It Came From Beneath the Couch!


For the umpteenth time Kenji and I hauled the widescreen TV into our college dorm room. The guys we borrowed the television from planned to go to a pre-Halloween party, what with the day itself being on a Monday and all. Not that college students needed an excuse to enjoy the weekend.

“Alright,” I said, my hand on my chest to make sure my heart was fine, “I’ll hook her up and we should be good to go.”

Kenji nodded, then frowned, “Who’s coming tonight?”

I paused to think, ticking off names as they came to me, “Us, obviously, and Oji and Sarah, and… George.”

Kenji nodded, “The usual suspects, then.”

I returned the nod and went to work hooking up the TV. I had just finished when someone knocked on the door, making Kenji jump and glare in the general direction of the dartboard hanging on our door.

“Who’s there?” Kenji snapped.

“Okabe Rintarou,” came the muffled voice, “I brought the Dr. Pepper.”

“Hey!” I snapped, “No fair stealing my costume idea!”

“I do not recall you calling dibs.”

I smirked and turned to Kenji, “It’s George.”

Kenji continued to glare at the door, “Say something George Williams would say!”

“…I’m sorry, eh?”

Kenji nodded to himself and went to open the door. I walked over to greet George as the door opened, revealing the black haired Canadian who at the time was Lilly’s boyfriend.

“Wow,” I looked at the plastic bottle in his hands, “you actually brought Dr. Pepper.”

“Figured we could mix it with stuff,” George replied, “who else is coming?”

“Just Oji and Sarah,” I replied, “Come on in.”

Kenji and I stepped aside and George walked in, placing the plastic bottle on the table along with the other bottles, bowl of candy, and the vegetable platter Hanako made me bring so I didn’t keel over and Sarah would have something to eat before the pizza got there. Kenji, meanwhile, closed the door and waited for the rest of the night’s guests. His vigil at the door was almost inspiring, if not a little creepy.

George took a seat in one of the folding chairs set up across from the TV and gave a relaxed sigh, “So,” he turned toward me as I looked over the snack/drink table, “what are we watching tonight? It’s your turn to pick and you haven’t said what we’re watching yet.”

“It’s a surprise,” I replied. Smirking, I added, “What’s the fun of this time of year without some suspense?”

George slowly nodded, “Fair point –suspense and Kit-Kat bars are hallmarks of the holiday.”

“…You want the candy bowl now?”

“I’ll wait.”

The wait lasted all of maybe ten seconds before someone once again knocked at the door. Kenji was ready this time, although he still asked who it was. I think the holiday made him a bit jumpy.

“It’s Sarah and Oji,” came Sarah’s muffled reply.

Kenji glared at the door, the overhead light glinting off his oversized glasses, “Say something only Sarah and Oji would say.”

“Is there candy?” the two asked at the same time.

Kenji nodded to himself and opened the door.

Sarah Shirazy, the haggard pre-med international student, always looking like she had rolled out of bed and smelling vaguely of cigarette smoke, walked into the dorm room, followed closely by Oji Homma, my lab partner and fellow science nerd.

“Welcome!” I greeted, “now that you have all arrived, we can begin.”

Sarah raised her hand, “Can I eat first? I haven’t eaten anything since I woke up.”

“Yeah, everyone have at it,” I said, “I’ll set up the first movie.”

George raised an eyebrow at me, “First?”

I smirked and glanced at Kenji, who grinned as he poured Sarah a four horsemen. Well, two horsemen and a doctor. Pacing was important, after all.

“All in time,” I replied.

Once everyone had something to drink and eat and had settled in, I assumed my position in front of the TV, the disc held carefully by the tips of my fingers. Sarah gnawing through carrot sticks like a cartoon rabbit undercut the mood slightly, but it was about time I got to be the ham of the group for a change.

“Gentlemen and lady,” I began, “in light of the coming holiday, I have chosen not one, but two appropriately themed movies for tonight. The first, an American sci-fi classic that heralded a slew of low budget imitators –often imitated, never improved. The second, a classical piece of British literature brought to life for the first time, often repeated, never as close to perfection as it did the first time. Between these two, there will be pizza. Now, let us begin.”

George and Sarah clapped, and I coughed and started the movie, while trying to shake the image of Kenji’s approving smile from my mind. Some things are best left as they are.

==Here's the trailer for fun)

“Oh!” George exclaimed, “I’ve heard of this movie.”

Sarah blinked at the screen and sipped her shot, “I haven’t.”

“Me neither,” Oji added, “why are we in the desert?”

“I figured Sarah was homesick,” I quipped.

Sarah stuck out her tongue at me and started chewing through a carrot stick. She had eaten most of them by then.

“So,” she said between bites, “there’s cops in a desert. Where’s the body?”

Oji pointed at the wandering little girl, “Does she count?”

“…This is a sci-fi movie, right?”

George smirked and sipped his beer, “Indeed it is.”

Sarah rolled her eyes, then narrowed them at the screen, “What in God’s name is that noise?”

“What noise?” George deadpanned.

“I hear nothing,” Kenji added.

“You feeling alright?” I asked.

Sarah glowered and sipped her drink.

Part Two:

“Well,” Kenji grunted and started chugging his beer, “there’s your body.”

Sarah grimaced at the crumpled heap at the bottom of the cellar of the ravaged general store, “Yikes. What happened to him?”

“An excellent question,” I remarked.

Sarah frowned and watched the cop slowly turn off the lights.

“You cannot tell me you don’t hear that.”

I raised an eyebrow at her, “Hear what?”

Sarah glowered at me. When the cop started firing his revolver she actually jumped.

“Shit!” she yelped, “what is going on in this film?”

“A mystery,” I replied, “wrapped in an enigma.”

“Good thing I burned the code book,” Kenji remarked.

Sarah sighed and sipped her drink, “You guys are stringing me along, aren’t you?”

“Forgive us our petty amusements,” I requested, “it’s for the Greater Good.”

“The Greater Good,” George echoed.

Sarah frowned and finished her shot, “Fucking Tau.”

Sarah leaned in for the coroner report, apparently hoping to glean Expert Information from the news of the store clerk’s untimely demise.

“Formic acid,” Oji leaned back in his chair and sipped his beer, “interesting.”

Sarah turned to me, “Isn’t that used to make proteins and stuff?”

I sipped my shot and nodded, “Right. If I remember right it’s a really simple acid. Although that’s more organic chemistry then my usual fair.”

Kenji snorted, “You’re into all sorts of stuff.”

“So are these guys,” Oji pointed at the telegram on the screen.

“…The Department of Agriculture?” Sarah read the telegram, “what the fuck? We’ve gone from police drama to a treatise on corn subsidies?”

“Bastards,” Kenji grumbled, “taking over the oil companies from the inside with their ethanol bullshit. An Illuminati within an Illuminati.”

I rolled my eyes and ate some cherry tomatoes. I glanced at Sarah, who seemed to be trying to piece the evidence together. I made a mental note not to watch any crime dramas with her, because she looked about ready to burst a blood vessel in her efforts.

“…Huh,” Oji grunted, “was not expecting that.”

“A female Doctor?” Sarah muttered. Turning to me, she raised an eyebrow and asked, “When was this movie made?”

“1954,” I replied.

Sarah whistled, “Wow. And she’s not even that kind of doctor, is she?”

George shook his head, “She is not. Neither is Santa Claus there.”

“…Huh?”

“The guy who played Dr. Medford Sr. played Santa Claus in Miracle on 34th Street,” George explained, “…don’t ask how I know that.”

Sarah opened her mouth, presumably to do just that, but Oji shoved a Kit-Kat into her face, so she gave up and started chewing.

==

Sarah raised an eyebrow at the movie, “Why are they asking about nukes?”

Oji shrugged, “No clue.”

“All will be revealed,” I promised, “in about… ten minutes?”

Sarah glowered at me and kept watching. A few moments later…

“Title drop!” Oji cheered and downed his beer.

Sarah grimaced at the screaming girl, her eyes turning toward the table. George passed her a beer and she started drinking it.

“So…” I tried to think of something to say, “…we’re back in the desert.”

“Do we have a horse with no name?” George asked.

Oji snorted in amusement and started chewing a Kit-Kat.

“Seriously” Sarah snapped, “what the fuck is that noise?”

Struggling to keep a straight face, I managed to ask, “What noise?”

Glaring at me, she opened her mouth to snap something, but the giant ant’s appearance turned her proposed snap into a strangled yelp.

“Is…” Oji watched the ant chasing Dr. Medford Jr., “…is that a giant ant?”

I smiled and nodded, “Yes. Yes it is.”

“…That violates square-cube law.”

“Yes. Yes it does.”

“Why does the cop have a Tommy gun in his trunk?” George asked.

Kenji took that one, “Because they’re in the middle of bum-fucking nowhere and you never know where those Commie bastards are hiding.”

George rolled his eyes and sipped his beer, “Sure, man. Sure.”

“Was that a New Testament quote?” Sarah asked.

George nodded, “Revelation 17:8. Although they only rule because humanity done fucked up.”

Sarah snorted, “That you’re official theological reasoning?”

George nodded, “I can call Lilly if you want a third opinion.”

Sarah waved a hand in the air, “I’m good.”

==

“So…” Sarah seemed to have trouble digesting the whole “giant ants” thing, which seemed an odd thing to hook on considering she played tabletop wargames with weaboo space Communists and Soviet Catholic Nazis, “…um… there’s more of them?”

“Title drop!” Oji chugged his beer and held out his hand for another.

George rolled his eyes and handed him a beer.

Kenji raised an eyebrow at my left ear, “Did we start a drinking game?”

I shrugged and downed my shot, “Why the fuck not? George, make me one of ‘em… whaddid you call it?”

“Dr. Jimmy Jack?” George asked.

I nodded.

Kenji raised his hand, “Make it two.”

“Three,” Sarah added, “I wanna vomit earlier so make it a double. Later. I wanna vomit later, I meant.”

“…Oji?”

Oji shrugged, “I ain’t gonna argue with a woman who can kill me with a comb.”

“…Did we ever confirm that?”

Sarah grinned, “Do you really wanna find out?”

“…Coming right up.”

Part Three:

“Ooh!” I leaned forward in my chair far enough to rock it slightly, “Leonard Nimoy!”

Oji mimicked my new position, his eyes narrowed at the screen, “No way.”

“Way.”

Sarah snorted, “Nerds.”

Kenji snorted in amusement, “Super Nerds.”

“The nerdiest,” George contributed.

I glanced at Oji, who shrugged and sipped his beer.

“We are the Kings of the Nerds,” I declared, “We shall rule as the ancient kings of Sparta, except without all the slavery and football equipment.”

Sarah blinked at me, “Huh?”

“Ave,” George replied, “verum ut Caesar.”

“…I know three languages. Latin is not one of them.”

Kenji glanced towards Sarah’s general direction, “Technically wouldn’t you know four?”

“…Point. What were we talking about?”

Oji pointed at the screen, “Flying saucers shaped like ants, apparently.”

==

“Well,” George watched the follow-up report on the Viking, “that’s one down.”

“So where’s the other one?” Sarah asked.

“Remember when this was a cop drama?” I asked.

Sarah blinked at me, “Oh. Huh. Hey George, could I have another thing with alcohol in it?”

“…Eat some carrots first.”

“I ate them all.”

“…Eat something first.”

Sarah pouted, “What are you, my mother?”

George opened his mouth, but Sarah jabbed a finger at him.

“Don’t. Too easy.”

George sighed and passed her a beer.

Sarah popped open the beer with her hand –a considerable feat since it wasn’t twist-off- and sipped it while appraising the draped over corpse awaiting our intrepid ant detectives.

==

Kenji did not take the drunk tank scene well. He spent the entire scene glaring at the TV and sipping his shot, munching through candy and grumbling to himself like an out of tune diesel engine.

I leaned over to him and muttered, “You okay?”

Kenji, teeth gritted, nodded and finished off his shot.

“Is the LA sewer system really this big?” Sarah asked once the cast reached the riverbed, “I mean, was it that big, um… back then?”

“I’ll ask Misha later,” I quipped.

“...Who?”

“Old school friend,” I replied.

Sarah nodded and jammed a Kit-Kat into her mouth. There weren’t a lot left, and I tried to think where the mousy little woman put it all, then remembered such lines of thought led to Death by Comb.

==

“Aww…” Sarah moped, “I liked that cop.”

“The good die young,” George declared.

Sarah sighed, “Yeah….”

“At least there are flamethrowers now,” Kenji remarked.

“Fire good,” Oji added.

I glared at Oji, “If you set the lab on fire again, I’m asking for a new partner.”

Oji glanced at me, “How would that reduce the amount of fires?”

“It wouldn’t,” I replied, “but it would reduce the number of eyebrows I have to grow back.”

George blinked at the two of us, looking concerned, “…What is wrong with the science department?”

Oji and I exchanged a glance, “You don’t wanna know.”

“Speaking of explosions,” Sarah said, “Is it really safe to use explosives underground?”

“Never get between an American and their blowie-uppy,” George declared.

“Fire enough,” Sarah agreed, “I mean fair enough. You know, for the 1950’s those ants look pretty cool.”

I nodded, “This movie definitely has the best effects of all the big bug films.”

Kenji nodded as well, “Remember Beginning of the End? For the Chicago invasion they used postcards as the backgrounds.”

George chuckled, “That was a fun MST3K episode.”

“Although the wings on those queens look like crap,” Sarah added.

“Still,” I finished my latest drink, “good luck getting that chirping sound out of your head now.”

Sarah sighed, “That was a dick move, you know.”

I straitened up in my seat and declared, “I regret nothing.”

Oji leaned back in his chair to glance at the snack table, “I regret we’re out of carrots. And cherry tomatoes.”

Sarah grimaced, “Sorry.”

==

As THE END emblazoned itself across the screen, I carefully hoisted myself up to retrieve the disc, “Alright, first movie over. We’re gonna have a pizza/bathroom break now, so smoke ‘em if you got ‘em.”

Sarah bolted up out of her chair, only to end up faceplanting on the floor.

“Oji,” she asked the carpet, “drag me outside so I can smoke.”

Oji chuckled, eased himself up, hauled up his girlfriend, and the two left the room. Hopefully they’d hit the lobby restroom on the way.

I sighed and leaned back in my chair while I ordered the pizza, George picking through the sullen remains of our snacks while Kenji used our bathroom. Once I had finished placing the order, I turned to George, who seemed to be having difficulty absorbing our losses.

“How fare the survivors?” I asked.

George turned to me, frowning, and shook his head, “That girl is gonna burn out before she has a chance to fight in World War Three.”

I shrugged and glanced as Kenji returned from the bathroom. George glanced to me and I gestured for him to go next. While he went Kenji grabbed a beer and took a seat.

“You okay?” I asked.

Kenji grinned, “I ain’t on the floor yet.”

I smirked, “True. Sarah beat you to it.”

The pizza arrived and Sarah and Oji followed it in like the pizza guy was a pied piper for stoners and starved pre-med students. After we had stemmed the flow of alcohol in our blood I once again marched to the front of the gathered group, disc in hand.

“Ahem,” I began, “No one would have believed in the last years of the nineteenth century that this world was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man's and yet as mortal as his own…. Though no rendition of the novel has quite done it right in my opinion, this was the first to try, and so it shall receive the credit it is due. Lady, gentlemen, and Kenji, I present our next film.”

I bowed to the group’s applause, popped in the disc, and took my seat.

Part Four:

(Here’s the trailer for fun)

George raised an eyebrow at the screen, “How is this like the book? We’re in California.”

I shrugged, “I just like this version the most. The Spielberg version gets the whole survivor angle better, and there is a version that was faithful to the book, but that version sucked and Spielberg just fell flat for some reason.”

“When do the Martians show up?” Sarah asked.

“Later,” I replied.

Sarah rolled her eyes and sipped her beer. How she remained conscious I have no idea.

“I wouldn’t mind a proper try at a faithful version,” George remarked.

“I just want the Thunder Child scene done properly once,” I declared, “and I don’t mean in music form, because so far Jeff Wayne has the award.”

“Yikes,” Kenji griped, “it’s like we’re in Kobe with all these hicks on screen.”

“Now I want steak,” Oji stated.

I raised an eyebrow at him, “How stoned are you?”

“I am very aware of my heart pumping blood right now.”

“Me, too,” Sarah added, “although I don’t smoke –the department does random drug testing in case we’re stealing supplies. And for use in class.”

Kenji grinned, “I know my next article now.”

I sighed and sipped my beer.

==(Here’s the scene if you want it)

“Oh,” Sarah blanched, “Um… wow.”

George snorted, “Fuck, the Brits did better.”

“They didn’t have shields a century ago,” Oji remarked.

Sarah turned to me, “Are mesons a real thing?”

Oji and I nodded, and I replied, “Yes. They are, in fact, a thing.”

“…Neat.”

“Definitely not an even fight,” George declared.

“’Bows and arrows against the lightning,’” I quoted.

“Fuckin’ aliens,” Sarah grumbled, “always fuckin’ up our planet.”

“Right!” Kenji snapped and pointed at the screen, “This is our planet! If anyone’s gonna fuck it up, it’s gonna be us!”

Sarah nodded and drained her latest drink. She had started swaying in her seat, reminding me a bit of a metronome if it was drunk.

“Speakin’ a’ aliens,” Sarah remarked, “do we ever get to see one?”

I smirked and pointed to the screen, “Soon.”

==

Fortunately Drunk Sarah didn’t fall for jump scares easily, though she did yelp at the reveal of the Martian.

“Huh,” George grunted, “I think I like the book version better. Those things look weird.”

I raised an eyebrow, “And a bear sized octopus monster isn’t weird?”

George shrugged, conceding the point.

“Fuckin’ aliens,” Sarah grumbled, “can’t they just terraform some rock somewhere and call that home? Why invade a planet with a bunch of fuckwits like us already on it?”

“Because aliens are stupid,” Kenji replied, “and they should feel stupid, and will feel stupid when we find them and fuck them up with Apple viruses and a nuke up their ass!”

George opened his mouth, closed it, and sipped his beer.

Sarah nodded and drained her latest beer. Apparently deciding she’d had enough for a while, she asked George to pass her a bottled water.

“So who wants to bet if the nuke will work?” Oji asked.

Kenji drained his shot and snorted. I took a moment to compliment his timing, since scotch up the nose is not a pleasant experience.

“When does the nuke ever work?” he griped, “Didn’t work in Independence Day, won’t work now.”

Sarah opened the bottled water and remarked, “You guys watch a lot of foreign films.”

“They worked in New Millennium,” I retorted, “although so did bread mold….”

“Hey,” Oji turned to me, “I just had a brilliant moment of realization: are they why Hanako’s hair is purple?”

It took me a moment to realize what he meant, but when I connected the dots I nodded.

==

“There,” Kenji gestured at the screen, the light from the TV reflecting off his glasses as he triumphantly posed in his chair, “Told you the nuke wouldn’t work!”

Sarah sipped her water, looking contemplative, “Anemic huh. How tiring.”

I glanced at her and raised an eyebrow, “…Did you just make a medical joke?”

Sarah smiled, but said nothing.

“Didn’t take long for civilization to collapse,” Oji observed.

“Mindless sheep,” Kenji declared, “Dangerous for their own stupidity.”

“You know,” George said, “not everything is a social commentary on the failures of the human psyche.”

Kenji glared at George and opened his mouth to retort, so George shoved a slice of pizza into it to save us the diatribe, at least for a minute or two.

==

“Well,” George said as the movie ended, “that happened. I question the idea to twist Wells’ secularism into something so blatantly pro-religion.”

Kenji turned to me, “When was this movie made?”

I shrugged, “1950’s, I think.”

Kenji raised a hand in the air, “Well there you go! Those fuckin’ Commie’s were godless assholes, so the Westerners had to be God-fearing motherfuckers to stop ‘em!”

Sarah nodded, “He’s got a point.”

“Well,” I hefted myself up, “hope you all had fun, and have a good night. Kenji, pass out on the floor.”

“Will do!” Kenji fell out of his chair onto the floor. A few moments later he started mumbling in his sleep.

Sarah ogled the sleeping lunatic with a combination of awe and fear –appropriate emotions both for dealing with Kenji.

“My turn,” she declared, hitting the floor.

Oji sighed, “Could you at least wait until we’ve left?”

Sarah’s snoring was her reply.

George grinned and levered himself up, “I’ll help you get her home.”

Oji smiled, “Thanks.”

The two each grabbed an arm, hefted Sarah up, and headed for the door, drag-walking her along as they went. As the last man standing, I put the disc back into its proper case and collapsed onto my bed.

+++

That seems a fitting end for these shenanigans.

Watching Them! is a Halloween tradition for me. I have an old VHS copy bought from a Blockbuster used bin, which should tell you how old it is. The tape’s getting a bit worn, so I rented the DVD from the library this year (it continues to amaze me the library’s superiority over Netflix.)

Anyway, Happy Halloween everyone! Please give the Misha story a look-see as well, for if there’s one dead horse I’ll never stop beating, it’s my secret desire to write lesbian romance.

Also, I already have an idea for what I want to do next year. It will be… something (time-space continuum shenanigans and codeine may be involved.)

See you around, folks, remember to check out my non-KS reading if you’re so inclined (points at ebook non-chalantly) and until next time…

/smokebomb

Having seen neither of those films probably takes away from the enjoyment of this story a bit, but still - thanks for the treat

Oh, and:

a considerable feaet since it wasn’t twist-of

Mirage_GSM wrote:Having seen neither of those films probably takes away from the enjoyment of this story a bit, but still - thanks for the treat

I am a niche writer, after all

Oh, and:

a considerable feaet since it wasn’t twist-of

Whoops. Fixed.

I’ve become a specter of the forums, haven’t I? A living legend that haunts the hallowed, emptying halls of a once fertile land, its denizens long moved to other things.

What, I can be a bit melancholic in the winter. Anywho, Christmas time, for winter has come, with all its glory, and all its horror:

A Christmas Tale

It’s the last week of the trimester before winter break. I’m in my dorm reading against the wall when I hear someone knocking on my door. I look up from my book, expecting Maiko to announce herself, but instead I hear only silence.

Setsuko, maybe?

I bookmark my spot, heft myself off the floor, and walk over to the door. Unlocking it, I open it just enough to see who’s waiting on the other side.

“Oh,” I say, opening the door fully, “Hello, Sempai.”

Aya Nakajima stands on the other side of my door. A girl of average height with shoulder length black hair and light brown eyes, her silver crucifix catches the hallway light as she smiles and bows in greeting.

“Good afternoon,” she greets, “Do you have a moment to talk?”

About our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ?

That probably wasn’t it; Nakajima hasn’t brought up her faith once in the handful of times we’ve interacted. Which is pretty ironic considering most of our interactions are us meeting at the stairway to our floor after she gets back from church and I get back from swimming. I guess Nakajima is just cool like that.

Anyway, whatever this was about, the best way to find out was to listen, so I nod to her question.

“I’m not sure if you’ve heard or not,” she begins to explain, “but I like to throw a Christmas party at the end of the term. Officially it’s the last meeting of the occult club before the break, but really we just get together and sing songs and eat snacks. Since most of the actual club members don’t attend, I like to invite other people to join in the fun, and I was wondering if you’d like to come. Setsuko will be there as well –she provides the music. Oh, and the club advisor will also be present.”

So one person I know will be there, one person I sort of know will be there, the people who think I’m a vengeful spirit probably won’t be there, and a teacher will be there so the odds of anything happening are low.

Well, she certainly knew what sales pitch to make.

“Um… thank you for the invitation, but I’m not really the party type.”

I don’t like crowds very much, and while school has made that less of an issue, all I’d end up doing is eating snacks in a corner somewhere. I can do that in my room. While reading. Or using the computer. Or reading on the computer.

Nakajima smiles and nods, “I understand. May I leave a note with the time and room number? Please think it over in the meantime.”

That’s fair, so I nod, “Sure, and sorry.”

Nakajima waves my apology away, her hand shaking slightly as she does so. With her other hand she fishes out a folded slip of paper, which she holds out for me.

Either she knew I’d balk or she just likes to be prepared.

On a morbid level, it does make sense for someone with a neurological disorder –if that’s what she has- to plan as much as possible. Although I have no idea what her disability is –I just presume it’s something like that because of which class she’s in.

I accept the slip of paper and bow, “Thanks, and sorry for wasting your time.”

Nakajima smiles and shake her head, “Time spent talking with people is not wasted. Have a good day.”

With that, she walks down the hall back to her room. When she’s gone I close the door, grab some cookies, and head across the hall. Before I can even knock the door opens.

Setsuko Oono, a girl of average height with brown hair past her shoulders, grins at me from her threshold. As usual when in her room doing whatever, she hasn’t bothered to attach her artificial leg, instead leaning on a purple plastic cane while once again foregoing things like pants. Her faded, oversized t-shirt looks to have a print of one Kenji’s book covers on it -Lending a Hand, judging by the artwork.

“Howdy,” she drawls, her Kobe accent in full effect, “wanna be my roadie?”

“…I brought cookies.”

Good reply, Brain.

Setsuko chuckles, “I see, I see. So Ayaya invited you to the party, right?”

Ayaya?

“…You heard?”

Setsuko nods and taps the wall, “These walls are crap. C’mon in and we can talk about it if yah like.”

Without waiting for me to nod, Setsuko walks back into her room, and I follow her inside.

As a class representative and senior, Setsuko is well informed about the school, so I sort of made it a habit to ask her for information when something happens that I’m not sure how to handle. She even started keeping oranges and herbal teas I like for my visits, so to pay her back I bring cookies. Although this time around feels a bit more personal, maybe because Nakajima and Setsuko are in the same class and we’re all hallmates. Sharing a bathroom can have that effect, I guess.

Once the door’s closed I set the cookies on Setsuko’s tea table and take a seat across from the pillow she uses to sit Japanese style even without her leg. I haven’t asked, but I get the distinct feeling she’s from a traditional family, with values to match, though apparently not including the xenophobia. Fortunately.

Once the orange herbal tea is in front of us, Setsuko grabs a cookie and shoves it into her mouth.

“So,” she asks while chewing, “I take it you don’t wanna go to Ayaya’s party?”

I grab a cookie and nod, “Groups of people aren’t my thing.”

Setsuko nods and swallows, “Fair enough. Then why not jus’ tell ‘er no?”

I chew through my cookie, thinking. When I finish swallowing, I reply, “I don’t want to alienate her.”

Setsuko blinks at me a few times, grabs another cookie, and starts chewing. When she swallows she sips her tea and smirks at me.

“Aight. Ayaya’s good people, and honestly I wish I knew ‘er better’n I do.”

I nod and glance down at my tea, “Makes sense she’d keep to herself, though.”

Setsuko frowns and sighs, “Yeah… I’ve seen good cases and bad since I came here, and she’s one of the better ones, but…”

“But sometimes there’s an extra seat one day.”

Setsuko nods, “Sometimes they come back. Sometimes they don’t.”

I say nothing and sip my tea.

“Sonny.”

I look up at the senior.

Part Two:

“If you go, don’t go ‘cuz you pity her. Go because you want to.”

I nod, and, almost to myself, mutter, “Must be hard being class rep for 3-4, huh?”

Setsuko shrugs, “Each class has its own issues, jus’ like people. By the by, if you do decide to go, could yah haul my keyboard fer me?”

I give an absent nod, thinking. I’m not sure Nakajima knows how hermitic I am, and as clearly friendly person in her own subdued way, she probably just wanted to be a good neighbor. To reject her neighborliness would stick in my craw, and I’d have trouble talking to her in the halls after that.

I’m overthinking things again. For one thing, Nakajima and I are hallmates and all I know about her is her class, club, and where she goes to church.

Well, I could fix that easily enough, at least.

“What do you know about Nakajima-Sempai?” I ask Setsuko.

Setsuko swallows her current cookie –thankfully- before answering, “Senior, Class 4, Roman Catholic, goes to church in the city, likes to sing in the shower, looks good in blue jeans, good at history and English, lousy in math but okay in the part of science that don’t have a lot of it, and she’s excused from gym class. Oh, and she’s the secretary of the occult club.”

“I’ve always wondered about that,” I remark.

“The occult club’s into all sorts’a stuff to keep active,” Setsuko explains, “and Ayaya’s really into aliens and yeti’s and stuff –one of ‘em ‘the truth is out there’ types,” Setsuko mimes playing her keyboard for some reason.

Note to self, google phrase. Carefully.

“More things on heaven and earth then are dreamt of in our philosophies?” I muse.

Setsuko nods, “You got it, Hamlet.”

I raise an eyebrow at Setsuko; I didn’t know she was a Shakespeare fan, but maybe she just picked up the reference somewhere.

“Thanks for the info,” I say, “Nakajima and I never talk much. Even though we see each other almost every week.”

Setsuko nods, “She keeps to herself outside a’ class. Plus Maiko don’t like her much –thinks she’s part of the problem in the occult club, I wager. Or maybe she’s upset she never joined the book club. Or she jus’ don’t like her singing, which is unfair in my opinion as I think she has some damn fine pipes.”

I find myself nodding in agreement. I try to use the bathroom when no one else is around, but Nakajima seems to have a similar thought process, so sometimes our uses coincide. Maybe it’s from church, but she can sing very well, and honestly I wouldn’t mind hearing her sing outside of the bathroom. Besides, I wouldn’t mind a chance to get to know her better, either.

“…I think I’ll go,” I declare, “to be a good hallmate, if nothing else.”

Setsuko smirks and finishes her tea, “As good a reason as any. Word of advice: sleep on it. If you still wanna go tomorrow, let ‘er know.”

I nod and finish my tea, “Thanks, I’ll do that… she won’t expect me to sing, will she?”

Setsuko shakes her head, “Nah.”

I sigh in relief and hoist myself up, “Thank you for your help.”

Setsuko grins, “Jus’ doin’ my job.”

I smirk and take one of the cookies. Before I leave I place it in the little shrine to Setsuko’s great-grandfather and turn toward the door. I doubt an Imperial pilot would appreciate an offering from a Korean, but I’d like to think he’d accept it for Setsuko’s sake.

“Thanks,” Setsuko says as I leave.

I nod and leave the room. I never performed a Jesa ceremony in my life, but I try to be a good guest. And a good hallmate.

==

I read somewhere online that a keyboard can weigh as much as a small surface-to-air missile. I have no idea what that has to do with anything, but regardless I’m carrying Setsuko’s keyboard while we head to the occult club’s party. Nakajima’s smile when I told her I’d go quelled most of my doubts about my decision, but not my concerns.

Setsuko seemed happy enough, though. Once we left the dorm room she started humming Christmas carols, her leg clicking lightly as the knee locks into place while we walk, her wooden cane keeping the pace. Since this is technically a club meeting we’re still in uniform, though I’ve thrown on my vinyl jacket and Setsuko her kimono jacket to fight the mountain chill. Another benefit of wearing the boy’s uniform is having pants in winter.

Thanks to the school’s location, a thin film of snow layers the grounds, giving the place an eerie calm I really wish I felt in my over-thinking mind. Well, knowledge is power, and last I checked the school’s information broker is walking next to me.

“Setsuko?” I prompt the humming senior.

Setsuko glances to me, “Yes?”

“Any idea who else outside the occult club might be there?”

Setsuko made a thoughtful noise while we walk. The entrance to the school is only a few paces away, but we practically reach it before she replies, “A couple students from 3-4’ll probably show up, and maybe one or two from 3-2. Most of the club’s first-years’ll probably come, maybe, and they’re in 1-4 and I think there’s one in 1-3. You probably won’t know any of ‘em ‘sides me and Nakajima.”

I nod, “I figured.”

Setsuko raises an eyebrow at me, “You sure about this?”

I nod again, “I told Nakajima I’d go. So I will.”

Setsuko smiles and gets the door for me. My word is all I have, so I best use it wisely.

I have no idea where the occult club’s room is, but Setsuko does, so I follow her and make sure I don’t bang the keyboard’s case on the walls on the way up the stairs. As we climb higher, our pace slows, as Setsuko’s leg isn’t the greatest for ascending stairs. Above us I can hear the dull echoing of chatter, so we must be getting close.

Once we reach the proper floor, the occult club room makes itself rather obvious with the noise going on behind it. The sound pokes at some unpleasant parts of my memories but I tell them to shut up and sit in the corner while I focus on the keyboard case’s weight in my hands. When we get there Setsuko sidles up to the door, winks at me, and sets her face into a more serious expression. I am willing to bet a crate of Pocky sticks I won’t hear her Kobe accent until we leave that room.

Before she can say anything the door opens, revealing Nakajima, wearing her school uniform and a set of fake antlers.

There has to be something in the water here.

“Hello Setsuko,” Nakajima greets, “Kim, thanks for coming!”

I nod, open my mouth to tell her to just call me Soon-hee, but stop. I may disdain the overly stiff and polite nature of Japanese, but I do have to live with it.

Better Kim than Sonny, Muscles, or Hee-chan, I guess. Well, Hee-chan isn’t so bad.

Setsuko meanwhile grins and greets, “Hello. I’ll set up the keyboard and get started as soon as I can. Do you happen to have another set of those antlers? My brother went and stole my pair from last year.”

Nakajima nods, “Sure do! Please, come in, and Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas,” we echo.

“And a Happy New Year!” Setsuko chirps.

With that, we step into the classroom. No sense being dramatic about it, after all. The best part of being a roadie is you’re basically invisible.

Somewhere around a dozen students are milling about, the classroom itself organized with all the desks to the back and a table strewn with food and punch bowls near the door –Nakajima asked Setsuko to arrive a little after the party started, to give everyone a chance to mingle. The only student I recognize is the cranky guy who keeps getting cleaning duty with Midders. Several students in wheelchairs are chatting near the back of the room, and a couple girls near the snack table are signing to each other. One of them notices me, glances my way, and gives a curt nod of greeting that I return.

Archery club, most likely.

Ito-Sensei, the bulky and seemingly perpetually constipated math teacher, sits astride a groaning stool in a worn blazer and a Santa hat. He looks to be drinking a glass of punch, or maybe stomach medicine –the color makes it difficult to tell which.

Having entered the room, Setsuko immediately heads to the corner to our right, so I follow her, keyboard missile in tow. Nakajima’s right behind us, and, once people notice the newcomers, she grins and greets the other guests.

“Excuse me,” she begins, “but now that Miss Oono is here, I’d like to remind everyone that there is a sign-up sheet next to the snack table for anyone who would like to sing or have a request. Please list your name and the song you would like to perform or hear, and please keep all songs holiday or at least seasonally themed,” she turns to Setsuko, still grinning, “You can play anything, right?”

Setsuko smiles while I set up the keyboard –she showed me how to once, “If I don’t know it, I can program it into the keyboard to show me the notes. And we’re hallmates Ayaya,-just call me Setsuko.”

Nakajima sighs, and I’m pretty sure I hear several students snicker into their drinks.

Nakajima coughs into her hand to regain her composure, then continues, “In any case, the sheet is on the snack table, Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year.”

The guests ring out a Happy New Year of their own and return to their conversations. Nakajima, meanwhile, heads to the snack table, while Setsuko watches me fiddle with the keyboard.

“I think that’s right,” I mutter. I look at Setsuko, who nods.

“Indeed it is,” she says, “thank you. There’s a bench over there I can slide into place, so please feel free to grab some food.”

I nod and turn toward the snack table, only to see Nakajima walking towards us, a tray of cookies and other similar snacks in one hand, and a set of fake antlers in the other.

Setsuko grins and holds out her hand, “Thanks.”

Nakajima smiles and hands over the antlers, “I have plenty, so don’t worry about it. Kim, here,” she holds out the snack tray for me, “Thank you for coming, and for helping Setsuko.”

Snickerdoodles!

Part Three:

I accept the tray of snacks and bow in thanks.

Nakajima smiles and nods. Setsuko, meanwhile, dons the antlers.

“How do I look Sonny?” she asks me.

Nakajima tilts her head, “Sonny?”

I repress a sigh and explain, “Say my name three times fast in English.”

I have come to terms with this. Better than a lot of things they could call me.

Nakajima mutters under her breath, apparently trying the trick. When she finishes she makes a pondering expression before slowly nodding.

“…I don’t quite get it myself, but alright. Setsuko, are we ready to begin?”

Setsuko nods, “As soon as I get the bench over here. You want first song?”

Nakajima grins, “Of course.”

I grab a seat near the wall, a ways away from the keyboard but not near the back either, while Setsuko sets up the bench and Nakajima fiddles with the microphone Setsuko brought along for the night. My snacks keep me occupied until Nakajima taps the microphone.

“Testing, testing,” she says, “wow, first try. Okay, to open the Annual Occult Club Christmas Party singing event, I shall sing the first song.”

Wonder what she’ll sing.

The answer to that is Jingle Bell Rock, as it turns out. She really throws herself into the song, her movement and vocals more lively and exuberant than anything I’ve ever seen from her. Somehow her antlers remain in place. Seeing her enthusiastic performance, I can’t help but wonder what lies beneath her reserved exterior.

Maybe I could ask her about her favorite books.

When the performance ends the guests give a quick round of applause. Nakajima, her legs shaky and face flushed, smiles and bows.

“Thank… thank you,” she says, “and also if we could have a round for Setsuko, our wonderful keyboardist.”

Setsuko hefts herself up for some applause as she bows. Resuming her seat, she looks towards the snack table.

“Who’s next?” she asks.

I see Ito-Sensei groan as he levers himself off his bench, “I am.”

The other guests seem to be ready for this, but I can’t help but repress a snicker at the thought of our grumpy math teacher singing holiday songs. Then again, my view of him might be a bit skewed since I suck at math, and Ito’s glares of disapproval a recurring shiver down my spine after an exam.

Nakajima takes the announcement in stride, “Alright Sensei, what will you be singing?”

“Zat You, Santa Claus?” he replies, “Have you been practicing, Oono-kun?”

Is Setsuko friendly with everyone in this school? Probably.

Setsuko nods, “Jazz is probably my weakest genre, but I’ll do my best to make Satchmo proud. Maybe Santa’ll give me a saxophone.”

Ito-Sensei smirks and trundles his way to Setsuko. Nakajima hands him the microphone with a bow and retreats to the snack table. While the teacher sets up she grabs two cups of punch and makes her way towards me. I take a break from shoveling snacks into my face to grab a chair for her. Her legs haven’t stopped shaking, and she sighs with relief as she lowers herself into the seat.

“So much for that drug trial,” she declares. Holding out one of the cups for me, she gives a faint smile and says, “Here you go.”

I take the cup with a nod, repressing a reaction to the use of my given name as I say, “Thanks, Sempai.”

Nakajima smiles and sighs into her seat while the teacher begins his song.

Everything I thought I knew about Ito is wrong.

Granted, the effect is a bit lost using a keyboard instead of horns, but the jazzy rhythm is the same. Setsuko mostly plays classical music, and while she may dabble in other genres, her jazz technique seems stilted and stuffy, probably because of her classical training –going from precision to freeform must take a lot of mental effort. Still, one of the perks of jazz is you can sometime replace talent with enthusiasm –and Setsuko has plenty of both.

When the teacher finishes the guests give a polite clap, and the next singer –the cranky guy who cleans with Midders- takes the stage, singing an old winter folktale.

While the festivities continue, Nakajima sips her punch, her legs slowly steadying while she rests. After a couple songs they steady completely, and she smiles at me, looking about to ask a question.

“Having a good time?” she asks.

I nod, “Good snacks. You put on a good final meeting.”

Nakajima smiles, “Thanks. Shame this is the last one, but to all things there is a season.”

I nod and nibble on a cookie, “Did you bake these yourself?”

Nakajima nods, “Most of the cookies, but I had help from the tea club for everything else.”

I just nod again, since I don’t really have anything else to say. It’s clear she enjoys throwing the party despite the obvious strain it’s having on her body, but mentioning it seems pointless, so I don’t bother.

That said, “Setsuko seems to be enjoying herself,” I remark.

Nakajima nods as she sips her punch, one eye on our fellow hallmate as she says, “She really wanted to stay in the music club, but she felt obligated to become class rep, so she took the job.”

“She does get to play still, at least,” I remark.

Nakajima nods, smiling lightly, “True. I honestly think she enjoys it more outside the club, but don’t let any of the music club members know I said that.”

I smirk and give a small nod, “She does have her aloof side.”

“It’s her Kobe background,” Nakajima declares.

They are in the same class, after all. Probably been since they both got here.

Still, I can’t help but smirk as I nibble on a cookie, “Aloof or not, she’s a good sempai. So are you.”

Nakajima smiles lightly, “Thank you,” she frowns briefly, though, and adds, “though I do wish more of my club would show up.”

“Are any of them here?” I ask.

Nakajima nods, “A few. More than last year, at least.”

“That’s something,” I say.

Nakajima smiles, “It is. It’s the last one I’ll throw anyway, so no sense being negative. I know I said it before, but thank you for coming. I’ve gathered you’re not the most social of people, so having you come meant a lot. And thanks for helping Setsuko.”

“No problem. I’m good at carrying things.”

Keyboards, burdens, cookies. Ooh, I need more snacks.

I get up and turn toward the snack tray, “I’m gonna get more snacks, you want anything?”

Nakajima ponders for a moment before nodding, “I’d like some snickerdoodles, please. Sure you don’t mind?”

I smile at my hallmate, “Not at all. You should get to relax, too.”

While you still can.

“Thank you.”

I give my senior a small bow, “You’re welcome, and Merry Christmas.”

+++

Well, that was a thing.

Happy Holidays everyone! Time for Hisao and Kenji to save Christmas by shooting down MiG’s with Tesla rifles (I ALMOST wrote that fic. Almost.)

Seemed to end somewhat abruptly, but you don't get to complain about free stuff, eh?

Thanks for treating us and Merry Christmas!

Mirage_GSM wrote:Seemed to end somewhat abruptly, but you don't get to complain about free stuff, eh?

It does kinda fit Soon-hee's fragmented speech pattern, though.

Thanks for treating us and Merry Christmas!

You're welcome, and Merry Christmas!