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scott1and wrote:

pedrosorio wrote:

Worthington wrote: “I only have 12 dollars,” She looks down, disappointed.

Dollars in Norway. Seriously?

Do you know what Norwegian money's called...no...well, maybe Emi didn't know either.

Stories awesome by the way. Little bit of knowledge for you lot by the way, they use the Norwegian Krone, the plural form is Kroner. There are about 5 kroners in one U.S. Dollar.

Obviously I know, or I wouldn't have made the remark I did. Anyhow, the subject of "knowing" is pretty pathetic in an online community, where you can get any answer (of this type) in a matter of seconds. I just intervened because with all the resources at our disposal, writing nonsense like that is not justifiable, since the research effort required is practically zero.

As for Emi, she does know how to speak Norwegian, and has been working at McDonalds and dealing with money, yet she thinks they are dollars?

Juno wrote:There are no kroner in dollars since this is the currency of a republic.
Ba-dum tsh.

pedrosorio wrote:

Worthington wrote: “I only have 12 dollars,” She looks down, disappointed.

Dollars in Norway. Seriously?

Yeah, that's my bad. I totally forgot to look this up while writing it. I shalt fix it.

WTF did i just read?

It's okay, all the other "norwegians" are just Americans who got drunk at the same party.

It was a wild night man.

Goldilurks wrote:It's okay, all the other "norwegians" are just Americans who got drunk at the same party.

It was a wild night man.

This comment made me laugh so hard I decided to start writing the next chapter.
Bravo.

And here it is. So, i've realized that my prose is quite weak when i'm just trying to tell a straight up story, with no frills or purple prose or post-modernism or whatnot. It's a shame, so i'm just going to try and focus on the comedy and trying to get the story across well. Hopefully i'll get better with this as I g along, so to whoever's reading, thanks for putting up with it.
I wrote the first part of this chapter while watching Pulp Fiction and listening to Wu-Tang Clan. Why is this important? You'll see.

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Chapter 5

“Shizune?! Misha?! What the fuck are you two doing here?” You’d think by now I would’ve gotten used to these near-constant surprises, but apparently not.

Shizune frowns and signs something, “Wahaha! Hicchan, you really should stop swearing~”

“Answer the question Mikado,” Kenji’s tone is scarily calm; icy cold, radically different from his regular heated demeanour.

“Mr. Setou, that is no way to address members of the Student Council.”

Emi raises her pimp cane to point at the duo, “I’m with them. What are you two doing here?” Hunter also pipes in, crowing his assent.

“Well, due to your little party, which was highly against school regulations, we’ll have you know,” Misha and Shizune give us all a frown so synchronised it must have been rehearsed, “Several members of the student body have gone missing. The teachers have sent us to retrieve them.”

…

“Hrm, you know, that doesn’t really add up,” Kenji puts in, stroking his chin.

Shizune arches an eyebrow, making her intent very clearly; don’t fuck with me. “Oh?” Misha translates, despite Shizune not having signed anything.
I nudge Kenji and whisper to him, “Drop it man.”

“No,” he replies to me, then turns to face the Student Council again, “Yes. That doesn’t make any sense. For one, how would you know our exact location? Secondly, even if you did, why would the teachers send two students unsupervised to a different continent to retrieve several students that may or may not be there?” Kenji grins wickedly, in the back of my head I can hear an announcer loudly proclaiming FINISH HIM! “And finally, if I remember correctly, I remember seeing you,” he points at Misha, “and your handler at our “against school regulations” party.”

FATALITY! Throughout Kenji’s little speech, the pair have gone very silent (Shizune more than usual) and very subdued. Shizune motions slightly, an inclination of her head. Misha gives a devilish grin, and a very chilling “Wahaha!”. Suddenly, before I even have time to register what’s happened, Kenji, Emi, and I are down on the floor. Misha coathangered Kenji and I, while Shizune swept Emi’s feet out from under her and is holding her cane like a rapier. Misha’s pressed a shiv against Kenji’s throat,

“Bitch you wan’get shanked?” Misha waves the small knife in front of our faces. Somehow she’s still kept up a continuous stream of signing, and Shizune is watching this with mild amusement on her face as she keeps Emi’s cane pressed up against her chest.

I gulp, “No,” both me and Kenji answer, at the same time.

Misha somehow manages to grab both our collars in one gargantuan, bear like paw and lifts our faces up to meet hers. Her eyes have a maniacal glint to them. Her breath smells of garlic and fish. “What does Shizune Hakamichi look like?”

I try to stutter out an answer, but my tongue trips over itself; the only word I can get out is a fumbling “W-what?” Unfortunately, I respond before Kenji does, drawing Misha’s attention to me, despite Kenji having been the one that spoke out against him.

Misha suddenly picks me up and throws me back a good foot. Before I even have time to get wind, she’s dragged Kenji back to where I am and is straddling both of us again. “What country are you from?!”

“W-what?” My brain is still trying to desperately catch up with the chain of events that’s unfolding, and with the searing pain in my back from my fall, and the frantic thudding in my chest.

Oh god.

“Wahaha! Hicchan; What ain’t no country I ever heard of!” Froth and saliva are coalescing on Misha’s upper lip and her smile looks unhinged, deranged, “They speak Japanese in What?”

I can’t think, the only thing my lips manage to get out is a reflexive response by now; “What?”

Misha knees me in the groin, and then laughs, her regular chirping behaviour offsetted by the violence of her actions. I barely feel it, it’s just another list to the accumulating white hotspot of pain that is my body.

“Japanese, motherfucker! Do you speak it?”

“Y-yes, yes!”

“Good,” she smiles, “then you know what I’m saying?”

“Yes, yes!”

“Wahaha! Good, Hicchan. Describe what Shizune Hakamichi looks like!”

“W-what?”

Misha’s smile drops, she presses the shiv into my throat. I can feel it’s smooth sharpness against my adam’s apple.

“SAY WHAT AGAIN! I DARE YA! I DOUBLE DARE YA MOTHERFUCKER! SAY WHAT ONE MORE GODDAMN TIME!

The pain is starting to recede a bit, and with it I regain some mental faculties. Still barely enough. Luckily, Kenji’s got my back.

“She’s got black hair,” he whispers to me.

“S-she’s got black hair!” I repeat frantically.

“Go on!”

“She..she wears glasses.”

Misha’s slasher grin jumps to her face once more, “Does she look like a bitch?”

“What?”

Suddenly Misha’s gigantic ham of a hand smashes me in the face.

“Does. She. Look. Like. A bitch?!”

“No!” Blood is running freely from my nose, down my face.

“Then why you trying to fuck her like a bitch, Hisao?”

Goddamn it, why am I catching the flak for Kenji’s stupidity. Luckily, at this point Misha picks up some telepathic signal from Shizune, or something, and leaves us and returns to Hakamichi’s side as eagerly as some psychotic puppy.

Shizune throws the cane back at Emi, who’s rising. She doesn’t seem to have gotten as much abuse as we did. Shizune signs something, “I think we’ve made everything clear now, haven’t we?”

“Y-yes,” Kenji, Emi, and I stutter.

“Good. Bitches, in the van.”

Meekly, Emi, Kenji, and I shuffle into the back of the van. All the seats except for the front two seem to have been removed, and replaced with bean bags. On the floor there’s a large briefcase, and a mysteriously stained full body Easter Bunny suit.

“What’s in the briefcase?” Emi asks.

Misha shrugs, seeming back to her regular, non psychotic self. It seems that Misha and Shizune have returned to their normal selves. Or their fake selves, as may be the case. Honestly, I’m a bit too shaken to try and puzzle it out.

Kenji grabs the briefcase, stares at it for a second, then fiddles with the combination. Suddenly, it snaps open. Several packs of gum fall out of it, along with a ticket, car keys (presumably for the van), and a piece of paper with a phone number.

“Jesus, why are we being left so many pieces of paper?” I ask no one in particular, “They’re like MacGuffins in some poorly written story.”
No one responds to my words, seeming to be unaware of their existence, as if they were blotted out by some kind of intradimensional invisible wall.

“Hrmm, I wonder whose number that could be?” Emi ponders aloud.

“Well we could always use the phone in the main office! Wahaha!” Misha translates. Shizune is, as ever, the voice of reason. That’s probably at least some small benefit on having her along on this goddamn trip.

“Hicchan, please pass the keys over!” Misha chirps at me.

“Is Shizune driving?” I ask.

“Nope! I am! Wahaha!”

…

I’m going to die in this fucking country.

Not willing to risk the wrath of Misha, I hand over the keys without a fight, and settle down, cursing the lack of seatbelts and their accompanying seats.

“Wahaha! Let’s do this bitches!” Misha presses the CD player play button with a finger. Suddenly, a soft folk love ballad starts playing. The disgust is plain to see on Misha’s face.

“Fuck this pussy ass shit!” She ejects the CD and throws it out the window.

“MY MIXCD!” Kenji looks on the verge of tears. Misha inserts in another CD that she’s somehow pulled out of her bosom; the stereo system starts blaring Wu-Tang Clan. To my amazement, I see that Shizune is nodding along to the beat as well, somehow. This does nothing to allay my concerns.

My fears are well founded, as Misha is quite possibly the most reckless driver I have ever encountered. She backs up stupidly fast out of the storage unit, drifts instead of turning, and floors it the few metres to the driveway leading out to the main street. She parks there. In the middle of a drivewayTo make it worse, Misha was somehow STILL signing everything that was being said, including the rap lyrics to “Shame on a Nigga”, while she was driving.

I get out, trembling, and head to the main office building, which is adjacent to the driveway we were parked in. As I enter, the lady looks visibly shaken. I assume she heard the sounds of Misha’s god awful driving, and the loud gangsta rap that accompanied it. I’m pretty sure people in Sweden could hear it.

“Oh, hello. I hope you found everything in…order?” She asks, her face blanched, her hands trembling.

“Uh, yeah. Thanks. Do I have to pay a fee?”

“No, your bill was settled when you rented out the storage space. You’ve still got a week left, actually.” She jerks her head slightly in the direction of our van,

“Who are those two? You didn’t come in with them.”

I sigh, “I’m sorry. They’re schoolmates of ours. Honestly, I don’t know how they’re here either.”

“You guys aren’t from here, I’m assuming?”

“No, we’re Japanese students from a private school for the disabled.”

“Oh? What are you doing in Bergen?”

“No idea.”

An awkward silence stretches out to fill the room. I remember what I came in here for, “Say, can I use your phone?”

She turns to face me again; her concentration had lapsed out on some random knick-knack on her desk as she furrowed her brow, probably thinking about the absurdity of her situation. If only she knew.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” She hands the telephone to me. I pick it up and dial the number, looking at the page found in the briefcase.

After a few rings, someone picks up, “Hallo?” The voice says in a thick accent.

“Uh, hi. Do you speak English?”

“Oh, yah.”

“Oh, great. Uhm, I don’t know how to put this, but I found your number in a briefcase I think is mine, along with a ticket of some kind. For a boat, I think.”
The voice on the other end lets out a deep laugh, “OH! You is that Japanese kid! HAHA! You is a funny guy. Yeah, you come down, you get on boat. I give address.”

And he did. I wrote it down, said goodbye to the lady at the counter, and got back in the vain (albeit reluctantly), and conveyed my findings to the gang.
Misha doesn’t even wait to hear the full explanation; as soon as I hand Shizune the address she’s already pounding off down the street, leaving several scared pedestrians in her wake.

And a dead cat.

I think it was a cat.

I hope it was a cat.

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Yeah, this Chapter is pretty much the last chapter of the "introduction" phase of the story. The REAL country-hopping starts now, and it only gets weirder from here.
Wait, what?

...

what did i just read?

and why do i feel defiled?

...

Maybe its obvious, but the story reminds me of The Hangover except with more male prostitution and pimps

scott1and wrote:Maybe its obvious, but the story reminds me of The Hangover except with more male prostitution and pimps

It's basically the Hangover + EuroTrip with crazy crippled kids. Plus some insanity that comes later that just cannot be properly conveyed.
Oh god, what am I doing with my life.

"I try to stutter out an answer, but my tongue trips over itself; the only word I can get out is a fumbling “W-what?” Unfortunately, I respond before Kenji does, drawing Misha’s attention to me, despite Kenji having been the one that spoke out against [her]."

"I wrote it down, said goodbye to the lady at the counter, and got back in the vain,".

Misha is quite frightening. Actually though I thought when she played the folk song it would have been a great contrast to the nasty side of her personality she just revealed but Kenji's line was very funny too

... Just when you think you've seen all the possible crazy shit in the world... O.O

I bet you thought this thread was dead.
Nope.
Just Chuck Testa.
Sorry it took so long, life has been a bitch lately. It's not even a particularly long chapter, and I had a bit of trouble writing Mishizune (I think i've figured out how to do it now [not in this chapter])
================================================================================================================================
Chapter 6


The light splashing of the grey ocean waves is almost calming. As Emi conversed with the burly, bearded Norwegian man, I try to lose myself in those waves; hoping that I can deny what’s happening to me by refusing to acknowledge it. Unfortunately, both Misha and the Captain are very loud, and they both seem to have almost identical laughs (albeit in different registers).

The man is laughing as Emi ends the conversation and walks back to me, Kenji, Shizune, and Misha; this odd travelling troupe of fools I find myself with.

“What’d he say?” I ask her.

“He says he’ll be taking us to Folkstone on his ferry.”

“Folkstone?” Kenji asks, a quizzical expression on his face.

“It’s in England. There’s an entrance to the Channel Tunnel there, so we can get to the mainland from there,” Emi answers, looking very warm in her large,
furry, purple coat. I’m regretting not buying a jacket with my prostitution money; I’m assuming Kenji is as well. It’s getting really chilly out here.

“Why is he giving us a free ride?” Misha asks, presumably interpreting for Shizune. It just seems like the sort of thing Shizune would ask.

“He gave us this ticket,” she waves the ticket we found in the briefcase, “because Kenji beat his entire crew in a drinking game. So he’s giving us free
passage. We’re allowed to board now, but the ferry sets off tomorrow.”

Not willing risk damage to the ship, and thus endanger our free passage, Shizune makes the prudent decision of driving the van into the vehicle storage section rather than letting Misha do it. The rest of us board the ship and head to our given rooms. Kenji, once again, is I the room next to me, but I decide to just get some sleep.

The trip was sullen, depressing, rainy, and boring. For almost the trip I was alone. Emi much preferred the company of the Captain and other passengers to mine, and Kenji had ditched me for her. Hell, sometimes he was even hanging out with Shizune and Misha.

“They’re pretty hardcore,” was his only explanation as to why.

Shizune and Misha themselves barely ever left their room, and you could always hear these strange banging and moaning sounds coming from their room late at night. I swear I heard Kenji in there once, as well.

The most eventful the trip got was this one night where Kenji had been drinking with the crew again. He had himself a bit too much aquavit and started stumbling around in the Easter Bunny suit. He got into an altercation with an elderly lady and then threw up inside the suit. Guess that solves the mystery of those stains on the suit. Eventually, when he had been pulled out of the suit, he wandered into my room and climbed into my bed. He apparently mistook me for Emi. I didn’t correct him, because quite frankly I was rather lonely. Unfortunately, he’s apparently gotten to know Emi very well over the past few days.

I don’t want to talk about what happened then.

Eventually, we arrived at Folkestone after about five days. We disembarked, thanked the captain for our passing, and set out to survey our surroundings.

***

“It looks…nice.”

That was really all the description I had for this place. It was a generic, inoffensive looking town with a quaint little port.

“We should probably go check into a hotel room and then look into getting tickets for the Channel Tunnel. Wahaha!” Misha grins.

“Fuck. That. We’re in mo’fucking ENGLAND, bitches! LET’S GO TO A PUB AND GET SMASHED!”

“Do they have seafood in England?” Emi asks.

“We’re in a port town, Emi. Haven’t you ever heard of Fish and Chips?” I roll my eyes at her.

“No.” she whispers, chagrined.

“Wahaha, yes, that sounds much more fun,” Misha giggles; then Shizune grumpily signs something towards her, “Please, Shicchan. We can get the tickets and hotel room later!”

“Plus,” Kenji interjects “Good things happen when we go drinking. We got the tickets for the ferry when we went drinking.”

“We ended up in this situation because we went drinking!” I fumed.

“Yeah, and it’s fucking awesome! Did you ever think you’d go to Norway, or England? Well you have now. It’s a fucking experience man. It’s like a goddamn roadtrip!”

“Yes, Kenji. It’s some kind of crazy, disabled roadtrip. And I don’t like it. I want to go home. Home is good, Kenji,” I pause to take a few breaths. Everyone is quiet from my impromptu tirade.

Kenji has his chin in his hand, pondering, “Yeah, I guess I’m wrong.”

I’m glad to see he’s finally thinking like a normal human being.

“It can’t be a roadtrip if we’re crossing countries and continents. Plus we were on a boat.”

My ensuing facepalm could’ve caused a minor earthquake.

“So…are we still going drinking?” Misha inquires. Shizune signs something to her, and she signs back and pouts. It’s very disconcerting seeing Misha acting all girly and playful again after that incident at the storage compartment. I guess Kenji isn’t the only person who’s dangerously bipolar at our school.

“Yay! Shicchan says we can go drinking for a bit.”

I have a bad feeling about this.

***

The pub is called The Foggy Dew. True to its name, it is rather foggy, and the air is rather wet. I’m not sure it’s dew, though. The inside of it smells like sweat, beer, cigarettes, and shame. Somewhere behind me, Kenji is getting into a situation with a gargantuan Scottishman. I manage to hear a snippet of the conversation;

“I like my men how I like my liquor…hard.”

Emi intervenes, and they start talking in more hushed tones after she calms him down. She takes off one of her prosthetics, pulls something out of the hollow area, and gives it and Kenji to the man, and pockets some money in return. She seems to be getting good at pimping people out.
Personally, there are several fucks I could give, but I’ve decided not to give them. The UK has good liquor, and the bartender doesn’t seem all too worried about serving to minors. Am I a minor in the UK? I don’t even care.

Misha and Shizune left about an hour ago to get our tickets and a hotel room, and left the little amount of money that remained to us for drinking. I suppose money won’t be that huge of a problem now that we’re back to pimping. Still, I can’t help but feel that the hotel room is a bit of a waste. I don’t think we’ll end up sleeping there, and if we do we’ll probably trash it. We’re like a rock band, except with more liquor and drugs and less music.

Emi and Kenji seem to have disappeared from the bar now as well. Sighing, I order another Guinness and proceed to get even more sloshed than usual. Suddenly, from the corner of my eye, I see someone that looks a lot like Hanako. New Hanako, but still alluring in my drunken state. I wobble my way over to her, rather awkwardly due to a growing beer boner, and sit down on the stool next to her. I try and make conversation but she doesn’t respond. Angrily I try to grab her arm, only to find myself on the floor, with the world swimming in front of my eyes. There is no girl that looks like New Hanako. It’s all just some drunken hallucination. My vision starts to get hazy and blurry, and the tears roll onto my cheeks. I try to stand up.

I somehow shit, throw up, piss myself, ejaculate, and pass out all at once.
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The Foggy Dew is an actual pub in the town I live in. Also, a disclaimer; I have not been to the majority of the places I am writing about. Information is gathered through the internet. I fictionalize things for the purpose of my story. They are in no way representative of the towns themselves.

"The pub is called The Foggy due. "

You said in the description that it's the Foggy Dew.

whathaveicreated wrote:"The pub is called The Foggy due. "

You said in the description that it's the Foggy Dew.

Yep, thanks. Fix'd.

Worthington wrote:I somehow shit, throw up, piss myself, ejaculate, and pass out all at once.

... That was fast XD How long were they even in there? Also, that's either physically impossible, or lethal ">_>