Eleven days, wow. That's going to be a personal record.
Of course I forgot to add a little something to the previous chapter, but not going to make another post or edit an existing one, so it all goes in here.
Also the first chapter to be written faster than typed down.
To-do: work on character's speech characteristics (what is it called in literature, hlap) since they don't match the ones in the game.
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You wouldn't tell this hangar from any other abandoned one. In fact, it's probably impossible to mark any differences it has compared to its neighbors. Aged paint and rusty metal, neither the prettiest look in the world not an inviting one. A relic of the passed century , just like the rest of the airfield. Stripped of any remaining equipment, supplies, or planes, heavens forbid, it barely has anything to offer, unless you're interested in barbwire or concrete plates. Military objects like these, built during the Cold War, when political superpowers stored more weapons than rations afraid of a global conflict like anyone was going to allow them one, are said to play a major role in recent remilitarization of the key terrorist cells across the globe. Not that it matters to Japan, of course. Separated from the unstable regions by water and Chinese territory, it can sleep in peace, especially when JSDF's creed is technological superiority, period. Besides, this particular base was cleaned up and repurposed years ago.
Look at our hangar once more. Fresh tire tracks run towards its entrance across the landing strip. Who can it be, way up in the desolate hills so late at night that the stars shine clearly from above? Look inside. Rust and paint, right? The place is clean, polished to perfection. No sign of the air forces, have grunts in suits instead. These won't bother if some beardyman swaps digits in his AK model number. Two-caliber assault rifles, metallic shine in the eyes, grenade packs, whoever provides security here can give certain militaries a run around the block. Move sixty meters underground. Where the elevator shaft ends, behind a maze of corridors, armories, guard posts and a vacuumed sluice there lies a conference room with a wide round table in the middle of it. Definitely not worth all the fuss.
"Vacuum established. Maximum sound reduction. Security protocols now enabled," melancholically drops the AI.
"So what's on the list today, King Arthur?" asks arguably the youngest one of the fine businessmen having a meeting in such a bizarre place.
"Funny thing, the question was supposed to be addressed the other way," answers a man in his fifties with no remarkable features except for the glistening eyes and the word "power" written in the air around him as he makes everyone shut up with just one look.
"Haha, well, I'm not in position to know any more than you do on the main problem."
"Regardless, this place is secure enough to discuss other sensitive matters as well, of which the head of R&D has plenty on his hands. Namely, project Ariadna," a few heads turn his way. "Tell us what you have already told me."
"Oh, oh, makes sense. All right, this info goes as ears only. Like anything alse discussed here, sorry," he adds in a hurry, confused with the nonsense that came out. "First off, I hope everyone knows what the project in question is?"
"We know it was cancelled," a fat man interrupts quickly in a high-pitched voice, "and for good. It was a hole in our budget large enough to stick an average DARPA initiative inside with all the corruption included."
"Denied funding, not cancelled," another voice rises, marking each word with a pause. "You'd think the accounting knows the difference."
"Exactly! Due to its... uniqueness, after the initial failures the project went off the designated laboratories and existed as a data pool with write only access for most of the staff involved, although some surgeries done by other teams may be de facto considered Ariadna experiments.
Until today. Gentlemen, I am proud to announce that project Ariadna is ready and able to produce two units in this astronomical year."
His bright face and proud speech, however, don't get any applause. Instead, skeptical whisper arises. It dies instantly as an old withered man takes the word.
"I am said to be a fool who clenches to his seat for too long, but allow me to speak for us all: what's the percentage? and how high are the chances of success?"
"My lord, by promising two units I mean two complete units without a need for crucial upgrades. Hard to believe, considering the state of the only functional Ariadna left, but we have every confidence and even the funds, I'm talking about the special insurance packages here-"
"Do you understand the expectations? Potential impact on the market?" old man's voice once again chokes the doubtful noises. "You have the green light, then. We shall need some arguments to provide additional resources, but all in its time. I believe this year's primary subjects will have to do."
"Quite accurate, sir, and here we start with the main issue. Have a seat," the head of R&D gladly complies to the powerful one's order. "Pandora. Our situation has developed slightly better than the pessimistic prognosis we've been following so far. No information leaks from the gathering team, but plenty of them back in Tokyo. Now, you won't start having suspicions, that's my job only. A pack of red herrings flushed most of the exploited liabilities, and during the consecutive interrogations we have identified the competition. Underdogs call him Dyson."
He makes a pause to let others have their chuckles, even smiles himself. The latter looks just wrong.
"Yes, yes, I couldn't believe it myself. Anyway, we can't tell our secretaries who the man is, so the suggestion is to use the codename when referring to him.
Now, seriously speaking, we are in a tight knot. The negotiations considering the release of a certain piece of information ended in a solid agreement with no other sides, Dyson himself included, resisting in any way. They are busy calculating the profits. Time for us to think about how we secure Pandora's Box. No need to repeat why digital access is out of question. Couriers too, since the competition should be identifying our last one right now, if they haven't already. We will have to literally get our own hands on it, and that I propose to achieve using the branch not represented here today. I am against casualties among the unprepared people."
Dead silence.
"Will they actually attack the convoy if one of us travels to the facility?"
"Without a doubt."
"Maybe I don't want to know what is inside the box."
"You don't."
Chapter 3. The Flow.
Slap.
"One for troubling me!"
Slap. Ouch, the back of the hand hurts as much as the front.
"Two for endangering yourself!"
Slap. Hey, why this one?
"And three for making my only hand hurt!"
"Hey, it's not my fault you're so mad."
Slap.
"You two done yet?"
Unimpressed by our quarrel, Molly asks it in a bored voice while studying the middle of her hip where the dark grey muscles break free from the cover of her skin. The polymer contracts like a tickled live being as her pinky traces the border between flesh and technology. Marvelous. I'd like to take it in my arms to watch the wonder myself, if only society approved inspecting girls' legs without proper rituals conducted well in advance. That, and bruises and band-aids on her elbows show how the art of technomagic isn't quite perfect yet. Who knows, maybe with her retinal display the flaw is visible like the sun in the sky. It was a pleasant surprise for me to discover that augmented reality comes as a must with all cybernetic enhancements and prostheses. Well, even if it is, Molly doesn't press it; in fact, the only emotion her face does show is the desire to remove a piece of seaweed stuck between her front teeth, which she's been trying to satisfy with tsking noises since we got here.
"Done?" Miura's resentful voice gains shades of disappointment and protest. "Yeah, I will be done one day when his physical condition doesn't mean he's turning up dead at every single occasion and I get a special thank-you from the nurse. For some slackers it translates to 'Go. Trackside. Now!'"
"Waha~, Miki, don't overdo it."
"Eh, I'll leave the lovebirds sing," first annoyed, now interested, I don't get whose side Molly's on.
"Lovebirds?! I'm gonna show you lovebirds, rocket legs! Do this, do that, win a competition, babysit a suicidal infant, yeah sure, after I'm done living my own life. At least you two aren't..."
Completely not wanted here, I turn around and slowly head towards the hard surface. I'm not even suicidal, for the record. What happened, you may ask. Nurse did. Imagine that, he went all the way to call her to the office in the evening and asked to keep an eye on me. What am I, psychologically unstable? And if anything's obvious about Miura, it's that she doesn't like tasks forced on her. Look at Misha and Molly. One's here to learn to walk again, the other I'm not even sure about, and looks like they cause no problems, but boo, I'm different. Could've been because they're girls if not for the story with Shizune's mission.
No, definitely not the case. I start running. Besides, I've had it with female conspiracies already. My neighbor is crazy about them. Believe it or not, he spent forty-five minutes straight going on about them yesterday. Daigo left for a solid reason.
Fresh breeze, a welcome change from last days' burning heat, blows from all directions at once, it occurs. Now instead of dripping down, crawling up, soaking your clothes to envelop you in its chokingly moist atmosphere, sweat just rushes down to the ground like an unleashed highland river. Which makes me wonder why Miki suddenly decided to put on makeup. A little bit, but it still can't be healthy for her skin at such temperatures. Don't pores get stuck or something? There, check Molly. Purely natural, unironed uniform and messy greasy braids that fly all over the place without a drop of respect to gravity included. Well okay, maybe she's the other extreme.
'All their struggles come with a purpose, man. To lure you in the web, then bam! The trawler pulls the cords and in the end you're lying on the floor helpless with no water left to breathe. You think you found a nice one without a care in the world about her looks and rags, but no. She likes videogames just as long as it takes to chain you.'
I slow down to a walk for two reasons. One, I need a breather for a healthy laugh, and two, Miki's glare makes me want to be a good boy by following nurse's prescribed routine of no more than one lap at a time. So hey, maybe Kenji is right with the paranoiac theories. Oh well.
Some things are hard to explain in this world, unlike why the sky is blue not violet, that's piece o' cake. Riddle me this: yesterday I was almost getting an attack at this point, but today despite feeling a trail of burning oil in my throat and bricks in my lungs, I'm hopping around like a bunny rabbit. No complaints of course, even though I'm about to acquire some skills that come handy in gay porn trying to swallow them all at once.
Come In, Yeti Actual [Chapter 7] [updated 19 Aug]
Re: Kenji's Conspiracy (KS x Deus Ex) [Updated Aug 21st]
Last edited by 651 on Tue Jan 07, 2014 2:14 am, edited 8 times in total.
I wrote a Fluttershy x Tails once. It was really good, swer.
Then I wrote some KS fiction, and being not as stellar, it at least exists.
Then I wrote some KS fiction, and being not as stellar, it at least exists.
Re: Kenji's Conspiracy (KS x Deus Ex) [Updated Sep 1st]
A rude shove makes me stumble. Taking a wild guess it's our mad coach, I draw a deep breath and start running again.
It feels a little enjoyable, if nothing else. The mix of reluctance, weariness and outright pain in the joints is topped with masochistic satisfaction of some kind. If there's no choice left, you've got to like what's forced on you. So I move, suppressing my unused body's protests by outside distractions. For example, let's guess why Misha came here. Despite her speed exceeding mine by a good half to nobody's surprise and a nice cool wind blowing right in her face, the emotion written on it is one of a kid forced to eat a whole stupid plate of boring porridge. I must be Molly's company that serves as cause, the conviction that friends must never be alone, although by looking at the braided touch addict running in place by the seats such a conclusion can hardly be made. Eyes locked on the ground or rather on her unsteady limbs shaking it with each step taken, head shakes rhythmically in synch with the run and most possibly music playing in her earphones, left hand grips the back of a seat for support, lips move so clearly it's possible to read "One, two, three, four, one, two..." without any training. Pure concentration.
With another lap done, I slow down again. All good this time around. A loud slap behind my back, and Miki's cheerful voice yells:
"Doing great so far, fatty!"
In a second she dashes past me, adding turbulence to the wind. Half a lap becomes a matter of thirty seconds, and she's barely breaking a sweat.
"I'm not even fat," Misha retorts with teary eyes. The words spoken in a hurt tone are clearly intended for my ears, but with her usual volume they reach everyone on the track. Miura even breaks her rhythm and, unable to regain it, changes pace to an unbelievably fast walk, trying to laugh through panting. So that's it for the mystery.
"Why- whoosh. Why still be here?"
Her question leaves Misha with little choice but to grit teeth. Soon the patting sounds rise again behind me, catching up and overtaking me. Well, sorry to disappoint, but this T-shirt must outline the worst of human body, how else to explain the chubbiness under it. Other, ahem, spacious bits a little bit lower, too. Now that it's on the surface, even her cheeks shake on each step's impact.
Whoops, time for another lap. Then another and another one. By the end of the workout I don't even try to think of anything but how to get to the finish line. Misha is even worse for wear, poor girl looks twice as wet as I am and worn out to the point where even rest wouldn't cheer her up. Our brown devil of a leader, on the other hand, radiates joy despite having covered more distance than both of us put together. Was it only a warm-up for her?
"All right kids, pack your belongings!" announcing, she tries way too hard to sound like a qualified speaker. "Nakai, to the comatose wing! Kapur, to the showers, we had enough of your stink yesterday!"
Gross. The only one of us left unfazed by the exercise, Molly leaves with a couple of words on Miki's, uh, call pushiness. Suppressing an urge to reinforce her argument, I just go my way.
"She sounded pissed off," girls talk between them.
"That's because you were rude~."
"How so?"
It's hard to hold myself in check, Miura. It's way too hard to stop my imagination from hitting you with a freight train.
"Maybe~ you call people fat, sweaty or stupid in a way they don't like~."
"Fat? Aww, aren't you full on revenge, bun. Let's check here."
"Oh~, don't pinch!"
"Maybe it's thinner here? Or there?"
"Don't touch it~!"
Misha squeals in such a shrill voice that a weird hot feeling rushes to my face.
"Then I'm allowed here. Hey Nakai, check if that's fat."
"Hyiee~!"
Red as a ripe cherry, I just throw the middle finger as high up above my head as possible instead of turning around. 'No matter how they look, always beware of the trap.' High five, imaginary Kenji.
***
Stepping inside the main building five minutes before the bell, I still reminisce on these words. Someone with more gray noodles inside his cranium would've noticed the building's style, dark bricks overlapped with white limestone plates around the doorways and windows, artsy reliefs and winding drains. Or maybe tried to make a acquaintance in the boiling morning crowd, or even smiled to the fact his heart took the exercise without breaking. I mean, it still beats with a force of a caged gorilla, but the rhythm feels steady. Even the nurse was satisfied enough to actually talk with me about a couple of things. Good news, our group gets to skip the first part of today's PE. Bad news, today's torture will be repeated daily for an indefinite amount of time. In his tables, I'm supposed to run ten kilometers straight eventually. It's a joke, right? I've never done half that much even before the attack. Maybe you should have, is his brilliant logic.
"Dude! Ay, Nakai!"
Stretching my neck, I try to locate the voice in a dense stream of students. The hall's relative darkness compared to the sunflooded outside doesn't help at all. Only when the caller loses his temper and starts ramming through the crowd, I'm able to see him. A raised hand would suffice, really.
"Plug in fast," Daigo starts without greetings, agitated beyond measure. "Remember yesterday, my old man? That's it dude, it's happening. Oh c'mon."
Unable to wait for me untangle my earphones, he throws me one of his own wireless buds.
"Okay, we're late for BBC already, pray the CNN didn't finish yet."
He's flipping through channels on his tablet like through ads.
"What are babbling abo-," the newsman's voice silences my questions.
"Now to the extra market analysis, with your favorite Bob Arnold, woken up at the downtime exclusively for our breaking news. Bob, sorry for your schedule."
"Not a problem, Dave, to be fair, no trader can afford to sleep when such information is revealed. News of the day, or dare I say, of the entire quarter. Antoine Thisdale was found completely in bounds of his rights by the Supreme Court today. For those still unfamiliar with the process, Thisdale voluntarily gave up his right arm for a cybernetic prosthesis, creating another wave of controversy around the human augmentation industry. Therefore, today's verdict sets a precedent in judicial practice. Perceiving that, European Human Rights Court along with fifty-four highest judicial instances around the world released a commentary on elective human augmentation and its relations with fundamental rights, effectively legalizing elective augmentation.
It is still early hours in Japan, but foreshadowing today's market madness, I have dialed two best analysts I know to discuss the possible turn of events."
It feels a little enjoyable, if nothing else. The mix of reluctance, weariness and outright pain in the joints is topped with masochistic satisfaction of some kind. If there's no choice left, you've got to like what's forced on you. So I move, suppressing my unused body's protests by outside distractions. For example, let's guess why Misha came here. Despite her speed exceeding mine by a good half to nobody's surprise and a nice cool wind blowing right in her face, the emotion written on it is one of a kid forced to eat a whole stupid plate of boring porridge. I must be Molly's company that serves as cause, the conviction that friends must never be alone, although by looking at the braided touch addict running in place by the seats such a conclusion can hardly be made. Eyes locked on the ground or rather on her unsteady limbs shaking it with each step taken, head shakes rhythmically in synch with the run and most possibly music playing in her earphones, left hand grips the back of a seat for support, lips move so clearly it's possible to read "One, two, three, four, one, two..." without any training. Pure concentration.
With another lap done, I slow down again. All good this time around. A loud slap behind my back, and Miki's cheerful voice yells:
"Doing great so far, fatty!"
In a second she dashes past me, adding turbulence to the wind. Half a lap becomes a matter of thirty seconds, and she's barely breaking a sweat.
"I'm not even fat," Misha retorts with teary eyes. The words spoken in a hurt tone are clearly intended for my ears, but with her usual volume they reach everyone on the track. Miura even breaks her rhythm and, unable to regain it, changes pace to an unbelievably fast walk, trying to laugh through panting. So that's it for the mystery.
"Why- whoosh. Why still be here?"
Her question leaves Misha with little choice but to grit teeth. Soon the patting sounds rise again behind me, catching up and overtaking me. Well, sorry to disappoint, but this T-shirt must outline the worst of human body, how else to explain the chubbiness under it. Other, ahem, spacious bits a little bit lower, too. Now that it's on the surface, even her cheeks shake on each step's impact.
Whoops, time for another lap. Then another and another one. By the end of the workout I don't even try to think of anything but how to get to the finish line. Misha is even worse for wear, poor girl looks twice as wet as I am and worn out to the point where even rest wouldn't cheer her up. Our brown devil of a leader, on the other hand, radiates joy despite having covered more distance than both of us put together. Was it only a warm-up for her?
"All right kids, pack your belongings!" announcing, she tries way too hard to sound like a qualified speaker. "Nakai, to the comatose wing! Kapur, to the showers, we had enough of your stink yesterday!"
Gross. The only one of us left unfazed by the exercise, Molly leaves with a couple of words on Miki's, uh, call pushiness. Suppressing an urge to reinforce her argument, I just go my way.
"She sounded pissed off," girls talk between them.
"That's because you were rude~."
"How so?"
It's hard to hold myself in check, Miura. It's way too hard to stop my imagination from hitting you with a freight train.
"Maybe~ you call people fat, sweaty or stupid in a way they don't like~."
"Fat? Aww, aren't you full on revenge, bun. Let's check here."
"Oh~, don't pinch!"
"Maybe it's thinner here? Or there?"
"Don't touch it~!"
Misha squeals in such a shrill voice that a weird hot feeling rushes to my face.
"Then I'm allowed here. Hey Nakai, check if that's fat."
"Hyiee~!"
Red as a ripe cherry, I just throw the middle finger as high up above my head as possible instead of turning around. 'No matter how they look, always beware of the trap.' High five, imaginary Kenji.
***
Stepping inside the main building five minutes before the bell, I still reminisce on these words. Someone with more gray noodles inside his cranium would've noticed the building's style, dark bricks overlapped with white limestone plates around the doorways and windows, artsy reliefs and winding drains. Or maybe tried to make a acquaintance in the boiling morning crowd, or even smiled to the fact his heart took the exercise without breaking. I mean, it still beats with a force of a caged gorilla, but the rhythm feels steady. Even the nurse was satisfied enough to actually talk with me about a couple of things. Good news, our group gets to skip the first part of today's PE. Bad news, today's torture will be repeated daily for an indefinite amount of time. In his tables, I'm supposed to run ten kilometers straight eventually. It's a joke, right? I've never done half that much even before the attack. Maybe you should have, is his brilliant logic.
"Dude! Ay, Nakai!"
Stretching my neck, I try to locate the voice in a dense stream of students. The hall's relative darkness compared to the sunflooded outside doesn't help at all. Only when the caller loses his temper and starts ramming through the crowd, I'm able to see him. A raised hand would suffice, really.
"Plug in fast," Daigo starts without greetings, agitated beyond measure. "Remember yesterday, my old man? That's it dude, it's happening. Oh c'mon."
Unable to wait for me untangle my earphones, he throws me one of his own wireless buds.
"Okay, we're late for BBC already, pray the CNN didn't finish yet."
He's flipping through channels on his tablet like through ads.
"What are babbling abo-," the newsman's voice silences my questions.
"Now to the extra market analysis, with your favorite Bob Arnold, woken up at the downtime exclusively for our breaking news. Bob, sorry for your schedule."
"Not a problem, Dave, to be fair, no trader can afford to sleep when such information is revealed. News of the day, or dare I say, of the entire quarter. Antoine Thisdale was found completely in bounds of his rights by the Supreme Court today. For those still unfamiliar with the process, Thisdale voluntarily gave up his right arm for a cybernetic prosthesis, creating another wave of controversy around the human augmentation industry. Therefore, today's verdict sets a precedent in judicial practice. Perceiving that, European Human Rights Court along with fifty-four highest judicial instances around the world released a commentary on elective human augmentation and its relations with fundamental rights, effectively legalizing elective augmentation.
It is still early hours in Japan, but foreshadowing today's market madness, I have dialed two best analysts I know to discuss the possible turn of events."
Last edited by 651 on Tue Jan 07, 2014 2:14 am, edited 7 times in total.
I wrote a Fluttershy x Tails once. It was really good, swer.
Then I wrote some KS fiction, and being not as stellar, it at least exists.
Then I wrote some KS fiction, and being not as stellar, it at least exists.
Re: Kenji's Conspiracy (KS x Deus Ex) [Updated Sep 1st]
Wat . . .
I don't even know what to make of this, except it reminds me of this.
By all means, continue.
I don't even know what to make of this, except it reminds me of this.
By all means, continue.
Come join the Yamaku Book Club! Where stuff happens and we discuss cripple porn
I come from the outside, do you know it?
I come from the outside, do you know it?
Re: Kenji's Conspiracy (KS x Deus Ex) [Updated Sep 1st]
Sea wrote:it reminds me of this
Doesn't sound too good. I'm trying, though.This titanic project didn't even need a metaphorical iceberg, it sunk because of its own impossibility.
I wrote a Fluttershy x Tails once. It was really good, swer.
Then I wrote some KS fiction, and being not as stellar, it at least exists.
Then I wrote some KS fiction, and being not as stellar, it at least exists.
Re: Kenji's Conspiracy (KS x Deus Ex) [Updated Sep 1st]
Too busy reading subtitles, I only steal a glance of the resident trader's face at the last moment before Daigo rips the earbuds out of our ears.
"So what exactly is it?" I ask.
He looks at me with pleading eyes, then understands my brickheadedness and expresses the trader's overall emotion, the same as his own, verbally.
"It's happening."
Time isn't waiting for us, so I'm glad we avoid any discussion in order to get to classes, much more so because by some miracle I finally remember which room dubs are supposed to be in and make it just in time. Misha squints from the bright sun, so her hands raised in anticipation of the teacher's first words look like a futile attempt to cover the eyes.
Rrring! The classes start as well as Miha's signing. I'll be puzzled for a while by the deaf one taking notes for the duo. Might be she has more br- oh no, don't get too Miki in here, boy.
"Hey, you're walking on your own," I finally notice the obvious.
Even with all the displeased looks in the world, Molly's moving by herself. Slow and unsteady as may be, a fact remains a fact, she no longer needs crutches, they became useless luggage.
"No kidding, Sherlock," she responds without looking aside from her bruised hands. Movement is not a necessary requirement for a fall, proved by practice today.
"Seriously, you've improved in just two days."
"I was lazy. Could do it fine," she finally pays some attention, which requires her to stop and lean on a wall. Guess she does speak the truth. "What's the sudden matter. Am I a star?"
"Look around~, major Tom."
What's around, you'd ask Misha. A hall before the cafeteria, checkered tiles and large windows. The real show is, as always, people. We're certainly one of the nicest looking companies around, two deadly tired bodies plus one stumbling Molly with uneven braids and stains of unknown origin on her skirt. Quite naturally, such an awesome trio attracts every excited stare around, as well as some jealous ones. As well as some condemning ones.
"No paparazzi yet. For shame," is her only reaction.
"Cool," I hear two juniors whisper as they pass us.
Taking the weight of popularity with ease, we make haste. See, one thing that remains constant no matter how unique your school is is lunchtime, Darwin's theory ideal proof, meal time of the fittest. Good thing we have Shizune saving a place in line for us again.
It's going to be another ordinary lunch in the bubbling with busywork cafeteria until someone's hands start groping my butt. To be honest, I prefer boredom to molestation.
"What the- Daigo!"
"Nice and firm, yo."
"WAHAHAHAHA~!"
Misha's laughter makes me start as always. She doesn't have much volume control in general, but pray if she's having fun, for it makes the last brakes give way.
"Kuro, Kurosaki better drop any – awaha~ – homosexual deviations if he wants any success with girls~!" She translates with laughter.
"Sorry, sorry, ice queen. I just figured Nakai would like a better place."
"Won't take a damsel with you?" Molly asks in a mocking tone, immediately receiving a prod from Shizune.
"Get some charm going first, ladyboy. Come on, Nakai."
As if forgotten something, rep throws her hands in the air.
"Hicchan~... I can call you Hicchan, right~!" it's doubtful anyone has ever answered no to these raised eyebrows and shining lips caressed with a cute little pinky. "Shicchan~ asks to come to the homeroom after classes."
Daigo does a full stop to sign something, making me follow in Lilly's footsteps.
"What did you tell her?" I ask.
"That you'd come."
"Wasn't it you who went on about 'the harpy'?"
"Aw dude, she spoke seriously. Long as we roll together, you got yourself a safe haven."
He drags me through the crowd to somewhere near the counter. People make displeased noises, but as with Misha's laughter, few take time to voice their justified opinions. Old habits might be excused here.
"So how's the news?" I ask when we take our place and the busy murmur around gains its usual friendly shade.
"Radical. Guess how many benefits this place is reaping right now?" receiving only a shrug, he continues in a muffled voice. "Genetesis has doubled already, so has Sarif, nPro, TYM, Oloffson, hell, everything in the industry."
"And you know about it how?"
"Tablets and wireless, wonders of the century," I make a disapproving face. "Oh dude, don't be a geezer! One History wasted, so what? Okay, some Math too. And a little bit of English."
"So what exactly is it?" I ask.
He looks at me with pleading eyes, then understands my brickheadedness and expresses the trader's overall emotion, the same as his own, verbally.
"It's happening."
Time isn't waiting for us, so I'm glad we avoid any discussion in order to get to classes, much more so because by some miracle I finally remember which room dubs are supposed to be in and make it just in time. Misha squints from the bright sun, so her hands raised in anticipation of the teacher's first words look like a futile attempt to cover the eyes.
Rrring! The classes start as well as Miha's signing. I'll be puzzled for a while by the deaf one taking notes for the duo. Might be she has more br- oh no, don't get too Miki in here, boy.
"Hey, you're walking on your own," I finally notice the obvious.
Even with all the displeased looks in the world, Molly's moving by herself. Slow and unsteady as may be, a fact remains a fact, she no longer needs crutches, they became useless luggage.
"No kidding, Sherlock," she responds without looking aside from her bruised hands. Movement is not a necessary requirement for a fall, proved by practice today.
"Seriously, you've improved in just two days."
"I was lazy. Could do it fine," she finally pays some attention, which requires her to stop and lean on a wall. Guess she does speak the truth. "What's the sudden matter. Am I a star?"
"Look around~, major Tom."
What's around, you'd ask Misha. A hall before the cafeteria, checkered tiles and large windows. The real show is, as always, people. We're certainly one of the nicest looking companies around, two deadly tired bodies plus one stumbling Molly with uneven braids and stains of unknown origin on her skirt. Quite naturally, such an awesome trio attracts every excited stare around, as well as some jealous ones. As well as some condemning ones.
"No paparazzi yet. For shame," is her only reaction.
"Cool," I hear two juniors whisper as they pass us.
Taking the weight of popularity with ease, we make haste. See, one thing that remains constant no matter how unique your school is is lunchtime, Darwin's theory ideal proof, meal time of the fittest. Good thing we have Shizune saving a place in line for us again.
It's going to be another ordinary lunch in the bubbling with busywork cafeteria until someone's hands start groping my butt. To be honest, I prefer boredom to molestation.
"What the- Daigo!"
"Nice and firm, yo."
"WAHAHAHAHA~!"
Misha's laughter makes me start as always. She doesn't have much volume control in general, but pray if she's having fun, for it makes the last brakes give way.
"Kuro, Kurosaki better drop any – awaha~ – homosexual deviations if he wants any success with girls~!" She translates with laughter.
"Sorry, sorry, ice queen. I just figured Nakai would like a better place."
"Won't take a damsel with you?" Molly asks in a mocking tone, immediately receiving a prod from Shizune.
"Get some charm going first, ladyboy. Come on, Nakai."
As if forgotten something, rep throws her hands in the air.
"Hicchan~... I can call you Hicchan, right~!" it's doubtful anyone has ever answered no to these raised eyebrows and shining lips caressed with a cute little pinky. "Shicchan~ asks to come to the homeroom after classes."
Daigo does a full stop to sign something, making me follow in Lilly's footsteps.
"What did you tell her?" I ask.
"That you'd come."
"Wasn't it you who went on about 'the harpy'?"
"Aw dude, she spoke seriously. Long as we roll together, you got yourself a safe haven."
He drags me through the crowd to somewhere near the counter. People make displeased noises, but as with Misha's laughter, few take time to voice their justified opinions. Old habits might be excused here.
"So how's the news?" I ask when we take our place and the busy murmur around gains its usual friendly shade.
"Radical. Guess how many benefits this place is reaping right now?" receiving only a shrug, he continues in a muffled voice. "Genetesis has doubled already, so has Sarif, nPro, TYM, Oloffson, hell, everything in the industry."
"And you know about it how?"
"Tablets and wireless, wonders of the century," I make a disapproving face. "Oh dude, don't be a geezer! One History wasted, so what? Okay, some Math too. And a little bit of English."
Last edited by 651 on Tue Jan 07, 2014 2:12 am, edited 8 times in total.
I wrote a Fluttershy x Tails once. It was really good, swer.
Then I wrote some KS fiction, and being not as stellar, it at least exists.
Then I wrote some KS fiction, and being not as stellar, it at least exists.
Re: Kenji's Conspiracy (KS x Deus Ex) [Updated Oct 25th]
Did a little navigational thing. Also added a nice piece of art by Lucky to Chapter 3.
I wrote a Fluttershy x Tails once. It was really good, swer.
Then I wrote some KS fiction, and being not as stellar, it at least exists.
Then I wrote some KS fiction, and being not as stellar, it at least exists.
Re: Kenji's Conspiracy (KS x Deus Ex) [Updated Oct 25th]
Out of the blue it's our time to pick. You know, moments like these make me doubt if it's so bad to be stuck in here. Food smells nothing short on delicious, and the cafeteria lady doesn't skimp on the portion size. Well, it may be caused by my companion's charm.
A minute's doubt on whether we will find a seat or not dissolves as Daigo sits down. The table's occupied but no one seems to mind him, so I steal the last spot.
"Azh I waz shaying," speaking with a full mouth has a place on his good manners list, then again, the bad one is probably empty, "when everything doubles, the resource sector will be next in the line, then the wave will spread further until the global market is rebalance."
Ineresting as may be, economical repercussions of today's headlines can't top out lunch. Although one thing in the inspiring speech rubs me wrong. This is what his dad warned about, right? So...
"What's the catch?"
"Go guess."
I try. Curtains flop loudly in the wind. Thunderous laughter, I'm almost certain whose, overlaps lunchtime ruckus. Girls at the next table smile as some overconfident badass deliberately makes fun of himself. What's the worst that could happen if all of them got a chance to solve their problems once and for all? Words spoken hundreds of miles away come to mind. Yeah, fireman, I get it.
"It's going to be dangerous outside."
"Vaguely put, yes."
Curse me for even starting this conversation. How is it possible to rise against medicine, to step over human nature, the self-preservation instinct? Maybe people aren't used to thinking after all. Maybe it's easier to pick a side. Sick.
Minutes pass filled with munching sounds before I finally ask.
"You know what I really don't understand in all this?"
Daigo answers only after stuffing his mouth full of soup.
"Shootch."
"Why is Molly the only augmentee here? With all possibilities Genetesis offers and the nature of this place put together, you'd expect-"
While he manages to restrict himself to a chuckle, the same can't be said about one of our table sharers, who spits rise all over the place. Great, now everyone is laughing. What's wrong again? Tell him, tell him, guys ask, even Daigo gives an approving nod.
The guy leans over the table. A stoic, spartan face looks at me. No expression to read whatsoever now, partly because of the pitch black sunglasses. It should be impossible to see anything indoors with these on. Tightly pursed lips, thin chin, blocky cheekbones. Hair touched by a light shade of gray, although he should be of our age. Overall, he gives and impression of a cold mature man until proven otherwise.
"Forgive my interruption," he raises eyebrows and rips his sunglasses off. "My vision is augmented."
The cafeteria explodes with hysterical laughter. Sounds like even the furthest tables got an idea of what's going on.
He's right, though. Deep down in his clear eyes concentric fluorescent rings rotate back in forward. Fascinating show that draws you in, the brown to black darkness of his irises, gravity wells puncturing the synthetic purity of the whites connected by an ugly scar that trails upwards to the scalp.
"What happened?"
"Heheh. The usual with kids and laser scalpels."
Where have a heard this voice before? Harsh and mocking, like my next question is no surprise.
"What do you mean by 'usual'?"
"Kids aren't properly trained in their operation."
The nearby tables make victorious noises once again. What am I not getting here?
"I was lucky to make it through. One degree more power, it would've fried my brain."
"Wow. That's horrible."
"Losing sight isn't. Acceptance is. I'm out, gang."
Quite pleasant to notice him kill an entire plate by the time he's done talking without hindering his speech. Daigo's fidgeting must be caused by it.
"Meet Josuke Chiehara," he says annoyedly as the guy leaves.
"So there are two of the then?"
"No, no," rep appears unusually absent, "others exist too, just not many."
"Why so much interest to Molly then?"
His deep frown says I must be interrupting some kind of serious thought process. His voice is slightly irritated as if he was stating the obvious.
"Not everyone gets fancy rocket legs, dude. Sometimes it's a muscle, or a single nerve, not really visible. There are also juniors who haven't seen a live aug in their life, and it's the first trimester as well."
Something in this phrase hurts me. But wait a second.
"What are you implying?"
"Think of where all who got augmented last year are now."
A minute's doubt on whether we will find a seat or not dissolves as Daigo sits down. The table's occupied but no one seems to mind him, so I steal the last spot.
"Azh I waz shaying," speaking with a full mouth has a place on his good manners list, then again, the bad one is probably empty, "when everything doubles, the resource sector will be next in the line, then the wave will spread further until the global market is rebalance."
Ineresting as may be, economical repercussions of today's headlines can't top out lunch. Although one thing in the inspiring speech rubs me wrong. This is what his dad warned about, right? So...
"What's the catch?"
"Go guess."
I try. Curtains flop loudly in the wind. Thunderous laughter, I'm almost certain whose, overlaps lunchtime ruckus. Girls at the next table smile as some overconfident badass deliberately makes fun of himself. What's the worst that could happen if all of them got a chance to solve their problems once and for all? Words spoken hundreds of miles away come to mind. Yeah, fireman, I get it.
"It's going to be dangerous outside."
"Vaguely put, yes."
Curse me for even starting this conversation. How is it possible to rise against medicine, to step over human nature, the self-preservation instinct? Maybe people aren't used to thinking after all. Maybe it's easier to pick a side. Sick.
Minutes pass filled with munching sounds before I finally ask.
"You know what I really don't understand in all this?"
Daigo answers only after stuffing his mouth full of soup.
"Shootch."
"Why is Molly the only augmentee here? With all possibilities Genetesis offers and the nature of this place put together, you'd expect-"
While he manages to restrict himself to a chuckle, the same can't be said about one of our table sharers, who spits rise all over the place. Great, now everyone is laughing. What's wrong again? Tell him, tell him, guys ask, even Daigo gives an approving nod.
The guy leans over the table. A stoic, spartan face looks at me. No expression to read whatsoever now, partly because of the pitch black sunglasses. It should be impossible to see anything indoors with these on. Tightly pursed lips, thin chin, blocky cheekbones. Hair touched by a light shade of gray, although he should be of our age. Overall, he gives and impression of a cold mature man until proven otherwise.
"Forgive my interruption," he raises eyebrows and rips his sunglasses off. "My vision is augmented."
The cafeteria explodes with hysterical laughter. Sounds like even the furthest tables got an idea of what's going on.
He's right, though. Deep down in his clear eyes concentric fluorescent rings rotate back in forward. Fascinating show that draws you in, the brown to black darkness of his irises, gravity wells puncturing the synthetic purity of the whites connected by an ugly scar that trails upwards to the scalp.
"What happened?"
"Heheh. The usual with kids and laser scalpels."
Where have a heard this voice before? Harsh and mocking, like my next question is no surprise.
"What do you mean by 'usual'?"
"Kids aren't properly trained in their operation."
The nearby tables make victorious noises once again. What am I not getting here?
"I was lucky to make it through. One degree more power, it would've fried my brain."
"Wow. That's horrible."
"Losing sight isn't. Acceptance is. I'm out, gang."
Quite pleasant to notice him kill an entire plate by the time he's done talking without hindering his speech. Daigo's fidgeting must be caused by it.
"Meet Josuke Chiehara," he says annoyedly as the guy leaves.
"So there are two of the then?"
"No, no," rep appears unusually absent, "others exist too, just not many."
"Why so much interest to Molly then?"
His deep frown says I must be interrupting some kind of serious thought process. His voice is slightly irritated as if he was stating the obvious.
"Not everyone gets fancy rocket legs, dude. Sometimes it's a muscle, or a single nerve, not really visible. There are also juniors who haven't seen a live aug in their life, and it's the first trimester as well."
Something in this phrase hurts me. But wait a second.
"What are you implying?"
"Think of where all who got augmented last year are now."
Last edited by 651 on Tue Jan 07, 2014 2:11 am, edited 5 times in total.
I wrote a Fluttershy x Tails once. It was really good, swer.
Then I wrote some KS fiction, and being not as stellar, it at least exists.
Then I wrote some KS fiction, and being not as stellar, it at least exists.
Re: Kenji's Conspiracy (KS x Deus Ex) [Updated Jan 6th]
Split the post as advised by Silentcook. Let's hope the next chapter that's probably going to be here in several days, no promises though, isn't going to break the page.
====
◄ Previous| Index | Next ►
====
Turns out this free part of PE transformed into a major trojan horse. To only think I escaped lunch break earlier in order to have more free time. Free time, what good are you when every senior class is busy? The sign in front of me expresses the sadness of the situation well enough. 'Library', short and simple. Socialization, new life, socialization again, those were my thoughts three days ago. Hey, but do tell what else I'm supposed to do! Molly is nowhere to be seen, Misha ran off to another wing hanging on Shizune's sleeve, and literally everyone else should be having PE. Well, except for Miki, and go try to tell me she's not there anyway. Should've just gone with everyone to have company.
Massive doors look immovable. Genuine wood, mind you, what an archaism. Genuine and hella old. I've got a general idea what color to expect from it, and black to starless night dark blue is nowhere near it. Uneven surface confirms the doors had seen more than one layer of paint torn off them before the last one was laid. I touch it, trace one of the curvy bumps without a clear purpose. The wooden giant shudders and starts opening. Touch sensitive panels, fancy.
Cool air flows into the hall making a welcome difference to a sunflooded greenhouse it's been the whole time. What's up with the smell, though? It's something like dust, just more enjoyable. I step inside.
Majestic, that's the word. From here and to the invisible far wall, it's all stacks and stacks of books. Old-fashioned paper books, that is. What little space is left free from the solid metal racks that go through the ceiling right to the next floor makes for a decent reading-room, in fact just a number of desks with built-in universal docking stations. Separating two uneven parts of the place stand a long counter, genuine wood again, upon which lies a head. A rather cute one, with freckles and nice red hair and marks from glasses. I don't want to wake the librarian up, full of confidence that a place this huge should have more employees working at any given moment. However, the opening in the ceiling above the counter allows to see exactly nothing of the second floor, so I take the staircase.
Upstairs and downstairs appear to be identical copies except for the counter. Same racks, same desks, even the same narrow gothic windows. It's dead here as well. Oh wait. A pair of cautious eyes watches me over the laptop screen. Huh. That's news to me, the things had long lost the mobile device No. 1 title.
"Hey," I call trying not to sound too loud, a hard task given the absolute silence disturbed only by the air conditioning. "Er, hi. Any ideas on where to find the librarian?"
The eyes rise up without a blink. Oh, now I see. The black laptop cover and dark hair made the person pretty invisible in the upper floor's twilight. Heading towards me, the person answers.
"S-She sleeps down t-there..."
A faint voice, suited for this library. As she gets closer to me, her gaze jerks to the floor to escape mine.
"Uh, I saw, thanks. Isn't there anyone-"
"EXCUSEMESORRY!" the sudden sound blast coming out of her mouth stuns me.
The girl rushes past me, making the desks shake by the rattle of her boots as she goes downstairs.
"Hey!" I instinctively chase her to no success, because she already ran out of the doors.
Then my brain finally starts working. What little I've managed to catch of her image, long dark hair, boots, stockings (must be hot as hell in those) and overly shy character tell me we've met already. Actually, more than once, she's even my classmate, but that doesn't help me remember her name. We haven't talked at all, nor have I seen her with anyone. Always alone in the far row.
"Goodmorning, welcome tothe library!" someone says hastily.
Yep, I completely forgot about the librarian. Yuuko, right? Sleepy beyond measure, with a high-tech ornament of the keyboard imprinted on her cheek, she quickly wipes her mouth and enthusiastically tries to put the glasses on.
"Uwaah!"
What she really achieves is drive one of the glasses' arms right to her eyeball. Done in a hurry, it must hurt a lot. I take a step forward to take the glasses out of her hand, because she's holding them tighter than Fort Knox does the fake ingots and getting yourself in order is much easier with both hands free.
"You okay?"
"Sorry, sorry! I'll work," she sounds upset and self-disappointed. The killer glasses transfer back to their rightful owner, who puts them on with proper care and fright this time.
"Yuuko? Believe or not, I might know you in some sense."
Calling first names within the first minute, using proper techniques to ease the atmosphere, Nakai, have you ever been suaver?
"You work as a waitress, right?"
At first she shrinks down, then a blush covers her face.
"Um... well, yes. But it doesn't affect my efficiency!"
"Easy, easy. See, the world is tinier than expected. I'll drop by soon, you looked too lonely yesterday."
Geez, she overreacts over everything. Now she's flapping hands in embarrassment, trying to convince me it's not necessary. Of course it isn't, we're just talking. So I cut to the chase.
"All right, all right, I'll trade you some sleep for a book."
"Oh, sorry! I forgot, what did you need?"
"Gibson's 'Neuromancer', please," the foreign word tastes slimy and cold.
"Right, plug in at any dock, and, ready. Our library operates with monthly licenses, so don't forget to re-check it before heading out for a long time."
"Fine with me. Don't be too hard on yourself!" I wave goodbyes.
"Um, Nakai?" she double checks her screen to be sure. "Don't scare Hanako off like that, plesase."
====
◄ Previous| Index | Next ►
====
Turns out this free part of PE transformed into a major trojan horse. To only think I escaped lunch break earlier in order to have more free time. Free time, what good are you when every senior class is busy? The sign in front of me expresses the sadness of the situation well enough. 'Library', short and simple. Socialization, new life, socialization again, those were my thoughts three days ago. Hey, but do tell what else I'm supposed to do! Molly is nowhere to be seen, Misha ran off to another wing hanging on Shizune's sleeve, and literally everyone else should be having PE. Well, except for Miki, and go try to tell me she's not there anyway. Should've just gone with everyone to have company.
Massive doors look immovable. Genuine wood, mind you, what an archaism. Genuine and hella old. I've got a general idea what color to expect from it, and black to starless night dark blue is nowhere near it. Uneven surface confirms the doors had seen more than one layer of paint torn off them before the last one was laid. I touch it, trace one of the curvy bumps without a clear purpose. The wooden giant shudders and starts opening. Touch sensitive panels, fancy.
Cool air flows into the hall making a welcome difference to a sunflooded greenhouse it's been the whole time. What's up with the smell, though? It's something like dust, just more enjoyable. I step inside.
Majestic, that's the word. From here and to the invisible far wall, it's all stacks and stacks of books. Old-fashioned paper books, that is. What little space is left free from the solid metal racks that go through the ceiling right to the next floor makes for a decent reading-room, in fact just a number of desks with built-in universal docking stations. Separating two uneven parts of the place stand a long counter, genuine wood again, upon which lies a head. A rather cute one, with freckles and nice red hair and marks from glasses. I don't want to wake the librarian up, full of confidence that a place this huge should have more employees working at any given moment. However, the opening in the ceiling above the counter allows to see exactly nothing of the second floor, so I take the staircase.
Upstairs and downstairs appear to be identical copies except for the counter. Same racks, same desks, even the same narrow gothic windows. It's dead here as well. Oh wait. A pair of cautious eyes watches me over the laptop screen. Huh. That's news to me, the things had long lost the mobile device No. 1 title.
"Hey," I call trying not to sound too loud, a hard task given the absolute silence disturbed only by the air conditioning. "Er, hi. Any ideas on where to find the librarian?"
The eyes rise up without a blink. Oh, now I see. The black laptop cover and dark hair made the person pretty invisible in the upper floor's twilight. Heading towards me, the person answers.
"S-She sleeps down t-there..."
A faint voice, suited for this library. As she gets closer to me, her gaze jerks to the floor to escape mine.
"Uh, I saw, thanks. Isn't there anyone-"
"EXCUSEMESORRY!" the sudden sound blast coming out of her mouth stuns me.
The girl rushes past me, making the desks shake by the rattle of her boots as she goes downstairs.
"Hey!" I instinctively chase her to no success, because she already ran out of the doors.
Then my brain finally starts working. What little I've managed to catch of her image, long dark hair, boots, stockings (must be hot as hell in those) and overly shy character tell me we've met already. Actually, more than once, she's even my classmate, but that doesn't help me remember her name. We haven't talked at all, nor have I seen her with anyone. Always alone in the far row.
"Goodmorning, welcome tothe library!" someone says hastily.
Yep, I completely forgot about the librarian. Yuuko, right? Sleepy beyond measure, with a high-tech ornament of the keyboard imprinted on her cheek, she quickly wipes her mouth and enthusiastically tries to put the glasses on.
"Uwaah!"
What she really achieves is drive one of the glasses' arms right to her eyeball. Done in a hurry, it must hurt a lot. I take a step forward to take the glasses out of her hand, because she's holding them tighter than Fort Knox does the fake ingots and getting yourself in order is much easier with both hands free.
"You okay?"
"Sorry, sorry! I'll work," she sounds upset and self-disappointed. The killer glasses transfer back to their rightful owner, who puts them on with proper care and fright this time.
"Yuuko? Believe or not, I might know you in some sense."
Calling first names within the first minute, using proper techniques to ease the atmosphere, Nakai, have you ever been suaver?
"You work as a waitress, right?"
At first she shrinks down, then a blush covers her face.
"Um... well, yes. But it doesn't affect my efficiency!"
"Easy, easy. See, the world is tinier than expected. I'll drop by soon, you looked too lonely yesterday."
Geez, she overreacts over everything. Now she's flapping hands in embarrassment, trying to convince me it's not necessary. Of course it isn't, we're just talking. So I cut to the chase.
"All right, all right, I'll trade you some sleep for a book."
"Oh, sorry! I forgot, what did you need?"
"Gibson's 'Neuromancer', please," the foreign word tastes slimy and cold.
"Right, plug in at any dock, and, ready. Our library operates with monthly licenses, so don't forget to re-check it before heading out for a long time."
"Fine with me. Don't be too hard on yourself!" I wave goodbyes.
"Um, Nakai?" she double checks her screen to be sure. "Don't scare Hanako off like that, plesase."
Last edited by 651 on Tue Jan 07, 2014 2:16 am, edited 5 times in total.
I wrote a Fluttershy x Tails once. It was really good, swer.
Then I wrote some KS fiction, and being not as stellar, it at least exists.
Then I wrote some KS fiction, and being not as stellar, it at least exists.
Re: Kenji's Conspiracy (KS x Deus Ex) [Updated Jan 6th]
***
It's all right. I might be bad at talking, but at least there's now a cafe to visit when life gets boring, if that kind of thing ever happens here. A nice book to read can't hurt as well, especially after inevitable social fiascos. Always helps to get your mind off things and wander to the philosophical plane for a while.
Can't remember who exactly recommended me to read Gibson. It sure happened on the Net, my friends, uh, ex-friends, go with trendy books critics adore, the ones on "hallucinogenic reality perception", "nonlinear personality destruction" and the like. Cyberpunk though? Hadn't heard of it until recently. What looked like a niche within science fiction started growing on me as I dropped in the sea of definitions, references and comparisons. Turned out it was not as much about technology as about the human nature. Being power hungry, in other words. Hungry for power over others, our own kids, history, nature, whatever. Give them nanomachines, they'll make artificial bioweaponry. Give them knowledge on their brain, receive forced emulated realities. They will exploit and corrupt the finest of your inventions, pandering to their own desires, namely money and pleasure. Hell, they even used the Net to its worst. Last time I checked, Confucius compilation in eight books cost $300 with all the discounts, while to see a dad violently spank his naked six year old daughter in his garage then passionately caressing her bruises, you had to just visit a certain pseudo domain. Technological superiority in contrast with moral degeneracy, they say. Perfect machines that serve corrupt humans, they say. What was written as fiction forty years ago sure sounds too real nowadays.
I cough and spit. The ball of saliva treacherously slows down mid-air and falls on the ground right before the first blade of grass. Damn it. Nothing apocalyptic, of course, but the wet stain looks disgusting. Anyway, this half an hour's supposed to be killed with literature, not bitterness, and what's a better place to do it than somewhere without people but with just enough shadow to shield off the direct sunlight. Plus, the back exit to the hospital territory is kind of atmospheric for such a reading, with all its ever watching cameras and high-tech fences. You might say there's also a bit of unsatisfied curiosity, a feeling of unfinished business mixed with it.
"I KNEW you'd come!"
Oh no, not that kind of business. Not now, please, I beg in my head as a green waterfall drops down from the closest tree , followed by a chaotic stream of red and yellow forming a shapeless heap on top of it. Seriously, I can't get how it can be remotely possible to withstand summer wearing a jacket and a scarf over the uniform. Roll up the curtain, the savior of the human race has arrived, complete with dirty messy hair, huge negative number glasses and the one and only in the world boring to death nasal voice!
What a retarded circus.
"Wow man, did you notice how beautiful the outside is? Imagine it all rightfully ours after we win."
Ladies and gentlemen, Kenji Setou, my hallmate, the ultimate threat to the worldwide feminist movement. Also crazy. A little bit.
"Listen, today I've probably been outside more than you in the whole week, I'd know."
"And there is where you get wrong. It is the other way around," only a little. "My visual chastity allows me to perceive the world as it is, while your blurred vision is faulty. Tell me, do you see beauty as astonishing as I do? Can you comprehend what we lost to... to them, or is it all just too normal, too ordinary?"
Okay, maybe more than a little.
"Look, Kenji-"
"I know, I know. No time to mess around, everyone has their business to attend. All good, man, it's all the same for me too. I know you came for proof."
He grins and gestures invitingly. Maybe in his language it means "follow me". As he does, he bumps right into a low branch with all force possible. Quite unsurprisingly, his legal blindness considered. To be fair, it would be more appropriate for me to walk first, but Kenji fortunately is incapable of such complicated logical constructs, so I let him suffer all the way for my ruined fun.
As we plunge deeper into the shadows, he starts ranting about how the certain all-female terrorist groups have occupied the society and plan on destroying the male population to create a heaven on earth, as they see it. Trying to escape from his gibberish, I power up my tablet and open the file.
'The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel.'
Just like this rant and my head right now. No way out.
"Right here, man. See those cams?"
We're at the back gate. Of course I see them as clear as the last time. I'm more curious of how you manage it.
"Four units overlooking the entrance. A security measure, as far as I'm concerned. What are you getting at?"
"If those are security, then why have this one?"
With a grand illusionist's pass he picks something long and thin off a tree trunk. You'd think it's some kind of cord, but in fact...
"Take it, just don't let the sharp end out of your hands."
In fact, it has a microscopic glass eye on it. It's a camera! But hey, no way Kenji found something that small and bark colored on his own. This has to be a fake.
"I'm lost. Care to explain your implications?"
"Obviously, they are watching you, man. They are watching every one of us. If not for a great man, I would still dwell in the shadows."
Well, this is serious. He's constructing personalities now.
"Who is he?"
"Never seen him, goes as Phoenix online. Untraceable, I tried."
Finally recalling something from his yesterday rant, I put it to good use.
"So how do you know it's a man, not a feminist from another clan doing the dirty work with your hands?"
"He helps me, of course he's a male. They won't help any of us fight one of their own. They aren't stupid, oh no they are not. You're right though, doubt me. Doubt everything you see. Maybe there is no Phoenix at all, maybe I'm not even fighting feminism and it's just another layer of cover."
"Kenji, I don't have ti-"
"Right, right. Places to be, same here."
He takes back the covert camera, makes one more pass over the trunk and quickly walks away, patting my shoulder as he does. On the way he doesn't miss the opportunity to butt into the same branch again.
What about me? I spend several minutes searching for the tiny dull eye after ensuring he's out of sight, to no success. Of course it was a trick. I feel dumb as a bag of hammers.
It's all right. I might be bad at talking, but at least there's now a cafe to visit when life gets boring, if that kind of thing ever happens here. A nice book to read can't hurt as well, especially after inevitable social fiascos. Always helps to get your mind off things and wander to the philosophical plane for a while.
Can't remember who exactly recommended me to read Gibson. It sure happened on the Net, my friends, uh, ex-friends, go with trendy books critics adore, the ones on "hallucinogenic reality perception", "nonlinear personality destruction" and the like. Cyberpunk though? Hadn't heard of it until recently. What looked like a niche within science fiction started growing on me as I dropped in the sea of definitions, references and comparisons. Turned out it was not as much about technology as about the human nature. Being power hungry, in other words. Hungry for power over others, our own kids, history, nature, whatever. Give them nanomachines, they'll make artificial bioweaponry. Give them knowledge on their brain, receive forced emulated realities. They will exploit and corrupt the finest of your inventions, pandering to their own desires, namely money and pleasure. Hell, they even used the Net to its worst. Last time I checked, Confucius compilation in eight books cost $300 with all the discounts, while to see a dad violently spank his naked six year old daughter in his garage then passionately caressing her bruises, you had to just visit a certain pseudo domain. Technological superiority in contrast with moral degeneracy, they say. Perfect machines that serve corrupt humans, they say. What was written as fiction forty years ago sure sounds too real nowadays.
I cough and spit. The ball of saliva treacherously slows down mid-air and falls on the ground right before the first blade of grass. Damn it. Nothing apocalyptic, of course, but the wet stain looks disgusting. Anyway, this half an hour's supposed to be killed with literature, not bitterness, and what's a better place to do it than somewhere without people but with just enough shadow to shield off the direct sunlight. Plus, the back exit to the hospital territory is kind of atmospheric for such a reading, with all its ever watching cameras and high-tech fences. You might say there's also a bit of unsatisfied curiosity, a feeling of unfinished business mixed with it.
"I KNEW you'd come!"
Oh no, not that kind of business. Not now, please, I beg in my head as a green waterfall drops down from the closest tree , followed by a chaotic stream of red and yellow forming a shapeless heap on top of it. Seriously, I can't get how it can be remotely possible to withstand summer wearing a jacket and a scarf over the uniform. Roll up the curtain, the savior of the human race has arrived, complete with dirty messy hair, huge negative number glasses and the one and only in the world boring to death nasal voice!
What a retarded circus.
"Wow man, did you notice how beautiful the outside is? Imagine it all rightfully ours after we win."
Ladies and gentlemen, Kenji Setou, my hallmate, the ultimate threat to the worldwide feminist movement. Also crazy. A little bit.
"Listen, today I've probably been outside more than you in the whole week, I'd know."
"And there is where you get wrong. It is the other way around," only a little. "My visual chastity allows me to perceive the world as it is, while your blurred vision is faulty. Tell me, do you see beauty as astonishing as I do? Can you comprehend what we lost to... to them, or is it all just too normal, too ordinary?"
Okay, maybe more than a little.
"Look, Kenji-"
"I know, I know. No time to mess around, everyone has their business to attend. All good, man, it's all the same for me too. I know you came for proof."
He grins and gestures invitingly. Maybe in his language it means "follow me". As he does, he bumps right into a low branch with all force possible. Quite unsurprisingly, his legal blindness considered. To be fair, it would be more appropriate for me to walk first, but Kenji fortunately is incapable of such complicated logical constructs, so I let him suffer all the way for my ruined fun.
As we plunge deeper into the shadows, he starts ranting about how the certain all-female terrorist groups have occupied the society and plan on destroying the male population to create a heaven on earth, as they see it. Trying to escape from his gibberish, I power up my tablet and open the file.
'The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel.'
Just like this rant and my head right now. No way out.
"Right here, man. See those cams?"
We're at the back gate. Of course I see them as clear as the last time. I'm more curious of how you manage it.
"Four units overlooking the entrance. A security measure, as far as I'm concerned. What are you getting at?"
"If those are security, then why have this one?"
With a grand illusionist's pass he picks something long and thin off a tree trunk. You'd think it's some kind of cord, but in fact...
"Take it, just don't let the sharp end out of your hands."
In fact, it has a microscopic glass eye on it. It's a camera! But hey, no way Kenji found something that small and bark colored on his own. This has to be a fake.
"I'm lost. Care to explain your implications?"
"Obviously, they are watching you, man. They are watching every one of us. If not for a great man, I would still dwell in the shadows."
Well, this is serious. He's constructing personalities now.
"Who is he?"
"Never seen him, goes as Phoenix online. Untraceable, I tried."
Finally recalling something from his yesterday rant, I put it to good use.
"So how do you know it's a man, not a feminist from another clan doing the dirty work with your hands?"
"He helps me, of course he's a male. They won't help any of us fight one of their own. They aren't stupid, oh no they are not. You're right though, doubt me. Doubt everything you see. Maybe there is no Phoenix at all, maybe I'm not even fighting feminism and it's just another layer of cover."
"Kenji, I don't have ti-"
"Right, right. Places to be, same here."
He takes back the covert camera, makes one more pass over the trunk and quickly walks away, patting my shoulder as he does. On the way he doesn't miss the opportunity to butt into the same branch again.
What about me? I spend several minutes searching for the tiny dull eye after ensuring he's out of sight, to no success. Of course it was a trick. I feel dumb as a bag of hammers.
Last edited by 651 on Tue Jan 07, 2014 2:09 am, edited 3 times in total.
I wrote a Fluttershy x Tails once. It was really good, swer.
Then I wrote some KS fiction, and being not as stellar, it at least exists.
Then I wrote some KS fiction, and being not as stellar, it at least exists.
Re: Kenji's Conspiracy (KS x Deus Ex) [Updated Jan 6th]
***
Hands, up!
With a thrust, they fly up not higher than my chin, then lose power. Sign of a day well spent, day well spent, oh what the hell, of course it have been eight hours of horror topped with another workout, no less. Justice restored, now instead of just my legs my everything hurts.
Let's give it a second try. Aaand, up!
The door in front of me swings wide open, kind of like my jaw. Kind of like Misha's jaw as well, because she obviously didn't expect anybody else to still remain on the top floor of the main building, of all places on the campus. That is, if we forget how she herself invited me here. Or was it Shizune? Boy, it's getting complicated.
Her hands continue flopping her unbuttoned blouse on full auto to give brain enough time to properly assess the situation. It almost looks like the pink dye has somehow melted and is slowly flowing down on her sweaty face, although to be fair, I probably look not much more comfortable. Look in her eyes, Nakai, you can do this. Well, can or can't, with my eyes pointed where they are I notice she's not even really fat. Plump, chubby maybe, but not to a repelling degree. And would you kindly take a look at those... I-It's all supernatural peripheral vision, swear!
Then she finally finds a solution: close her mouth to prevent the lollipop from falling out, button the blouse up and pretend nothing happened.
"Waha~. Hicchan~, what are you doing?"
'Uh, something wrong?' I almost ask before realizing I'm still a real world impersonation of Christ the Redeemer. The same moment my arms understand they should have been long done by now and hang down as thick noodles.
"Uh, heavy lifting of course."
"WAHAHAHAHA~," her laughter no longer sounds as apology, rather as a hysteric stream of sounds washing away the shameful memory of what happened ten seconds ago. "You're funny, Hicchan~. Come in, don't make Shicchan wait."
Still bright pink, she heads to the girls' place.
The homeroom smells of nostalgia. Empty desks and upside-down chairs touched by the sun's gentle wrath. Just like old times, take a seat and do the homework. Only this time no one's going to barge in to call me outside for quick game. This time, I won't leave for home with regret. Hmm. I'm dangerously close to another swim in the melancholy pool, that's for sure.
A fresh detail is Shizune struggling to hang a plastic poster twice her size on the whiteboard. Not sure why do such pointless things to begin with, but whatever the reason, a helping hand would hurt.
"Need some assistance?"
Silence.
Oh right, sometimes it'd be useful to remember she's more than just shortsighted. So I move up to bow over Shizune and hold the thing, which isn't met with much appreciation. She angrily slams magnets over the piece, then her shoulders droop. Maybe astrologists are right, on certain days everything you do goes off the rails. This time I made no obvious mistakes, though.
Shizune starts signing, but midway through discovers Misha's still out. While she slams hands flat into a desk in irritation, calmly get my tablet out. The snap of her fingers, sharp to a degree where she might have legitimately broken one, is her way of saying "problem solved". She seems to be fond of abrupt movements and thunderous sounds, Who of the duo rubs off on whom, I wonder.
Scribble-scribble, goes the stylus in her hands.
[It wasn't needed.]
[You're done with it now,] really, what a way to thank people. I can understand Miura's first impression.
[You're done with it. We are. Insignificant. Do you know of the Thon?]
Of course Ido.
[Social Marathon, a year-long chain of challenges and competitions. Prizes for the winners. Starts at the festival this weekend, I heard, ends somewhere around the graduation.]
[Correct. Already guessed why you are here?]
[Had a bad feeling all day. You need help with it, right?]
[Not need, demand. You're helping with the festival as well.]
[Like hell I do.]
Good thing Kurosaki took his time to explain it's Student Council's duty. However, the words only make her laugh silently.
[It's a game of chess with you. Want your petty little dare exposed to the principal? Check.]
O-oh. I'm fried. Fried fried fried. Daigo, you idiotic loud-mouthed proudling.
I shake my head, turning pale rapidly.
[Good boy.]
She goes as far as pat my head. Christ, what a harpy.
[Don't worry, I have a personal interest in you winning.]
Before I even realize what she's written in much smaller letters than before, the door bursts open and Misha with Mutou bring Molly in.
"Let's get started, HQ~!"
"Cover the basics fast, if you please," our teacher asks impatiently, clearing his left ear that had the bad luck of being closer to Misha.
Then it's suddenly Saturday.
Hands, up!
With a thrust, they fly up not higher than my chin, then lose power. Sign of a day well spent, day well spent, oh what the hell, of course it have been eight hours of horror topped with another workout, no less. Justice restored, now instead of just my legs my everything hurts.
Let's give it a second try. Aaand, up!
The door in front of me swings wide open, kind of like my jaw. Kind of like Misha's jaw as well, because she obviously didn't expect anybody else to still remain on the top floor of the main building, of all places on the campus. That is, if we forget how she herself invited me here. Or was it Shizune? Boy, it's getting complicated.
Her hands continue flopping her unbuttoned blouse on full auto to give brain enough time to properly assess the situation. It almost looks like the pink dye has somehow melted and is slowly flowing down on her sweaty face, although to be fair, I probably look not much more comfortable. Look in her eyes, Nakai, you can do this. Well, can or can't, with my eyes pointed where they are I notice she's not even really fat. Plump, chubby maybe, but not to a repelling degree. And would you kindly take a look at those... I-It's all supernatural peripheral vision, swear!
Then she finally finds a solution: close her mouth to prevent the lollipop from falling out, button the blouse up and pretend nothing happened.
"Waha~. Hicchan~, what are you doing?"
'Uh, something wrong?' I almost ask before realizing I'm still a real world impersonation of Christ the Redeemer. The same moment my arms understand they should have been long done by now and hang down as thick noodles.
"Uh, heavy lifting of course."
"WAHAHAHAHA~," her laughter no longer sounds as apology, rather as a hysteric stream of sounds washing away the shameful memory of what happened ten seconds ago. "You're funny, Hicchan~. Come in, don't make Shicchan wait."
Still bright pink, she heads to the girls' place.
The homeroom smells of nostalgia. Empty desks and upside-down chairs touched by the sun's gentle wrath. Just like old times, take a seat and do the homework. Only this time no one's going to barge in to call me outside for quick game. This time, I won't leave for home with regret. Hmm. I'm dangerously close to another swim in the melancholy pool, that's for sure.
A fresh detail is Shizune struggling to hang a plastic poster twice her size on the whiteboard. Not sure why do such pointless things to begin with, but whatever the reason, a helping hand would hurt.
"Need some assistance?"
Silence.
Oh right, sometimes it'd be useful to remember she's more than just shortsighted. So I move up to bow over Shizune and hold the thing, which isn't met with much appreciation. She angrily slams magnets over the piece, then her shoulders droop. Maybe astrologists are right, on certain days everything you do goes off the rails. This time I made no obvious mistakes, though.
Shizune starts signing, but midway through discovers Misha's still out. While she slams hands flat into a desk in irritation, calmly get my tablet out. The snap of her fingers, sharp to a degree where she might have legitimately broken one, is her way of saying "problem solved". She seems to be fond of abrupt movements and thunderous sounds, Who of the duo rubs off on whom, I wonder.
Scribble-scribble, goes the stylus in her hands.
[It wasn't needed.]
[You're done with it now,] really, what a way to thank people. I can understand Miura's first impression.
[You're done with it. We are. Insignificant. Do you know of the Thon?]
Of course Ido.
[Social Marathon, a year-long chain of challenges and competitions. Prizes for the winners. Starts at the festival this weekend, I heard, ends somewhere around the graduation.]
[Correct. Already guessed why you are here?]
[Had a bad feeling all day. You need help with it, right?]
[Not need, demand. You're helping with the festival as well.]
[Like hell I do.]
Good thing Kurosaki took his time to explain it's Student Council's duty. However, the words only make her laugh silently.
[It's a game of chess with you. Want your petty little dare exposed to the principal? Check.]
O-oh. I'm fried. Fried fried fried. Daigo, you idiotic loud-mouthed proudling.
I shake my head, turning pale rapidly.
[Good boy.]
She goes as far as pat my head. Christ, what a harpy.
[Don't worry, I have a personal interest in you winning.]
Before I even realize what she's written in much smaller letters than before, the door bursts open and Misha with Mutou bring Molly in.
"Let's get started, HQ~!"
"Cover the basics fast, if you please," our teacher asks impatiently, clearing his left ear that had the bad luck of being closer to Misha.
Then it's suddenly Saturday.
Last edited by 651 on Tue Jan 07, 2014 2:08 am, edited 3 times in total.
I wrote a Fluttershy x Tails once. It was really good, swer.
Then I wrote some KS fiction, and being not as stellar, it at least exists.
Then I wrote some KS fiction, and being not as stellar, it at least exists.
Re: Kenji's Conspiracy (KS x Deus Ex) [Updated Jan 6th]
So, eleven days? Yeeeeeeeaaaaaaaah.
Tried to add some flow to the narration, get rid of chopped sentences. Second to last scene was meant to be severely edited to sound less forced, by the way, but I'm a lazy asshole.
All right, not as much lazy as there's a load of stuff to do in the upcoming week so I'm better off posting this right now.
Of course, no work done on speech characteristics yet.
====
◄ Previous| Index | Next ►
====
Chapter 4. Lovebirds.
The last two days flew past in a haze of paperwork followed by phone calls followed by visits to the principal's, accountant's or whoever's office that not only resulted in more paperwork. I hadn't been convinced if we were even capable of pulling the festival off until Thursday's late evening when, left alone to clean the Student Council room up, I noticed a carefully folded sheet of paper among other trash in the can. It looked like a timetable of sorts with a lot of information packed in it with compact writing. Imagine my amazement when on closer inspection it turned out to be a plan of that day's workflow, specked with laconic notes on the slightest deviations. All of our activities, down to the most sudden need for additional changes with imminent need for approval afterwards, had been foreseen and pre-calculated, even evaluated "satisfactory" post factum with no regards to us finishing the day's load ahead of the schedule.
Then there was that one discussion with the principal. We desperately needed to change the fireworks type due to new restrictions on the powder composition fifty hours prior to the delivery deadline. To speak the truth, back in the council room the fireworks had seemed questionable for this festival, but ten minutes later, looking at Shizune, a whole head shorter and no wonder if thrice younger than the man, calmly sign away and receive answers more suitable for a business partner than a superior, I believed that if someone of my age can make the bureaucratic machine grind its gears faster, it's her. Mish spoiled the serious mood with her stupid coquettish speech, though.
Speaking of business, the amount of funding the council receives is ridiculous, on par with the responsibility. Of course we're all eighteen with every right to sign contracts when requested, but what the Academy expects from us is to organize the festival, top to bottom, and if only that. Next weekend's live concert, the Marathon's first event, starring every class's musicians, lies on our shoulders as well, in fact, half the work we do now are preparations for it. You don't want to start guessing how hard the last week was on the loud duo without me and Molly around. If Daigo is to be believed, they chose this burden themselves, however, I have a hard time imagining something like that.
Good news on top of it? We're done with the documentation for now, meaning the weekend is relatively free. Of course the harpy's going to oversee the stalls' assembly, and I'm sure as hell not interfering, it was enough to learn that some years ago the council had that responsibility as well. Then again, they didn't have many others, and surely couldn't hire anyone to do it. Bad news? I've acquired a habit of calling the council "us" instead of "them", also there are two other problems hanging like Damoclean swords in the air. A change is as good as a rest, right?
At least I'm free until the class starts. Well, I would've been if not for Miura keeping me at the track after everyone else had left, which is outrageous because exercises are one thing, dragging people into your fanatic pre-competition training routine is completely another. Guess we're lucky it's not raining like yesterday. Don't misunderstand, we'd still have to run regardless.
I watch Miki finish her distance, with pleasure as always. Out of us four, she's the one to make our workout look enjoyable, since the others are still struggling to overcome their comatose weakness. That said, we're making progress: Misha stopped suffocating and Molly made it to the track on her own today, even if lurching. It's easy to do good in contrast to us, but Miki manages to impress and puzzle at the same time. Impress by her ever energetic legs and the grace, the majesty with which she flies around the track, puzzle by her appearance. Seriously, why try to look pretty at all during a sweaty exercise? Furthermore, why be stubborn enough to do it even though it's pouring outside? And it feels like the amount of makeup defines her attitude, too, for things have been gradually warming up between us. Wonder where that comes from.
"How was it?" she asks through ragged breath, coming up to the tree I use as potential umbrella.
"Lovely, what do you expect to hear? The team should be jealous."
"Hah, I'm not on the pedestal yet," she giggles contagiously, "but it was about you. How do you feel?"
Simple words bring up a difficult question. Maybe my lungs don't hurt much anymore, or it's the mind that had adapted to the routine, either way, the track ceased to be a death trap even under the pouring rain. That said, the last time wasn't enjoyable at all, so given the unimpressive dark gray blanket above, this talk better be quick.
"So?"
"No idea, honestly. Could be worse."
Contrary to the expectations, Miki rubs her hands together.
"Why so excited?"
"Starting Monday, we are intensifying the practice!"
"You've got to be kidding, more?"
With a satisfied sigh she slides down to the ground by my side.
"Nope, dead serious. If you feel nothing, take more."
"All right," I start dusting myself off, "later then."
Miki doesn't look pleased with the outcome, however. Laying her elbow on my shoulder, she prevents my escape.
"Running away already, sweetheart? You were supposed to get mad or something."
"Mad? Best believe I'm mad. Mad and totally out of time for today, Miura. Business calls."
"You have 'business' now?" her laughter hurts like hot needles.
"Not really, just finalizing papers for the fest, searching for a couple of musicians and-"
"So she really got her claws on you!"
"Listen, Shizune knows her job, the expectations set for us are within our reach. Don't overdo it."
She just snorts with a despising grimace.
"So what's her plan for me?"
"Uh, third place at the track meet, as I recall, not higher in any case."
An entertaining show it is to watch someone's face slowly fade to blank, feeling your own guts curl to a form of a tight ball in fear.
"Did she ask you to tell me?"
"No, I-"
"Matters not, I'll show her the damned third place!"
Like a compressed coil she springs up, ready to spit hateful words, but barely has success standing.
"Sit down, will you?" I worriedly pull her down by the shirt. "What's going on?"
She's in a horrible state for a ready-steady athlete we have been seeing in her, it's hard to even check her pulse. Now that it's said, the bandage might be a part of the problem. Reaching out for her right arm, I'm too focused on ways to evade her chest thrown back and forward in voluminous breaths to notice a sparkle of mischief in the semi-closed eyes. In a moment my hand is locked between hers and something else, soft and hot, beating against my skin like a balloon hammer connected to a jackhammer compressor. Miki's voice flows on waves of hot moist air her suffocating body pushes out.
"Overestimated a bit. Nothing serious," the first short bursts of rain scrambles her words.
We should get back to the dorms, I should probably say something about it because she looks plugged out, staring at my face with a lost but pleasured expression like one of a cat that smelled a faint scent of catnip, like a stoner at a drug store, and thank nature the leaves are protecting us from the rain for now, until it gets denser so the cold drops will finally reach us to make contrast with her burning neck, a hot drum that does over 120 beats per minute, no need for a tonometer to figure it out; in all honesty, mine is probably behaving the same way to nobody's surprise because an unseen force brings our faces closer and closer, weakens my muscles, strengthens her grip until the swish of her breath is distinct from the rain's murmur and she looks at me and her lips slowly open and the rain intensifies and my mind goes blank and it's all like in a dream and-
Thump.
Tried to add some flow to the narration, get rid of chopped sentences. Second to last scene was meant to be severely edited to sound less forced, by the way, but I'm a lazy asshole.
All right, not as much lazy as there's a load of stuff to do in the upcoming week so I'm better off posting this right now.
Of course, no work done on speech characteristics yet.
====
◄ Previous| Index | Next ►
====
Chapter 4. Lovebirds.
The last two days flew past in a haze of paperwork followed by phone calls followed by visits to the principal's, accountant's or whoever's office that not only resulted in more paperwork. I hadn't been convinced if we were even capable of pulling the festival off until Thursday's late evening when, left alone to clean the Student Council room up, I noticed a carefully folded sheet of paper among other trash in the can. It looked like a timetable of sorts with a lot of information packed in it with compact writing. Imagine my amazement when on closer inspection it turned out to be a plan of that day's workflow, specked with laconic notes on the slightest deviations. All of our activities, down to the most sudden need for additional changes with imminent need for approval afterwards, had been foreseen and pre-calculated, even evaluated "satisfactory" post factum with no regards to us finishing the day's load ahead of the schedule.
Then there was that one discussion with the principal. We desperately needed to change the fireworks type due to new restrictions on the powder composition fifty hours prior to the delivery deadline. To speak the truth, back in the council room the fireworks had seemed questionable for this festival, but ten minutes later, looking at Shizune, a whole head shorter and no wonder if thrice younger than the man, calmly sign away and receive answers more suitable for a business partner than a superior, I believed that if someone of my age can make the bureaucratic machine grind its gears faster, it's her. Mish spoiled the serious mood with her stupid coquettish speech, though.
Speaking of business, the amount of funding the council receives is ridiculous, on par with the responsibility. Of course we're all eighteen with every right to sign contracts when requested, but what the Academy expects from us is to organize the festival, top to bottom, and if only that. Next weekend's live concert, the Marathon's first event, starring every class's musicians, lies on our shoulders as well, in fact, half the work we do now are preparations for it. You don't want to start guessing how hard the last week was on the loud duo without me and Molly around. If Daigo is to be believed, they chose this burden themselves, however, I have a hard time imagining something like that.
Good news on top of it? We're done with the documentation for now, meaning the weekend is relatively free. Of course the harpy's going to oversee the stalls' assembly, and I'm sure as hell not interfering, it was enough to learn that some years ago the council had that responsibility as well. Then again, they didn't have many others, and surely couldn't hire anyone to do it. Bad news? I've acquired a habit of calling the council "us" instead of "them", also there are two other problems hanging like Damoclean swords in the air. A change is as good as a rest, right?
At least I'm free until the class starts. Well, I would've been if not for Miura keeping me at the track after everyone else had left, which is outrageous because exercises are one thing, dragging people into your fanatic pre-competition training routine is completely another. Guess we're lucky it's not raining like yesterday. Don't misunderstand, we'd still have to run regardless.
I watch Miki finish her distance, with pleasure as always. Out of us four, she's the one to make our workout look enjoyable, since the others are still struggling to overcome their comatose weakness. That said, we're making progress: Misha stopped suffocating and Molly made it to the track on her own today, even if lurching. It's easy to do good in contrast to us, but Miki manages to impress and puzzle at the same time. Impress by her ever energetic legs and the grace, the majesty with which she flies around the track, puzzle by her appearance. Seriously, why try to look pretty at all during a sweaty exercise? Furthermore, why be stubborn enough to do it even though it's pouring outside? And it feels like the amount of makeup defines her attitude, too, for things have been gradually warming up between us. Wonder where that comes from.
"How was it?" she asks through ragged breath, coming up to the tree I use as potential umbrella.
"Lovely, what do you expect to hear? The team should be jealous."
"Hah, I'm not on the pedestal yet," she giggles contagiously, "but it was about you. How do you feel?"
Simple words bring up a difficult question. Maybe my lungs don't hurt much anymore, or it's the mind that had adapted to the routine, either way, the track ceased to be a death trap even under the pouring rain. That said, the last time wasn't enjoyable at all, so given the unimpressive dark gray blanket above, this talk better be quick.
"So?"
"No idea, honestly. Could be worse."
Contrary to the expectations, Miki rubs her hands together.
"Why so excited?"
"Starting Monday, we are intensifying the practice!"
"You've got to be kidding, more?"
With a satisfied sigh she slides down to the ground by my side.
"Nope, dead serious. If you feel nothing, take more."
"All right," I start dusting myself off, "later then."
Miki doesn't look pleased with the outcome, however. Laying her elbow on my shoulder, she prevents my escape.
"Running away already, sweetheart? You were supposed to get mad or something."
"Mad? Best believe I'm mad. Mad and totally out of time for today, Miura. Business calls."
"You have 'business' now?" her laughter hurts like hot needles.
"Not really, just finalizing papers for the fest, searching for a couple of musicians and-"
"So she really got her claws on you!"
"Listen, Shizune knows her job, the expectations set for us are within our reach. Don't overdo it."
She just snorts with a despising grimace.
"So what's her plan for me?"
"Uh, third place at the track meet, as I recall, not higher in any case."
An entertaining show it is to watch someone's face slowly fade to blank, feeling your own guts curl to a form of a tight ball in fear.
"Did she ask you to tell me?"
"No, I-"
"Matters not, I'll show her the damned third place!"
Like a compressed coil she springs up, ready to spit hateful words, but barely has success standing.
"Sit down, will you?" I worriedly pull her down by the shirt. "What's going on?"
She's in a horrible state for a ready-steady athlete we have been seeing in her, it's hard to even check her pulse. Now that it's said, the bandage might be a part of the problem. Reaching out for her right arm, I'm too focused on ways to evade her chest thrown back and forward in voluminous breaths to notice a sparkle of mischief in the semi-closed eyes. In a moment my hand is locked between hers and something else, soft and hot, beating against my skin like a balloon hammer connected to a jackhammer compressor. Miki's voice flows on waves of hot moist air her suffocating body pushes out.
"Overestimated a bit. Nothing serious," the first short bursts of rain scrambles her words.
We should get back to the dorms, I should probably say something about it because she looks plugged out, staring at my face with a lost but pleasured expression like one of a cat that smelled a faint scent of catnip, like a stoner at a drug store, and thank nature the leaves are protecting us from the rain for now, until it gets denser so the cold drops will finally reach us to make contrast with her burning neck, a hot drum that does over 120 beats per minute, no need for a tonometer to figure it out; in all honesty, mine is probably behaving the same way to nobody's surprise because an unseen force brings our faces closer and closer, weakens my muscles, strengthens her grip until the swish of her breath is distinct from the rain's murmur and she looks at me and her lips slowly open and the rain intensifies and my mind goes blank and it's all like in a dream and-
Thump.
Last edited by 651 on Tue Jan 07, 2014 2:17 am, edited 3 times in total.
I wrote a Fluttershy x Tails once. It was really good, swer.
Then I wrote some KS fiction, and being not as stellar, it at least exists.
Then I wrote some KS fiction, and being not as stellar, it at least exists.
Re: Kenji's Conspiracy (KS x Deus Ex) [Updated Jan 6th]
***
The lunch bell signals it's been more than four hours and we still haven't spoken a single word out of the ordinary. From a bystander's point of view Miki must look cheerful as ever, maybe unnaturally so, the wreck if a weather outside considered.
"Off we go~!"
This has become another routine: a sonic blast to wake everyone up from pointless musings, a quick look around to ensure that Shizune has, as always, taken off to reserve us a place in the line, and here we are, Yamaku, Iron Maiden with her very own honor guard on what looks like a leisurely stroll through the hallways. Jesus, do I hate those nicknames. They make us some kind of local celebrities, attract every gaze to us, like an invisible red carpet rolls through the halls and staircases wherever we go. To be honest, it's hard to miss us moving side by side with Molly's naked synthetic meat in the middle. Misha loves the attention, just listen to her chirrup about today's assignment and how Math is useless while stealthily checking how many people are listening. Maybe it's a healthier attitude than the one of a grumpy crutch carrier. Hell, even Molly's fatal indifference is. Wonder that it takes to get through to the girl.
So as I was saying, our usual routine is to go down to the cafeteria and be intercepted by a certain person.
"Let the females go, dude!"
"You're early today," I answer, turning to meet him and his awkward toy soldier stride. We haven't even reached the stairs yet.
"Business won't wait. Thought about the offer?"
"You have other~ business now?"
"Be with you in a minute, ladies," annoyed, I shove the crutches to Misha.
"No he won't."
"Behave yourselves~!"
The mentioned offer means Daigo still wants me to join his club. Apparently, he thinks the Council load isn't enough, well, yeah, like hell it's not. To kill my precious time on newspapers? Newspapers, for the love of everything sacred, in the century twenty and first, I'd rather read the feed online.
"Remember our bet?" I intend to let him know my point of view as we drift against the human flow, but the words won't come out, or rather not the right ones. "It's lost."
"What? Shut up, dude, Sunday evening comes tomorrow."
"Listen to me. Listen. There was a perfect chance today and I blew it, all right? We're screwed. Sorry."
Among all the black-white-green people affected by the rainy mood, he's now the first one to have a smile on.
"Details, Nakai, you aren't being very clear."
"Go to hell."
I turn to the window to not let him start the mockery. By a coincidence, we're crossing a passage between the buildings, so I have the luxury of watching the landscape from the third floor. Landscape. Yeah. The outside consists of water, it seems, of thick streams rushing down the glass to drop into freefall from the cornice. To the ground they go, to hit the surface of an endless puddle and make their very own difference, summarizing their short lifetime: another ring in a chaotic ornament. Then pairs of heavy waves cross them and wash away, blade-shaped erasers, one for each wheel that has passed by. Heavy trucks cleave through the rain, the like emergency services use, or the military. The drops crush on the hydrophobic cloth of the caps and break to dust, powerless to leave any kind of mark.
"Are you going to pout here till tomorrow?"
Once again, Daigo's face blows away polite responses.
"The hell are you still grinning for?"
"You're so cute when angry," he tries to imitate a girly voice. The result is low, muffled and overall quite hideous.
"Right, piss off. A girl wanted a kiss, I screwed up big time, that's the story," we pick up the pace again, and the convoy escapes my vision.
"So lemme guess, Miki?"
"No chance, she's way out of my league."
However, he'd need to be blind not to read my face.
"How come you passed though, Casanova?"
"Try to score cowering on the ground with a fist clenching the insides of your chest."
His heartily laughter hurts more than expected, maybe because of the comical manner he does it in, head thrown back and mouth wide open. Just like an intellectual supervillain from Western movies.
"Whatever, it's your money we're losing."
"No, dude, look, you did good for a starter, got out the safest way possible."
"And just like the nurse, you aren't going to explain," I sigh in defeat.
"Chill out, okay? Things went better than expected, and Sunday is still tomorrow, meaning many things can still happen."
"From where I stand, we need a miracle."
"Wrong, just a girl. Don't let it get to your head. For now – VOILA!"
Since this building is quite empty already, his voice echoes and amplifies in the dim hall, acquiring volume as they go.
"Welcome," he throws open the door to our right, "to Yamaku Irregular, my little kingdom."
Pause for a second here to review your expectations of a newspaper club. A classroom filled to the brim with shelves, cases and cabinets of every sort, marked yearly and thematically, all centered around a long table. President's figure, residing at its further end against the window, blocks away the sun, and a pointy shadow reaches all the way to the door. The members, stern and formal in both looks and characters, hark his words, 'Today's discussion: journalism in nineteen-thirties, Great Depression to World War II', ready to dig in solid stacks of worn yellow issues.
As always, reality is quite different. The room basks in bright light despite the total gloom outside, thanks to numerous lamps, many more than half a class five computers are set up, all them running but only two occupied, and the people working are...
"Oughtta be a family reunion, but an introduction is obligatory. Naomi Inoue, our editor," a dyed blonde head with an ever-dissatisfied face turns our way and rolls reddened eyes as far up as possible, images refracted by glasses repeating the motion. "Natsume Ooe, part time editor and part time article writer, whenever the newsbreaker strongly depends on visuals, because our two main writers happen to be, you know, blind."
"Kurosaki," Naomi's voice is heavy with steel.
"What? He would be able to guess it at first sight."
The blonde quickly taps something, turns off her monitor and continues the morality, each word stressed with its own pause while the printer churns out transparent plastic pages.
"Need. I. Remind. You. Of the basic. Principles. Of etiquette?"
"No-no-no, not for the thirty-first time. I'm sorry, hear? Sorry."
Finally able to turn my gaze away from the interior, which with its semi-soft armchairs and a glass table stained with coffee doesn't remind of work in the slightest, I ask a question out of the nonexistent guidebook '101 things they don't tell about Yamaku'.
"So what's the big deal if somebody knows?"
"Wow, dude, that's like the rudest thing to say ever! We don't talk about this stuff openly, unless people bring up their troubles themselves, otherwise it's disrespectful, boo."
Merciless karma hits him in the back of the head in form of a stack of plastic pages guided by Naomi's hand.
"Pray they haven't cracked," Daigo looks completely unfazed. "Apologies to you too, Nakai."
The club's collective tolerance, already busy pinning fresh prints to the luminous whiteboard with magnets, cares enough to barge in again.
"What for?"
"Let's say Miura tried to make out with someone, unaware that at a place like this you need to be extra careful, and leave it at that," Natsume finally drops a word.
"And you were just happy to stick your nose in? Sorry for this hopeless piece of a human, er, Nakai."
I can't care less about Naomi's lunge though, there's a more important point raised.
"So... does everybody know?" I ask in an involuntarily weak tone.
The lunch bell signals it's been more than four hours and we still haven't spoken a single word out of the ordinary. From a bystander's point of view Miki must look cheerful as ever, maybe unnaturally so, the wreck if a weather outside considered.
"Off we go~!"
This has become another routine: a sonic blast to wake everyone up from pointless musings, a quick look around to ensure that Shizune has, as always, taken off to reserve us a place in the line, and here we are, Yamaku, Iron Maiden with her very own honor guard on what looks like a leisurely stroll through the hallways. Jesus, do I hate those nicknames. They make us some kind of local celebrities, attract every gaze to us, like an invisible red carpet rolls through the halls and staircases wherever we go. To be honest, it's hard to miss us moving side by side with Molly's naked synthetic meat in the middle. Misha loves the attention, just listen to her chirrup about today's assignment and how Math is useless while stealthily checking how many people are listening. Maybe it's a healthier attitude than the one of a grumpy crutch carrier. Hell, even Molly's fatal indifference is. Wonder that it takes to get through to the girl.
So as I was saying, our usual routine is to go down to the cafeteria and be intercepted by a certain person.
"Let the females go, dude!"
"You're early today," I answer, turning to meet him and his awkward toy soldier stride. We haven't even reached the stairs yet.
"Business won't wait. Thought about the offer?"
"You have other~ business now?"
"Be with you in a minute, ladies," annoyed, I shove the crutches to Misha.
"No he won't."
"Behave yourselves~!"
The mentioned offer means Daigo still wants me to join his club. Apparently, he thinks the Council load isn't enough, well, yeah, like hell it's not. To kill my precious time on newspapers? Newspapers, for the love of everything sacred, in the century twenty and first, I'd rather read the feed online.
"Remember our bet?" I intend to let him know my point of view as we drift against the human flow, but the words won't come out, or rather not the right ones. "It's lost."
"What? Shut up, dude, Sunday evening comes tomorrow."
"Listen to me. Listen. There was a perfect chance today and I blew it, all right? We're screwed. Sorry."
Among all the black-white-green people affected by the rainy mood, he's now the first one to have a smile on.
"Details, Nakai, you aren't being very clear."
"Go to hell."
I turn to the window to not let him start the mockery. By a coincidence, we're crossing a passage between the buildings, so I have the luxury of watching the landscape from the third floor. Landscape. Yeah. The outside consists of water, it seems, of thick streams rushing down the glass to drop into freefall from the cornice. To the ground they go, to hit the surface of an endless puddle and make their very own difference, summarizing their short lifetime: another ring in a chaotic ornament. Then pairs of heavy waves cross them and wash away, blade-shaped erasers, one for each wheel that has passed by. Heavy trucks cleave through the rain, the like emergency services use, or the military. The drops crush on the hydrophobic cloth of the caps and break to dust, powerless to leave any kind of mark.
"Are you going to pout here till tomorrow?"
Once again, Daigo's face blows away polite responses.
"The hell are you still grinning for?"
"You're so cute when angry," he tries to imitate a girly voice. The result is low, muffled and overall quite hideous.
"Right, piss off. A girl wanted a kiss, I screwed up big time, that's the story," we pick up the pace again, and the convoy escapes my vision.
"So lemme guess, Miki?"
"No chance, she's way out of my league."
However, he'd need to be blind not to read my face.
"How come you passed though, Casanova?"
"Try to score cowering on the ground with a fist clenching the insides of your chest."
His heartily laughter hurts more than expected, maybe because of the comical manner he does it in, head thrown back and mouth wide open. Just like an intellectual supervillain from Western movies.
"Whatever, it's your money we're losing."
"No, dude, look, you did good for a starter, got out the safest way possible."
"And just like the nurse, you aren't going to explain," I sigh in defeat.
"Chill out, okay? Things went better than expected, and Sunday is still tomorrow, meaning many things can still happen."
"From where I stand, we need a miracle."
"Wrong, just a girl. Don't let it get to your head. For now – VOILA!"
Since this building is quite empty already, his voice echoes and amplifies in the dim hall, acquiring volume as they go.
"Welcome," he throws open the door to our right, "to Yamaku Irregular, my little kingdom."
Pause for a second here to review your expectations of a newspaper club. A classroom filled to the brim with shelves, cases and cabinets of every sort, marked yearly and thematically, all centered around a long table. President's figure, residing at its further end against the window, blocks away the sun, and a pointy shadow reaches all the way to the door. The members, stern and formal in both looks and characters, hark his words, 'Today's discussion: journalism in nineteen-thirties, Great Depression to World War II', ready to dig in solid stacks of worn yellow issues.
As always, reality is quite different. The room basks in bright light despite the total gloom outside, thanks to numerous lamps, many more than half a class five computers are set up, all them running but only two occupied, and the people working are...
"Oughtta be a family reunion, but an introduction is obligatory. Naomi Inoue, our editor," a dyed blonde head with an ever-dissatisfied face turns our way and rolls reddened eyes as far up as possible, images refracted by glasses repeating the motion. "Natsume Ooe, part time editor and part time article writer, whenever the newsbreaker strongly depends on visuals, because our two main writers happen to be, you know, blind."
"Kurosaki," Naomi's voice is heavy with steel.
"What? He would be able to guess it at first sight."
The blonde quickly taps something, turns off her monitor and continues the morality, each word stressed with its own pause while the printer churns out transparent plastic pages.
"Need. I. Remind. You. Of the basic. Principles. Of etiquette?"
"No-no-no, not for the thirty-first time. I'm sorry, hear? Sorry."
Finally able to turn my gaze away from the interior, which with its semi-soft armchairs and a glass table stained with coffee doesn't remind of work in the slightest, I ask a question out of the nonexistent guidebook '101 things they don't tell about Yamaku'.
"So what's the big deal if somebody knows?"
"Wow, dude, that's like the rudest thing to say ever! We don't talk about this stuff openly, unless people bring up their troubles themselves, otherwise it's disrespectful, boo."
Merciless karma hits him in the back of the head in form of a stack of plastic pages guided by Naomi's hand.
"Pray they haven't cracked," Daigo looks completely unfazed. "Apologies to you too, Nakai."
The club's collective tolerance, already busy pinning fresh prints to the luminous whiteboard with magnets, cares enough to barge in again.
"What for?"
"Let's say Miura tried to make out with someone, unaware that at a place like this you need to be extra careful, and leave it at that," Natsume finally drops a word.
"And you were just happy to stick your nose in? Sorry for this hopeless piece of a human, er, Nakai."
I can't care less about Naomi's lunge though, there's a more important point raised.
"So... does everybody know?" I ask in an involuntarily weak tone.
Last edited by 651 on Tue Jan 07, 2014 2:00 am, edited 1 time in total.
I wrote a Fluttershy x Tails once. It was really good, swer.
Then I wrote some KS fiction, and being not as stellar, it at least exists.
Then I wrote some KS fiction, and being not as stellar, it at least exists.
Re: Kenji's Conspiracy (KS x Deus Ex) [Updated Jan 6th]
"No, just me. It's my job," the curly-haired editor works with her head bowed, so it's impossible to guess how serious she's being, "to know everything on the campus. Everything and everyone. Eyes and ears, all over the place, you'd think a school newspaper ought to have someone like that."
"Almost makes you believe in feministic conspiracies," Daigo winks, making me shudder.
"Oh sure, you live across hall of that nutjob. Tough break."
"So, uuh, do you," voice betrays me for a second, "do you have a web of cameras covering every inch of the Academy?"
Natsume bursts into laughter so hard it almost sounds like Misha's giggling. And there's that omnipotent vibe again, coming from every part of her, the hair flowing like waves off her shaking head, the porcelain teeth uncovered in a wide smile, even the sound itself feels a little bit terrifying, like we all exist only in an article she's writing. If the play matches the scenery, she really doesn't need cameras to know. Not that I wouldn't hit it regardless. Where do these thoughts even come from?
"Ooh my goodness," she wipes a tear from under the glasses lowered to the very tip of her nose. "That must be from his latest opus, some brand new poetry. I need to talk to the man some time."
"You don't," I make a warning just to be sure. Even gods make mistakes, the biggest one being humans.
"Fair point, he's a whole another book. Well," she sends her work to the printer and stands up with a grunt, using both the chair and table as support, "only the blind haven't noticed you and Miki yet. Be a hero, pass my cane."
"I seem to be cursed with the Crutchbearer bane. And there's nothing between us!"
"Take comfort in it, you wouldn't like to need one yourself. And I assume today was nothing as well? Three-two may not see it firsthand, but they've heard rumors, and as far as anyone's concerned, you two are a soon-to-be sweet couple. Works wonder for your reputation, by the way. Even more so with your today's actions."
"Can anyone please explain this, please?" I yell in irritation. "First the nurse says it, then everydamnbody else, what's wrong?"
The answer is silence. Naomi and Daigo are too busy analyzing the pages, and the only sighted writer on the crew just limps to join them. Even with the cane's help, her right leg misbehaves. Poor girl.
"Here's your last columns," she slaps two more on the board.
"Oh, it's talking," come to think of it, two girls haven't shared a word until now.
"Not to you, and since I am, where's our publishing contract?"
"Same place your family catfights belong, ladies. The final edit is days overdue."
"Well, it's on the board right now."
"Well, I'm dialing Dad right now!" Daigo loses it, tearing the sheets off.
"Good, good, calm down."
"I am calm. As a breeze, damn it!"
On a second guess, he's more in a hurry than in anger. A couple papers picked up from one of the desks, might be his own, an umbrella from a tiny wardrobe, just enough to satisfy five people at best, and he's on the move. Not really, and echoing voice reaches us from the hall.
"What about the voice over?"
"Eighty percent ready, last I checked. He'll need the final!" Naomi shouts with a concerned face. "And don't forget the mobile version, last time was awful enough!"
"On it," and the clacking sound informs that the flat heels have started their way down the hall.
Descending silence makes the room feel empty. There isn't much in it all right, between the comfy side and the whiteboard side there are only desks tightly fit to the walls and tall lockers between them. Vertical space management is on the level, though, small shelves crawl up the walls here and there, filed with all sorts of stuff, mainly markers, magnetic pins and external hard drives.
"Uh, voice over?"
What do you want from a guy caught in close quarters with two girls and a desperate need to spark a conversation to stop staring at Natsume's butt.
"Of course," Naomi, minutes ago concerned about etiquette, doesn't bother to turn her head around, concentrated on feeding a page to a humming box next to the printer. "Some readers have difficulties with printed text here. And before you ask, yes, some people read us on so much of a run they can't be bothered to pull a tablet out, hence the mobile version. Idiocy if you ask me, but consumer's the boss."
Nothing better to shut a curious mind up than a complete answer. I'm not giving up, though.
"So if two guys write and you edit, then what does Daigo do on the team?"
The box slowly returns the page, now ideally clean. Must be an eraser of some sort. She looks through the surface critically before talking.
"He's the head of state, obviously. He made us happen in the first place, turned the club from a history geeks' hideout to a group that started producing things after the old president left. He makes the final pick from the newsbreakers, so we end up arguing to death every time, but after all is said and done, guess who's to thank for our audience. He's the one to make the team work, settle down IP conflicts and get us published, last two not without his father's help of course."
"Anything special about the senior?"
"Not much, just a controlling interest in a major publishing house, he makes some calls for free for the sake of the family. Although today's night shift fiasco is going to cost extra. Sometimes it feels like I'm the only one to dislike stretching deadlines."
"Count that two," Natsume adds from deep inside her thoughts.
"Aww, give me a hug and I'll melt."
"I'll give you a whole kiss if it shuts you up. We have a guest, remember?"
"Yeah, honored to have your attention," tired of standing, I get comfortable behind the table. "So why am I here?"
"Things," back of the head produces an instant pointless answer. "Bossman wants you to take an interview with Shizune for a start, and me to teach you the basics. So, a little work, but mostly lunch."
"You even cooked for this roo-"
The rest is soft muffled noises at the source of which I don't look but guess Natsume has finally succeeded in shutting her ruder half up.
"Almost makes you believe in feministic conspiracies," Daigo winks, making me shudder.
"Oh sure, you live across hall of that nutjob. Tough break."
"So, uuh, do you," voice betrays me for a second, "do you have a web of cameras covering every inch of the Academy?"
Natsume bursts into laughter so hard it almost sounds like Misha's giggling. And there's that omnipotent vibe again, coming from every part of her, the hair flowing like waves off her shaking head, the porcelain teeth uncovered in a wide smile, even the sound itself feels a little bit terrifying, like we all exist only in an article she's writing. If the play matches the scenery, she really doesn't need cameras to know. Not that I wouldn't hit it regardless. Where do these thoughts even come from?
"Ooh my goodness," she wipes a tear from under the glasses lowered to the very tip of her nose. "That must be from his latest opus, some brand new poetry. I need to talk to the man some time."
"You don't," I make a warning just to be sure. Even gods make mistakes, the biggest one being humans.
"Fair point, he's a whole another book. Well," she sends her work to the printer and stands up with a grunt, using both the chair and table as support, "only the blind haven't noticed you and Miki yet. Be a hero, pass my cane."
"I seem to be cursed with the Crutchbearer bane. And there's nothing between us!"
"Take comfort in it, you wouldn't like to need one yourself. And I assume today was nothing as well? Three-two may not see it firsthand, but they've heard rumors, and as far as anyone's concerned, you two are a soon-to-be sweet couple. Works wonder for your reputation, by the way. Even more so with your today's actions."
"Can anyone please explain this, please?" I yell in irritation. "First the nurse says it, then everydamnbody else, what's wrong?"
The answer is silence. Naomi and Daigo are too busy analyzing the pages, and the only sighted writer on the crew just limps to join them. Even with the cane's help, her right leg misbehaves. Poor girl.
"Here's your last columns," she slaps two more on the board.
"Oh, it's talking," come to think of it, two girls haven't shared a word until now.
"Not to you, and since I am, where's our publishing contract?"
"Same place your family catfights belong, ladies. The final edit is days overdue."
"Well, it's on the board right now."
"Well, I'm dialing Dad right now!" Daigo loses it, tearing the sheets off.
"Good, good, calm down."
"I am calm. As a breeze, damn it!"
On a second guess, he's more in a hurry than in anger. A couple papers picked up from one of the desks, might be his own, an umbrella from a tiny wardrobe, just enough to satisfy five people at best, and he's on the move. Not really, and echoing voice reaches us from the hall.
"What about the voice over?"
"Eighty percent ready, last I checked. He'll need the final!" Naomi shouts with a concerned face. "And don't forget the mobile version, last time was awful enough!"
"On it," and the clacking sound informs that the flat heels have started their way down the hall.
Descending silence makes the room feel empty. There isn't much in it all right, between the comfy side and the whiteboard side there are only desks tightly fit to the walls and tall lockers between them. Vertical space management is on the level, though, small shelves crawl up the walls here and there, filed with all sorts of stuff, mainly markers, magnetic pins and external hard drives.
"Uh, voice over?"
What do you want from a guy caught in close quarters with two girls and a desperate need to spark a conversation to stop staring at Natsume's butt.
"Of course," Naomi, minutes ago concerned about etiquette, doesn't bother to turn her head around, concentrated on feeding a page to a humming box next to the printer. "Some readers have difficulties with printed text here. And before you ask, yes, some people read us on so much of a run they can't be bothered to pull a tablet out, hence the mobile version. Idiocy if you ask me, but consumer's the boss."
Nothing better to shut a curious mind up than a complete answer. I'm not giving up, though.
"So if two guys write and you edit, then what does Daigo do on the team?"
The box slowly returns the page, now ideally clean. Must be an eraser of some sort. She looks through the surface critically before talking.
"He's the head of state, obviously. He made us happen in the first place, turned the club from a history geeks' hideout to a group that started producing things after the old president left. He makes the final pick from the newsbreakers, so we end up arguing to death every time, but after all is said and done, guess who's to thank for our audience. He's the one to make the team work, settle down IP conflicts and get us published, last two not without his father's help of course."
"Anything special about the senior?"
"Not much, just a controlling interest in a major publishing house, he makes some calls for free for the sake of the family. Although today's night shift fiasco is going to cost extra. Sometimes it feels like I'm the only one to dislike stretching deadlines."
"Count that two," Natsume adds from deep inside her thoughts.
"Aww, give me a hug and I'll melt."
"I'll give you a whole kiss if it shuts you up. We have a guest, remember?"
"Yeah, honored to have your attention," tired of standing, I get comfortable behind the table. "So why am I here?"
"Things," back of the head produces an instant pointless answer. "Bossman wants you to take an interview with Shizune for a start, and me to teach you the basics. So, a little work, but mostly lunch."
"You even cooked for this roo-"
The rest is soft muffled noises at the source of which I don't look but guess Natsume has finally succeeded in shutting her ruder half up.
Last edited by 651 on Tue Jan 07, 2014 2:00 am, edited 2 times in total.
I wrote a Fluttershy x Tails once. It was really good, swer.
Then I wrote some KS fiction, and being not as stellar, it at least exists.
Then I wrote some KS fiction, and being not as stellar, it at least exists.
Re: Kenji's Conspiracy (KS x Deus Ex) [Updated Jan 6th]
***
Establishing connection to Deepnet...
You are now known as 6E2A9DynamicNode@Nexus104.abyss
Under no circumstances disclose your personal location, IP or clues to such to other users.
Requesting channel at phoenixrc.abyss...
Enter your session ID: ********
Now talking in #mythbusters
/ulist
Other users in this channel: Big_Uncle, ~phoenix
<Big_Uncle> code in
<Yeti_Zulu> Singer Corp.
<Yeti_Zulu> Bingo on your Tango
<Big_Uncle> are u 100% sure
<Yeti_Zulu> Ninety, without a photo
<Yeti_Zulu> I know, I know
<Big_Uncle> we need a guaranteed hit
<~phoenix> If our word means anything, we have dug up on the "tango" in question and believe it to be a person of interest for your company regardless of who you are looking for. Consider it a free bonus.
<Yeti_Zulu> Look at the facts. Same approximate date of transfer, same condition, height, weight
<Big_Uncle> will need eyes on target 24/7
<Yeti_Zulu> Problematic, someone has been uncooperative
<~phoenix> Out of the question. Our presence within the grid has already been endangered by your agent's actions.
<Big_Uncle> can u compile text reports without us inside
<Big_Uncle> security corps write these scripts for breakfast
<Big_Uncle> waiting on u
<~phoenix> Negative. Both of you will be informed on critical developments after we are compensated for your agent's behaviour.
<Big_Uncle> ur full of surprises
<Big_Uncle> not necessarily pleasant ones
<~phoenix> We have our reasons.
<Yeti_Zulu> Ahem, instructions?
<Big_Uncle> its on you for now
<Big_Uncle> stalker, mentor, guardian, i need u to be all
<Big_Uncle> until we figure out a way to communicate
<Big_Uncle> unless were already wasting time
<~phoenix> The target hasn't talked neither gone off the grid the whole while.
<Big_Uncle> good. uncle out
/quit
***
One of Dad's favorite sayings goes like "Got a job, get a friend to cry about it." Doesn't matter which one works harder, as long as you don't share departments, both are going to think other's problems are worse and take comfort in it. Or completely the other way around, whatever floats your boat. That's probably the point of human interaction: we interpret it the way we want to get a more likeable result which requires more effort with other forms of sensory feed. No wonder I find myself in the stuffed air behind the heavy wooden doors again. Hard to believe an oppressive place like this is hosted by Yuuko, judging by the outside you'd expect a strict old gentleman in a tailcoat rather than a nervous girl. Uh, should I say "lady"? Because she looks too innocent for it, too pure for this whole place with Shizunes handling the Council with steel spiked gloves and upper class kids using their parents' businesses to pursue own shallow goals, all possibly under tight surveillance.
Huh, so I'm giving Kenji's insane figments a go now. Must be this place pressing down on my shoulders. Seriously, who thought it would be a good idea to plan a library this way? In broad daylight it's shady enough inside, but right now with all the clouds in the sky it's effectively night in here. No way to read anything without a lamp, and judging by the total absence of light sources, save for librarian's screen, the place is as popular as an abandoned construction site. That's what attracts Yuuko, the silence and solitude. Paper is a morally outdated data carrier, she says, and whatever operation done digitally can be as well performed remotely, so she has to watch over the Academy property more than anything else on her job.
We've been talking for quite some time, her reordering this week's batch of new books and me simply enjoying the emptiness of the place and a calm conversation after a busy week. Turns out she's not the only one librarian here, duh, can't work a full-time job with shifts at that cafe, and besides, Yamaku doesn't want a full-timer on this position for some reason. When asked which job is better, she cutely panics but admits it's the library. Yes, less pay and sounds boring, until there's something else to do. In her case, it's a degree in Greek mythology. I was shocked too, I mean, forty-eight hours of work per week never combine with a full-time scholarship, be it even a virtual one.
I try to imagine he take a lecture on a morning shift, which she likes best because those are live from the university and it's possible to ask questions, and option mostly ignored, because virtual education, while having been declared as an ultimate solution to the accessibility problem, became the last straw for shut-ins, chronic drop-outs and every other kind of spongers. Not in Yuuko's case. Mind draws her concentrated face lit up by the screen with a dim halo of brightened racks around, distant ones standing like pillars of a different shade of black on black background. A priestess meditates before the ceremonial flame in a temple of knowledge. We rock the walls with laughter when she uses a raincoat as a tunic and tries to pull off a fitting expression. Then on a completely serious note adds that the library's proportions resemble an Elladian temple to a degree, especially if the racks are counted as pillars, throwing me for a complete loss.
"Um, it feels selfish to talk about my stupid hobbies all the time," she changes the subject, fiddling with a barcode scanner nervously. "How have you been?"
And we forget about time again, as I'm more than happy to relive all the work done and maybe take credit for a little more. Day by day, back and forth, we go over every event in my new life in detail. Yuuko gives meaningful advice that weirdly contrasts with the stories of her own unsuccessful high school years. She attended Yamaku as well, but failing to detect any obvious disabilities, I recall the unspoken rule and stuff the question back down my throat.
"-and while journalism shapes up to be a difficult skill to master, Ooe cooks like a pro," we finally hit the finish line.
"You're going to fir tight in at this pace, don't worry."
"Hey, I thought the librarians weren't all meant to be mind readers."
She giggles timidly.
"Somebody claimed to be, um, antisocial earlier. With this much work it's just impossible! If you'd like to listen to an old hag, keep at it and everything is going to be fine."
"Too optimistically said for our dark library. You know, I still have a couple of unsolved problems," you could've been working on them instead of having a sweet light chat, moron, "and no end in sight."
"Can I help?"
An image of Yuuko helping out with the bet sends blood rushing to my temples. Although,
"Sure, you know students better. There's the band competition slash concert next week, and 3-3 is in bad shape."
"Oh, Lelouch was a great drummer. Such a handsome!"
I omit the question on how exactly much physical attractiveness contributed to his musical talents.
"On top of it, we need a singer."
That guy drew the short stick. Unlike the transferred Lelouch, he suffered a sudden condition degradation, something tumor related. Didn't end well at all. Looking at Yuuko's mournful frown, I can't get rid of a background thought that if not for him, I may have not been summoned here.
"I... don't know if it whould be said openly," she produces with effort after a long silence, "but you do have another singer."
"Really?" I doubt her unconfident tone.
Establishing connection to Deepnet...
You are now known as 6E2A9DynamicNode@Nexus104.abyss
Under no circumstances disclose your personal location, IP or clues to such to other users.
Requesting channel at phoenixrc.abyss...
Enter your session ID: ********
Now talking in #mythbusters
/ulist
Other users in this channel: Big_Uncle, ~phoenix
<Big_Uncle> code in
<Yeti_Zulu> Singer Corp.
<Yeti_Zulu> Bingo on your Tango
<Big_Uncle> are u 100% sure
<Yeti_Zulu> Ninety, without a photo
<Yeti_Zulu> I know, I know
<Big_Uncle> we need a guaranteed hit
<~phoenix> If our word means anything, we have dug up on the "tango" in question and believe it to be a person of interest for your company regardless of who you are looking for. Consider it a free bonus.
<Yeti_Zulu> Look at the facts. Same approximate date of transfer, same condition, height, weight
<Big_Uncle> will need eyes on target 24/7
<Yeti_Zulu> Problematic, someone has been uncooperative
<~phoenix> Out of the question. Our presence within the grid has already been endangered by your agent's actions.
<Big_Uncle> can u compile text reports without us inside
<Big_Uncle> security corps write these scripts for breakfast
<Big_Uncle> waiting on u
<~phoenix> Negative. Both of you will be informed on critical developments after we are compensated for your agent's behaviour.
<Big_Uncle> ur full of surprises
<Big_Uncle> not necessarily pleasant ones
<~phoenix> We have our reasons.
<Yeti_Zulu> Ahem, instructions?
<Big_Uncle> its on you for now
<Big_Uncle> stalker, mentor, guardian, i need u to be all
<Big_Uncle> until we figure out a way to communicate
<Big_Uncle> unless were already wasting time
<~phoenix> The target hasn't talked neither gone off the grid the whole while.
<Big_Uncle> good. uncle out
/quit
***
One of Dad's favorite sayings goes like "Got a job, get a friend to cry about it." Doesn't matter which one works harder, as long as you don't share departments, both are going to think other's problems are worse and take comfort in it. Or completely the other way around, whatever floats your boat. That's probably the point of human interaction: we interpret it the way we want to get a more likeable result which requires more effort with other forms of sensory feed. No wonder I find myself in the stuffed air behind the heavy wooden doors again. Hard to believe an oppressive place like this is hosted by Yuuko, judging by the outside you'd expect a strict old gentleman in a tailcoat rather than a nervous girl. Uh, should I say "lady"? Because she looks too innocent for it, too pure for this whole place with Shizunes handling the Council with steel spiked gloves and upper class kids using their parents' businesses to pursue own shallow goals, all possibly under tight surveillance.
Huh, so I'm giving Kenji's insane figments a go now. Must be this place pressing down on my shoulders. Seriously, who thought it would be a good idea to plan a library this way? In broad daylight it's shady enough inside, but right now with all the clouds in the sky it's effectively night in here. No way to read anything without a lamp, and judging by the total absence of light sources, save for librarian's screen, the place is as popular as an abandoned construction site. That's what attracts Yuuko, the silence and solitude. Paper is a morally outdated data carrier, she says, and whatever operation done digitally can be as well performed remotely, so she has to watch over the Academy property more than anything else on her job.
We've been talking for quite some time, her reordering this week's batch of new books and me simply enjoying the emptiness of the place and a calm conversation after a busy week. Turns out she's not the only one librarian here, duh, can't work a full-time job with shifts at that cafe, and besides, Yamaku doesn't want a full-timer on this position for some reason. When asked which job is better, she cutely panics but admits it's the library. Yes, less pay and sounds boring, until there's something else to do. In her case, it's a degree in Greek mythology. I was shocked too, I mean, forty-eight hours of work per week never combine with a full-time scholarship, be it even a virtual one.
I try to imagine he take a lecture on a morning shift, which she likes best because those are live from the university and it's possible to ask questions, and option mostly ignored, because virtual education, while having been declared as an ultimate solution to the accessibility problem, became the last straw for shut-ins, chronic drop-outs and every other kind of spongers. Not in Yuuko's case. Mind draws her concentrated face lit up by the screen with a dim halo of brightened racks around, distant ones standing like pillars of a different shade of black on black background. A priestess meditates before the ceremonial flame in a temple of knowledge. We rock the walls with laughter when she uses a raincoat as a tunic and tries to pull off a fitting expression. Then on a completely serious note adds that the library's proportions resemble an Elladian temple to a degree, especially if the racks are counted as pillars, throwing me for a complete loss.
"Um, it feels selfish to talk about my stupid hobbies all the time," she changes the subject, fiddling with a barcode scanner nervously. "How have you been?"
And we forget about time again, as I'm more than happy to relive all the work done and maybe take credit for a little more. Day by day, back and forth, we go over every event in my new life in detail. Yuuko gives meaningful advice that weirdly contrasts with the stories of her own unsuccessful high school years. She attended Yamaku as well, but failing to detect any obvious disabilities, I recall the unspoken rule and stuff the question back down my throat.
"-and while journalism shapes up to be a difficult skill to master, Ooe cooks like a pro," we finally hit the finish line.
"You're going to fir tight in at this pace, don't worry."
"Hey, I thought the librarians weren't all meant to be mind readers."
She giggles timidly.
"Somebody claimed to be, um, antisocial earlier. With this much work it's just impossible! If you'd like to listen to an old hag, keep at it and everything is going to be fine."
"Too optimistically said for our dark library. You know, I still have a couple of unsolved problems," you could've been working on them instead of having a sweet light chat, moron, "and no end in sight."
"Can I help?"
An image of Yuuko helping out with the bet sends blood rushing to my temples. Although,
"Sure, you know students better. There's the band competition slash concert next week, and 3-3 is in bad shape."
"Oh, Lelouch was a great drummer. Such a handsome!"
I omit the question on how exactly much physical attractiveness contributed to his musical talents.
"On top of it, we need a singer."
That guy drew the short stick. Unlike the transferred Lelouch, he suffered a sudden condition degradation, something tumor related. Didn't end well at all. Looking at Yuuko's mournful frown, I can't get rid of a background thought that if not for him, I may have not been summoned here.
"I... don't know if it whould be said openly," she produces with effort after a long silence, "but you do have another singer."
"Really?" I doubt her unconfident tone.
Last edited by 651 on Tue Jan 07, 2014 1:59 am, edited 1 time in total.
I wrote a Fluttershy x Tails once. It was really good, swer.
Then I wrote some KS fiction, and being not as stellar, it at least exists.
Then I wrote some KS fiction, and being not as stellar, it at least exists.
Re: Kenji's Conspiracy (KS x Deus Ex) [Updated Jan 6th]
"It's supposed to be a secret. Oh, don't you get it, it's Hanako. Everything's unknown about her, poor girl can't talk about her skills to anyone, it would do good to have her work on a team for once."
"Lady Shirakawa," I shake her hand over the counter, "you're a lifesaver."
She completely ignores the play.
"Beware of Lilly, she never said how good Hanako was with computers and still gets angry whenever I get her help."
Frozen in the middle of a step by a sudden realization, I ask how exactly skilled is "good".
"Sometimes when I touch a button, everything breaks, um, then she touches another and it works again. It's good enough, right?"
Yeah, right. Like it's that easy to hit a jackpot.
"Please go easy on her!"
In order to do that, I'd first need to find her. The second floor is empty, so, reluctant to go outside under the cold shower, I search where it's bright. Or dry in today's case. Elusive talented singers found: nil.
In the end, out of breath and wet with sweat, I find myself stepping into the Council room. First look around confirms that going outside is one of the least spectacular activities today. Shizune's squeezed out but still wet uniform hangs piece by piece on the chairs, the president herself in dry change and warm slippers sipping coffee at her desk. Not upset at all, it seems.
"Found us a voice," I say just as she starts signing to spare myself from a possible half an hour report on the stalls assembly progress. "No rhythm though."
It takes an explosive finger snap to distract Misha from a hot donut.
"Nicely done, Hicchan~!" she forces with a full mouth before decrypting her quieter companion's transmission. "Start thinking of a style~ change if the time's short~."
"Already, not just because of it," I sigh and let the shoulders droop. "Our class simply doesn't have a drummer anymore."
For a while the heavy silence is disturbed only by measured chewing.
"You've got it then!"
"Tell me one thing: why am I the one responsible?"
"Because you've had~ experience."
Yeah, well, it's true, I don't need to check the history books to recall the time I was with our old school's band, mostly as an errand boy and jack-of-all-trades, not a musician by a long shot. Learned how to manage things, of course, but there's another argument.
"Your guys have been at it for two full years."
"But you have the authority, Hicchan~!"
"Pffsh. Ability to make people laugh is hardly authority, and it's all the Council's good for."
Shizune's deep frown promises nothing pleasant.
"In addition~, your dirty deeds are covered," yeah, of course she's going to pull the leash every time the dog barks, "and indulged."
Her face is bright and clear all of a sudden.
"Why are you helping me?"
"Honestly~? Prestige, all for a chance to put Takeshi in his place. Besides~, can't wait to see Kurosaki's face when he realizes this win wasn't his own."
Something sounds off in Misha's voice, and the answer lies in her expression. For once, their emotion is one: revenge, only now the president has a more dreamy look and the interpreter's beastly grin gives away her bloodlust for a second, until her attention is drawn by another detail.
"Wait, Shicchan~, are you going out with him?"
The emotion on her face can be filed into any actor's handbook under the "intense mistrust" category. However, Shizune just slowly shakes her head and continues staring at Misha without a movement. The next expression should already go under "extreme bewilderment".
"Shicchan?"
The sudden drop in volume makes a harder impact than if she'd be screaming. I don't know what to expect, tears or a fight, and Shizune continues drilling her with a cold gaze. Of course, my ringtone has to go off right in the middle of a crisis.
"Yes, Dad?"
This room's tension must be leaking through my voice to the other end of the connection, because the old man takes his sweet time to reply.
"You know, junior, things keep flying out of my head with this damn work. Remember how we promised to visit you at your first weekend?"
Central, operation Sunday Foxtrot looks like a total trainwreck.
"Lady Shirakawa," I shake her hand over the counter, "you're a lifesaver."
She completely ignores the play.
"Beware of Lilly, she never said how good Hanako was with computers and still gets angry whenever I get her help."
Frozen in the middle of a step by a sudden realization, I ask how exactly skilled is "good".
"Sometimes when I touch a button, everything breaks, um, then she touches another and it works again. It's good enough, right?"
Yeah, right. Like it's that easy to hit a jackpot.
"Please go easy on her!"
In order to do that, I'd first need to find her. The second floor is empty, so, reluctant to go outside under the cold shower, I search where it's bright. Or dry in today's case. Elusive talented singers found: nil.
In the end, out of breath and wet with sweat, I find myself stepping into the Council room. First look around confirms that going outside is one of the least spectacular activities today. Shizune's squeezed out but still wet uniform hangs piece by piece on the chairs, the president herself in dry change and warm slippers sipping coffee at her desk. Not upset at all, it seems.
"Found us a voice," I say just as she starts signing to spare myself from a possible half an hour report on the stalls assembly progress. "No rhythm though."
It takes an explosive finger snap to distract Misha from a hot donut.
"Nicely done, Hicchan~!" she forces with a full mouth before decrypting her quieter companion's transmission. "Start thinking of a style~ change if the time's short~."
"Already, not just because of it," I sigh and let the shoulders droop. "Our class simply doesn't have a drummer anymore."
For a while the heavy silence is disturbed only by measured chewing.
"You've got it then!"
"Tell me one thing: why am I the one responsible?"
"Because you've had~ experience."
Yeah, well, it's true, I don't need to check the history books to recall the time I was with our old school's band, mostly as an errand boy and jack-of-all-trades, not a musician by a long shot. Learned how to manage things, of course, but there's another argument.
"Your guys have been at it for two full years."
"But you have the authority, Hicchan~!"
"Pffsh. Ability to make people laugh is hardly authority, and it's all the Council's good for."
Shizune's deep frown promises nothing pleasant.
"In addition~, your dirty deeds are covered," yeah, of course she's going to pull the leash every time the dog barks, "and indulged."
Her face is bright and clear all of a sudden.
"Why are you helping me?"
"Honestly~? Prestige, all for a chance to put Takeshi in his place. Besides~, can't wait to see Kurosaki's face when he realizes this win wasn't his own."
Something sounds off in Misha's voice, and the answer lies in her expression. For once, their emotion is one: revenge, only now the president has a more dreamy look and the interpreter's beastly grin gives away her bloodlust for a second, until her attention is drawn by another detail.
"Wait, Shicchan~, are you going out with him?"
The emotion on her face can be filed into any actor's handbook under the "intense mistrust" category. However, Shizune just slowly shakes her head and continues staring at Misha without a movement. The next expression should already go under "extreme bewilderment".
"Shicchan?"
The sudden drop in volume makes a harder impact than if she'd be screaming. I don't know what to expect, tears or a fight, and Shizune continues drilling her with a cold gaze. Of course, my ringtone has to go off right in the middle of a crisis.
"Yes, Dad?"
This room's tension must be leaking through my voice to the other end of the connection, because the old man takes his sweet time to reply.
"You know, junior, things keep flying out of my head with this damn work. Remember how we promised to visit you at your first weekend?"
Central, operation Sunday Foxtrot looks like a total trainwreck.
Last edited by 651 on Tue Jan 07, 2014 1:59 am, edited 1 time in total.
I wrote a Fluttershy x Tails once. It was really good, swer.
Then I wrote some KS fiction, and being not as stellar, it at least exists.
Then I wrote some KS fiction, and being not as stellar, it at least exists.