Katawa Shoujo Forums

kosherbacon wrote:Shizune has Misha share a room with her so she can have a butt to fondle at night.

As a Student Council member Misha has certain responsibilities.

Next chapter is complete, and the call for editors has gone out!

The tetralogy is going to keep expanding, though. Every time I start I think "this is the chapter that'll finish it!" and by the end I find I have more story I want to write.

Goldilurks wrote:The tetralogy is going to keep expanding, though. Every time I start I think "this is the chapter that'll finish it!" and by the end I find I have more story I want to write.

As long as you don't end up with a dozen chapters, it's all good. I think ">_>

Let me be the first to say that having more of this story is not a bad thing.

My ego really doesn't need to be inflated further, but thanks.

Inquiry: is it faster/more convenient to have a written conversation on cellphone text (don't have to send the message, they're already there) or on a surface with marker? I tested it myself, and went with marker, but I may be a very slow texter.

I'd think the marker as well. Besides, it's easy to add emphasis with the marker, like underlining or circling words. And you're not restricted to text; you can make circles and pictures.

A habitual texter or a texter out of necessity like Shizune might be quicker with a phone. I'm an old fart who hunts and pecks at phone buttons without predictive text so it takes me forever, though.

Goldilurks wrote:Inquiry: is it faster/more convenient to have a written conversation on cellphone text (don't have to send the message, they're already there) or on a surface with marker? I tested it myself, and went with marker, but I may be a very slow texter.

Two things matter a great deal. One is phone design: a phone with qwerty keyboard is always easier than a nine-digit pad. Autocomplete can't factor in since AFAICT it is universally horrid. Two is how fat your fingers are versus the size of buttons. A nubile sexy Shizune probably has no problems at all with two but one is a huge factor in wpm given the popular design of phones in Japan.

Also consider that they are writing Japanese.
I think writing drawing Kanji would take a proportionally greater amount of time compared to texting.
And predictive text should be a bit easier in Japanese because there are only so many ways you can combine the letters to form Kana or Kanji. Never tried in on cells, but it works pretty good in OO.

Mirage_GSM wrote:Also consider that they are writing Japanese.
I think writing drawing Kanji would take a proportionally greater amount of time compared to texting.
And predictive text should be a bit easier in Japanese because there are only so many ways you can combine the letters to form Kana or Kanji. Never tried in on cells, but it works pretty good in OO.

Indeed Japanese phones do use spelling out and turning into kanji rather than drawing kanji, but I think that's more because of the origins of cellphones. Originally creating a method of drawing kanji onto a cellphone was out of reach, now that it is, it's no longer viable because the texting / spelling out -standard has overrun all others.
Drawing the kanji could be a lot faster though. Drawing a single kanji you know doesn't really take you more than a few seconds and you can easily compass ten button-presses with a single kanji. Only thing needed is a decent touch screen capable of discerning different kanji. AFAIK that is available already, though.
This method also bypasses autocomplete, which indeed is quite awful most of the time. (The Japanese use kana-to-kanji transformations, or so I think, you spell out in kana the word, then press the "kanji button" to turn it into a kanji. The computer / cellphone suggests the most probable kanji for the spelling you gave, pressing multiple times on the kanji button cycles through all the possibilities.)

And of course I just realized another problem with cellphones they'd have at the particular moment and needed to rewrite some stuff again.

———

The gravel of the school roof was cold beneath me. There was no significant wind, and the sun had dipped under the horizon only half an hour ago, but I still felt chilly. I had sat down facing the edge of the roof, on the far corner from the door leading up here. Yamaku Academy and the surrounding countryside stretched out before me, behind the links of the roof’s fence. I rubbed a bit of salt from my cheeks and sniffled. I had stopped crying a while ago. Not long after, I even stopped feeling miserable. Well, mostly. Right now more than anything I felt adrift, with nothing to hold on to in sight.

Of course Shiina and Hisao were seeing each other. Of course they’d be looking for a moment alone, away from me, to do the deed. I monopolized hours of Shiina’s time every day. Of course her behavior made sense now. She had plenty of reason to return to running so eagerly. My attempts to keep up with Emi were her only chances to speak to Hisao with me otherwise occupied. The other oddities over the past month now made sense too. Initially sharing my suspicions about Emi, her uncomfortable pauses, leaving the track early with Hisao—even his sappy get well card!—I should have noticed it. Maybe I would have noticed it if I could only hear the tone of their voices, assuming such a thing even existed. Speakers certainly write about them enough.

A rebellious tear started to sneak its way into the corner of my eye, and I blinked. I didn’t bother asking myself why they had kept this secret from me. The answer to that question was obvious.

My cellphone sat on the rooftop next to me. I had made it all the way up here before I realized that I still gripped the stupid thing, white-knuckled, in my hand. It was vibrating ceaselessly; I had something like 10 waiting texts for me. From Emi or Shiina or Hisao or maybe even Tezuka; I didn’t care. That phone hadn’t helped me keep ahead of recent developments; what good was it when nobody told me anything?

I had watched the buses full of visiting athletes and their families drive off down the road from Yamaku. Several vans and cars had gone with them. Our school’s team might have been in one, heading into town to celebrate. Now the road only held a few pedestrians; most likely students meaning to make it back to the dorms before the curfew fell. None of them could have seen me, with hundreds of meters of distance and the chain-link roof fence between us. And given that, I might as well not exist to them. I had the right to be resentful, damn it; if the speaking world wasn’t going to announce itself and its stupid hidden social connotations to me in the only telesensory medium that mattered, then I would show it equivalent courtesy. If any speaker wanted to talk to me, they could announce themselves in a manner I could recognize.

Like, for example…with the smell of pizza?

I turned my head, and there was Emi.


A Second Wind
The fourth of three four who knows how many freaking chapters in a Katawa Shoujo fanfic.


She had a pizza box in her left hand and a sheepish look on her face. She tried awkwardly to sign “Hello” with one hand. I returned the greeting. She bit her lip in a moment of indecision, then put the pizza box on the ground.

“Can I sit with you?” she attempted.

I looked at her for a while. Then I sighed, and waved her over. She smiled and placed the box closer to me.

As soon as she sat down, I took her hands, and she blushed at the sudden contact.

Slowly and clearly, I moved her back through the motions of what she’d signed before, and then let her hands go. “That is how you sign, ‘Can I sit?’. Show me again.”

Her lips moved repeatedly, and then she seemed to remember I was deaf. Her hands went through the motions again, properly this time.

“Much better.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

There was a bit of an awkward pause. Then she remembered the pizza, opened the box and turned it towards me in offering. It was half the remains of a large Hawaiian. Apparently not all the track team members were into pepperoni. “Are you hungry?” she asked.

I nodded, and grabbed a slice. Emi watched me eat with a satisfied look on her face. When I was nearing the end of my slice, she signed, “Are you okay?”

I took a moment to lick the pizza off my fingers, thinking up my response. Honesty would not hurt here, I reasoned. “No. I’m disappointed and pissed off.”

Emi gave me an apologetic look of incomprehension; all she’d got was the initial negative response. We needed to work on her vocabulary. “Did you bring anything to write with?” I signed.

She brightened at that; the verb ‘to write’ is obvious enough for even the sign-illiterate to get. As she began rooting through her purse, I went for another slice of pizza and watched her. She’d changed clothes since the track meet, of course, and was currently wearing a green halter top with blue jeans and flat-top sneakers. The jeans were long enough to hide her casual prosthetics, so she wore normal white socks instead of her usual garish red and yellow stockings. She made it look good. From her purse she retrieved a black felt tip pen and handed it to me.

I took it, with another hand held out for the notepad. A few more seconds’ searching through her purse led us to find that she had forgotten to bring something to write on. She rubbed the back of her head apologetically and blushed. I had to smile at that. Sighing, I closed the pizza box and started writing on the top.

A little scatterbrained, are we?

She stuck out her tongue and gestured for the pen. I passed it her way, and took another slice of pizza as she wrote her response.

Sorry. I thought you’d have a notepad.

Well, she had a point. A smirk tried to fight its way onto my face as I watched her write. Her handwriting was atrocious. No matter; I finished my slice with one hand and began my response. Fair enough. I left it with our stuff in the Student Council room. With the slice eaten and that hand free—an awkward feat of ambidexterity that had been—I offered her a slice while still writing. Thank you for the pizza.

She turned down the offer. I shrugged, handed her the pen, and kept eating. I was hungrier than I had thought. I’ve had plenty tonight, she wrote. We were worried about you. A pause, while I munched away. What was that you signed earlier?

I stuffed the rest of the slice into my mouth and took the pen back. ‘I’m disappointed and pissed off’ was what I signed. Like this. I passed the pen back and repeated the signs again, pointing to each word in order. She watched my hands intently and nodded. I suppose she didn’t have as much use for that vocabulary as I did, but it would not do to waste a teaching opportunity.

She gestured at the last slice of pizza. Why the hell not. I took it as she began writing again. I’m sorry to hear that. I kind of heard what happened from Misha.

I raised an eyebrow. They hadn't noticed me. "How?" I signed.

You left the door unlocked. Right, I was the only other person with a key to that room, and missed that detail in my shock. I nodded in comprehension. There was an awkward pause as she looked to me for further reaction. I shrugged. Yes, I was mad, but it was not her problem. She took in the shrug and hesitated for a moment. Then she bit her lip and started writing again.

I didn’t think you liked Hisao.

Hisao? No. No no no no. Emi looked on mildly confused as I shook my head furiously. I mean, yes, Hisao was attractive enough as boys went, in a skinny and sarcastic kind of way, and Emi’s exercise regime had done wonders for a rear end that had already been pretty when he had first joined Yamaku, but no. I was ready to write all that down, but instead of passing the pen Emi gave me a calculating look and kept writing. She crossed out Hisao and wrote Misha?

I exhaled slowly. This would be tougher. I did love Shiina, but… well, how did I explain the way I loved her to Emi? How that had changed over time from infatuation to a deep friendship, how it had just changed again when I found out she of all people could betray me? I shook my head again, more slowly this time and at an angle, my hand held out for the pen. She nodded at my facial expression and kept writing. Okay, so it’s more complicated than that.

When she looked at me again, she noticed my folded arms and annoyed look. It dawned upon Emi that she was monopolizing my optimal means of communication. She sheepishly passed me the pen.

“Sorry.” Well, she had that sign down at least.

Then she brightened, and before I could start writing she reached back into her purse. Out came her cellphone, a gaudy little pink item emblazoned with stickers. She began punching away, and then passed it to me. On the screen was an unfinished text message. how bout this? itl be fastr

I nodded, and took the phone. With a few button presses I restarted the text message and was about to enter something when an alert came up.

New text message from: Misha (^_^) 2 of 2 unread

I recoiled from the cellphone, dropping it on the pizza box in a sudden panic. Emi noticed the message on the screen, and her face blanched. Looking embarrassed, she fiddled away at the buttons and meekly turned the screen back to me. sry!!!

I picked up the pen once more. If you don't mind, let's stick with this. Fewer interruptions. She nodded.

I began writing again. Hisao is a friend. He is cute, and I thought about sleeping with him once, but I never really liked him in a serious way. Shiina, and here I paused. Emi noticed the pause and gave me an expectant look.

No way out of this one. I began writing: is not attracted to girls. She did not abandon me when I came out, and I will always be grateful to her for that. A pause, then I continued. Which is why I am so mad at her now.

A slightly confused Emi bit her lip as I passed the pen back to her. Sorry. Not following you. Why did their, and here she paused, closeness make you so mad?

I sighed in exasperation, and tore into the pizza box when she handed the pen back. It wasn’t their ‘closeness’, it was the fact they didn’t tell me! I need Shiina to give me information about the outside world I cannot see or read about. Hisao also assists me in that manner to a lesser degree. I have few other friends and I need to be able to trust them to tell me what’s going on. If Hisao says—

I stopped. Crap. I had run out of pizza box top. Emi and I exchanged a look. The amused helplessness on her face said to me: you’re the deaf-mute, do something! I rolled my eyes and flipped the pizza box over. Continuity be damned, she knew what I had just written. —nothing about his goddamn heart condition and Shiina neglects to mention that she plans on fucking him, then what can I be sure about in the speaking world? How do I know that everything told to me about you all is not a lie? If they ignore me, how do I talk to you?

I passed the pen back to Emi and let her chew on that a bit. She was obviously conflicted reading my questions. She looked me in the eye, and the expression she settled on was a sweet smile and one slightly raised eyebrow. It managed to be reassuring and stern at the same time. You, she wrote, have hella trust issues, girl.

I frowned and snatched the offered pen back. Yes, I know. But Shiina knows that too. She should have told me something.

She shrugged, and I returned the pen. Can you think of why they wouldn’t have told you up front?

I looked her in the eyes for a whole five solid seconds before taking the pen back. Let me guess, because I’m a manipulative bitch who spends too much time looking for leverage and gets overly defensive for no good reason?

I wasn’t saying that!! she wrote, grimacing.

No, but it’s not far from the truth, and you know it as well as anyone, I wrote with a shrug. Then my vision blurred.

I realized I was crying again.

I turned away as quickly as I could, pushing my glasses up and wiping my face clean. When I turned to face Emi again, there was nothing but sympathy on her face, and that hurt most of all. The pen dug into the cardboard under the force with which I wrote. You didn’t see that.

Softly, so softly, she took my hands in hers, waiting until I let go of the pen. It’s okay, she wrote. Then she circled that twice. You’re allowed to be upset. I’m sure Hisao and Misha will still be your friends no matter how you feel about them.

“Thanks,” I signed.

“It’s nothing,” she signed back. When I neither smiled nor took the offered pen, she looked away for a moment. Then she seemed to gather some courage and began writing again. Surprised you weren’t pining over Hisao or Misha, though. You’re really bisexual?

I nodded yes. Then, on a whim, I signed, “Are you?”

She understood, and shook her head. It is hard to describe now what I felt: a sense of disappointment and resignation and annoyance all at once. Every fiber of my being wanted to scream, ‘Oh, go freaking figure’.

And then she wrote, I’m a lesbian, on that cardboard box and the world started turning again. She noticed my expression, which I am sure must have been quite odd, and passed the pen back to me. It took me a moment to decide what to write.

Really?

You couldn’t tell?

I did not get that impression from you.

I’m relieved you didn’t notice me staring at your rack every morning.

Well… oh, she might as well know. I did. I thought you were just jealous.

I saw the scowl on her face and had to bite my lip to keep from laughing as I returned the pen. That too, she wrote. One point to my score.

Emi attempted to recover the subject and her dignity. I was sure you’d be able to tell I was a lesbian.

I shrugged as she passed the pen back. For such an emotional discussion, I was certainly shrugging a lot. How?

I thought you’d hear about it.

She took one look at my face and realized that was the wrong choice of words.

“Sorry!”

I shook my head and took the pen back. I was not angry. No need to apologize. Your guess was reasonable. The track team captain being a lesbian is the sort of thing high school students would talk about.

She continued to cringe at my expression. No matter. I kept writing. I was not angry. Most people would hear about it, if they didn’t have to accompany a deaf-mute 24/7. It is very hard for sign language interpreters to engage in everyday gossip. I felt my knuckles crack as I wrote. Emi flinched at the same time; it must have made a noise. I kept writing. I was not angry. Of course, even if she did overhear it, the interpreter would be hard pressed to notice with her attention occupied with translating anything else she heard. She could easily forget it if she overheard it; the interpreter may likely assume that her deaf friend would keep as up to date on current matters as a speaker would.

I kept writing. I was not angry. Unfortunately, when a curious deaf-mute tries to insert herself into conversation or asks people to inform her of all they can, she is considered nosy and insistent. Should she seek a position of leadership where people would want to keep her informed, it only cements her reputation among speakers as a bossy control freak. My face was a mask. I kept writing. I. Was. Not. Angry. Never mind that no one fucking tells her anything unless she demands it of them, and that the rest of the useless deaf student body at this school cares nothing for knowing the speaking world, so it’s impossible to get an answer out of—

My last stroke of the pen ran off the cardboard edge, and I was suddenly out of pizza box again. Emi watched me with visible concern. I realized I was gritting my teeth.

Okay, maybe I was a little angry.

Emi placed one hand on mine and took the pizza box in her other. Then, very slowly, she opened the pizza box and turned the cleanest inside half to me. An inventive way to use all available resources, though we would have to work our way around the grease stains and stuck cheese. She took her hand away and made an offering gesture to the blank cardboard. I took a deep breath and shook my head. When she didn’t take the pen back I began writing again. I think I covered all I wanted to write. I placed the pen in her hands this time.

She started her response. Now I feel guilty for harping on your trust issues earlier. I laughed, and she smiled before continuing. I’m guessing my silent treatment earlier didn’t go over to well with you either?

She offered the cardboard again. This time I accepted. It did rub me the wrong way. And I really missed your cooking. I paused for a moment. Fuck it, might as well broach the topic. Though you had the right to be mad. But was my request so offensive? Why didn’t you want to talk to me?

When I passed her the pen her hands were trembling. I’d have taken your stupid student council position if you had just asked me, she began. That wasn’t a request, that was blackmail. It hurt, and it would have hurt to talk to you after that. I was hoping you would notice me. She took a deep breath, and then continued. I really like you. I want to spend time with you without anything or anyone getting in the way. Not track, not Hisao or Misha, not your student council control games, not anything. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. I just want to be with you. Can I?

Well, that was it out in the open, then.

I looked at Emi. She was still looking down at what she had just written, her cheeks a bright crimson. Her hands were still trembling when I pulled the pen from them as softly as I could. I held the pen in her hands, decided against trying to get her to look at me, and then suddenly realized I had no idea what to write next.

Slowly, indecisively, I lowered the pen to the cardboard. Nothing struck me. I looked at Emi again and noticed her lips were trembling. Oh, no. Was she starting to cry? I frantically began to write the first thoughts in my head.

I don’t know, I began. I never really considered a relationship with a speaker before. They were only ever one-time flings for me, and it seems that is not what you are looking for. Well done Shizune, that was probably just what she wanted to hear. I cursed my idiocy and timidly looked up at her face.

She looked about as sheepish as I felt. Then her face set into a determined look. I felt her tear the pen from my hands, and then she was writing on the pizza box with almost comic haste. Alright. Slower. Let’s try again. Come with me to lunch tomorrow? We can meet at the gates, 11:30 sound good?

She looked at me. I felt no less indecisive than I had before. Great, there were the puppy dog eyes again. When my paralysis did not abate, she quickly took the pen again and wrote down Yes and No checkboxes by her last question. Instead of handing the pen back, she placed it down on the cardboard between the checkboxes and went right back to giving me those blasted puppy dog eyes. I was sick of being put on the spot.

But more than that, I was sick of my complete lack of nerve.

Slowly, I reached down for the pen. She was leaning forward, supporting herself on her arms, and I could see her hands where they rested on the cardboard. They tensed up as I took the pen, and then formed excited little fists when I checked off the Yes box—only to relax when she saw what I wrote next to it.

I still half-expect you to quit.

When I looked up at her face this time, she treated me to the most radiant smile I had ever seen—before she reached up, pulled one eyelid down, and blew me the raspberry.

Oh, you wonderful little bitch.

I almost broke into a grin, satisfied myself with a smirk, and continued writing. Now I know what level of manners I can expect at lunch tomorrow.

She laughed when she took the pen from me. You stood up my last meal invitation. Then her face turned a little serious. Hisao and Misha sounded kinda worried. You should respond to their texts; I’ll call them.

I nodded at that, and we both took up our cellphones. Sure enough, the rest of the Student Council had inundated my inbox. I scanned through the messages, deleting most of them; the content was pretty much the same. I began typing a response and looked over to Emi. She had her phone to her ear, and when our eyes met she smiled and signed, “OK!”

Well, that was a relief. I crafted my message with care. Please don’t worry, I am not upset now. Just tired. I will retire to bed. See you around. Before hitting the ‘Send to Multiple Contacts’ button, I held my phone up to Emi so she could read it. She nodded. I waited until she hung up and sent the text. I hated the thought of giving Shiina a panic attack, but I needed to deal with those two in person and right now I was just too tired. That conversation could wait until tomorrow.

Emi gave me another smile, and then pointed to the pizza box. “I’ll handle this,” she signed, and folded it up beneath her arm.

“Thank you,” I replied. “For everything.” I was about to wish her good night when she offered me her hand again. Too tired to understand the meaning, I gave her a confused look, and she signed her explanation.

“Walk with me?”

From the precision of her hands, I knew that she must have practised that phrase extensively.

When she offered her hand to hold again, I took it. It was small and soft, and fit into my palm like it had been made to go there.

—
—

Many thanks to RedSavant, Leotrak, Mirage_GSM, and griffon8 for making my fics more readable. I think I'll need one more chapter for the date tomorrow, and maybe one yuri lemon epilogue if I feel like it and kosher doesn't beat me to the punch, and that should be it for this fic. It's already expanded a lot beyond what I originally intended, though, so I may end up needing a little more.

Some editors noted that Shizzy is not acting like the Shizzy we know from Act 1. There are several reasons for this. Part of it is emotional stability - Shicchan's going through a rough time lately and it's got her off balance. Part of it is also character development. She isn't quite the same Shicchan we know from Act 1. I'd hoped that the earlier chapters hinted at this sufficiently, but some of the character development ideas I didn't think of until I was a chapter or two into this fic already, so it may not be as fluid as I would like it to read.

The last part of it, though, is just archetypal tsundere behaviour. Shizune in love, as I portray her, is so far into de Nile that Misha will need to learn Amharic.

Still loving every bit of this piece of work ^_^ And I'm a little glad you took up some of my suggestions Also:

Goldilurks wrote:The last part of it, though, is just archetypal tsundere behaviour. Shizune in love, as I portray her, is so far into de Nile that Misha will need to learn Amharic.

Damned puns ">_>

Yes, I love this particular one ever since I first came upon it a decade or so ago
I'm sure I will be able to fit it into some of Rin's dialogue some time...

did you take lessons from kosher goldie?

either way, I'm enjoying this