black market love

[short story] this is not my sister

Sun, 24 Oct 2004 05:16:24 GMT

One week of school left, then study break, then exams, then SUMMER (work, beaches, hallelujah sunlight), then university doesn't start until March, yes free month!

My time's being eating up successfully lately by study, procrastinating and more study, since I'm determined to get good marks because I want a scholarship. But not the one through NCEA, no way I'm doing scholarship exams for 3 subjects, just Art History. Even so, most of my study will be last minute, like always. XD I can't seem to ingest it otherwise.

Also, I've started watching Aishiteruze Baby and Bleach, and I'm loving both of them. AiBaby is so cute I almost had a heart attack, then I watched it with friends and we couldn't stop squeeing. The girly-ness is disturbing. And I finally started reading Fullmetal Alchemist (*is slow*), and I must read that. Hopefully interest in TeniPuri will come back with Nationals.

It took me a while to write this because I had it so firmly in my mind when I started, so each bit I wrote didn't seem to portray it right. XD I'm mostly happy with it, except for a few little details - it originally went with a longer story which I haven't started writing, but which I intend to write soon. I've never written in 2nd person perspective before, but it leant itself easier to this story than either 1st or 3rd would have, and I wanted to portray Louie without actually saying anything about him, if that makes sense. XD Please tell me what you think, good or bad!

this is not my sister

Your sister calls you on the day of her engagement party. You spoke to her last week, and her voice is somewhat familiar.

“No one came.” Her tone indicates that she doesn’t really wonder why. “The sandwiches are going stale. I bought a bottle of Chardonnay but Adam only drinks red wine, not white.”

“You’re a loser.”

She laughs like someone much younger than twenty; somewhere in there is a quiet “Oui.”

There’s music in the background, l’amour est enfant de Bohême, Habanera from Bizet’s ‘Carmen’. She only listens to it because your father drilled appreciation of opera into her from the age of four, wishing Audrey to be a tribute to your mother. Her honey voice struggled but never quite reached the right notes, and she’s still afraid he’ll rise from the grave and make her practice arias with her hair in rollers and nails painted Revlon red. Sing louder, Audrey! Sing, sing, sing!

“Do you want the wine?”

“Why don’t you just drink it yourself?”

“Do you want me to get drunk?”

“Why don’t you just put it in the fridge?”

“Do you want me t--”

“Why don’t you just ask me to come instead of making excuses?”

Softly, “Because if I do, you won’t.”

- - -

She’s lost weight, skinny with a cigarette between pale rosebud lips and her eyelashes drooping from the layers of mascara, veiling her eyes. The ring on her finger is a ruby, not a diamond: her fiancée’s doodle of his name across her heart.

“Try one,” she says, nudging a plate of sandwiches across the coffee table with her toes. “I think they taste okay, maybe I didn’t add enough salt to the mixture.”

You chew on one, musings of how ugly the apartment is mixing with Too much salt, not enough filling, too dry. Audrey’s hand is bony and delicate, pressing against the velour couch as she leans forward to stub out her fourth cigarette of the afternoon. You think of your mother.

“The weather’s been so gloomy lately. Makes me feel depressed.”

“It’s winter.”

As a child you felt like God had dealt you the short end of the stick, obliging you to love this twin-thing with curls and soft eyes. She couldn’t even figure out 5 + 2 without using her fingers: she wasn’t going to turn out any good.

“Adam wants to have the wedding in September,” she says, limbs unfolding as she leans over to change the CD in the stereo next to the couch . “He thinks it’s more romantic in the spring.”

You want to say, he thinks giving a CD of love songs downloaded off the net is romantic, so you do.

Her hand darts to press play. Habanera begins, and you’re starting to think music is her comfort food. Another woman would sit and look at you until you became uncomfortable and stumbled out with something, anything; Audrey fiddles with the pink straw in her glass and says that the dishwasher is broken, she was thinking about buying a new one and (you tune out).

“Oh, how could I forget?” She tugs a thin present wrapped in Snoopy paper from the pile of Playboys on the coffee table and holds it out to you with a smile. “Happy Birthday!”

Reluctantly, you take it. “Our birthday’s on Sunday. Why are you giving it to me now?”

“I wanted to give it to you personally, instead of at the party.”

“It’s not a party, Audrey, it’s lunch. You’re the only one who brings presents.”

Audrey loves birthdays, your family does not, and you’ve always wondered where she went wrong. You ignore the little card attached to the ribbon because you never read those; the paper is crooked and the sellotape tears off Woodstock’s head when you open it. Audrey picks the card up off the ground and places it on the coffee table.

“Do you like it?” she says, with all the confidence of an overweight ice-skater. “I didn’t know if you would or not, I thought maybe you would, or at least I hoped you would...”

Other sisters give their brothers electric shavers, Timex watches and subscriptions to Sports Illustrated; according to the certificate you’ve unwrapped, your sister has given you an adopted acre of Latin American rainforest. Only Audrey would remember the obsession with saving trees that had plagued your eighth year: she was the one who bought your various fundraisers, fishing coins out of her purse with a closed-mouthed smile (she had lost her front tooth down the drain of the bathroom sink and was afraid your father would see; it whistled when she spoke and affected her singing).

The apartment door closes with a slam. Adam slings his keys into a glass bowl on the kitchen bench and Audrey winces visibly at the sound; he wanders into the lounge area, grins at you while chewing gum. From behind his back he reveals a bouquet of dahlias with a flourish.

“Louie, I didn’t know you were coming, I would’ve told Bambi to get some bottles out of the fridge.” He gives Audrey the bouquet, traces a fingertip over her cheekbone in a surprisingly tender gesture. “She’s so forgetful sometimes, you know how it is. Did you have a good party? I guessed everyone might have left by now, thought it might’ve been safe to come back.”

Audrey nods and smiles and holds the plate with the last couple of sandwiches out to him as he switches off ‘Habanera’, changing the music to Guns n’ Roses. Adam takes one, sticking his gum to the side of the porcelain before popping it into his mouth. He chews for a moment and frowns.

“You better not order food from that catering company again, Bambi, it tastes like shit. Too salty.”

He calls her Bambi because it was his favourite movie as a child, and because he is Adam he doesn’t realise the objectionable side of it.

Adam takes over the lounge to watch TV and you follow Audrey, her feet bare and ballet-like on the tiles. You watch her arrange the dahlias, and as she tries to repair a broken stem she reminds you of your mother, somewhere in the delicacy of movement: Audrey was too young to remember her, but years of opera and curled hair have done their job.

“Do you want to stay and eat?” The sink is full of dirty dishes, stacked neatly; Audrey shifts around in the freezer drawers, peering under a stack of microwave meals. “It won’t be much, toast and chicken most likely; I need to go the supermarket on Monday.”

“I have to meet a client for dinner at eight.”

“Um… could you come on Tuesday? I can make casserole without burning it now.” She pops some bread into the toaster, forgets to defrost the chicken and reminds you that your sister Juliette’s wedding is next week, in case you were planning not to go, don’t make that face Louie and don’t think I can’t see it just because I’m not looking at you.

You half-listen to her soft voice and pick through the piles of books, bills and junk mail on the benchtop, uncovering near the bottom a glossy magazine of baby clothes and nursery furniture. Audrey glances up from the chicken to see what you’re looking at and shrugs, but doesn’t say anything. Adam once joked about Audrey being infertile; Juliette was in the same room and normally she would have responded negatively, had Audrey not misplaced Juliette’s three-year-old son on a shopping trip the day before. Staring at your wine glass, you had decided that Audrey’s child would:

1) Know the numbers for Pizza Hutt and China Grill but not its own,
2) Think that Queen were the greatest musicians ever and therefore be mocked by peers,
and 3) Possess Audrey’s love of birthdays instead of the genetic disregard for them.

Audrey would love her child but Audrey’s love is like water in a First World country, too plentiful to be thankful for.

By the time the clock ticks past seven, you’re surprised that the chicken is intact and edible. Adam adds a few shakes of salt and various spices, gently twisting one of Audrey’s neat curls around his finger while she uncorks a bottle of red wine. When you say you’re leaving, Audrey smiles like Audrey does, handing you the certificate and the Snoopy card, which you’d conveniently forgotten. She waves goodbye to you from behind the patterned glass of the door, blurred to a palette of red fingernails, white skin and black hair.

She is his butterfly, kept in a jar without air holes; she will suffocate, and he will spend days wondering why.

- - -

In the fluorescent-lit toilet of a Korean karaoke bar, you reach into your pocket expecting to find a cigarette and instead pull out a slightly bent card with Snoopy on the front. Eighties pop tunes echo through the walls, If you fall I will catch you, I'll be waiting, time after time; you look in the mirror and try to rub the lipstick off the collar of your work shirt, but only succeed in smudging it in further, like a bruise. The card is open in the sink, with Audrey’s writing in light pencil.

Louie
You’ll probably throw this away, but you never know, life is funny sometimes.
I’m sorry your present is so weird. I couldn’t think of what to get you. Adam kept saying, “Beer or porn!” but that’s his answer to everything. I hope you remembered to get me something! Ha-ha, just joking.
Have a good birthday, don’t drink too much, don’t leave your wallet at the karaoke bar like last time, and I love you!
Audrey
x o x o x o

- - -

Sitting around the dining table at your sister Juliette’s house, Adam and Audrey on the other side, cousins and children arranged so as to prevent fork-stabbings, nobody mentions the word ‘birthday’. Juliette is talking to Audrey, or rather just talking, while Audrey nods in the appropriate places and glances over at you with Help Me written across her forehead. There’s a feeble-looking late-season butterfly in a jar on the kitchen counter, which Adam accidentally squashed coming up the path to the house.

It’s like the Addams Family, except with framed posters of Rothko originals, prettier children and wine.

Your cousin Marie is talking to you, something along the lines of, “I heard you got a new job in a publishing house, Louie,” which you manage to answer correctly around a hangover disguised as a headache. Juliette wipes lipstick off the rim of Audrey’s wine glass with a serviette and sighs.

“Why don’t you do something with your life, Audrey? We’re all waiting for you to find your own little niche.”

“I am doing something.” Even though she says it gently you hear the unspoken, but it’s never enough. You think, this is not my sister; she is smiling like a cancer patient, and you wish you didn’t know what she was thinking, because it would be so much easier not to.

Audrey was still dressing Barbies when she’d started having sex. You’d watched her sit sprawled outside McDonalds with her school skirt halfway up her thigh, staring at legs. Juliette had tugged her hand and told her - as sisterly as possible - to please stop being so dramatic, sex is not the end of the world, I’ll buy you an ice-cream if you move and Audrey you have to move because you’re scaring the five year olds. Juliette was good at flute and calculus but she was not good at being a sister, she was too refined for that.

“You could take up painting again, you used to love having lessons.”

I loved having Chinese takeaways afterwards, if that’s what you mean.

“Mmm. Maybe.”

“What about taking some university courses? You could even do something like biomedical science!”

Don’t punish me just because you got pregnant and started a family.

“Um… I don’t think science is exactly me.”

Audrey picks at the food on her plate with her fork, arranging it in piles while Juliette watches; you know she’s going through Habanera in her mind.

“Audrey, you’re not four, stop picking at your food. Why can’t you just eat normally?”

Quand je vous aimerai? Ma foi…

“Je ne sais pas,” Audrey whispers to her carrots.

“What?” Juliette frowns at Audrey’s plate, like any mother would.

“Nothing.”

- - -

Audrey arrives at your apartment early on Sunday morning, wet curls tied back with an ibis clip, lacking mascara. You’re only awake because the clicking of her high heels in your kitchen drove you from sleep, and now you lean against the kitchen counter, blinking in the winter sunlight and waiting impatiently for coffee. She stirs it carefully, like polite people do in houses that are not theirs. You take the cup from her hands, warming your own, as she waters your neglected African violet.

“I got you something.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Silence.

“Louie, when you get people a present, you’re supposed to give it to them.”

“Shut up, I know that.” You open the pantry doors and pick up the small square present sitting atop the Cocoa Puffs, holding it out to your sister. She looks at you, clutching it with her fingers.

“Can I open it?”

“Obviously.”

“What is it?”

“Audrey, has anyone ever told you that you suck at receiving gifts?”

“I wouldn’t know, this is kind of a historic first.”

“Just open it.”

She gently pulls the sellotape off the paper, unwrapping a clear plastic box, inside which sits a small cake. She removes it from the box and puts it on a plate; there’s two candles sticking out of the white frosting. You tug your cigarette lighter out of your pocket and light the candles, their little flames flickering.

“Make a wish, Audrey.”

“It’s your birthday, you make one too.”

She is smiling, not an Audrey smile but like she means it, swiping her fingertip across the cake and tasting the frosting. You try not to think about how many cigarettes she smokes, about magazines with baby clothes and the possibility of infertility, about her plate after she’s eaten with the food rearranged but still there. Your sister tells you to make a wish and you do, wrapping it like a gift that can never be too late as she blows out the candles and laughs.

Yes, I should be studying.

Thu, 19 Aug 2004 10:34:10 GMT

In the newspaper there was an article on the aesthetics of the Olympics, but I figure it lost its true brilliance when the men stopped wearing speedoes in the swimming. I mean, the beach volleyball has women in bikinis dancing (could we call that dancing?) to Dirrrty, why can't the swimming have speedoes? Can't someone invent streamlined speedoes?

Anyway... RARRR, YOU LOSE, SERBIA! The last 40 seconds of that basketball game took 9 minutes. DICKEL IS THE MAN. The referee was an absolute ass. XD Despite the fact that we've lost what? the other 2 games, WHO CARES, it was brilliant (well not really, they could've done a hell of a lot better). Except when the hell is the tennis and soccer and GYMNASTICS on? Probably 3am, everything good seems to be on at 3am. Bastard timezones.

Exams are the week after next. I fear my brain might die. No wait, it's already dead.

THE KOREAN MOVIE OLD BOY IS BRILLIANT. You have absolutely NO IDEA what is going on until the last half hour, where everything starts to make sense.

I bought the first 2 volumes of xxxHolic, which I shouldn't have, but I love it, so that's okay. Watanuki is such a loveable dork, Yuuko is so amusing; and I hate the fact that they cost $5 more than Tokyopop volumes. I also bought Tokyo Babylon volume 1, reading it almost makes me cry knowing what happens in X. I DID manage not to buy Fruits Basket 4 and GetBackers 4, so I have some reserve, at least. i read those at the store.

Movies + crack + AniPuri 144

Sun, 25 Jul 2004 12:39:00 GMT

This is perhaps my favourite painting, because it draws out such an urge to write in me - it's by Kandinsky, so different to his later abstract works. I wish I could find a larger version of it online, have to keep looking. >_<;

Lately I have seen too many movies/documentaries that I can't really afford thanks to the Film Festival, including Born into Brothels, a documentary about children growing up in the brothels of Calcutta which was surprisingly funny yet moving, without feeling like it was trying to capitalize on your sympathy; and One Missed Call, Japanese horror/satire which I thought was brilliant, even though the end made the whole cinema go "WHAT THE SHIT?" very loudly. XD Cracked up in so many parts. Am now afraid of ceilings and cupboards, and jars with foetuses (don't ask). Still need to see Tokyo Godfathers.

I watched this just now but was too tired to try and listen to what they're saying, hence I interpreted it my own way (which is not usually a good thing). :D Haha, Ryoma got pissy and secretly pouted a lot because he did not get chosen. Although I did feel slightly sorry for the midget (damn his cuteness). Who the hell has a name like Kevin Smith. <-- (will now be haunted by the ghost of past Kevin Smiths).

Kajimoto is displeased that his woman's hand is straying. Other than that I kept imagining some kind of Tezuka/Hanamura/Sakaki triangle, which wasn't good and ended with me wondering if Hanamura's clevage has grown over the course of time. If I had the Jyousei eps I would do a picture-story.

Mizuki. How can you not love Mizuki? His evil laughter is so adorable. <3 The SPIRIT FINGERS!

The SLIGHTLY PHALLIC TOWER OF DOOM, complete with sunset and pissy!bicultural!midgets (and Tezuka, who is possibly a voyeur who likes symbolism when combined with midgets, I don't know).

I "Eeeeee!"-ed, Sanada and Yukimura in the next episode! Eeee! <3

I want to write deep philosophical crack about midgets and Hanamura's clevage and phallic symbols. K, I am going to sleep now. XD

Icons! And freakishly (cute) screencaps!

Mon, 21 Jun 2004 09:03:09 GMT

My mum doing the IQ test on tv:
"Wheel A turns clockwise, Wheel B turns anticlockwise, where does the bucket go? ... WHO FUCKING CARES?!"

I love my mother. ♥ I would do the test, but ER's on now.

Made new icons! Quite a few, actually. XD These are the three I'm using:

I made these ones with the tenipuri!sims pics, which all question my brain's intelligence. If you want to use one, just leave a comment! :D

1. 2. 3. 4.

There's this one, which is just random:

5.

And there's this one, whose file size is too large to be an icon. XD

I watched 116-117 again, admiring the ghei, the weird and the just plain dumb, while taking screencaps of anything that caught my fancy.

Ryoma, as much as I wish he would break his leg and lose to Sanada, the little snarky bastard, has some adorable/fucking weird expressions in this ep. Such as this. Also, this. And this one speaks volumes. ♥

Sanada gets mournful Mexican lover's music! ♥

What the FUCK was with the grip tape? I kept thinking of sexual uses for grip tape. Mmm, bindey.

Yes. Echizen is tall, black and bald. Gee, why could I never make that distinction?

Look! Look! IT POUTS! IT GETS ANGRY! It... looks strangely pretty. XD

Lastly... OMFG BUNTA IS ADORABLE. ♥ ♥ ♥

Add @ 10:48pm: Gorgeous wallpapers here! I love the X, Angel Sanctuary and Count Cain ones. ♥ So beautiful.

116-117 babble + drawings + handwriting meme-thing

Sat, 19 Jun 2004 11:26:35 GMT

Adorable Hyotei chibis, a photo of my keychain. <3

Finally saw 116-117. EEEE.

Akaya is so evil. He wasn't that evil in the manga! Poor elf. The whole thing with Fuji, An and Tachibana made me laugh so much. WTF was with the grip tape? >_>; Marui is so adorable.

Rarrr, I really need to write Rikkai fic (like Jungle!JaBun <333), but my brain's too stressed to think properly. Once I get my assignments done I'll be able to write, but right now they're completely eating my sanity. Why oh why do they have to be worth so many credits altogether? (just in case I completely lose my mind before the exams and cannot pass, rarr. XD)

lechaco, I LOVE YOUR HAIRCUT. <3! Fucking Javascript wouldn't let me comment. XD I can't wait to see more pics of you as Yukimura! <3

I can't really draw that well but I like to try and get better; mainly I draw my characters, because putting them down on paper makes them easier to visualise sometimes.

Tauren, Aamonya, Ditaran, Artania, Romeo.

Also, I do fabrics and design at school, so here are some dresses I designed for my characters, and also used as concepts for an assignment:

Dress for Tauren, dress for Aamonya, other dress design.

I took a photo of my handwriting to do that writing meme: this is what my writing usually looks like when I'm scribbling.

Oldpeople!Rikkai. Why yes, the medicine's getting to me.

Sat, 22 May 2004 09:53:09 GMT

morphaileffect, happy birthday for yesterday! <3 And thank you for seeding the episode - it didn't finish because my computer was having issues, but there are 2 people seeding at the moment (I think XD) so I'll try and download later.

i am so tempted to write oldpeople!rikkai. i am imagining akaya whacking sanada with a cane, marui sending himself in diabetic arrest due to cake, and yukimura dozing off every 2 seconds in a wheelchair. by some miracle of time and space, they all end up in the same nursing home...

[Fic] Akaya's Brilliant Day / Rikkai gen crack

Sat, 10 Apr 2004 23:19:00 GMT

Tried to post this last night, but the internet went ga-ga on me. ::whacks:: I MUST find out what's wrong with it soon. I got tired of angst and fluff, so I wrote gen Rikkai crack. Today must finish 2 drabbles, because from Tuesday I'm busy as hell. Holidays my ass. XD Anyway, enjoy!

He ambled down the corridor, keeping an eye out for Marui; yesterday, the red-haired boy had tried to sell him off to a deranged, overweight third year in exchange for cake. When Akaya had seen that said third year was holding a knife, a fork, and a salt shaker, he sure as hell hadn’t stuck around to see whether or not the rumours of cannibalism were true.

Akaya's Brilliant Day

“Hey, Kirihara!” Niou slid up behind him, as smooth as Jackal’s shiny head. “Wanna see me do a trick?”

Akaya nodded enthusiastically. Niou held out his hand.

“Okay, just hand over your money, and I’ll make it disappear!”

Akaya fished around in his pocket for his lunch money, which he’d managed to wheedle out of his mother that morning with a puppy-dog pout; not being the brightest of boys, he dropped it into Niou’s hand and waited with anticipation.

Niou grinned. It was like taking candy from a violent, oversized baby.

“Now, here’s the best part! Are you watching? One... two... three!”

Niou sped off down the school corridor.

All in all, it hadn’t been the best day so far for Akaya, and it was only 10am. He had woken up late to find himself on the floor with his Usagi-san’s ear in his mouth, which he’d chewed off during the night; when he managed to drag himself off the floor and down the hallway, he stood on the cat’s tail, and she helpfully bit his toe. His mother, on seeing that it was cold outside, had wrapped an extra-long scarf around his head until he couldn’t breathe and enveloped him in a puffy jacket, cooing at him when he pouted at her while begging for lunch money. To top it all off, when he’d been stumbling blindly down the street in the direction of what he hoped was the school, some little punk had thought it would be funny to kick his butt and run off while he was incapacitated by scarf and jacket. Akaya had lost his balance, landing ass-first on the cold concrete, and had looked up to find Sanada peering down at him from under his cap.

“Kirihara! You’re late for morning practice!”

Akaya, sore and cold despite his scarf and jacket, had grinned insolently up at his sempai.

“If I’m late, fukubuchou, doesn’t that mean you are too?”

As he watched Niou speed off down the corridor, Akaya rubbed at the bruise on his head where Sanada had whacked him earlier. Nope, it hadn’t been the best day so far. He ambled down the corridor, keeping an eye out for Marui; yesterday, the red-haired boy had tried to sell him off to a deranged, overweight third year in exchange for cake. When Akaya had seen that said third year was holding a knife, a fork, and a salt shaker, he sure as hell hadn’t stuck around to see whether or not the rumours of cannibalism were true.

Not to say he hadn’t been interested, though.

Musing over whether Jackal would share his lunch with him since he had no money to buy it now, Akaya didn’t watch where he was walking; he managed to smack right into Sanada, who was fishing something white and suspicious out of his locker.

From his viewpoint on the floor, Akaya rubbed his already sore head and mourned his already sore butt. He glanced up, saw what Sanada was holding, and wished with all of his evil little mind that he could have been anywhere else at that moment, even in his sister’s hairdressing salon, washing old ladies’ hair. He paused momentarily to shudder at the thought.

Sanada was holding a pair of white boy’s briefs. As the neat little tag on the back supplied helpfully, Yukimura Seiichi’s briefs, to be exact.

Feeling Death prodding his back with its cold fingertips, Akaya wondered why on earth he’d thought it would be funny to steal Yukimura’s underwear that morning at practice and stash them in Sanada’s locker as revenge for whacking him on the head. Sure, it was a brilliant plan, one of his best even, but his sense of timing sure needed work.

Akaya watched with wonder as the slightest hint of a blush spread across Sanada’s cheeks. The blush was like a beautiful siren tempting him towards something he knew he shouldn’t do: he just... couldn’t... resist...

“Oooh, fukubuchou! Why do you have Yukimura-buchou’s underwear in your locker? Saving them for a rainy day, eh?”

Akaya grinned so widely it hurt his cheeks, he was so proud of himself. Then the fact that he was about to be ass-whupped to death dawned on him and he almost fainted.

In a shining moment of luck he was saved by an angel; a headband-wearing angel who looked ever-so-subtly mortified that Sanada was holding his underwear in his fist. Yukimura took a few steps forward, then paused.

“Sanada...” he began, voice cracking slightly. “Why... do you have... my underwear?”

“They aren’t yours,” Sanada mumbled, attempting to smuggle the briefs back into his locker.

“They have my name on them. Aren’t you going to give them back?”

“You don’t need them, I’m sure you’ve got another pair.” Yukimura shifted uncomfortably; Sanada blinked, then quickly tugged his hat down over his eyes with a manly cough. “Or, maybe you... don’t.”

As the two began to quietly and tactfully squabble, Akaya crawled down the corridor on his knees and away from certain death. He was almost home free when his forehead smacked right into a pair of legs. He heard Renji’s voice speak from above.

“Hmm. Another domestic, I assume?”

Akaya glanced up. Renji and Yagyuu were standing there, watching Sanada and Yukimura with barely concealed amusement.

“It’s quite like an experiment, isn’t it, Yagyuu-kun. Maybe they’re trying to see how much unresolved sexual tension they can bombard us with before we shut them into the changing room overnight to let them sort out their ‘differences’.”

“Quite. Though I daresay, Sanada-fukubuchou isn’t the reddest rose in the bouquet, if you know what I mean. Perhaps shutting them in the changing room isn’t such a bad idea.”

“Should we say, tonight?”

“Excellent plan, Sherlock.”

“All in a day’s work, my dear Watson.”

Renji and Yagyuu grinned to themselves. Akaya decided to ignore what he’d just heard - all his sempai were weird, he’d come to that conclusion months ago.

“Oi, sempai-tachi! Going to help me up?”

Renji looked down at him as if only just noticing he was there. “Akaya-kun! What are you doing down there?”

“Escaping death.”

“Am I correct in assuming you’re the perpetrator of this plot?”

“Umm... maybe?”

Renji glanced over at the two leaders of the Rikkai tennis team; Yukimura was clutching his underwear tightly, heading off in the direction of the toilets with slightly pink cheeks, while Sanada was stomping over to them, not looking too happy.

“Akaya-kun, might I suggest a quick getaway?”

Akaya peeked over his shoulder, squeaked, scrambled to his feet, and hurried off down the corridor.

“KIRIHARA!”

Akaya managed to keep away from his sempai until lunchtime, by hiding behind girls in the corridors and keeping his mouth shut. He didn’t sit where he and his sempai usually ate at lunchtime; instead he sat by himself outside on a secluded bench behind a tall garden, listening to the sounds of his own stomach grumbling in hunger.

It wasn’t long before a head of dark curls walked past, and a pair of dark eyes peered over the bushes Akaya was trying to hide behind.

“Akaya-kun, I’ve been trying to find you all lunchtime! Why aren’t you sitting where we usually do?” Yukimura gracefully sat down next to him, and smiled winningly. “Are you trying to escape your buchou?”

Akaya shook his head furiously; apparently, Yukimura hadn’t figured out yet that he was the one who pilfered his underwear that morning. Yukimura tut-tutted like a chubby Danish mother, fishing a hairbrush and a lunchbox out of his schoolbag. He handed Akaya the lunchbox and began to brush the second year’s tangled curls, while Akaya winced and screwed up his face like he did whenever his own mother tried to tame his hair.

“You’re so skinny these days, Akaya, have something to eat!”

Akaya had a sudden flashback of a certain cutlery-weilding third year, eyeing him like a person eyes a chicken when deciding what seasoning would serve to make it most tasty.

He shoved a sushi roll in his mouth, refusing to think about it. All in all, it hadn’t been the best day for him, and it was only lunchtime; he chewed miserably, anticipating the afternoon’s dilemmas and listening to Yukimura’s soft voice musing over why Renji and Yagyuu had been so pleased with themselves that lunchtime.

Whoever said being the youngest member of the Rikkai tennis team was boring had been talking out of their ass, Akaya decided. If he could manage to get through the afternoon with his head intact, it would be a miracle.

Alternative Alphabet Books

Thu, 25 Mar 2004 11:17:59 GMT

Why are alphabet books so stereotypical? Why not expand a child's vocabulary with such delightful terms as "F" is for "Fedora", and "D" is for "Decaf"?

I think I need a copious amount of sleep. XD Except I need to start my essay on naturalism, which is extremely... well, not difficult, just frustrating, since all the definitions of naturalism on the net and in the library come from the 19th century when it was separate from realism.

My History teacher is from northern England and said that Elizabeth I's Privy Councillors were gobby. What in the name of god is gobby? XD!

It's so amusing reading about the NZ accent - basically, it says we're lazy so we skip letters and make things shorter. Good on us, I say.

...chibichibichibichibi...

Wed, 24 Mar 2004 08:51:09 GMT

Sick today, so got doped up on Panadol and various other medicines and watched Slam Dunk in Cantonese, CNN and the History Channel. W0rd. AniPuri 115 finished downloading, and so I squealed over that for quite a while; Hannah's Inner Mind Dialogue went something like this:

"ChibichibichibichibiOMGSOCUTEEEEEchibichibichibiOMFGGAYLITTLEMIDGETSchibichibi..." etc.

Can't WAIT for 116 and 117. (Translated) RIKKAI LURVE~! *____*

Made two new icons: Ban-chan's Ultimate Gay Top and the Revelation of Yumiko.

I am loving Yagyuu and Niou right now, thanks to this and this. They're such a fascinating pair, because there's so much to investigate into with their switching. Must... not... write... fic... ::chains self to SanaYuki for the time being:: XD!

I LOVE our current English assignment: creative writing. HALLELUJAH! Not only that, but we have so much choice this year (well, four, but that's four times the choices we've had before XD). I'm doing the one where you have to write the first chapter of a novel - seems really interesting.

Slam Dunk is... so... WEIRD. Hanamichi kept head-butting every 2nd person he came across. I think I like Prince of Tennis better - the boys are prettier. >D!

Sun, 28 Dec 2003 08:41:47 GMT

I had such a lazy day today - got up at 12, watched some DVDs, fell asleep outside in my hammock chair, etc. 'Twas very good - I felt so relaxed, which is unusual for me. ^__^ Going shopping tomorrow, with whatever money I still possess - Wild Pair has bloody cheap (well, $50, but that's cheap for them XD) skirts at the moment, and I need new clothes for next year. Watching The Gift at the moment - that movie is bloody weird. Nothing else on.

Ou, I found the best LotR quote in the Sunday Star Times review:

"The film takes an eternity to end, settling on an overly teary-eyed epilogue that should provide enough ammo for anyone who wants to write a thesis titled 'A Ring of Pink: The Homoerotic Overtones of The Return of the King'."

I think I have said enough about gay hobbits for now. XD