Chapter 5: Fourteen Hours of Reality
~ Part 4: Signs ~
And here we are again, friends, enemies, indifferent and others, at the last stop of this peek into events not-so-long passed. Finally we shall stumble upon the improbable twist of Fate that would later affect so many… and yet matter so little… or not. I don’t know. I just wanted to say something cool.
This is the story of how I met your mother… In fact no, it’s not. I really don’t want to have kids. I don’t hate this world so much that I’d inflict upon it a new generation of tiny myselves.
With that said. If you are reading this in the distant future and you so happen to be one of my descendants. Be strong in the belief that you were very much undesired.
Pleasant reading~
* * * * *
After two failed attempts, I finally managed to… to leave my home. On hindsight, it’s pretty pathetic. Anyway. Third time’s the charm as they say.
My pilgrimage along the sidewalks turns out a rather uneventful one, void of anything more dangerous than the occasional wayward turd… Seriously, what is Truck-san doing when we need him? So much for “long and perilous”.
Trekking valiantly through the fierce winter cold, I eventually reach the Gates of Heaven, inconspicuously camouflaged as an old windowed door whose sky-blue frame appears in dire need of a paint job.
Guess even Paradise suffers from budget cuts.
Global financial crisis really is global, and everlasting apparently.
In this case, Heaven, or “Tommy’s Entertainment Store”, not currently owned by anyone named Tommy – LIES!! EVERYTHING IS A LIE!! – is a locally famous shop that sells mainly music, but also books, comics, movies, video games, and all the funny associated goodies!
I love goodies.
Interestingly enough, this shop… err… exists.
Many had predicted the advent of the digital era would spell the downfall of physical supports such as CDs and books, and consequently the disappearance of any retailer of such things. This foreboding prophecy however, only half realised.
Yes, CDs have become obsolete. So did books for the most part. Nobody really uses them since the twenty-forties, which makes me a little sad. Much more compact data chips replaced them. But with the development of VR, the music industry became creative and started marketing immersive music videos and “as if you were there” concerts. And while it is technically possible to download such material, the massive amount of data it represents makes owning a separated support much more comfortable than overloading whatever data storage you possess, be it hardware, cloud, or whatever.
I’m sure the companies aren’t artificially increasing the amount of data to sell us more stuff. Why would they? Oh. Right. To sell us more stuff. How silly of me. Not that I care much. I’m a happy customer.
And, of course, the same evolution happened with films and books… and anime… of all kinds.
…
( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
* * *
*trilililing*
As I push open the door to Tommy’s, a merry electronic carillon obnoxiously announces my glorious arrival in this little corner of paradise. My thoughts immediately quiet down, no doubt a Pavlovian reaction to the good music I knew would be infusing the store.
I take a deep breath, attempting to inhale the ambient melody. Instead I catch wisps of something probably illegal. I think. I’m not an expert in recreational drugs or their legislation. I might be an avid gamer, but I’m not such a fan of Weed.
I let the door close behind me and take a roundhouse glance at the few other costumers present. All four of them. Gathered in the “music” part of this fine establishment. Like I said, this store is locally famous. Key word being “locally”.
To my left, in the far end corner, are “standing” two giant blobs of jelly.
…Oh. Sorry. Those are people.
My bad, my bad.
It would seem that the things I mistook for two grotesque blobs are in fact a pair of hoodlums with deplorable fashion sense. I’m not one to talk? Ridiculous. I have great fashion sense. I simply choose not to bother most of the time.
The pair’s shoulder are slumping so low I’m concerned for the poor creatures. Is this some kind of back deformity? Or maybe they’re melting. Or falling down in super-slow motion. I can’t be sure. Probably slow-mo. They look about as fast-witted too.
You’re quite the judgmental ass, you know that?
Maybe I am. But, you know what? I don’t give a sheet of toilet paper. I never bought into this crazed obsession the modern world has with tolerance and acceptance. Sure, sure, discrimination is bad. I get it. People suffered and fought for equal rights between genders, ethnicities, religions, yadi yada and whatnot. Woe are minorities! Oh the humanity!
I get it. I really do. And I’m not about to deny people’s past hardships.
But nowadays, we… and by “we” I mean “society” in general, because Mom tells it’s bad to call society “them” as if I wasn’t part of it… So, like I were saying: nowadays we seem to have fallen into the other extreme of spurning anyone who dares to mention somebody else’s flaws.
Call an obese person “fat”, and everybody looks at you as if you murdered that person’s mother rather than brought attention to a potentially harmful health condition. Have the audacity of asking a gay couple to please stop making out next to you in a bus, because seeing two burly bearded men eating each other’s faces makes you uncomfortable, and suddenly you are a neo-Nazi activist in the eyes of every other passenger.
I don’t like being “politically correct”. In the first place, I think putting “political” and “correct” in the same expression is an oxymoron. I prefer rude honesty to polite hypocrisy. I don’t mind being called a lazy antisocial nerd if you want. At least I know what I am.
The paradox is that “we” – still used in the societal meaning – also adamantly advocated that all believes and ways of life should be respected, as long as they don’t bring direct harm to anyone. And even that last point is negotiable.
Basically it’s okay to think whatever you want… but please keep your mouth shut, your opinion for yourself, and do what everyone else does, which is to complain in silence about how miserable their life is.
…
……
………
Wow. This rant became unexpectedly dark.
Hahaha. How awkward. I’m making it sounds like I’m all engaged and opinionated about social issues… Really, I just love making fun of people. What? You thought I was altruistic? Please. I’m a nice person, but don’t go around confusing nice and good. It’s bad for your health. And dangerous for my karma.
Ahhhh. I hate expectations.
Where was I? Oh. Right. The monozygotic jellyfishes slumping in the corner.
I can’t help but think I’d love to see them try to walk in those potato sacks they are wearing…
What do you say? Saggy pants? Oh, I’m sooooo sorry. I just assumed these were either your obese uncle’s hands-me-downs, or that you simply enjoyed gracing the world with the sight of your underwear…
If it’s the latter, you really shouldn’t have bothered.
Indeed.
The couple of wannabe thugs are currently checking the latest compilations in the dumpstomp rap subsection of the music section. Tommy’s provides its dear costumers with the opportunity to listen to the goods prior to purchasing them, thanks to headphones disseminated across the store. Similarly, three VR capsules can be found on the opposite side of the store, which caters to the more gaming-enthused patrons. The capsules are rented though, by the hour. It’s still affordable and in high demand. Not everyone has the funds to invest in an electronic device the size of a bed.
Headphones over their ears, lost to the world around them, the disgraceful duo is nodding wildly to the beat like a couple of retarded ostriches and – I conjecture – engaging in a semblance of “communication” amongst themselves.
I… I think they’re talking.
Fascinating. The unexpected greatness microbial lifeforms have reached over the millennia…
Truly.
That is, if those flabby ape-ish gesticulations are indeed a language of sorts, and not just an epileptic by-product of the desperate attempts of their single shared neuron at apprehending lyrics which they are otherwise approximately babbling with less accuracy than a drunken parrot on meth.
If it is the case, then this, this is a thing of beauty. The zoologist in me is moved to tears. The humanist in me is also crying, for entirely different reasons. As for the rest of me, it disguises a disdainful snort as a sneeze.
Slightly to their right is a less unappealing animal, yet still one to give me pause.
The heavily pierced girl, or female Metalicus Praeacuo Facies, going by the scientific nomenclature, is leaning against a once-white wall. I really hope, for her own sake, that the zoo vaccinated her against tetanus. In any case, she looks bored “outta” her almost-showing – though admittedly nice-looking – ass.
Bravo
What? I’m a man. A single, free man at that. If she doesn’t want to be ogled, she could have actually worn a skirt that couldn’t pass off as a belt.
And not a very wide belt at that.
See! We agree.
…The apocalypse is near.
The female half-naked pin-cushion is sporting short, spiky, flashy, electric-blue hairs, and is wearing knee boots, a mini-mini-mini-skirt and a minuscule breast strap which I really hesitate to even dare call a top. To be honest, I am a bit concerned that she’s going to catch a cold. We are in January, after all, and it is freezing outside. Well, it’s her problem though.
Likely hearing the recorded tinkle that accompanied my entrance – though thankfully not my thoughts – the living indecent assault – not that I’m complaining – briefly turns her red eyes – likely contacts – in my direction. Her gaze wanders over me, my blue down jackets and my exquisite red bobble hat, before sighing in lethal ennui and returning to her meticulous observation of a dirty spot on the once-white – decidedly the chosen colour in here – ceiling.
Got it. So I deserve less attention than unclean plywood, ‘s that it? Well, you’re not my type either, voodoo doll. I don’t need a girlfriend who’d tilt each time she walks too close to a magnet.
I wonder. Does she have a prescription against walking outside during a thunderstorm?
Bitch.
Not quite. But seriously, what’s with the attitude? I can empathise if you were dragged here by the two dimwits convulsing over there, and I’m also well aware looks aren’t my strong point, but ignoring me like this after our eyes met is just rude. A nod of greetings would have sufficed.
I humph you! Hah!
Lastly, across the aisle stands the fourth costumer. Now this is a truly enchanting specimen. She’s a petite girl and quietly browsing the classical records – which immediately wins her many points in my secret inner ranking of random strangers.
I happen to keep such a ranking.
As for her appearance, one adjective comes to mind.
Nerdy.
I nod wisely in approval and in thoughts. Nerdy indeed, my dear imaginary friend. Nerdy indeed.
Careful though. I’m not referring to “fashionable nerdy”, this vulgar trend, going borderline slutty-hipster-starved-for-attention that is but an abhorrent perversion of the exquisite purity that is TRUE female nerdiness!
No. This here petite woman is the legit article! Certified purebred, with a pedigree, reared in library on strict dusty books diet.
Thick rectangular wireframe glasses. Smooth shoulder-length black hair with a clean cut and long bangs. A face mostly hidden. Woollen greyish turtleneck. Standard jeans, slightly faded but cleanly pressed. Unremarkable chest. Timid attitude.
Bingo!
I am momentarily stunned by such rarity.
The magnificence of an endangered species.
My thoughts mock her, but I hold no malicious intent towards the girl.
If anything, I find her kind of endearing… even if she appears to be nervously reorganising the shelves by alphabetical order of composers…? Or maybe I find her endearing because she appears to be nervously reorganising the shelves by alphabetical order of composers. After all, nothing spells “cute” like a little morsel of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, right?
…No? …No one? Okay, maybe that’s just me.
In fact, the more I look at her, rather than endeared, I feel quite entranced. There is just… something… about that girl, that demands my attention. It’s oddly imperative. My brain is gradually filled with a mix of angst and mesmerism which makes my heart beat faster as my adrenaline levels shoot through the roof.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
What is this…? Is this… love at first sight?
Pfffft. Hah! Don’t be ridiculous. That only happens in cheap chick flicks, not in reality. And even if it did, I’m not the one who simply “falls in love”. I already have trouble opening up to strangers. So I’m not suddenly going to see some girl and be like *snap* instant soulmates! How utterly stupid. Besides, what’s with that expression, to “fall” in love? Sounds painful. No. I imagine what I’m feeling is less love than what a moth feels moments before it gets roasted by the idiomatic flame.
Which sounds equally painful now that I think about it… if not more.
“Hey, Nick!”
A call from a familiar voice abruptly cleaves through the haze that had seized my mind. I shake my head, vaguely confused.
“What took you so long? It’s almost midday already. I thought you’d forgotten, man. You’re a bit late, you know? My stocks have already been plundered.”
P-P-P-P-P-Plundered?!!!!
Any remnant of disorientation is immediately blasted off my mind as the whole flock of my conscious thoughts converges on the human(?) specimen who has emerged from behind a wooden counter situated at the end of the central aisle.
The man is short, barely reaching above the sales desk. With his dark skin, long nose and squinty eyes, he disturbingly evokes a mole. That is, if moles were into smoking joints and wearing Rasta wigs.
As my eyes are still widening in horror, uncontrollably I croak: “whaAT?!”
The mole– I mean the short black man raises a hand to forestall any more animal noises on my part.
“Relax man. I knew you’d come. You can’t live without my stuff. So I kept you some of your dope aside.”
He flashes a knowing wicked smile and reaches inside his long coat – it’s actually a normal coat, but he’s just too short. He takes out a plastic sleeve that immediately appear as the Holy Grail to the addicted me.
“FFFFFFFFFFAAAAUST!!” Throwing away all pretence at a dignity I never possessed, I shout spittle and rush across the shop to the music dealer. Reaching the counter, I lean over and briefly hug his low head. “Henry, my man! You’re such a bro.”
Henry Devon, trice-great-grandson of the very late Tommy Devon, is the present and proud owner of Tommy’s Record Store. Officially with a firm steps into his thirties, but as I mentioned previously he is quite vertically challenged. His height happens to be just right for me to comfortably use his shoulder as an armrest. Well, I guess I myself am a bit on the tall side.
His skin is a greyish tone of dark brown – which I suppose still qualifies as “black” in the grand scheme of things – with thick darker brown hair knotted in dreadlocks that cascade around his friendly and open face. Though, like I said, his nose is oddly long.
“Whoa! Peace… Calm down. Don’t spill your withdrawal symptoms all over me!” Henry bends backwards, using the counter as a shield against my friendly enthusiasm. I’m hurt. “And don’t come crying again if you find burn holes in that fancy plastic coat of yours,” he adds, and readjusts the smouldering butt hanging from his fleshy lips.
I take a step back and cast the man a laughing glance.
“Oh, you were down there? Sorry. Was just trying to grab my album,” I scoff smugly. Raising a hand, I play casually with the plastic sleeve which had mysteriously found its way into my possession.
“Hey! When did you… No, never mind. I can never understand what you tall people are thinking. Must be the lack of oxygen up there.” Grumbling, he jumps backwards and sits onto his high stool, which helps him see over the counter, but strangely makes him look even shorter in comparison.
It’s because his feet don’t reach the ground.
That sight never fails to amuse me.
I push the small package inside my pocket and shrug at his comment. “If we lack oxygen, it’s because of all the smoke you short smoking people send up here,” I retort, gesturing towards his mouth. “You know that stuff can stall your growth, do you? …Oooh. Wait.” I snap my fingers as if coming to a sudden realisation.
“Ha-ha-ha…” Henry laughs dryly.
Joining in on the laughter, I keep my more acid comments about the brain-damaging nature of whatever he was smoking for myself as I wince internally.
I’m not about to criticize Henry. He does whatever he wants to his body. But personally? I don’t like drugs. Really, really don’t like them. No matter how benign. And it’s not limited to recreational drugs either. Oh, but it’s not because I’m morally against them or anything. Meds in general give me the creeps. I just find the idea of any sort of substance entering my body and affecting my brain in any significant way deeply unsettling. It’s kind of a phobia actually.
I guess growing up with the threat of antipsychotics held over my head by a worried mother must be part of the reason.
The Reckless Imbecile, afraid of being under influence. Hah! Wouldn’t THAT make a buzz on the forums?
You’re trying to be funny?
Evidently… or maybe not so evidently, I don’t know. Can phobias be so easily turned around? Is this even a proper phobia? Well, it’s all in my mind anyway… But drugs within Untold Tales are a different matter entirely. I couldn’t care less how badly “Elric” messed up his body. It’s all virtual. There aren’t any lasting consequences. To tell the truth, I think having virtually experienced about every psychotropic I could get my knightly gauntlets on made me even more paranoid about drugs in real life.
Oddly, my supposed phobia doesn’t extend to caffeine, despite it being a known psychotropic. Probably because it’s kind of food. But then I’m not too fond of alcohol…
Of course nothing is truly harmless. It’s all about moderation and extremes. I know someone who almost died of mustard overdose. Too bad he survived. That would have made for a pretty funny epitaph.
“Anyway…” I shake my thoughts back into a semblance of order. “Thanks again Henry. I’m quite busy these days, and I really didn’t want to hunt down one of these throughout the city.” I pat the pocket containing the plastic sleeve containing the date chip containing Faust’s latest album. Pocket-ception.
Henry snorts.
…
……
………
He snorted? He actually snorted! At me! The galls! I do not mind amicable banter, but I shalt not stand for snorting!!
It seems one little man is forgetting his place in the food chain and is in need of some disciplining.
“Busy? You? Man, come on. Not to me... What would you have to do ‘these days’ beside playing UT? And, no need for thanks. I can do at least that much.” He grins, then adds, rubbing three fingers: “Can’t have my best cash cow quit on me and lose half my coil.”
Whether he notices my dangerously darkening expression or not, Henry continues to dig his metaphorical grave. Or not so metaphorical, if I get my hands on him in-game. Thankfully his avatar is about the same size as his real body. A shallow grave shall suffice. Less work for me. Or for him. Should I actually force him to dig his own grave before killing him inside? Talk about efficiency.
“Henry, my man, are you perhaps mocking me?”
“Yeah, well tha– Eeeek!!”
Oh. Now he notices my charming smile and amiably narrowed eyes. Nonono. Please, stop making that face. I’m not going to hurt you, little man. I’m a nice person. You won’t have time to feel pain.
“Listen, Nick. I didn’t mean anything by–”
I cut him off by gently placing a hand on his shoulder and giving him a friendly squeeze. Now, please stop whining and pretending it hurts. It’s annoying.
“Maybe the little Birdy needs some more ‘training’, uh? Just because your little band of assassins got a bit successful, you think you can snort at your benevolent mentor? Is that it, Birdy? Have you forgotten who picked you up when you were but a noob rogue not even able to properly steal candy from a pixie, uh?”
He pales even further. Funny. He could almost pass off as a tanned white person now. “What? Nononono. Of course not. What a silly idea. I’m forever grateful to Sir Elric for his… err… kind pointers.”
“Good. I’m currently a bit far from your guild’s headquarters, so I’d hate to have to do the journey. You wouldn’t want to put me in a bad mood, would you?”
I smile brightly and he replies by adamantly shaking his head horizontally.
“Great!” I release his shoulder and clap my hands in satisfaction. Then a sudden idea strikes me. “Actually, now that we’re talking about this, there’s a little favour I’d like to ask of you.”
His expression drops into a serious mask.
“Who do I need to kill?” he asks in a whisper.
I wave a dismissive hand. “No, not that kind of favour… You know I prefer to do that sort of thing myself.”
He sagely doesn’t comment.
“Anyway. What I need is information, on a certain type of people.”
“Yes?” He leans on the counter and raises an eyebrow as he toys with the butt of his joint, inviting me to elaborate.
“I’ve currently in mind to form a party and I don’t really want to search the whole world for members. So I’d like for you to use your network to make a list of people who might fit my criteria. You know what I mean. This is an official request, so I’ll pay for your services of course.” I left unsaid that I expected a friendly discount. Why state the obvious?
“…Which country is it?”
I blink, confused.
“Country?”
“Which country pissed you off? If you of all people is recruiting, I can only think you’re planning on annihilating an army. So, tell me which country is it, so that I can get the hell out of dodge.”
“…”
I am speechless. To quoque mi Henry? Come one, you know me! We’re friends! You know I’m not that kind of person! I’m a kind big brother who gives out free pointers to helpless newbies and expects almost nothing in return!
I think as soon as you expect anything in return, it’s not something you can call “free” anymore.
Shush, you.
Outraged, I karate-chop the short retailer.
“Ow!”
“Who’s going to annihilate a country? It’s you I’m going to annihilate, baka deshi! I’m just… I just feel like playing with someone else lately. Okay?” My sentence finishes in a smaller voice than I intended and I avert my gaze.
Tsundere Nick is too tsundere.
Who’s a tsundere?!
Even with my head turned, I don’t miss the soft smile Henry directs my way.
Tsk. What’s with that smile like you’re thinking “Ah. He’s a good kid after all.” Uh?! I am NOT a “good” kid! I’m a “nice” kid at most. Wait, I’m not even a kid! I’m twenty-two! Oh well… I’ll let this slip this time, but just this once. Be-Because we’re friends.
Don’t misunderstand, okay?!?
I think you’re overdoing it a little.
I almost miss Henry’s reply. “Sure. I’ll make you a list. Just prepare the gold. And speaking of gold, you still need to pay me for that album in your pocket.”
“Oh? Ah. Oh yes, sure.”
Gladly jumping on the subject change, I fish a debit card from my other pocket and slide it against the screen of the device Henry pushed towards me across the counter.
“You’re lucky I still have that old machine. When are you going to get yourself a smartphone like everybody else? Who still uses cards for anything?”
I shrug. “Meh. As long as it works. Why buy something I don’t need? Like I always say, if it ain’t broken, don’t fix it.” Rule 222.
“You’re a cheapskate for the oddest things.” Along with this offhanded comment, he shakes his head helplessly and hands me the receipt. Paper receipts. Another antique. Maybe I should try and sell it to a museum.
“Sure, whatever you say. See you, Henry.”
“See you, buddy.”
I turn around with the intention of marching back to the entrance whilst ignoring the staring that my odd behaviour had no doubt gathered – I’m a self-aware person, and we weren’t exactly quiet in our exchange – but I am suddenly stopped in my tracks before I could even take the first step.
Standing in my way, is cute-but-weird Nerd Girl. Wait. That’s a pleonasm, isn’t it?
She could have been simply waiting in queue for the checkout, mind you, but when I step aside, she doesn’t move forwards and instead continue to stare off into space where my back used to be.
“Oooo-kaaaay…”
Now. Most people in this situation would just shrug it off and leave without minding the bizarre girl in the room, or maybe they would even actively try to ignore said girl’s strange behaviour in the name of not being rude though really it’s just to cover up their discomfort at any divergence from the established norm. But we’ll agree I am not “most people”.
In the first place I am singular, so I cannot be “people”.
Are we sure about this?
Positive.
Stepping back into place before the girl – which still doesn’t cause any sort of reaction – I cast her a puzzled glance then turn towards Henry and ask in stage-whisper.
“How long has she been there?”
He shakes his head, signifying he hasn’t the faintest idea. How unhelpful. I report my attention to Nerdy (temporary name).
Now that I am forced to acknowledge her existence as an individual and not merely as an oddly fascinating part of the background ecosystem, I can’t help but think there’s something familiar about this pair of glasses on legs. However I am roughly sure we never met. At least not properly. Surely I wouldn’t have forgotten such a delightful bundle of cute and awkward leaking this improbable aura of danger? Even just standing in front of her unresponsive self, I can feel pleasant shivers run up my spine, and I am torn between the urge to pat her head and run away screaming.
Though that last part might just be my overactive imagination at work. I talk to cats. It’s not far-fetched to believe my subconscious attributes completely off-target personalities to random people I’m not well acquainted with.
Then again, I’m sure McLeon understands me.
…Oh Gods. I’m turning into an old cat lady.
Nick. Focus.
Oh right.
Nerdy doesn’t look fazed in the slightest by my blatant scrutiny. As a matter of facts, I don’t think she notices me at all… which I find mildly offending. I’m not someone you can just ignore, you know?
Yet she remains unmoving, staring in my general direction but not seeing me. A dazed half-smile is floating on her lips, their corners imperceptibly raised. I’d like to believe I’m capable of inducing such dreamy state in any member of the fairer sex, but we’ve already established that’s not the case.
In her hands, she’s clutching a copy of “Rachmaninov’s Greatest Pieces, by the Vienna Philharmonics”. Great choice. My head nods in subconscious approval. More points for you, Nerdy! Aren’t you happy? Aren’t you? Aren’t you going to react at all to the guy who’s waving in front of your eyes? Is it the glasses? They’re so thick. I think they might be bulletproof.
Alright. You have good tastes, Miss Turtleneck, I’ll give you that. But could you, please, show some sort of reaction when someone – more specifically me – stares at you as if you were a naked Valkyrie who just burst inside a church during mass while riding on a zebu chanting odds to Satan? You or the zebu, doesn’t matter who doing the chanting. But I’m side-tracking again…
Mmmh. This is embarrassing. Am I not obvious enough?
Because I usually am.
I once more wave a tentative hand in front of her. Still nothing. I’m starting to suspect brain damage. Can someone have a stroke standing up and nobody notices? Unlikely.
*jiiiiiiiii~*
…Seriously. Stop staring. I’m starting to hear Japanese onomatopoeia. Not going to stop? Ooo-kaaaay. You’ve officially graduated from OCDed-but-cute to OCDed-and-creepy. Staring at nothing while smiling? Veeeery disturbing, to the average citizen at least. On a scale from Pokemon to Higurashi, that’s at least a Madoka. Meaning you are surprisingly unsettling, girl. Alright, will you marry me? Ah, no, wrong question.
Damn, I’m losing focus again.
Anyway, even I would have noticed myself by now… Did she die, or something?
Gods. What’s with my bad luck with rodents recently? Hey! Glasses Shrew, do something! Now. Please. Breathe. Sneeze. Blink. Cough out blood. Anything?! Anything to signal your connection to the mortal plane? Maybe she abruptly reached eligntenement. Can it happen in the middle of shopping? I know some guys claim to have attained a higher level of inner peace while shopping with their girlfriends, but I’m not sure that applies here.
In desperation, I step forwards and clap my hands loudly inches away from her face.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!” she suddenly blasts my eardrums to oblivion.
Well, at least that got her attention.
Good thing too, because otherwise I was ready to call an ambulance… or maybe the psych-ward. They don’t usually accept residents just because someone asked nicely, but that’s what connections are for, right? I’m sure Mom can free a nice padded room for the girl. Or maybe she can use mine. It’s not like I need it anymore.
Well, those are pointless considerations, since Nerdy is finally back into realm of consciousness most of mankind occupies.
I’m still going to check on that padded room though. You never know when you might need one.
Following her shout, Nerdy’s eyes – green I now notice – widen immensely behind her thick windshields. What’s apparent of her face pales a lot, in sickly contrast with her black bangs. Her half-smile has vanished and her mouth is open in rapid successive intakes of breath. I’m no doctor, but I’m preeeetty sure she’s beginning to hyperventilate.
I find myself reconsidering the ambulance option.
“Welcome to Earth, O odd ambassador of Planet Nerdia! My name is Nicolas Siegel, an earthling. Do you come in peace? If not, may I suggest you another person than me for kidnapping and experimentations? I’m afraid I’m not what you might call a representative sample of the local stock.”
…is what I don’t say. Although I thought it very loudly.
Instead, what really crosses my lips is: “Err… Hellooo? You… alright?”
Oh great. I sound like a retarded caveman.
Damn you, inexistent social skills!!
Okay. Round two.
“Err… Can I help– …Oooo-kay.”
Before I could finish, she had turned on her heels and rushed out of the store.
Victory in two rounds by K.O.! Now please someone explains me the rules so that I can tell who won!?!?
*trilililing*
…
……
………
She ran away. That’s the second time today this happens!
What is it with me and greeting females all of a sudden?!
I’m not that ugly, am I?
And I wasn’t even in the same body last time!
…
That last sentence would sound so weird out of context.
…
Now… I agree my approach hadn’t been flawless… Maybe I should have tried calling out to her before shoving my palms into her nose… but was running away really necessary?
I look back at Henry, an eyebrow raised.
“Did she just leave without paying?” Not sure why that’s the first thing that popped up in my head. I’ve stop trying to figure out things like that years ago.
“Yeah, she did. Don’t worry, man. She’ll be back. Like the Terminator.”
I shrug. The diminutive owner doesn’t sound concerned, so I don’t see why I would. It’s not my money.
“How do you know?” I still ask.
“She’s a regular too,” Henry replies. “Although she’s not pathologically addicted to my wares like a certain someone.”
“Shut up. You know her then? What’s her problem?”
“Dunno.” Now it’s his turn to shrug. It’s like a game. “I don’t pry in my costumers’ private affairs. Rule of the house. Can’t say she’s ever been talkative though. Comes in, browses, pays, gets out. Not sure, but I think she cleans up the shelves too…” He takes a hit from his dying smoke, probably the last, and looks pensively at something he is sole to see. “Maybe she’s mute and hung up about it?”
“Riiight…”
Well, why not?
Not sure. Feels implausible.
But anyway, I’m almost sure I saw her somewhere before.
Maybe she lives in the neighbourhood?
Maybe… When bored, I sometimes lean on the railing of the open walkway in front of my flat and just observe the passer-by’s in the street down below. If I’d seen her then, she’d probably stand out enough to leave a faint trace at the back of my memory.
I shrug again and drop that train of thought. No need to think too deeply about stuff I can’t do nothing about. It’ll come back to me if it comes back to me. Instead, I shoot the Rasta man with an accusatory glare. “By the way, how come you never mentioned that little rule of yours when prying into my personal affairs?”
“Hahaha. But Nick, bro, you’re not a simple costumer. You’re almost a business partner by this point, you know? That’s not prying, man. That’s market survey. Research, I tell you.”
“Yeah… whatever you say.” I know when it’s best to give up. “Anyway see you…”
“…soon,” he completes, waving me away.
I reply with a vague obscene gesture, and finally steps away from the counter.
On my way to the door, I glance at Piercing Girl, whose gaze keeps switching perplexingly back and forth between me and the door through which Spooky Nerd took off a few seconds before. She seems to have difficulties understanding what just happened. Indeed, steel bars through the brain don’t do much good in accelerating the thought process. Experience talking.
“Bye-bye, Morning Star. Beware of Magneto,” I throw over my shoulder.
And, thinking of taking another nap then logging back in, I get out of the store. The electronic carillon echoes behind me.
*trilililing*
Fate never sounded cheaper.
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