Yuri Worlds

[15] Lunch

That was before. Now, all sorts of craziness inhabited their lives. Every vague or detailed conspiracy theory about the companies responsible for their trip at least warranted some level of consideration, with the visuals still ricocheting around her head. And the sounds. The word “extraction“ had specific, loaded connotations that Misaki knew her friends and roommates, with all their experience in film and pop culture, would immediately call out.

The simplest explanation was that they were plugged into some sort of simulation. Everyone, and their mothers, had that idea. She thought it would be supremely disappointing to find out that their entire trip was just an elaborate light show with fake travel. It made sense of some elements but invited many questions. Especially if this was fake, then it was a forgery well beyond anything possible, to the point that just flinging them into another universe might be simpler.

All these internal digressions led to Misaki swiftly falling behind in the race. Fortunately, that meant she wound up with the lion's share of the overpowered items to taunt the others with. At a certain point, Yasha returned. She had her pale hair bundled up into something like a sun-kissed golden pumpkin and glanced around at the gathered group. Her fair eyebrows arched. Misaki straightened on the couch, bracing herself for some sudden, crude comment or a lingering look of disgust. Instead, Yasha folded her arms, focused her eyes on the television, and asked Haruka, “Can I swap in with whoever finishes last?”

Haruka looked at the group on the couch. None of them had any problems with that. Haruka silently nodded her head. Till she got her turn, Yasha borrowed a chair from the kitchen table that was slightly too tall for this room’s layout and hunched down to watch. Due in part to her self-inflicted distractions, Misaki was the one who swapped with Yasha. The antsy blonde flared her teeth and selected her character.

Folding up the blanket that Haruka gave her, Misaki set it to the side and walked over to the bathroom she shared with Yuka earlier. She splashed her face in the sink and used a little bit of soap to softly scrub it.

Dappling her features with animated water was a fun addition. It resembled a dramatic moment during a sports festival, which might pause on an artistic composition of a character taking a breath while the bluish silver droplets cascaded across her skin. Only this version didn’t pause artistically on a single thing but rather fed a cacophony of so many details spinning around her as a frantic time-lapse. It was so easy to get breathless and dizzy. She giggled quietly and did a half-turn.

This personal spell was swiftly interrupted by the door popping open. Yuka stood in the doorway with her eyes wide and her hands in the process of unzipping her skirt. A frail, frantic gasp was sucked in through her mouth as she attempted to reverse her undressing. Words spilled out of her.

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry! I’m so so sorry! I didn’t… I didn’t know you were… would be in here… I’m, I didn’t mean to. We were just at the old lady’s place, and she has the old, old-fashioned kind of toilet, and I hate it and I couldn’t use it and we came right back but she gave me so much tea and snacks. I just… need to…I’ll go I’ll go…” At that moment, Yuka’s slender stomach made the most unearthly noise—a gurgling from alien depths, surging and blotting out all other sounds. That was not the sound of a stomach that would accept patience. Her eyes somehow got wider, and she wore the most panicked and pathetic look. Surely she was about to break down in tears next. Misaki didn’t need to know more. She bolted out of the way, clearing a straight path for their host to purge whatever foul toilet demons were banging at the exit.

Yuka didn’t waste time. She practically performed a Maharu-class three-stage rocket launch without needing to leave the ground. It was not a controlled burn, but she managed to reach her destination without a catastrophe. Misaki heard things before she could make an exit through the half-open bathroom door. Rationally and innately, she knew that, even though this world was full of living anime girls, they were still human and had the entire human biology. At least as far as she comprehended, with some uncertainty about having kids. But the nervousness Naoko communicated suggested that, despite appearances, it was another biological matter rooted in human complexity. That little, wandering snail hinted at all sorts of depths.

She got the door shut for Yuka’s modesty with intensity, but not a slam. Misaki appreciated a couple things. She was glad that this world didn’t rely on tropes from anime programs. Run into the wrong happenstance or moment, and some pretty but brutal tsundere decides that giving the nearest person a flying, bone-breaking concussion with her overpowered fist is a proportional response to a passing embarrassment. She suspected that her being a girl too assisted in keeping things below a nuclear rage level. Everyone was a girl though. And Maharu proved they weren’t all gentle daffodils.

Maybe it was a romantic thing. Love was anime punches and kicks. Neither Misaki nor Franklin had any guesses from their imagined places inside her, so she let it go.

Kei and Fuyuki were also back and puttering around the kitchen again while providing animated commentary for the race going on in the other room. One mother and then the other grabbed and embraced Misaki with abundant thanks for something she’d done. Taking care of Yuka in the bathroom was all she could think of, even though she hadn’t done anything. The mothers spun her around and invited her to help with the meal. The curious heads of Namiko and Chika were soon peeking over.

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With another spin, Misaki received a large apron to wear. It was a blue like Naoko’s eyes and covered in nearly every species of colorful cartoon canine. She assumed it was probably one of Yuka's aprons. Before Misaki could push it away with concern about what Yuka would wear, the moms opened a closet and unleashed a wild pack of puppy-themed garments. The game competition temporarily wrapped up, with everyone else approaching in curiosity.

Kei invited Yasha over with a long apron bearing sunbeam colors that complimented her hair and a troop of dogs rolling over in the grass. Yasha made sure that her hair was securely back, even asking for a hairnet, and was put to work, at her request, chopping cabbage with a sharp knife.

Misaki focused on the creation of the batter, adding the dashi. Namiko and Chika chimed in, wanting to help as well. Fuyuki laughed and said, “Oh my goodness, the four of you are our guests! You don’t need to make the meals. We absolutely appreciate any and all help. I just wanted to show off the process to Miss Takano.” Naoko took up the task of tidying around the living room and putting away stuff in an adjacent space.

Some of the ingredients had been prepared ahead of time, likely amidst the earlier batch of cooking they caught the tail end of. Chika helped out with the sauce preparation and made sure her batch contained extra helpings of red chili. Namiko prepared plenty of pork belly for her portion and worked with the batter. She expressed frustration at wrangling her most obvious aspects to get a comfortable motion and coordination. She’d repositioned the controller several times during the gaming session, searching for the same.

Fuyuki pulled her aside and said that she had something for her. They went over into a side room. Meanwhile, Maharu stepped in to help. After washing up, she vigorously throttled the thick batter as though it owed her money. Yuka returned with slow steps and soft breathing relief soon after that. She put on an apron similar to Misaki‘s and slipped in beside her. They touched hips. Yuka held her tongue but let a slight smile show.

Along with the pancakes, they prepared an orange salad fruit mix, miso soup with the remaining dashi on the counter, and some sautéed greens. Maharu did the sautéing on a war footing. She struck deep into the green army’s encampment, turning over every safe haven to make sure they felt the heat. Her fingers rolled like a virtuoso pianist’s, and her body moved like another preview of her shrine dancing. When it came to grilling the pancakes, Kei had to encourage her to take it easy and not do any tricky flips. She eased up but still smiled as she traumatized the ingredients. Despite all this, she didn’t spill anything or have any wobbles or fumbles.

The full spread carried exotic aromas and thick hints of umami. Yasha tidied up her spot on the counter, vaguely rubbed at her arms, and then tapped Maharu on the shoulder. The girl swung around and beamed. Yasha still had the sharp knife in her right hand. She smiled back and deftly flipped it in her grasp to present it safely, handle first. Maharu giggled and accepted the knife to return to its block on the far end of the counter. Yasha’s calm gaze lingered on the girl before she washed up.

Namiko returned wearing a gorgeous kimono with a subtle, pale shade like cotton candy, which paired well with her hair. Fuyuki pinned her hair up, and Misaki thought it looked lovely. The kimono actually managed to make her figure look relatively subdued. She finished stacking the meat on her okonomiyaki. Naoko returned and prepared the table for everyone.

What they ended up with looked like far more than a simple lunch. Misaki anticipated what was next. She put her hands together and expressed “Itadakimasu”, even though the company opted to translate it as inelegantly as the Living Bible from her aunt. Chika and Namiko carefully recited their versions.

Applying the shifting, dancing bonito flakes, Maharu intoned, like from a black and white film of old, “It’s alive!” Everything felt so fresh and flavorful to Misaki as she dug in. In some ways, it reminded her of fast-food Chinese dishes she ate a long time ago. But there was really no meaningful comparison between this and that aside from being pancake-shaped and containing eggs.

Misaki stretched her wrist and cracked a few joints before picking up the chopsticks. Back home, she considered herself far from deft at wielding them. Either the saturation of her body with whatever represented anime essence had worked to make her better at this or all the previous practice finally clicked in place, but the chopsticks immediately felt like an extension of her fingers, plucking morsels off the plate in exactly the fashion she desired. Even the tiniest flake of bonito and the faintest egg morsel couldn’t hide from her. She cleaned the plate without ever needing to touch it.

Toward the end of the meal, Misaki noticed Yuka had something on her mind. She stirred what was left on her plate and kept glancing in Misaki‘s direction before quickly dashing her eyes away. Something lay under the surface and wanted to be said, but it still remained in lurking silence. She knew it was there but had no idea what to expect from its presence.

“Miss Takano…Misaki. I was wondering. If you wouldn’t mind, I could show you around the area. We…could go for a walk, and I could show you a lot of nice things.”

Before Misaki could turn and look at the others, Yuka quietly clarified, “Just the two of us. Together. By ourselves. Just looking at stuff you might find interesting. I don’t wanna leave the others behind though…but I am sure that my friend Naoko and my elder sister would have no trouble accommodating the rest of our guests….What do you think?”

Even the Franklin inside her head couldn’t overlook the implication. Yuka was asking her out on a date.