Yuri Worlds
[29] Pairs
Yuka half-seriously suggested that maybe Misaki should have a checkup with Ayame instead of her.
Naoko encouraged her to drink more while mulling over the argument that Chika presented about gaming. She was nostalgic about the games she was selling off. The collection wasn’t acquired quickly or easily. They were precious to her. But she countered that she had so many little digital titles, and her friends—she gestured to the Mario Kart-style game they had been playing earlier—would pick up the slack. Also, girls she knew who might be going to the colleges she was hoping to get into had games they promised to bring along. It would be fine. Chika resigned herself to the fact that all this made sense, and a younger version of her would’ve expressed the same sentiment.
This led to Naoko bringing up the note that so many had glossed over. “Back in your teens? I don’t wanna presume, differences between worlds and all that, but the three of you are in your 30s, right?”
That was right, but it confused them. Misaki looked over at Yuka. Her expression was one of pleasant calm, not surprise or confusion. Did she know already?
Naoko pushed her hair back out of her eyes and cupped her hands around her brow line. She explained, “It’s kind of an old folklore thing, and there are ways to make yourself look younger or older, but, typically, a natural brow mark feathers with age with little prominences and bumps, if you look closely. Mine is mostly straight, but I freaked out the other day when I started to get a little bump in my orderly line. Maharu’s grandmother has a strikingly even one with some slight wiggles. And looking at your brows, they're very modestly feathered. If I’m reading it right, that means you’re out of college but not quite at family age. My apologies if I’m really far off the mark. But I figured everyone knew.”
This was news to the three of them, and Yuka relayed, with Misaki‘s permission, that the typical mark for aging girls in their world was wrinkling like old fruit. This earned some notes of surprise and jokes from the rest of them, envisioning grandmas as wrinkled pumpkins. Kosame pondered the possibilities of shrinking as well and wondered if their world’s old ladies might be carried in pockets. Chika opted not to shoot down any of the more fanciful notions.
Kei delighted in this idea when she heard it, wondering if she could pretend to be one of these old ladies with the proper application of dried flour. But she worried that the look might be too spectral and creepy. She could barely withstand the idea of wandering spirits, let alone twist her face to resemble one.
Fuyuki was the spirit curious one, she explained. Womanly spirit and unearthly spirits. Kei didn’t like walking around the old hotel at night, but Fuyuki would practically stomp through the floors, banging pots and trying to rouse entities. Kei’s intuition didn’t delve into the kind of matters that her wife was curious about, but it didn’t have to when there were reaching spiderwebs, floors groaning and threatening to give out at any moment, unplaceable smells, and the presence of so many years. Definitely not her thing.
She was inspired to make little candies that looked like wrinkled, tiny doll girls. And Misaki was left with the realization that Yuka and the others knew they were almost twice their age. She struggled with that before simply asking, “Is everyone okay with that? That we’re in our 30s and here?”
Kei immediately chuckled and asked why they wouldn’t be. This was very uncomfortable for her to put into words that didn’t feel creepy. Especially considering how much touching and kissing she and Yuka had done on the roof.
“Are there concerns about age and girls hanging out in this world? There are things in our world where if someone is younger than a certain age, then they usually need to be chaperoned by a… mother or other relation rather than by an older woman they don’t know.”
That entire statement earned puzzlement from the group, particularly in the phrasings that Misaki opted for. She had been careful not to say the wrong thing. Yes, girls typically don’t go with a strange woman. But they weren’t sure what the concern was. They were in a group, or their ancestors were with them. Bad things happened when you were alone rather than when you were with someone. They got the implication of the pairing of Misaki and Yuka.
Kei laid out her hands and put it this way: “You and your friends had a rigorous background check with your travel company, and they sent all sorts of paperwork to us. And I have a hunch about people, as you may have seen. But my daughter is a young adult, and responsibility falls on her. If you don’t treat her kindly, well, it's best not to even imagine what might happen then.” She stretched her eyebrows up and smiled ominously. Not quite as scary as Miss Okura, but the message was still received. Yuka blunted that by setting a hand in Misaki‘s hair and ever so lightly ruffling it while also fixing it.
Despite that answer, she still didn’t know what to think. Were they close friends? “Roommates” as the Internet liked to meme? Something that didn’t translate between their worlds? The kissing and cuddling definitely pushed her toward assuming it was serious, but there were so many things they didn’t understand and so many nuances. And there were unholy terrors popping out at the strangest moments.
Maharu hummed her playful, teasing little song from earlier. Yuka rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything. The girl didn’t have much time for distraction as she volunteered to help with preparing dinner. It was champon, which sounded like ramen to Misaki, with some gyoza, a dessert from the fridge, and leftovers from lunch. Kei entrusted Maharu to prep and begin the meal while she worked on tea, assisted by Namiko.
A couple sessions of the kart game started up again, led by the Nishikawa sisters. Misaki and Chika soon bowed out. Yuka pouted and lingered, but she let Misaki head back to her room. Once inside, Chika flashed her friend a look with arched purple eyebrows.
“So, how did it go?”
Misaki had no semblance of a poker face to cobble together, let alone wield, in response. She smiled sheepishly and shrugged with her head dipped down. Chika let out a playful gasp and giggle.
“Oh my gosh! Well, it's a good thing age is even less of a number around here. Or whatever. Not sure I want all the details, but wow, that girl is smitten. She’s all over you. But we’re only here for these almost two weeks. Do you think you can keep it going long distance? I mean, I have a bunch of streaming friends that I’ve never met in the fleshsphere. Meatsphere. What might they call it here? Inksphere? I’m not sure why I’m fixating on spheres!”
Misaki cringed politely over that phrasing and mused whether any of those might be heavy metal bands back home. Chika tipped her head back and forth while brushing out her hair. She resolved, “I could use a good brushing. The wind created so many tangles. And using my fingers just feels wrong, like I have invisible lunch grease I’m weaving in. Ignore me. I’m rambling, like usual. I’m just so happy for you, big sis. Yuka seems nice, despite all the obvious issues. It’s the first day of the trip, and I hope the rest goes…What? What’s that look for?”
Her face always betrayed her emotions, but her reaction was especially obvious this time. It took a few seconds to process what Chika said. She expected the typical sly grin that Guy flashed about their sisterly connection to nudge Franklin towards character certainty last week. But no teasing look, no insider hint. Her expression was one of sincere joy. She was happy that her big sister found someone.
Having encountered little blips of thought and awareness with her memory, it was both alarming and a strange sort of relief that Chika was affected too. Her first inkling was to point out the mistake. They were actually just neighbors, just roommates, and just long-time friends.
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But… what if she didn’t correct her? Considering all the different things going on and her own recent confusion, who was she to say that she knew a more accurate version of reality than what came to Chika? Just let her be her little sister for a little bit. That wouldn’t be so bad. It would be like when they first met, and Franklin made his own assumptions. It kinda felt like they could be siblings that first day. That might be nice. But it would be wrong.
Bracing herself more than she expected, Misaki quietly explained that they weren’t actually sisters. Those were just roles they decided on. Just pretend.
Chika frowned sharply and wore a full measure of disappointment. She opened her mouth slightly to denounce Misaki and point out some obvious flaw in her statement. To call forth an overflowing bank of memories that refuted the notion they weren’t family. But that reservoir was dry. And that mirage evaporated with her expression as Misaki watched.
“Oh! Oh my gosh! Of course. I don’t know what came over me. Must be getting into the character of Chika a little too much. Or something. It’s been a lot of little weird things, but that was truly disconcerting. Kind of like being hypnotized, which I was for that one stream a while back. Guy Horner. Gal Hotner. That’s me. And you are Franklin Fowler. And we’re with Dwight Chapman. I hope Dwight doesn’t have a mind scramble like that. That was freaky. Have you had anything like that so far? You alluded to stuff with that dream you mentioned.”
Despite not wanting to worry her not sister, Misaki did pass along the strange moment where she forgot her Franklin name, along with rogue memories of being a flower girl. Chika’s frown deepened as she mulled, “Should we report this to the company? All this sounds more serious than simple side effects from adapting to our environment. If the wristbands or some other part of the process are malfunctioning or messed up, then who knows what level of Melting we might be exposed to right now. Not to say that I think we are Melting, but this is freaky. And we should probably tell someone about it who can do something… Right?”
That made sense to Misaki, but the question was, who? Mari was their contact, but they had no trust in her. Perhaps they were wrong about the phone call, but the tone she used in denying the possibility didn’t help. Who else then? Kei was just an intermediary. They could try returning to the travel center, but that would burn a significant amount of time without any confidence in answers. Chika had Mari’s contact information along with plenty of options for screaming into the void on intrusive programs the company put on her phone. That seemed like a better idea than freaking out their hosts with uncertainties.
Chika leaned back on her heels, folded her arms over her stomach, narrowed her eyes with irritation, and puffed out a long breath. She admitted to looking forward to a long and relaxing bath more than she was looking forward to dinner and tea. Misaki reiterated the same sentiment with a wistful smile. It wasn’t long before the two of them were giggling about how much had been packed into what barely amounted to twelve hours of adventuring in this beguiling world.
There were trips before—down to Venice, over to Solvang, or kissing Tijuana. Each had their own flavor, but none quite felt like this. The antsy energy possibilities of just curling up in their beds with the mottled static of artistic blessing along the walls while snickering and whispering about every stray thought and heady possibility represented more excitement than any item they could imagine on the upcoming itinerary.
Misaki hinted at other experiences she’d been having in the same vein as her lab coat nightmare, but neither of them wanted to delve deeper than that. If Namiko was having oddities, though Chika confirmed that she hadn’t even hinted at them, then the two of them hoped they were helpful mental scrambles.
It wouldn’t be worth it to change their clothes yet with the imminent prospect of evening baths, but the application of Chika’s especially colorful bottles of muscle rub and lotion helped temporarily mollify much of their lingering aches. Before they could head down, Namiko showed up drying her hands, still wearing an apron that was not at all cloaking her prominence, and received an update. She could guess many of the pertinent details related to Yuka. And she took as much alarm from the noted lingering side effects as Chika.
She actually admitted to a brain fart that came over her soon after the rolling, bouncing ascent to the shrine. It wasn’t so much a forgetting as a sense as though her chest was just a part of her life. The feeling wasn’t unwelcome, especially considering the ever-present phantom load eased with it. She never once forgot her name or her life as Dwight, but she had a hint of merging with the role that accompanied her. Her glasses didn’t feel foreign or obtrusive, not that she was complaining. And an idea of the girl she might be playfully flirted with fun notions.
On other notes, prep for the ramen-like dish at the center of dinner was complete, and they could hear muffled sounds of shuffling and shifting in the tea room. It wasn’t long before Kei gently knocked on their door and relayed that evening tea was ready. Yasha, who returned without ceremony, joined them in a yellow kimono with a pleasant but distant expression.
As with so many other things they encountered in this world, the space felt perfected from the template of a show. It was also reminiscent of Miss Okura’s space, but far more open and friendly. Family scrolls and ornate decorations warmed the walls. Kei opened the door for them and formally welcomed them inside. The fact that Namiko and Yasha were the only ones wearing anything like a kimono and the others weren’t at all formally dressed was casually brushed off by Kei.
She intended this first occasion just to introduce them to the various parts of the ceremony and share the itinerary she and Mari had drawn up. The way that Kei moved felt more like one of Maharu’s practiced dances. Yasha also watched with interest. Fuyuki joined them silently off to the side like a proctor.
She explained the different measures of the ceremony, the cleaning of the bowl, the presentation, and so many other touches that danced and pranced past their eyes. Less certain was who would be considered the lady of honor. Chika was the contacted guest around whom the vacation was planned, but she was younger than Misaki, and age tended to be the key determining factor. This made Misaki a little bit uncomfortable, but Chika eagerly passed this role to her.
Misaki wiggled forward nervously and struggled with her limbs as though she were operating a meat robot by a tank control scheme. Inevitably, she fumbled. On the lip of a mat, her toe caught just the edge, and she sprawled forward. Fortunately, Kei was quick with moving the utensils and cups out of danger, and Misaki corrected in midair and actually caught the bowl without spilling a single drop. Yasha snorted.
Moments later, Kei broke down in giggles. She commented that that was much better than her own experience with her first tea ceremony. Somehow.
Recomposing everything, she took the traditional sip and was encouraged to share her thoughts on the tea. Despite the funny faces that she made over the complicated and unexpected but not unpleasant flavor, she hoarsely and vehemently praised it.
Kei assured her that her ego didn’t mind constructive criticism, but Misaki stuck to her praise. Yasha went next and took a careful sip with flowing, fancy motions, followed by Chika, and then Namiko last. Painfully sweet pastries paired with the bitter taste of tea and countered one another harmoniously.