Yuri Worlds

[34] Torn

Squeezing the scrap close in her fingers, Misaki pressed Rei about how and where she got it. The girl repeated her story with emphatic sincerity. She had no idea; someone just gave it to her. She didn’t notice who it was or when it happened exactly. That was all she knew. Misaki nodded and tucked the scrap away in the closest equivalent to a pocket she had in these clothes.

They didn’t talk about it when the others returned, and, for once, her face didn’t betray her. A serious, slightly pained expression was already starting to carve its way into her regular repertoire. Namiko did notice the drop in Rei’s mood and endeavored to send her off with giggles. Throwing herself into all the fighting moves that would be appropriate to her shape did the trick. A ‘drunken dough slam’ left all of them in hysterics.

Rei convinced herself to hang around for the shopping session at the end of the day. It wasn’t too far removed from any strip or proper mall they encountered around where they lived or to the south. Clothes were clothes, and bothering to bring any back would be deeply underwhelming. A cozy market inspired Chika to a playful plan to somehow prepare a dish for their hosts. She looked really good in a pair of sunglasses, which she opted to purchase along with a gorgeous stretch of unique fabric depicting moments from the Warring Goddesses era. That museum was coming up soon on their itinerary.

Because of the trek back, none of them purchased more than they could easily haul on their shoulders. Namiko had to have books, even though it was uncertain whether she would be able to read any of them when they returned home. She smiled and responded that it meant she would just have to finish them before then. Poor Rei spent the start of supper flattening her cheek against the table from the newest drowsiness she just couldn’t shake. Namiko bought her a round and fluffy pastry that they split in abundant bust solidarity.

They all wound up sharing a hot pot with a vast array of bubbling ingredients. Misaki accidentally held a scolding portion of chicken in her mouth for too long, fretting to spit it up rudely. Rei consoled her with a gentle shoulder rub as she did her best to mollify the hurt with wave after wave of icy water. The spot was bubbling and peeling as a throbbing distraction against the flavorful contents of the rest of the entrée.

Sympathetic as well, their hostess gave her something cold with a bit of mochi and green tea for soothing. By the time the meal was practically over, and she had only tasted a quarter of it without stinging discomfort, it finally felt like her mouth was returning to normal. Everyone was so kind, but she knew she’d done it to herself. So stupid. Such a silly thing. Why?

She could have deftly snagged a napkin and placed the lava fragment on it before such damage was done. But she didn’t want to cause offense. She didn’t want to do anything close to what Yasha did yesterday on the train, what Yuka advised all of them about. It was just a little bit of pain. What did it really matter?

She will die. That’s what the little note said. Such an awful message. Part of her hoped that Rei hadn’t read to the end of it, and the way it was folded sure seemed to suggest that. A small mercy. And she would have to bear the pain. It was fine. That’s the way Franklin was built. He got yelled at, admonished, left with scary moments, made the wrong decisions, and turned the wrong way. A little burn was nothing. The only question was… What did he have to do now?

Yuka won’t die. No way. Such a phrase couldn’t exist in the world, in any world. He refused that… She refused that. Both Franklin and Misaki. They would double-team against whatever force might try. Help her. Yes, however possible.

The evening wore the appearance of normalcy, but Misaki found herself miles away, wanting to check in with all their new friends, especially Yuka. Know that everything was okay. She could text her. Before doubt overwhelmed her will, she shot off a quick and succinct message detailing that they were heading back, had already eaten, enjoyed the day trip, and wanted to know how everyone was doing.

She fought off every effort inside her to rephrase all that as something that didn’t sound quite so awful to her senses. It was fine. It did the job. Send it. A single press made all her complaints moot. Nothing to do after that but wait. And hope.

Reply in five minutes.

“Ok! See you again soon! I can save some dessert! Just another day of class here. I wish I could’ve done something fun with all of you. I’m so glad we have the shrine fundraiser coming up! We should meet at the general store! They have an old but reliable game there! You’ve probably seen much better, but I get to show you mine! Just get off at the northern stop immediately before the shrine on your way back! Sorry for overusing exclamation marks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

She read through it several times. The first text that Yuka ever sent to her. Just hours, and she was missing her already. And she was all right. If not for the Franklin name on the edge… A name that just shouldn’t exist around here; she could’ve explained part or all of it away as either a prank, an effort to get money, or some cruel advertisement. But she was fine. She was perfectly fine. Right? Now her mind went over the adorable text for some worrisome sign of duplicity or code. Did the marks actually mean anything, and she didn’t realize it? Did the fact that she wanted to meet up with them somewhere other than her family’s house represent a warning? If she put any credence in those notions, then she was well on her way to becoming more conspiracy-ridden than poor Bianka. It was nothing, but then so many things lately seemed like they were nothing. But those nothings were looming in dark corners, waiting for her.

And the bravest part of her wanted to kick their asses. Even though that same part also recognized that was never going to happen, it was a nice thought.

After they said their goodbyes to Rei, and made sure they traded information, despite the four-way acknowledgment that meeting up in the next several days or any time thereafter was exceedingly unlikely with their busy respective schedules, Misaki passed along the content of the message from Yuka. Chika double-checked the distance and concluded it wouldn’t be much extra walking at all. The general store could also assist in acquiring ingredients for her plan to give back a meal. She still didn’t have a notion of what meal to even attempt surreptitiously at her beginner skill level. So, the next phase involved becoming more like Namiko and Maharu as a volunteer second chef.

Namiko’s poker face slightly slipped as poor Dwight vividly remembered Gal’s mad culinary science experiments involving apocalyptic levels of spice added to the meatiest dishes in an envisioned fusion of their favorites. The results lived on through several repeated restroom visits for the rest of that week. She wasn’t a bad cook. Far from it. She made the most delightful desserts. When she followed the recipe.

Improvisation worked for streaming entertainment, but not so much for gastric serenity. They’d each firmly told Guy this on several occasions. He listened to them but still found himself occasionally led astray by the dark side of cooking.

For the trip back, they found a comfortable area to spread out in the last train car. Unfortunately, someone had left the windows on the side widely ajar. The whipping and whistling breeze, almost as bad as the swell of wind on the shrine hill yesterday, cut into their delicately colorful flesh. Moving to a different spot was an option, but nothing looked as comfortable.

Eyeballing the cracked windows, Chika set her legs, raised her shoulders, and cracked her colorful knuckles a few times before gripping the edge. The design didn’t appear too different compared to the windows on the metro lines. Just push in the little slots and slide them up and down. Theoretically, it should have been easy. Theoretically.

She grunted and huffed as the windows wiggled ever so slightly, but they didn’t want to slot into place to move back up. Even switching her tactic and repositioning the slots didn’t budge them either. A few hearty smacks to dislodge dirt, grit, and age made her feel better but didn’t achieve anything else. Same with a pinwheeling kick in the air, which failed to make contact. Namiko offered to help with brutal boob-blasting force. Even her mammoth, manly mammary muscles couldn’t will the frames back into their slots. Misaki had no idea what she could achieve, but she still offered a little elbow grease. They failed together, but they did their best.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

The only remedy that remained for the situation was to pin up some of the jackets they brought with them to block the opening as much as possible and then cover up with the rest. Neither option was terribly effective, but it at least kept the cruelest fury of the wind at bay. The train rattled in place like some otherworldly force was viciously angry they denied it a plaything to toy with.

Their stop, just short of the one from yesterday, looked both simpler and fancier. A vast concrete wall sheltered a corner of the station, as though the current tempest was expected by the builders. They packed away and clung close to all their purchases and belongings. The benefit of this stop included having the wind at their backs instead of a foe to overcome. It was a little too much, bordering on the intensity of a Maharu launch sequence.

Chika’s long locks slapped every part of her face. Namiko’s deep pink, practically raspberry long hair became an ocean spray of reaching, screaming, stretching tendrils like her eldritch literary interests. Her glasses were full of twisting smudges, and her clothes were carved tight in ripples around her shape. Same for Chika and Misaki, even with whatever bag bulkheads they could fashion.

As they sped across the sidewalk, leaving behind the rippling ridges of farmland for scattered roads and the promise of the general store ahead, Misaki looked out across the land, sharply and strikingly altered by the presence of the wind. It was actively beautiful, shifting and reshaping. And there was more.

She noticed an odd undulation to the world, which didn’t quite make sense with the animated essence she’d so far seen. It almost felt like peering through a keyhole at the world, a vision tightly tunneled. The breeze changed the look, but not in the way she was expecting. Pastels and soft, shimmering shades of anime light twirled and twisted. And in the eye of a striking amount of chaos, she saw a shift, like currents and waves drawing through the air and pulling a faint discoloration. For just a glimpse, a fleeting moment, it was like a vision obscured but also cleared. She saw the colors of this world… In the same sharp and reserved tones as the world she came from. As though a cel shading filter had missed a spot, a glitch in the programming. A vision like her world, not a perfect match, still the presence of this place, but a duller light without the full expression of anime art.

She blinked her eye and tried to correct her vision. Normalcy reasserted itself. No flaw in the landscape. Just perfect, pristine anime beauty sprawled unflaggingly across the horizon. She didn’t bother to mark or reject it as another side effect. Strange shit was just happening, and she had no idea what to think about it. She hated the wind.

Back home, it assaulted everyone unrelentingly. A cruel and ruthless wind bordering on scouring and stripping flesh. Its marks were insidious and incessant, too small to be normally seen but waning spirit and draining energy. It blasted skulls until it felt like polished bone. It mummified and desiccated like that dark dream that kept returning to Franklin about his parents. Eons hence, all that would be left would be sand, relentlessly pummeled smaller and smaller by its hunger.

These morbid thoughts surprised her, but considering the scramble of uncomfortable events and feelings, it was probably surprising she didn’t sink even darker. Insulating against the ravenous wind helped, and having her friends around her to whoop and holler and cry out against the chaos meant so much. They made it to the general store in very little time at all. It looked like it was shaped from a shed section of the old hotel, sporting the same tone, tiles, and texture. The wind didn’t ruffle a single shingle. Several special sale items sat in displays by the door.

Inside, the store was laid out similarly to older markets scattered across the desert back home. White boards with fragmentary letters spelled out deli offerings. Copious piles of fruits and vegetables, detailed enough to make a still-life artist weep, sprawled out in the center of the store. Wavering light through rafter windows sparkled and twinkled against plastic and bits of metal, dazzling them. A large portion of farm goods and equipment occupied the main section of the store, followed by stretches of supermarket stalwarts, and then an assortment of canned goods and trinkets. A blue-haired girl dashed between the aisles. Misaki didn’t catch her face.

The arcade cabinet that Yuka alluded to in her exclamatory text message was situated at the back of the building, around a left-curving corner. Yuka crouched toward a long assortment of books and magazines with her school bag over her shoulder. In the farming section of the store, they spied Yasha with a half-filled net bag, poking through a variety of cooking utensils. They made a quick stop to check on their travel cohort before meeting up with their host.

Yasha grinned in a fashion evocative of a Cheshire feline as she showcased all the things she was going to use to make her lovely little shack into the perfect home away from home. A glittering carving knife and a chopping board joined the pile of tough and bulbous vegetables. “Going to be a delicious and delightful time. You’re warmly welcome to stop by and partake in the rarified air. I love an evening with this sort of blustery energy. It feels so alive with every breath. Quite a world.” They left her to her shopping.

Yuka sighted them from quite a ways off and rushed over to embrace Misaki. She missed her as though the span had not been a few hours but several days, weeks, and months on end. Covering for any sense of playing favorites, she passed out the pre-requisite hugs to the others and hoped they had a lovely day as well.

The arcade title in the corner was different than any they saw at the entertainment center, even though the style was evocative of the Ninja Turtles scrolling adventure fighter that Chika often gushed about. The theme hued closer to a sprite-based historical adventure with naginata-wielding ladies of legend and spectral floating goddess figures as their backup. Namiko detected magical girl allusions, and Franklin was reminded of a plethora of action titles. And it wasn’t the only game in the cabinet.

The screen had obviously seen better days, with numbers burned in and the top of the colorful scan line warping off the edge with a hint of black and white wiggling.

The second game proudly proclaimed itself as the Queen of Monsters with an old-fashioned Godzilla beast free-for-all smackdown throughout a range of spectacular vistas. There was a flying entity, a creature made of toxic slime, the expected giant, bipedal dragon, a ferocious gorilla, some slithering slinky serpent, a young woman expanded to goddess proportions, and a craggy statue brought to life.

Compared to any of the games they had played earlier, no slight to Rei and her best efforts at providing company, Misaki thought this was the absolute best of all. Yuka tightly positioned herself as player three, right next to her as the fourth, and Chika and Namiko waggled the first and second joysticks. Misaki could tell that Gal’s overriding urge to drop suggestive comments about the game and the peripherals was just barely restrained. She had done similar with ballsy allusions when they first arrived at the market in the city. Perhaps her little si…sis… her friend, she corrected herself, decided to restrain those aspects of her nature. But what had changed?

Chika and Namiko felt exactly the same when playing the game. They were the friends she’d known for most of her life. No extreme side effects. Nothing like they had alluded to last night. Perhaps it wasn’t so much a side effect… as a choice? Not worth engaging in wild speculation.

Yuka easily bested them at this team city destruction title. She said it was one of her favorites, even though she liked the other one too. When the round ended, Chika and Namiko casually stepped away to leave them a sliver of privacy, checking out the extensive row of magazines. Yuka had the high score in several places, and this time was fourth place. A fragment of her full name in translated characters spread out. She hesitated about what she was going to enter.

Backing up the option, she actually put in normal letters.

c…[back]…C…E…R…B

And that was all it allowed. Backspacing with a sigh, she opted instead to just put a little mark for each of them in those letters.

M….&….Y…[heart]