She wasn’t sure how long she’s been standing in the cold, hidden in the shadows of the alley, trying to summon up her nerve. It was getting cold. She could feel the pads of her toes beginning to freeze.
The music was jarring her, making her head ache, setting her teeth on edge. Megumi looked up, exposing her face to the elements. Grey snow was falling down, catching on long lashes, settling on pale cheeks. And it was in the settling that Megumi realized that it was, in fact, not snow at all.
Curious, she held a hand out and watched as the small grey particles landed on her hand but did not melt. It was no frozen gift from the sky but polluted particulate matter. Perhaps a factory was nearby. Megumi looked up at the sky again. Even if it had been clear, the light pollution had long since smothered the stars. Though late, she could see that the clouds were dark and ugly things, blocking out the full moon. The tall buildings that poorly sheltered the space where she was hiding were dead, industrial redwoods, their branches of rusty, metal stairwells and antiquated power lines no more capable of sheltering her from the elements than blossoming come spring time.
The thought of spring time made her think of Kenshin and the promise they’d made to meet under the sakura. At the time, the resolution had been filled with hope and reasonable, something to yearn for and work towards. Now, it seemed like a fool’s errand for a fool of a woman. (I don’t have a choice…not if I want find a way to keep my promises) Despite her misgivings, there was a pinky swear and a dream of sakura to try and honor, a faceless though no longer faceless girl to honor though living.
The rubbish bin rustled and a grumpy sound could be heard from beneath the mess.
Clearly, she had priorities and responsibilities, whereas 24 hours before, she had not had any, not to anyone or anything, and standing her freezing her very nearly exposed behind off wasn’t going to make them happen.
(Evolve or die. Adapt or perish)
Her father had taught her that, over and over and over again. Megumi shuddered, nearly wretched, and then became still. The most brutal interpretation of Darwinian Law was a way of life for her growing up and, despite her best efforts to be the daughter that was both needed and wanted, she had failed, to devastating consequences, not just for herself and her brother, but for many innocent human beings.
(I am my father’s daughter…but I can try and evolve) Adaptation didn’t stop, no matter how evil men men and misguided daughters meddled with it. Evolution wasn’t just at the cellular level, but could take place in the heart and mind as well. Right?
(Right)
Megumi took a step forward. She made her way into the line, trying to fit in. While most of the clubbers looked worse than she did, she did spot a couple of creative souls who she identified as historical movie stars, in various states of decomposition. (Is…is that Charlie Chaplain?)
(THE BOUNCER, AKA AITOH-SAN, AKA THE LEAD LINE FLOW COORDINATION SPECALIST)
(Being a line flow coordination specialist isn’t easy work.)
Aitoh-san, known by most as the bouncer, some as club security, and by many as a right mean bastard of a man, pinched the brow of his nose as he tossed another brat out of the queue. That was the 16th one this evening.
Supporting the arts has never been an easy undertaking. Aitoh-san had learned this while majoring in Art Hitory (and minoring in creative dance).
Still, someone had to make sacrifices and it was his lot to stand out in the cold, dealing with privileged little shits who thought they had every right to waltz right in and attend an advertised musical event, but at their core lacked the sophisticated tastes and musical palates to really appreciate the complex orchestrations and lyrical compositions of bands such as Apocalypse. Yes, like was difficult, but such was the fate of a true connoisseur of the arts.
And so the long, cold night went. Scuffle. Toss. Scuffle. Toss. Toss. Toss. Toss.
And then, she appeared, a post-modern, deconstructed Melpomene, the Muse of Tragic Poetry. Devoid of frippery and finery, the young woman stood before him, bared to the music and the elements as well, not only free of artifice, but also bra as well. Aitoh-san’s split lower lip would have quivered had he not been such a professional.
“You…” he motioned at the young lady, noting with approval that the blood spatters on her exquisite outfit were real and not fake, something that a true aficionado of Apocalypse would take the time to do right. How thoughtful. “…wan’ to go an’ listen?”
Megumi nodded, mesmerized by the man’s ham-hock sized fists. “Yes,” she smiled and added, “please?” (What the hell – there’s no harm in good manners, is there?)
Aitoh-san was touched. TOUCHED. And look, her feet were bare as well, so true a pilgrim to the shrine of death metal, was this maiden. “Which song d’ ya like best?”
Megumi inwardly wanted to scream and pull her badly plaited buns out. Song? These were supposed to be songs? Was this a test? A Trick? She wondered if the right song was a password that would grant entry, while the wrong one would earn a beating (or worse). People were looking at her. The Club Troll was looking at her, though not with the unconcealed menace that he’d looked at other club-goers before tossing them to the wayside.
“It’s…. it’s so hard to decide,” she offered, biting her lower lip as a particularly dissonant wail began to reverberate through the speakers. The lyrics were profane, the pitch not even close on center. Here eyes began to water, and unlike Aitoh-san, the tears were not due to musical appreciation. “But I would have to say, that this song,” she motioned vaguely at the pulsing speakers that were blaring a verse about engaging in highly illegal (and certainly unsanitary) activities with a recently deceased goat’s head. “This song has a very, special place in my heart.”
“This un?’” Truly, his sacrifice this evening had been worth it. “Abomination of Filth and Despair” was his favorite song as well. Such a classic. She nodded and smiled up at him. He smiled back, his metallic tooth implants twinkling. What a nice girl. The sort of girl you’d take home to mother on a lovely Sunday afternoon for tea. “Well, go in then. Hav’ a nice night, Miss.”
Gallantly, he pulled the queue rope back and motioned for the young lady to enter. She thanked him and then disappeared, her blood splattered form fading into the darkness that was Gomi Club, a veritable blood-stained Persephone descending to the home of her lover, Hades. Gods, life was so beautiful.
“HEY” Aitoh-san was torn from his poetic reverie by the shout of an ill-mannered young man. (Who was wearing shoes AND a fake nose ring) Aitoh-san shook his head, displeased to say the least by this most unworthy pilgrim to the shrine of Apocalypse. “You didn’t even charge that bitch overhead!”
Aitoh-san sighed and resumed the hard and lonely work that a lead Line Flow Coordination Specialist must, and calmly punched the uncouth youth in the face, sending him, and a few flying errant teeth back into the cheering crowd.
INSIDE CLUB GOMI
Megumi stumbled into the club, immediately assailed by an impossibly louder sound of screeching. Grateful for the first time in a long time that her eardrums were capable of regeneration, the physician looked around, wide eyed at her first glimpses. It was dark inside, save for laser lights that flashed this way and that, creating color popping patterns on the dancers writhing on the floor. She inhaled, grimaced a bit and gingerly made her way down the stairs towards what she assumed was the main dance area. The air stank of stale smoke (of many varieties) the sharp tang of perspiration and the more subtle hint of something she couldn’t identify.
Someone bumped up against her, letting the contact linger for longer than she was comfortable with. She jumped, yelped and then skittered away, glad that her red, embarrassed face wouldn’t be seen in the dark. Taking another two steps down towards where most of the people were dancing, she looked around.
(There)
On the other side of the dance floor was a data hub, a VERY NICE data hub if she was any judge of the cable lines coming through the roof. While wireless technology was free and easily accessible, physical velocity synth lines were where the speed and access was to be found. Megumi looked this way and that for a short cut to the data hub. There was none. For a moment, the abominable music stopped. The roiling sea of human bodies dancing became still for a moment and cheers went up.
Megumi bolted forward, sensing this was her chance to make some headway but before she would get very far, a new song started up, which, if the opening stanza consisting of nothing other than a work that rhymed with luck was any indicator, was going to be worse.
Immediately, she was crushed, her body pressed up against another’s. She tried to pull back, but there was nowhere to pull back to. Jostled, she tried to move forward, towards the data-hub, struggling to even see which was it was due to the incredibly packed dance floor. Gasping, she slid past the first body, then collided with another, a thin, unwell looking man with dark hollows under his eyes. Relief became alarm when the man reached out and pulled Megumi tightly against her, his nails digging into Megumi’s back.
“First time, huh?”
Megumi gasped and tried to wriggle away. “No, I come here quite often, thank you very much,” she said, her attempts to be urbane and sultry utterly failing.
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Date: 2019-05-09 03:19 am (UTC)The music was jarring her, making her head ache, setting her teeth on edge. Megumi looked up, exposing her face to the elements. Grey snow was falling down, catching on long lashes, settling on pale cheeks. And it was in the settling that Megumi realized that it was, in fact, not snow at all.
Curious, she held a hand out and watched as the small grey particles landed on her hand but did not melt. It was no frozen gift from the sky but polluted particulate matter. Perhaps a factory was nearby. Megumi looked up at the sky again. Even if it had been clear, the light pollution had long since smothered the stars. Though late, she could see that the clouds were dark and ugly things, blocking out the full moon. The tall buildings that poorly sheltered the space where she was hiding were dead, industrial redwoods, their branches of rusty, metal stairwells and antiquated power lines no more capable of sheltering her from the elements than blossoming come spring time.
The thought of spring time made her think of Kenshin and the promise they’d made to meet under the sakura. At the time, the resolution had been filled with hope and reasonable, something to yearn for and work towards. Now, it seemed like a fool’s errand for a fool of a woman. (I don’t have a choice…not if I want find a way to keep my promises) Despite her misgivings, there was a pinky swear and a dream of sakura to try and honor, a faceless though no longer faceless girl to honor though living.
The rubbish bin rustled and a grumpy sound could be heard from beneath the mess.
Clearly, she had priorities and responsibilities, whereas 24 hours before, she had not had any, not to anyone or anything, and standing her freezing her very nearly exposed behind off wasn’t going to make them happen.
(Evolve or die. Adapt or perish)
Her father had taught her that, over and over and over again. Megumi shuddered, nearly wretched, and then became still. The most brutal interpretation of Darwinian Law was a way of life for her growing up and, despite her best efforts to be the daughter that was both needed and wanted, she had failed, to devastating consequences, not just for herself and her brother, but for many innocent human beings.
(I am my father’s daughter…but I can try and evolve) Adaptation didn’t stop, no matter how evil men men and misguided daughters meddled with it. Evolution wasn’t just at the cellular level, but could take place in the heart and mind as well.
Right?
(Right)
Megumi took a step forward. She made her way into the line, trying to fit in. While most of the clubbers looked worse than she did, she did spot a couple of creative souls who she identified as historical movie stars, in various states of decomposition. (Is…is that Charlie Chaplain?)
(THE BOUNCER, AKA AITOH-SAN, AKA THE LEAD LINE FLOW COORDINATION SPECALIST)
(Being a line flow coordination specialist isn’t easy work.)
Aitoh-san, known by most as the bouncer, some as club security, and by many as a right mean bastard of a man, pinched the brow of his nose as he tossed another brat out of the queue. That was the 16th one this evening.
Supporting the arts has never been an easy undertaking. Aitoh-san had learned this while majoring in Art Hitory (and minoring in creative dance).
Still, someone had to make sacrifices and it was his lot to stand out in the cold, dealing with privileged little shits who thought they had every right to waltz right in and attend an advertised musical event, but at their core lacked the sophisticated tastes and musical palates to really appreciate the complex orchestrations and lyrical compositions of bands such as Apocalypse. Yes, like was difficult, but such was the fate of a true connoisseur of the arts.
And so the long, cold night went. Scuffle. Toss. Scuffle. Toss. Toss. Toss. Toss.
And then, she appeared, a post-modern, deconstructed Melpomene, the Muse of Tragic Poetry. Devoid of frippery and finery, the young woman stood before him, bared to the music and the elements as well, not only free of artifice, but also bra as well. Aitoh-san’s split lower lip would have quivered had he not been such a professional.
“You…” he motioned at the young lady, noting with approval that the blood spatters on her exquisite outfit were real and not fake, something that a true aficionado of Apocalypse would take the time to do right. How thoughtful. “…wan’ to go an’ listen?”
Megumi nodded, mesmerized by the man’s ham-hock sized fists. “Yes,” she smiled and added, “please?” (What the hell – there’s no harm in good manners, is there?)
Aitoh-san was touched. TOUCHED. And look, her feet were bare as well, so true a pilgrim to the shrine of death metal, was this maiden. “Which song d’ ya like best?”
Megumi inwardly wanted to scream and pull her badly plaited buns out. Song? These were supposed to be songs? Was this a test? A Trick? She wondered if the right song was a password that would grant entry, while the wrong one would earn a beating (or worse). People were looking at her. The Club Troll was looking at her, though not with the unconcealed menace that he’d looked at other club-goers before tossing them to the wayside.
“It’s…. it’s so hard to decide,” she offered, biting her lower lip as a particularly dissonant wail began to reverberate through the speakers. The lyrics were profane, the pitch not even close on center. Here eyes began to water, and unlike Aitoh-san, the tears were not due to musical appreciation. “But I would have to say, that this song,” she motioned vaguely at the pulsing speakers that were blaring a verse about engaging in highly illegal (and certainly unsanitary) activities with a recently deceased goat’s head. “This song has a very, special place in my heart.”
“This un?’” Truly, his sacrifice this evening had been worth it. “Abomination of Filth and Despair” was his favorite song as well. Such a classic. She nodded and smiled up at him. He smiled back, his metallic tooth implants twinkling. What a nice girl. The sort of girl you’d take home to mother on a lovely Sunday afternoon for tea. “Well, go in then. Hav’ a nice night, Miss.”
Gallantly, he pulled the queue rope back and motioned for the young lady to enter. She thanked him and then disappeared, her blood splattered form fading into the darkness that was Gomi Club, a veritable blood-stained Persephone descending to the home of her lover, Hades. Gods, life was so beautiful.
“HEY” Aitoh-san was torn from his poetic reverie by the shout of an ill-mannered young man. (Who was wearing shoes AND a fake nose ring) Aitoh-san shook his head, displeased to say the least by this most unworthy pilgrim to the shrine of Apocalypse. “You didn’t even charge that bitch overhead!”
Aitoh-san sighed and resumed the hard and lonely work that a lead Line Flow Coordination Specialist must, and calmly punched the uncouth youth in the face, sending him, and a few flying errant teeth back into the cheering crowd.
INSIDE CLUB GOMI
Megumi stumbled into the club, immediately assailed by an impossibly louder sound of screeching. Grateful for the first time in a long time that her eardrums were capable of regeneration, the physician looked around, wide eyed at her first glimpses. It was dark inside, save for laser lights that flashed this way and that, creating color popping patterns on the dancers writhing on the floor. She inhaled, grimaced a bit and gingerly made her way down the stairs towards what she assumed was the main dance area. The air stank of stale smoke (of many varieties) the sharp tang of perspiration and the more subtle hint of something she couldn’t identify.
Someone bumped up against her, letting the contact linger for longer than she was comfortable with. She jumped, yelped and then skittered away, glad that her red, embarrassed face wouldn’t be seen in the dark. Taking another two steps down towards where most of the people were dancing, she looked around.
(There)
On the other side of the dance floor was a data hub, a VERY NICE data hub if she was any judge of the cable lines coming through the roof. While wireless technology was free and easily accessible, physical velocity synth lines were where the speed and access was to be found. Megumi looked this way and that for a short cut to the data hub. There was none. For a moment, the abominable music stopped. The roiling sea of human bodies dancing became still for a moment and cheers went up.
Megumi bolted forward, sensing this was her chance to make some headway but before she would get very far, a new song started up, which, if the opening stanza consisting of nothing other than a work that rhymed with luck was any indicator, was going to be worse.
Immediately, she was crushed, her body pressed up against another’s. She tried to pull back, but there was nowhere to pull back to. Jostled, she tried to move forward, towards the data-hub, struggling to even see which was it was due to the incredibly packed dance floor. Gasping, she slid past the first body, then collided with another, a thin, unwell looking man with dark hollows under his eyes. Relief became alarm when the man reached out and pulled Megumi tightly against her, his nails digging into Megumi’s back.
“First time, huh?”
Megumi gasped and tried to wriggle away. “No, I come here quite often, thank you very much,” she said, her attempts to be urbane and sultry utterly failing.