[x] Roll with it and play it cool

You can feel the goosebumps rising on your arms as you do a double take. A part of you wishes that it's just your vision failing you, but nope. Your vision is as clear as ever. Aya prods you from behind, waiting with a confused expression. She questions you with her eyebrows, raised up high.

A deep breath calms you down. "Okay Aya, my parents are waiting at my door. Just ignore them and follow my lead."

"What does that mean?"

"Never mind. Just be quiet for a bit and follow me." Unloosening the top-most button of your shirt and popping up the collar, you slick back your hair as much as you can. You would usually never do this in front of your parents, but that's what you're hoping your parents think. One step. Then two. You walk up to your parents, not looking them in the eye and declare, "Excuse me, but I think you have the wrong apartment."

"But isn't this–" Your mom starts to say before you quickly walk past her, attempting to ignore her. The apartment keys jingle as you unlock the door and fling Aya inside as quick as possible. You're about to close the door when your dad says just one thing.

"Taro." He curtly announces with no emotion in his voice.

Instinctively, you turn around to look. But when you do, your father is staring at you so bluntly that it forces you to turn away. Damn it! You were caught by such a simple mistake!

Before you can stop them, they charge into your apartment without a single word. You are utterly helpless as they size the rooms up in a succinct look. Your father shakes his head in disgust, bringing his hand up to his forehead. "It's wrong." He says with his unwavering voice. He was always difficult to place, but you could best describe him as rigid and coarse. He never failed to show his disdain... no matter how little or great it was.

"What is wrong?" You hesitantly ask, dropping the pretense of being someone else. You smooth your collar down and button it back up. Your hair, too.

"Everything." He doesn't look even the slightest b

You can feel an odd sensation coursing through every nerve of your body, transmitting erratic signals from every fiber of your being. Strange, you are unable to trace the origins of why every axon in your nerves are screaming out for mercy, wrapping your body in such unpleasant turmoil. Perhaps it is the pharmaceuticals that you have only recently discovered were sugar pills. Perhaps it is the lack of sleep locking your cranium in a metaphorical sleeper hold.

Perhaps it is because you bashed your head onto the edge of the cold metal table and subsequently lapsed into unconsciousness. You're hedging your bet on the last option but really it could have been a magic spell, for all you know.

Hmm. What did you know, exactly? A faint wave of panic flashes through your body and you inadvertently reach for your medication, twisting the plastic white cap of the orange container open. A full second passes before you drop the cap on the table and set the medication aside, knowing full well that the pills contain nothing but a rather dense concentration of fructose.

You keel over, paying your dear respects to the scattered mass of newspaper articles sprawled all over the floor. Swallowing your saliva, you dab your forehead with the front page of the local newspaper, smudging your face with stray ink. As your vision clears, the headline, “Diplomatic Relations with... (cont.)” underneath the latest celebrity scandal briefly enters your sight before the sweat smears the title away.

A lone coat rack stands tall amidst the blotchy newspaper sheets. Or perhaps it only looks tall because you are lying prone face-down in ink print. Nevertheless, you grasp at the base, searching for foundation to hoist yourself upright. Your legs wish to cooperate but are too clumsy to be useful. Just when you manage to stand your knees wobble and you gash your shirt sleeve on the coat rack's hook, obliterating the hem of the cuff. No matter.

The world teeters as you stumble toward the armchair, only coming to a full stop as you haul your body onto the shabby piece of furniture. You've come to. With regained motor control, you wheel yourself over to t

An experimental story at the last minute for the >>/gensokyo/13978 contest. Please, vote or ignore at your leisure.

-------


You're tired. Absolutely exhausted in fact. You probably would've just collapsed immediately if it weren't for finding her.

Yes, her! She's right there in your peripheral vision, you see her, and she sees you. Maybe. Your vision is rather blurry right now.

You have a strong feeling to interact with her. But just what action to take?

[_] FIGHT
[_] TALK
[_] RUN
[_] OTHER? (Specify)

“Hey, uh,” you call out, heading to the kitchen with your plate. “Remember when I told you about that one website about Gensokyo?”

“Yeah.” Momiji is already washing her dishes, her baggy jacket sleeves pushed up to keep the cuffs from getting soaked. Her ears are in full view. Apparently she took her hat off at some point. Whatever. “Wasn't it a load of bull?”

“Not really.” You dump the plate on top of hers. She gives you a good scowl for that. “Come to the computer whenever you're done.”

Looks like you're past the point of no return. It is about time to introduce her to the shitpool known as the internet. And within the darkest, most vile crevice is the fuckfest that is Touhou-Project.com.

You pull up the “How to Survive on THP” post and await Momiji's arrival. When Momiji exits the kitchen, she hops on your spare chair and rolls it to the computer, wheeling it next to you. “So. What am I looking at?”

“Maybe you should read first and find out before asking stupid questions.”

“Wow, thanks, big help man.” Momiji squints at the screen, flicking her ears.“What are 'emoticons'?”

You try not to let her ears distract you, instead focusing on... something else. “What do you think?”

“I don't know, that's why I'm asking you, shit.” She pinches at the bridge of her nose, frowning.

“Just don't use them.”

“Okay, whatever. So this is a forum, right? Looks like a place where people gather to write about... 'Touhou' whatever that is.”

“Nah. Forums have usernames. THP doesn't have usernames, so it's just a place full of anonymous people posting stories, images, and comments.”

“But this person has a username.”

“No,” you shake your head. “That's a trip.”

Momiji blinks. “What's the difference?”

“Random letters and stuff after the name, dunno.” Fuck, man. She's really testing your patience here.

“Uh huh. Sounds like a load of shit.” She steals the mouse, scrolling through the rest of the thread. “Butthurt?”

BGM: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N4qzII8hse4 (Organ Smash)
… It’s been a few days since Patchouli Knowledge has chewed out Yukari Yakumo. Exactly one week ago, Yukari had brought in yet another gappy, which she personally blasted into Misty Lake.
The Hakurei Shrine is still in lack of a shrine maiden, something that has been weakening the barrier for quite some time. In fact, people have gone missing from Gensokyo… several key figures, in fact.
Aya: “We regret to say that the investigation into the disappearance of Remilia Scarlet has failed to turn up any leads. Furthermore, we have seen a cluster of new people in Gensokyo, each with a personal letter from Yukari. She claims to ‘need a shrine maiden and some investigators.’ Currently, the prisoners are being held at Rin’s office.”
Aya: “Although I think the darned shrine maiden replacement snuck off again. A few of the fairies have reported seeing her making a beeline for the Hakurei Shrine.”

… A few hours later…
You finally regain consciousness. You don’t know how long you’ve been out after that lady punched you in the face. You remember having confronted a girl in purple one moment, and the very next thing you knew, you were in a forest getting punched.
And now you’re in a very dimly lit office. Do they not have electricity here? And where are your captors hiding? Why were you captured? Questions swirl around in your head, lost and confused.
Wait... there’s the dim glow of a television here.
???: “This is Aya, bringing you a special news report. The wicked hermit Seiga has been dead next to the corpse of one Adolf Hitler. Her last words were, according to Nazrin, ‘The body – it’s too warm!’ We all mourn her passing.”
Aya… now that’s a name you’ve heard before. Didn’t she have some… choice words about Donald Trump? And did she just say Hitler? As you think, you hear a door open.
???: “Would you please come in? I can take the next stranger.”
… Nobody orders you around. But just as you think that, you feel something give you a strong push.
Quoth the feminine voice, �

The arrogant and determined youth.

Previous thread >>61752
New Character blurbs: www.touhou-project.com/others/moretheater.txt

--

“You're full of crap!” Suika exclaimed, waving a mostly empty bottle at me. The weak yellow light made deep shadows, making her seem more menacing than her tone would imply. “Maybe telling me that you were forced would have worked if I didn't know you so well,” she grumbled, making the rest of the beer in her bottle foam up to the neck, “in the past you've made a big show of wanting to help broads for what you said were totally not-selfish reasons.”

Remembering that she was shaking her beer, Suika paused and finished the rest in one large gulp. Froth stuck to her lips. Almost immediately she fetched another pair of bottles, tossing me one even though I wasn't quite done with mine yet. “You may have been pressured but I get the feeling you could have walked away after a certain point. You care about this stuff, whether you admit it or not to me.”

“Well, running for vice president wasn't my idea, at least that much is true,” I told her, dodging the direct accusation. “I don't think I've changed that much, I mean, I'm here with you, aren't I?”

“Yeah, for now,” she said, eyeballing her beer intensely. Offering a shrug first, she took a large swig.

“Don't be like that,” I said. I finished my already open beer in a single swig, not feeling too great about drinking so much of the room-temperature liquid at once. It was an unspoken rule that I had to keep up and so I opened up the new bottle. “Whatever else, I'm still more or less me. Politics is boring and I get so tired of dealing with people who want to put responsibilities on my shoulders against my will. Even if I do like a few things about all that or not, I don't think it really matters. Fact is I'm still trying my best to have fun. I mean, here I am, drinking in the middle of the day in some dusty walled-off secret room that smells of old paper and mold. Not a care in the world. Save for

This is a continuation of Memories of Dire Situations and Circumstances ( >>/shorts/1862 ) moved to a new board.



Well, I suppose checking up on the other elements wouldn't do any harm - don't want to adventure off in an unknown land without knowing my limits.

Channeling my energy inward, I soon find myself in the landscape of my mind.

All around me are fields of verdant grass hills, a small creek flowing in between the mounds, and small oak trees standing upon the peak’s of the hills. Glancing around I don't notice any of the spirits in the immediate area, so I make my way towards the top of one of the hills.

As I reach it's peak I notice a small trembling in the earth, a hole appearing in the ground in front of me as I am confronted by a large creature made of rock.

As it rises from the earth, it’s giant stone hands propelling itself upwards. As I try to get a better look at it, I realize it is Terroc, the spirit of earth. Unlike the others, he prefers his natural form over his humanoid form. He stands a shocking three meters tall, his body is covered in specks of moss and iron - being a defense against monstrous forces. His forearms are lined with an assortment of gems that harden at times to land devastating punches. His three fingers don't leave much in the way of imagining how he crushes his enemies. Perhaps the most unusual part of his form is his lack of proper feet, he instead rolls around on a boulder made of different mixtures of ores. He says it helps his mobility in combat and honestly I agree.

No matter how many times I’ve seen him, he always frightens me, I think to myself. I know his personality is very docile and kind, however his appearance is that of a juggernaut.

As I stand there watching as Terroc finally rises fully out of the ground, towering over my short form he speaks, his voice deep and rumbling yet filled with knowledge. "Master, I see you have survived the dragon's attack. We were worried, you know. Poor Siara was crying her eyes out in sorrow, thinking we might h

You are a 20-year-old young lad. (You don’t know it, but today’s the day you’ll make one of the most important choices in your life.) You live in some generic American city and lead a generic life: single, kinda lonely, and…

[ ] Working an office job. It’s nothing too simple or too hard.
[ ] Working as an independent developer/designer/animator/whatever. You get contracts and then get money.
[ ] Working a white collar job, in which you lead… something of some sort. It’s complicated being a manager of a minor technology company.
[ ] You work a no-collar job. You have the top position of all existing staff at a decent pub. It’s understaffed, but there are hardly ever any fights.

Furthermore, your experience with bullet hells is…

[1] Baka. You are the person who dies three seconds into Icicle Fall (Easy) by standing in the safe spot. If the bullet was a Goomba, you’d always jump into it.
[2] Decent. In a Touhou game, you’d make it to stage 4 without using up all your bombs.
[3] Hardly something to scoff at. Lunatic difficulty and thereabouts are a pain to deal with, still. But you can manage, even if you end up at one health and no bombs.
[4] Phantasm. You can go toe-to-toe with the likes of Gengetsu, Yukari, and Evil Eye Sigma.
[5] Ultimortal. You’ve dealt with nearly-impossible patterns before, and have come out on top. However, a non-Touhou shrine maiden shooting game’s Extra boss is proving to be hopeless…
[6 (locked)] The Guy. You have bested fruit, spike and moon. You can make it through the Absurdly Extra stage of Reactivate Majestical Imperial, if barely. That last spellcard, though... Seriously, that's just mean.
[7 (locked)] reallyjoelsdad. Your skills are second-to-none. You have repeatedly proven that you can indeed outsmart bullet. In fact, you are skilled enough to dodge rain on a sub-atomic level. If and when you die, you’re headed to a bullet heaven.

Your familiarity with the Touhou Project is…

[1] Touhou? Huh?
[2] You mean that one with the girl in the funny dress that gets shot at a lot? The bullet hell shooter?
[3] You’ve played a few of

The absolutes of youth.

Previous thread >>61249
New Character blurbs: www.touhou-project.com/others/moretheater.txt

---

I chewed Aya out, telling her this and that. I wasn't her plaything and certainly it wasn't worth humiliating myself for a favor. I'd helped her out in the past, after all. Even if it had been for money.

She seemed to take it well, looking at me with an unaffected smile. Aya didn't cross her legs or otherwise move, letting me finish saying my piece before finally showing signs of an actual reaction.

“A politician with a choleric temperament” she quipped, “that always bodes well for his career. I can see why they've ensured that you'll run unopposed. I'd write it up, but I think the truth will come out sooner or later.”

“Is that all you have to say?” I asked, feeling deflated. Without any direct pushback, I was just getting myself worked up for no reason.

“It is,” she affirmed, getting off the table, “you rejected my terms outright and then got personal about it. I have no further interest in talking to you now. I should get back to my work and you should leave.”

“So that's it? I won't get any help from you?”

“Nope, not even your pretty face can sway me now,” she said with a shrug, picking up a few of the items she knocked from the table. “Pride with lack of conviction just isn't interesting to me, sorry. Can't write about or document a subject like that. My energies are better spent elsewhere.”

“So you were planning to write about me and take advantage of me?”

“Whatever the people want to see, I give,” she said, not really answering the question. “Whatever scandal you get into in the future, which will come soon by the sound of it, will sell just as well. I'm sure we'll be talking again real soon but for now, I really should get back to what I was doing.”

I left, feeling unsatisfied. That she kept herself cool and unflappable was somehow aggravating. Her response