A jet of sunlight burns through your half-closed blinds, forcing you to wake from your much-needed sleep. Closing the blinds fully, your bedroom enters into a familiar darkness. You blink a couple of times before rousing yourself out of bed. Your high school diploma, the pride of your recent years, remains tacked onto the wall, permanently enclosed as a plaque. The world seems heavy today, despite your willingness to get up. You heave yourself over to the washroom. A groggy face in the mirror greets you as you wash up, fit with unkempt hair. How lovely. A quick wash in the shower quickly fixes that, however. As you tidy up and put on a change of clothes, you fully open the blinds. A view of the city awaits you, or at least as much as you can see before everything is cut off by a towering building. Still, you were glad to be awake! You have no time to waste. Your clock glares '7:25 A.M.' at you with bold, red letters, reminding you that you have an interview with the newspaper agency in thirty-five minutes. Which is plenty of time. Finally, you'll get to have a job of your own! You at look yourself in the mirror. "Yes!" you exclaim. "I'm ready."
…Or you would be, if the story would ever fucking update. This time, you wake up for real. Your throat’s dry, your hair’s a mess, and it’s godawful 7:25 A.M. in the middle of Saturday. Throwing off your stained gray shirt two sizes too big for you, you put on a black tank, also two sizes too big for you. You don’t even bother to deal with your hair – it’s unsalvageable. Your lips are cracked dry so you pacify the pain by licking them because it hurts like shit when you don’t even though it hurts like shit when you do all because you forgot to buy that fucking chap stick when you totally could have when you went to the convenience store a day ago buying cheap-ass beer, stale ramen, and three bars of Three Musketeers now all half-eaten and in the trash because you forgot they taste like ass.
It could be worse. You could be a total bitch.
…God, your lips fucking hurt. You want to get out of your bed, but the covers seem to pile on you like they are piled on you. Because they are.
The walls start to shake like shit again, coming from the reverb of the goddamn speakers your neighbor uses and why doesn’t he ever buy earphones holy shit. He’s playing “Freak My Sh*t” by New Boyz. Again. For about the thousandth fucking time. You kick off the covers, finding the energy actually get up and bang on the wall. “Oi you fucking cunt, turn off your turd of a jukebox or whatever it is you’re using to blast that shit before I kick your ‘swag’ ass!”
The only response you get is the pumping of the bass and “tell the mothafuckin' DJ to turn the Waka on, but Imma turn it down, because there's too much pussy.” Even the music’s taunting you.
You throw on your headphones, turn on your clunky computer, and crank up some mainstream jazz to drown out everything else ”but oh god everybody listens to this it’s too mainstream” aw hell shut the fuck up.
You pull up good ol’ THP on the monitor. Scrolling down to the front page, you ignore the most recent “news” (last one dated four years ago) to get straight to the juicy stuff.
The Dark Black Midnight Darkness of the Midnight Dark Night by Night_Dyke
Jesus Christ. You click on the link, hoping that it couldn’t be what you think it might be. But it is. But. It. Is. Characters with enough “personality” traits to call up the local asylum and ask if their rainbow-haired, robe-wearing, heterochromatic-eyed patients went missing. And they blame Yukari. They always blame Yukari. You can’t stand this. It’s time to take action and man up.
By posting in an anonymous imageboard and telling a person on the internet how shitty his story is. With sage, for added measure. You type.
Holy shit, are you fucking retarded? Seriously, scrap this 3darkandedgy gaia-tier faggotry and come back when you can actually write something other than “dark darkness” for every descriptoin you do.
Satisfied with your heroism, you return back to the front page. Another story rescued. Scrolling back down, you look over the next story on the recently bumped threads.
Another Shota Story by Marol
More generic “wacky teehee I’m so silly” adventures with a token shota and how “he’s so loveable and cute and it’s just so dawwww!” Great. You’re going to throw up. But unlike the sorry excuse for a story you’ve read before, it’s not shit infested with maggots. It’s just shit. Whatever.
[x] Hug the lake
And back to the front page. A really long title catches your attention.
Self-Faith in Pronouncement of Bountiful Callipygous Appreciation by Anonymous
Oh, this is actually good. Great, even. Through the character interactions and dialogue, you can feel like this story can actually develop. For now, you’ll refrain from voting because it’s always the hardest choice, deciding whether to select Youmu or Sanae. You’ll keep watch over this story.
But back to the grind. You check back on the dark black dark story. A response to your post.
Just one more thread. You hope it doesn’t disappoint-
An Excuse for Aya by Treia
N-No way. After all this time. You hastily throw the cursor over the link, clicking a couple of times and missing. You finally get the cursor on the damn thread link and enter. And the latest update reads:
|>>51296 And get on our boss’s bad side? No way. He’s unpredictable and may lead to no job. Not taking that risk.
[x] TELL THIS PIECE OF SHIT WHY HE SHOULD BE STOMPED TO THE GROUND LIKE THE INSECT HE IS (WITH CAPS LOCK AND SAGE OF COURSE) [x] COMPLAIN TO IRC ABOUT HOW MUCH OF A FAGGOT THIS GUY IS [x] SOMETHING ELSE
[x] TELL THIS PIECE OF SHIT WHY HE SHOULD BE STOMPED TO THE GROUND LIKE THE INSECT HE IS (WITH CAPS LOCK AND SAGE OF COURSE) [x] COMPLAIN TO IRC ABOUT HOW MUCH OF A FAGGOT THIS GUY IS - [x] DON'T BE DISTRACTED BY THE IRC
[x] EVERYTHING >>58509 NOW LISTEN HERE YOU DUMB BITCH. YOU GO BUMP A DEAD THREAD WHERE PEOPLE WILL REVISIT THE STORY UNDER THE ASSUMPTION OF AN UPDATE AND YOU TAKE THEIR HOPES AND TAKE A HOT STEAMING SHIT ON IT. YOU TAKE YOUR CHEETO ENCRUSTED HANDS AND SHOVE THEM SO HARD UP YOUR ASS YOU CAN TASTE THE CRAP UNDER YOUR NAILS.
YOU PULL UP YOUR STANDARD IRC CLIENT, FUCKZILLA, BECAUSE IT’S THE SHITTIEST CLIENT IN THE WORLD BUT IT’S YOUR SHITTY CLIENT, SO IT’S LESS OF A SHITTY CLIENT. NOBODY’S GOING TO TELL YOU OTHERWISE. YOUR CLIENT AUTOMATICALLY INPUTS YOUR NICKSERV CREDENTIALS WHICH IS GOOD BECAUSE YOUR CAPS LOCK IS OUT OF CONTROL AND MIGHT FUCK UP INPUTTING YOUR PASSWORD.
YOU (Gallus) have joined #thp Topic for #thp is “Welcome to #THP - The Holes Penetrated | HASHTAG STATUS: TRIPLEREKT | PANIC LEVEL: PANICKING | Archives: http://bit.ly/uwzY0Z | ROYAL RAINBOW! | ✿ LILY HAS AN ERECTION ✿ | <Buttlord> Is it just me or do you ever want to suck dicks on a whim? Mode #THP +h Gallus by ChanServ <Buttlord> http://danbooru.donmai.us/posts/1663727?tags=ibuki_suika good god that ass <Gero-chan> ibuka suika (touhou) drawn by nishiuri – Danbooru [Questionable] <Bram> DaS2 is shit <Bram> that’s why I’m gonna keep playing it <Gallus> HOLY SHIT DO PEOPLE NEVER LEARN <Captain> Gal: wat now <Gallus> ANON KEEPS NECROING THE FUCK OUT OF STORIES AND I WANT TO KICK THE SHIT OUT OF HIM <Bram> Dude the greatsword stronk <Anon221> Bram: yeah but do you have a cool hat? wwww <Buttlord> http://danbooru.donmai.us/posts/1667527 Momi’s momis <Gero-chan> inubashiri momiji (touhou) drawn by takayuki hiyori – Danbooru [Explicit] <Captain> Oh it’s that artist <phy> Momizi squeeee! <Bram> >squee <Captain> >squeeee! <Gallus> >squeeee! <Anon221> >Momizi >not Momiji <Captain> Don’t do that <Gallus> holy shit is it that time of the year where newfags come in spades? <Bram> another fan-fiction refugee <Gallus> get out shitter <Anon221> The crusade is coming! <phy> Waht? Momizi is cuteeeeeeeee <3 <3 <Gallus> you know what you are <Gallus> ten years old and retarded <phy> well EXCUUSE ME for showing my love to cute nekomimi girls!! <Anon221> >nekomimi >momiji <Gallus> you’re not even worth talking to. Gallus sets mode: +b *!*@Rizon-F21B6571.static.cgiirc.com/i] phy was kicked by Gallus (get the fuck out) <Anon221> lol <Captain> welp that was quick <Gallus> what a queer <Bram> >roll off of bridge <Bram> fuc <Anon221> I think there’s an item down there <Bram> oh okay. <Captain> Now that that’s over with, moving on. <Bram> 221: no. no there isn’t. I died. <Captain> What thread, Gal? <Anon221: oh maybe it’s the other bridge. <Gallus> aya thread in /others/ <Captain> Oh. <Anon221> ><Gallus> aya thread in /others/ <Anon221> Dont you know that there’s a new spoof thread on it? An Excuse for an Excuse for Aya just frontpaged. <Captain> It’s dead, Jim. <Captain> Also, nice post Gal. Stay classy. <Gallus> oh shit really <Bram> FUCK how do I keep rolling off the bridge? <Buttlord> marol: when more shota? <Marol> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ <Buttlord> plz <Marol> Probably this weekend? <Buttlord> >this weekend <Buttlord> so… about a year? <Gallus> oh fuck you 221 you got me all excited <Anon221> wwww <Marol> Nope this weekend [i]Marol disappears off THP forever <Captain> Another one bites the dust. <Anon221> sasuga
[ ] Keep talking to IRC because they’re all lazy as fuck. And you’re lazy as fuck. [ ] Shit, don’t you have a story to write? -[ ] Aww yeah. What was it about again? -[ ] No you don’t. Saving THP from THP is writing enough. [ ] Take out the trash and buy some groceries because your stale ramen is getting stale.
File 139927308679.jpg - (457.73KB, 800x1066, no really when are you going to update your story.jpg)
[x] Some shit about some story
Oh, fuck. You have a story to write. Minimizing IRC because you know you can’t bring yourself to close it anyway, you get to work. Aww yeah. What was it about again? You haven’t updated in a month and a half, so all the details are fuzzy. You scan through hasty outline excerpts from your word document. Right. You get to work.
But all of a sudden, you’re feeling pretty hungry. You should tend to your basic survival needs first. The story can wait. You try not to trip over the trash lying around the floor. The room’s not dirty, but it’s certainly not clean. You get to the cabinet and dump some cereal in a bowl. Wrenching open the refrigerator door, you discover that you have no milk left. Fuck it. You grab a spoon from the sink and eat the cereal dry.
You don’t bother taking the bowl to the sink when you’re done. Too much effort. You return back to your room, where you can still hear the muffled bass through the walls. Cheeky cunt. Whatever. IRC has been quiet. You hope someone pings you. Maybe you should check out that one thread.
…Five hours later, you’ve read all eighteen threads of the classic THP story, Scarlet Fantasia, Remilia Dickings. Too bad you’ve written nothing in the meantime. Welp. So you get to writing.
The air-conditioned stadium had a musty scent to it. The air was cool but the atmosphere was downright cold. And not because my lackey, Cirno, was freezing up the place. Because she wasn’t. She wasn’t even here. The grime of the bleachers covered half of the seats. Luckily, there was enough space to find a good spot because not a single soul would ever dare watch curling. Except for the dame and me, but that’s because I dragged her here. The place smelled like unfinished hot dogs and justice Because that’s what I’ll be administering. Hot dogs and justice. Minus the hot dogs.
The dame beckoned to me, pulling me close. It was more out of cold analysis than skinship. Her hair fell down to her shoulders, tied in two knit ponytails. The plaid of her purple and black skirt attracted my attention. Her breasts were firm, but her posterior was firmer. Pulling my chin up, the woman forced me to look into her eyes, a malicious fire in them. She wanted something. She wanted revenge. Maybe it’s because I took her to a curling league. Most dames are unpredictable, but sometimes you had to be even more so if you wanted to survive.
“…Aya,” the dame seethed. She had a chilling presence to her. I gripped my holster, ready for anything. “Could you stop monologuing already? Shit, you’re giving me a headache. You’ve been doing it in kitchen, in the shower, and god’s sake even when you’re sleeping!”
The dame was unreceptive to my schemes as usual. She was a lot of work. But damn did she have a nice ass. I can affirm to that.
“…You’re still monologuing.”
In any case, the situation was still unresolved. The two deaths were mysteriously connected. They both were standard car crashes, but three things came to my attention. First, the both car crashes involved a racing car, one of those hot rod monsters you’d only see in the fancy NASCAR tracks. Second, the dame’s ass was tight and supple. I grabbed at it to make sure. Third, they had something suspicious to the situation, though I can’t figure out what. It might be the fact that the fender and windows were riddled with bullets but I’m still unsure. Call it detective’s intuition.
[ ] Must be the ass that’s distracting me. Grab at it for good luck. [ ] Maybe the bullet holes are a sign. Maybe it wasn’t a standard car crash. [ ] Bullet holes are the new fad. It’s for all the cool and hip kids that want to look edgy and dangerous. Red herring.
There. That’s good enough, isn’t it? It only took you half the entire day. Now time to relax. Or maybe play some games to unwind after a good day’s work. Oh, but wait. You somehow forgot the title to your story. Why you have a short-term memory of a fly, you don’t know. Amnesiacs are completely overused anyway. It’s a bad trope.
Whatever. The story was called:
[ ] The Life and Crimes of Detective Shameimaru [ ] The Story about Hatate Ass and Ganja [ ] Who the Fuck Cares [ ] No seriously, write a real story title because the author can’t be assed to think of one (write in)
Right. It was “The Life and Crimes of Detective Shameimaru” because you “literally didn’t give enough of a shit.” And you’re literally using “literally” to piss off the readers.
Anyway, it’s been a couple of days. And you have…
Two votes. Two votes with different, shitty opinions. What an atrocity. You’re better off moving to fan-fict–
No. You’ll never stoop that low. Even if the assholes in THP ignore your work. Those fuckers will see updates regardless. So you do what all writers do when facing a tie.
…You pretend to flip a coin and conveniently update for the choice you like more. It’s Hatate ass grabbing time.
[x] Must be the ass that’s distracting me. Grab at it for good luck.
The girl, with her great chest and even greater ass, kept my mind from reaching a suitable conclusion. Each glance at her sweet butt brought me back to square one. Delicious, plump square one. If her ass were a story, then it would speak volumes. I can’t think – so therefore I can’t solve this crime right now. But the greatest crime was in front of me. Her curvaceous figure in front of me – left untouched. The gods of lust and desire would smite me right now if I don’t go ahead and touch it. So I must do my duty – this is the will of the universe.
The dame scowled, canines bared in the most ferocious manner. She had a killer’s scent. Or was that perfume? Citrus. It’s citrus.
And then citrus slammed into my face.
“You invited me to “investigate” right?” Then why the fuck are we here, watching some stupid shit like lacrosse and talking to ourselves!?”
The dame was getting pretty frisky, but not the frisky that you wanted it to be. Girl’s always been wild, and I expected that. “…It’s not lacrosse. It’s curling.”
Her look of disbelief was incredible. For a split-second, her features wavered. She gave up. “Okay. Right. You’re right. I should have known.” The dame covers her face with her hands and weeps silently into her palms. For a lot of pretty, she’s a lot of crazy. “…And could you stop handling my ass like it was a well-polished bowling ball? Within the last thirty minutes, you have touched my ass every minute on the dot and frankly, I kinda… kinda.”
She snaps at me and slaps my hand away from her buttocks, blushing. “I kinda… don’t hate it.”
“Couldn’t hear,” I replied. The girl was unusually quiet now. But before she could reply, bullets clattered the bleachers, zinging off the metal seats. I ducked and pulled the dame under, dodging bullets with finesse and poise. “Looks like we’ll have to use…that.”
“That!? What the fuck are you even talking about? What are you even referenc-”
[ ] THAT [ ] THE OTHER THAT [ ] …this?
Great. Now all you have to do is find a proofreader.
FUCK. You would think that there are a couple of proofreaders available, but no. They’re all off playing Dark Shits 2, Shit Thunder, and World of Fucking Shit.
Fucker #1: Oh, you need a proofer? I’m busy LOL Fucker #2: >needing a proofreader Fucker #3: >proofreading Fucker #4: busy. I’m updating my own story. Fucker #4 is now playing Dota 2. Click here to join.
Fuck it. You’re posting it anyway. Screw these losers.
A knock comes from your door. Eh. Do you really want to open it?
[ ] Yeah whatever, why not. [ ] Naw got better things to do. (Look at Aya pictures) [ ] Be a pansy and ask IRC what to do.
Yeah whatever, why not. What’s the worst that can happen? Other than being the victim of a very poorly timed homicide. Or even worse, being the victim of yet another Mormon visit, what with all their pamphlets and shit. But you’ve already resigned yourself to this fate. All you have to do is get up and open the door. Yep. You’ll get up and open the door.
…This may be harder than you think. You stumble over the chair and slide tackle the wall, stubbing your pinky toe... FFFFUCK. Spewing fucks and shits and damns around the apartment, you hobble to the door.
“Yo.” Some dude with a dark red tank-top and pants about to fall off his waist greets you. “How you doin’ man?”
You don’t want to judge, but this guy is a complete douche. Seriously. Hasn’t he ever heard of a belt? Christ. “I’m alright.” You’re alright except for the fact that your pinky toe feels like it’s gone on a one-way trip to fuckingshithurtslikeass-ville. “Who are you again?”
“Aye, I’m the dude living right next to you man! I mean, I used to because I’m moving out.” He throws up his hand up for a high five.
Oh. It’s this asshat. The guy who plays that one gay ass song over and over and OVER again. God damn it. You go for the high five, but you slightly miss and brush against his hand. Eh. “So you’re moving out?” Thank god.
“Yeah. Just wanted to let you know. Thanks for being pretty chill bro. Didn’t talk to you much but I thought you’d get angry at me or something for playing my songs.”
You did. You definitely did. This fucker probably didn’t even hear you over how loud he blasted his music. “Whatever.”
“Haha, once you get a song stuck in your head, you just can’t get it out, know what I mean?”
“Yeah…” It was stuck in your head too, but only because he just wouldn’t stop playing the song. You wish this guy would shut up and leave already. “You already packed up or what?”
“Yee. Just waiting for the truck to come pick up all my crap.” He looks over your shoulder, nodding. “Nice place, bro.”
“Thanks.” Does he not know that your place is literally the same as his? It has congruent dimensions and everything. Unless he’s talking about all the laundry you have all over the place. You won’t let his shit get to you, though. You’re above him.
“Aite. I’ll see you around or something. Don’t miss me too much though. You got a new neighbor filling my place.”
“Okay. Thanks for the heads up. And yeah, I’ll see you around.” No, you won’t but you’re just saying that.
He turns around and the last thing you can see before he disappears is the pair of headphones draped around his neck. Wait. He had headphones? Fucking bitch.
You close the door and return to whatever you were doing.
…What were you doing?
You check the front page of THP again. Looks like no new stories so far. A shame. You wanted new material to rip at.
Man. You wonder why THP doesn’t get a lot of new stories anymore. You would update yourself, but… nah. You’ll wait until somebody on the thread asks why you never update. Or maybe nobody will ever ask and then the thread dies.
Anyway. Maybe you’ll check out some ongoing stories.
Fisher and Gensokyo By Flopper
The premise is alright. Interesting, even. But the way it is written falls short. And by that, you mean that it is the shittiest thing you have ever read since that black dark black story. So much purple that you could choke on it and die. Is this faggot allergic to prose? You’re looking for a story, not a descriptive essay no less than 5000 words about how a fairy flutters in the sky.
But should you give this guy shit for it?
[ ] Yeah. Shitty writers deserve no mercy. [ ] Nah. He’s not worth your time. Maybe he can learn how to be mediocre.
>>59810 [X] Nah, he's not worth your time. Maybe he can learn to be mediocre. Is that a reference to the Dishonored story, or a fake one that can apply to anything shit like The Dark Black Midnight Darkness of the Midnight Dark Night. Also update more you mongo faglord.
Nah. He’s not worth your time. Maybe he can learn how to be mediocre. You’ve got better fish to fry. He’d be like that 3 centimeter mackerel you have to throw away because it’s too small to keep or eat. Did you mention that you hate fishing? Because that’s what you’re trying to subtly say without actually saying it.
Anyway, it’s almost Monday. Shit. Since when was it Sunday? Since you said so, despite saying something completely different a few updates days back. Man, time seems to just fly by when you’re talking shit to your fellow THP writers. Only a few more hours and it’ll be the end of the weekend already. You should make use of this free time and go update your story.
YOU (Gallus) have joined #thp Topic for #thp is “Welcome to #THP – Turning Heads Posteriors | UPDATE STATUS: 5 MINUTES | REMILIA STATUS: NOT ENOUGH | Archives: http://bit.ly/uwzY0Z | ROYAL RAINBOW! | ☢ UTSUHO IS A HOT CHICK ☢ | <Bram> >Updating >THP lol Mode #THP +h Gallus by ChanServ
<Bram> http://danbooru.donmai.us/posts/1760238 the thumbnail made it look like she was futa <Gero-chan> reisen udongein inaba (touhou) drawn by 40cabbage – Danbooru [Safe] <Captain> Uhhh, no it doesn’t. <Qasta> lol are you sure Brammy? <Bram> … <Bram> never mind. <Anon221> ww <Buttlord> cute Flan http://danbooru.donmai.us/posts/1760058 <Gero-chan> flandre scarlet(touhou) drawn by bokuenjin – Danbooru [Safe] <Gallus> >Flan’s hands <Gallus> picture ruined <Buttlord> fuck now I can’t unsee make it stop <Valley> >ww <Valley> can you quit it with your weeb shit already? <Bram> >weeb shit <Bram> >tow hoes chat <Gallus> r u fukin kidding me <Anon221> [/0x1d]www <Valley> “otaku XD” shti just stop <Gallus> you’re just digging yourself into a hole buddy. <Anon221> ooook make me 1v1 irl <Bram> lol
Same old, same old. IRC shitting it up again. It’s fucking two-thirty in the morning and you’ve managed to not update your story (what a surprise). You shut off the monitor and turn off the light in the room, hopping over to the bed. You should probably get to sleep right now. You got work at nine thirty, but with traffic you’re probably leaving by eight o’clock sharp. But you’re not sleepy. Great.
But despite the protagonists’ initial complaints, he eventually succumbed to slumber and the scene fades to black. If only you could go to sleep that easily. Shit.
Two forty-seven. Your left foot’s itchy as hell.
Three twelve. Your covers are smothering you and you can’t find a comfortable position.
Three twenty-one. You wonder if you left your wallet in the car. You go check because you can’t get a goddamn night’s rest if you’re wondering whether you did or not.
Ghrgh. Something sounded like a gunshot in the apartment complex. Five fifty-five. Fuck. You were somewhere in between half-sleep and actual rest and it’s all fucking ruined now. God damn it.
[ ] Find the perpetrator of the crime. The crime being making a sound that woke you up. [ ] More trouble than it’s worth. You’re sure as hell not getting out of your bed. You’re going to fucking sleep and you’re going to like it.
Shit. You’re too tired to deal with this. Your neck is sore and your eyes are heavy but god damn it you’re going to do something about it. Whatever “it” is. Rolling off your bed, you grab its leg, using it as a support to stand up. You’re up now. Whoever’s outside is going to taste your fucken’ wrath.
Or they might have some kind of weapon and then you’ll wimp your way back to bed. Better look through the peephole, just to be sure. Great idea. Except for the fact that it’s five fifty-seven and you can’t see jack shit yet. Thanks, winter. You take a leap of faith and open the door.
A bullet lands right between the eyes, you lose consciousness and you’re dead. The end. Except that’s not what happens. Thankfully. You wouldn’t say that it’s likely to happen, but the possibility is still there.
Anyway, boxes are clattered all over the floor. About twenty of them. You look around for their unfortunate owner, but you can’t find the person. Another clatter. This time, it’s to the left of you. A person emerges from the boxes. It’s dark, but you can make out a hoodie. If you squint, you can see that the person’s somewhat slender.
“What in the fuck are you doing this early in the morning? Playing jenga with your shit? Holy hell, whatever you did made it sound like somebody got shot around here.”
“…Yeah, sorry,” the person says, probably not feeling any sorry at all. “I just moved in and I needa get all my stuff inside before all my belongings get stolen or cause a scene.”
“Whatever. You’ve already caused a scene and woke somebody up. That somebody’s me, by the way.”
“Look, I said I was sorry okay?”
“Just get outta my way.” You’re getting kinda irritated now. What was this guy thinking?
“Your room’s on the other side, though.”
“What, are you stupid? Get the door open. I’ll help you get your fucking boxes inside.”
“Oh.” You can’t really see, but he probably has a stupid dopey look on his face. What an idiot. You pick up two boxes, lugging them over by dragging them inside. The guy manages to pick up two boxes without much effort. For a lean guy, he has some strength.
Getting all twenty-three boxes inside (you counted), you’re dead tired from the labor. It doesn’t help that you haven’t gotten much if not any sleep today and the boxes seem to be filled with two metric tons of bullshit. You wipe some sweat off your forehead. Slouching over next to the wall, you pause to catch your breath.
“You alright?” asks the guy, who is unfazed and un-winded by the work.
“Yeah,” you cough out. “I’m good.” You manage to say that after wheezing out all the air in your lungs. “Let me just rest for a sec.”
The boxes are all cluttered around the place, but at least it’s not cluttered around the apartment walkway. It’s the good kind of messy – out of the way and won’t make enough noise to wake people up before sun-up.
“Anyway. You’re stupid as hell for trying to move all this before the crack of dawn and you should never do something like this again and I hope you’re really sorry and welcome to the apartments.”
“Oh.” He pauses to process the information. “T-Thanks…” Great. Now he’s acting all sappy and bashful. Because you welcomed him to a shithole. With boxes.
“Yeah whatever, man. It’s getting late. Early. Same shit. Good luck with your, uh, boxes.”
You leave the room post-haste. Too many boxes. The sun’s starting to rise, which means that you have work to get to in an hour or two. You kick open your door and slap your alarm clock to get it working. It’s seven o’clock. Dammit. You have a job to get to.
[ ] The white-collar job where you do… something. Something important. [ ] The blue-collar job where you sit around and tell people what to do. So it’s not very blue-collar. [ ] The no-collar job where you manage a run-down day bar. The one where people binge drink at 8:20 in the morning.
File 141015470435.jpg - (758.14KB, 1200x1600, the greatest aya picture as of this moment.jpg)
Right. And the job involves being at a place sleazier than the shitholes of hell or even worse, Chicago. Not that you have anything against the city. It just feels nice to know that there’s always something worse in the world. You’re having the shittiest day? Somebody had an even shittier day at one point. Getting to the bar is easy. It’s only a couple of blocks from your neighborhood. You don’t even need to take your car. But the bad thing about it? It’s only a couple of blocks from your neighborhood. There’s just something about early morning alcohol that draws in the scum of the earth like worshippers to a mass.
And the worst part is that you’re responsible for dealing with all the shit they put up because somehow they have enough money to come back and come back and come fucking back. You’d kick each and every one of their asses if it didn’t mean a court appearance and a couple months in jail. So you’ll just have to settle for glaring at them disapprovingly from the employee work area.
But at the same time, there’s something about the place that has its own little charm. Maybe it’s because you have some kind of self-destructive joy, because every day you understand that humanity has an infinite potential to sinker lower into its own feces and degradation. It’s like watching the end of the world contained in a tiny microcosm called the “Morning Spirits Pub.”
A short girl makes her way through your train of thought and into your face. Brown bangs cover her neck, resting on her shoulders lightly. Wearing a short-sleeve cotton hoodie and sweats, she looks like she just got out of bed. Typical of Lily. She has a wide smile stuck to her face. She wrestles for your hand, holding it in a firm handshake. Or death-grip. “Hiya boss! Lovely morning, isn’t it?” She releases her hostage – your hand. “I got some good sleep and I’m ready for another day at work, yaaaay!”
You sneeze. It’s not cold, but the wind is rather biting. “Mrmh, yeah, another day.”
“Boss! Before I fill out my timesheet, could I get some extra hours?” She salutes you. “My dad didn’t pay child support this month and my mom’s been goofing off again.”
“Again?” You wanted to slap him a new one, but you didn’t know where he is. Nobody knew. “Not like the owner of the pub cares. If you want more hours, you got it.”
“Boss~” Lily attacks you, squeezing your breath out. “Thank you!”
“Go get changed already,” you order her. She skips away, off to the back workroom. What a handful. Pretty soon, it’ll be the rest of your employees filing in. What poor mishaps. They don’t deserve to work in a crapshoot like this. But then again, if they did deserve this, they wouldn’t have been hired.
“Lily, stop blocking the damn door.” Rylee, another one of your employees, blurts out from the back. She’s tall, lanky, and merciless if you describe her like that. “Let’s get this over with. The sooner I get out of this shit stain, the better.” You can’t really blame her. After all, you have the same exact opinion of this shoddy pub. Upon making eye contact with you, she gives you a stiff acknowledgement. “Boss.”
“Rylee,” you give her a curt reply. “How’s your brother doing?”
“Don’t talk about it.” Then she leaves.
Damn. You never really know how to deal with her.
The last of your employees, Cassie, comes through the entrance of the pub. It’s easy to see: you can recognize her from a mile away. She has her wavy blonde hair that always bounces back and forth, only because she just never stops her damn skipping. “Boss! I heard you gave Lily some extra hours. Could I get some too?” Her teal eyes shimmer with expectancy. Ugh.
“Yeah. Whatever. Help yourself to some hours. Not like the owner even cares – or is even around.” You can’t really say no to her – her parents kicked her out because she got pregnant with somebody’s child. She didn’t want to abort it, so she was simply disowned. Cassie’s uneducated, poor, and still so damn happy about making ends meet in a bar like this. Even you have a heart – somewhat.
Welp. Time to open up this failure of a pub. What a sleazy bar, with its scantily clad women and its sleazy manager.
“Boss, boss!” Lily rams right into the center of your vision. She does a curtsey. Or at least as best as she can with her two inch skirt. The uniform here is ridiculous. “How do I look?”
“Like crap. You pass.”
“Thanks! I’ll go change the sign!”
Now that the bar’s open, you can sit back and relax at one of the tables. The employees all call you boss, but that’s only because your partner is never around and the owner comes around once a year. You don’t even know how the bar manages to stay alive. You would’ve expected it to go under a long time ago.
You’re supposed to manage the bar stand, while the girls do the tables. But you know by now that everybody who comes to drink at 8 o’clock goes to the girls. So your real job is spectating the tragic decline of humanity.
Table three has the guy who had some kind of pyramid scheme money laundering thing going on. Made several people broke, including himself. Still, he pays money and service is service. As long as he has shoes and a shirt, there will be service.
Table six is the guy who had extramarital affairs with his secretary and secretary’s sister. Needless to say, it got pretty awkward when the two of them and his wife barged into the bar. By awkward, you mean that it sounded like a riot. Not the ha-ha funny kind.
Table one is assault and battery, ten is domestic violence, twelve is running away from the cops with 25 kilograms of cocaine – but he’s genuinely a nice guy so he doesn’t really count.
“Hey! Buddy! I’m back.” A piercing, high-pitched laugh bangs at your eardrums. It’s your managerial partner Mark. “We gotta collab. We need to work on invoice otherwise this place will close down or something. I got you the paperwork, but I needa go out and fill out some tax forms for the owner! See ya later.” Handing you the papers, he bolts out of the bar. Fuck.
This is why you hate having a partner. “Collaborating” is bullshit.
[ ] Fuck it. You’re clocking out. [ ] To the back office. You need a break already. Visit the IRC and THP. [ ] Eh. Might as well get some help with the invoice. (Ask one of the girls) [x]Bug Treia to update An Excuse for Aya already dammit.
You’re going to give yourself a break. Every time you have to deal with Mark, you feel like you lose all your energy and a couple brain cells. Time to head to the back office. It’s not like anybody’s going to come over to the bar stand anyway. Hell will freeze before you get a customer over at the counter. Sitting down on the office chair, you wheel yourself over to the computer.
You browse through a few news articles before losing all interest and exiting the tab. Some stupid shit about how the United Nations are “angrily denouncing” some foreign country. You wonder when they’ll actually do something. They’re like the THP writers of the real world. They always talk about doing things – but never actually follow through. Speaking of. Time to check out the front page stories.
Dance with the Devil (Assistant) in the Pale Moonlight by Silo
Uh-huh. Koakuma is you, the spunky Latin-American dance instructor, traveling with her loveable yet clumsy assistant, Kyouko, on a quest to find the next idol of Gensokyo. Despite the dumbass premise, you can’t really bash on its prose – the guy writes well. Much to your dismay. You aren’t really partial to Kyouko either. Despite being cute as fuck.
A Scarlet Stained Memorabilia by O-1
Good. Something absolutely shitty that the entire thread deserves to know. It’s your job, no, your duty to tell this guy that he’s shit and deserves to feel like shit. It’s a story about how a man finds SDM and wants Remilia to sneeze on his authentic Dracula™ handkerchief. Disgusting. Plus the author characterizes Remilia like a damn kid. It goes against your head canon so therefore the author must be lynched.
>>31024 End yourself you fucking shit-lord. Your story is a cesspool of horrible characterization, bad plot hooks, and shitty “original” narration. Let me tell you something. YOUR IDEA HAS BEEN DONE BEFORE EXCEPT BETTER.
Mission complete. THP is a better place now.
Fragmentation of Memory-Bytes by Ryan
A story about how a programmer finds his way into Gensokyo. Boring. Not going to bother commenting or voting.
Hmm. Since you’re taking a break, maybe you should get your own update started and…
YOU (Gallus) have joined #thp Topic for #thp is “Welcome to #THP – Tapestry Hoisting Petard | DESTINY STATUS: ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ | DISAPPOINTMENT LEVEL: DUKE NUKEM FOREVER| Archives: http://bit.ly/uwzY0Z | ROYAL RAINBOW! | ☢ UTSUHO IS A HOT CHICK ☢ | <Neat> i refuse to believe that there was a civil war Mode #THP +h Gallus by ChanServ <Anon221> you’re telling me that you’re planning out a route for EVERY touhou in your highschool AU? <Rolan> yes <Anon221> ur dum <Rolan> Whats wrong with that? <Maestro> updated <Bram> lol good luck have fun <Buttlord> Harem route is the only route! I want to marry Gensokyo. <Rolan> ?? <Gallus> >IRC actually talking about stories <Gallus> the apocalypse is coming <Bram> UNPRECEDENTED DIPLOMATIC TALKS IN IRC, VOLCANOES ERUPTING AROUND THE WORLD, MORE AT ELEVEN <Anon221> [x] Date Satori <Anon221> …and Patchouli and Reimu and Yukari and Ran and Chen and <Bram> Maestro did you really throw in heartless from KH in your story or are you just trolling us <Maestro> see thing is the readers didn’t really see it coming because I’ve been dropping hints <Gallus> >readers didn’t really see it coming <Gallus> I bet. <Captain> Could be worse. Kirby could be in the story, too. <Bram> >Kirby <Bram> Hahaha no never again <Rolan> I still don’t get why im dumb??
“Whatcha doing, boss?” Suddenly, Lily’s voice. You almost fall off the chair in surprise.
“Holy shit, Lily, you scared me. Why’re you in here anyway?”
“Slow day. Rylee and Cassie got all the tables covered, so I thought I’d drop in.” Lily inches over to you and the computer. “So, what’s going on here?”
[ ] “I’m having a civil discussion about magical flying girls with frilly clothing.” [ ] “I’m having a civil discussion about magical flying girls with frilly clothing.” (Sarcastically) [ ] “I’m watching porn.” [ ]
[X] “I’m having a civil discussion about magical flying girls with frilly clothing.” (Sarcastically) Realistically, anyone from THP would spaghetti everywhere if they ever talked to a living human being, but considering that didn't happen, this would be more in line.
[X] “I’m having a civil discussion about magical flying girls with frilly clothing.” (Sarcastically)
“I'm having a civil discussion about magical flying girls with frilly clothing. And silly hats. Because that's all I ever do with my free time, obviously.” You roll your eyes at her. Considering the fact that this is all true, you don't know whether you want to feel sorry for yourself or pretend to do something about it for a week and then return back to browsing THP. Probably both.
And Lily seems justifiably confused. “I don't get it,” she says, resting her arms on your shoulders and her chin on your head. You swat her away, the damn girl. You enjoy having personal space and Lily makes it her sole duty in life to invade it. And worst of all, she doesn't seem to realize that she's doing it. It's hard to deal with touchy feely people, but at least you can yell at them about it. Lily is a nightmare. She's touchy feely but you can't bear to yell at her.
Eh. “Whatever. Back to work you go.” You shut down the computer and shoo Lily away. Your break didn't even really feel like one, but that's what you get for browsing THP in the middle of work. You usher Lily out of the office and towards the tables, despite her complaints.
You’ll get back to your work too. Which is sit behind the bar stand and do absolutely nothing until you fall asleep or get bored and leave. Somehow, you’re getting paid for this.
Both Cassie and Lily are running around the place, taking orders and requests and whatever else that lets those sleazebags talk to them. Paying sleazebags, you remind yourself. It’s the only thing that keeps you from kicking them out on the spot.
You spot Rylee from the side, trying to soothe the latest specimen: the drunk from table seven. She’s desperately trying to keep up her fake smile, clutching her tray with enough force to slightly dent the poor thing.
“Now get the goddam cook out here so I can punch his innards outawards! There’s a fucking big chunk of snot in my dish!”
“Sir, please, that’s an olive–”
“Get that sonuvabitch here right now!”
Well, this is going great. Time to get the bouncer.
Yep. The bar has a morning bouncer. Really shows how refined this place is. The guy, Carl (or at least that’s what you call him), is a pretty nice guy. Nobody really knows who he is or what his real name is but he’s cheap for his work and doesn’t complain. Because he never talks.
“Uh, Carl,” you wave to him. You just wish he would say something back to you but he never does. “We got a slight problem near the kitchen. Could you help?”
Wordlessly, he starts moving. You follow behind.
By the time you and Carl get there, the cook’s on the floor, the drunk’s wailing on the cook, Rylee’s behind the drunk trying to get him off, and the Mexican rice-and-pimento's in the air.
Carl grabs the drunk by the scruff of his collar and exits the bar, dragging his victim behind him. The entire pub is silent for a second. You motion for the rest of your employees to get back to working the tables. Distracted by the women, the residents of the bar resume their daily business: morning binge drinking.
The cook, whose name you completely forgot, grumbles out half-curses. His swollen cheek prevents him from saying “fuck” and instead transforms it into “fulg.”
“You okay?” You ask, out of courtesy. This guy got fucked up.
“Doshit look olgkay!?” He spits out, getting blood and saliva on the floor.
“Well. No. I’d offer to help, but nobody here has medical insurance.” And it’s true. The work contract everybody got was a true or false question from a scantron, complete with multiple test forms and an optional writing section. It said nothing about work benefits, medical insurance, or pay.
“Well thath fugin great. I canh take dith anymore! I’m rethenig!”
“…What now?” The hell did he just say?
“Re-thine-ig,” he desperately tries to enunciate. You still have no clue what the fuck he just said.
You hope nodding and smiling is the right answer.
“I’m thaying I quit!” He wipes his face with his apron, leaving splotches of red all over it. The cook, now ex-cook, tries to fling it to the ground but his fingers get caught in the apron strings. It floats mockingly in the air before descending to the floor. He storms out anyway.
You’d be lying if you weren’t really expecting this. You get out to the front of the bar and cross out the menu on the sign. Probably the third time this month. It's always the cooks who leave.
You decide to head to the bar stand and take a quick nap. Not like anybody will be waking you up. Resting your head on your arms, you let yourself drift to sleep. Kinda funny how you can sleep so easily now and not yesterday.
You wake up. Nothing special or grand about that, though. The sun's setting.
Fuck, your neck hurts. Rubbing your eyes, you groggily scan the pub. Employees, check. Customers, check. Cassie, upon meeting your gaze, runs over to pat your shoulder. “Good job today, boss!”
“...And why didn't anybody wake me up? It's past closing time.”
“Cassie told me to leave you alone,” Rylee shrugs. “Anyhow. Leaving.” She wastes no time heading to the entrance, not bothering to continue the conversation.
“Lily said not to wake you up,” Cassie accusingly jabs her finger towards her coworker's direction. She runs back to cover some tables now that Rylee's gone.
Lily, suddenly put on the spot, looks around sheepishly. “You looked really tired... I thought you needed the rest.”
“Lily,” you sigh, shaking your head. “You're fired.”
“No. Back to work.”
“Boooooss, that was mean!”
“I'm off. Keep the pub running or your extra hours don't count.”
“...Kay.” Lily's obviously dejected but you'll pay it no mind.
Even when you're close to home, you can still hear the ruckus of the pub. It's amazing how you were able to sleep through all that shit. Once you're at the apartment, the noise fades from the background. The only sound you can hear now is the slight jingle of your keys. Peace and quiet.
But before you enter your apartment, you notice something. An open door. Your neighbor's. Taking a cursory look into the room, you find it to be empty of person and blatantly unguarded.
[ ] Suspicious. You'll check it out. [ ] Suspicious. Suspicious enough to go to the safety of your room and relax. [ ] Close the door.
How suspicious. You’ll ignore the sane decision to walk away from the open door and instead check it out. You switch the lights on - your neighbor had the sense to turn them off. But close the door? Nope. At least he can save on his electricity bill while everybody’s stealing his stuff.
Except there’s nothing to steal. There actually isn’t anything of worth to steal. There are no drawers, no safe, no furniture. There isn’t even a bed. Just a fuckload of boxes. You’re tempted to open one, but then you’d just be another mugger.
Boxes. Boxes fucking everywhere. A mountain of them blocks the door to the kitchen. God dammit. You move them out of your way, stacking each one inconspicuously to the corner of the room. Inside the kitchen, there is nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Well. You expected that at this point.
Whatever. It’s time to leave. Your curiosity has been piqued, then subsequently disappointed. Then your neighbor enters the door. He has on a cheap black baseball cap with a slightly crooked visor, matching his thick gray hoodie, which is maybe two or three sizes bigger than it should be. His black jeans are from the thrift shop. You only know this because you own the same pair. Oh, and he has white hair.
“What the fuck are you doing here!?” He seems more bewildered than angry. You can’t blame him, but at the same time…
“Why would you block your kitchen door and also why in the world did you leave your fucking apartment door open? You know that people can just waltz into your place, casually steal some shit, and leave like it was nobody’s business? And no one will be any the wiser. Except you. Because you would have been fucken mugged.”
“B-But…” he stammers, nervously tapping at the (still) open door. “I don’t know how to use the key.”
“…So you’re saying that you don’t know how to use the key,” you repeat back to him. “How?”
“I know how to use a key. But this key just doesn’t work right…” He’s obviously ashamed. You almost feel bad. Making a guy feel embarrassed towards the person who literally walked into an apartment room without any regard for privacy. If it were on the internet, it would have been a different story.
But it isn’t.
Eh. “Okay then. Show me what’s wrong with your key.”
He pulls out a key from his pocket, fiddling with it before holding it right in front of the keyhole. It’s upside down. The key is upside down.
You take a moment to shake your head. Grabbing the key, you flip it right side up and insert it into the keyhole. You turn the key, the door locking with a click. You turn the key the other way. It unlocks with another click.
There is nothing quieter than the moment before your neighbor realizes that he has been an idiot.
“And now you know. Also, I moved a couple of boxes from the kitchen door out of the way. You’re welcome.” Anyway. You’ve overstayed your welcome. Barging into other people’s homes tends to make that happen.
“What.” You don’t want to make this any more awkward than it might be.
“…Thanks,” he bashfully replies. You’re not sure whether he’s intentionally making it awkward or not.
“Whatever. Pull yourself together. Get some furniture. Lock your door. And for god’s sake get those boxes out of the way.”
He pauses, lost in thought for a moment. “I can’t get furniture.”
“I don’t have money.”
“…Why not?” He’s testing you.
“I can’t find a job,” he says, with his dollar-price cap, white hair, and a hoodie way too big for him.
“I wouldn’t expect any less when you’re dressed like that. Plus, you can barely operate a key into a keyhole.”
He winces back a little. “S-Sorry…”
Fuck. You feel bad. Why does he have to look so damn sincere? Well. It’s just his luck that you needed a new cook. “Cook” being used liberally.
“…Okay then. I have a proposition for you.”
He looks at you dumbly.
“A job.” You repeat yourself. “I’ve got a job for you. Do you know how to cook?”
“I can, but I’m no professional.”
“As long as it’s edible, we’re hiring.” Your mind flashes back to the little “talk” the last cook had with one of his customers. “…Um. Are you proficient in martial arts?”
“Is that related to the cooking jo–”
He thinks about it for a while, drumming his fingers on the door. “I can hold my ground.”
“Great.” Great indeed. “You’re hired. Meet tomorrow morning, 7:30 A.M. at the Morning Spirits Pub.”
“You live under a rock, dontcha? The pub’s number one on the news. Holds the record for most injured in a single bar brawl. Three hundred fifty-three. Three hundred fifty-nine if you include the emergency personnel. Great publicity. Anyway, it’s on the block after this one. I’ll just come by tomorrow and show you there. Any questions?”
“Will I get paid?”
“That’s what a job entails, yes.”
“Good. It’s the shittiest place in the world, by the way.”
“What does that mea–”
“You’ll see. Okay. Night.”
“Also, lose the hat.” You exit, shutting the door behind you. Back into your apartment.
Welp, your bar has acquired a new cook. Job well done. You just hope that he doesn’t quit like the others. But to be fair, the cook only has to make the food taste a little better than shit. There is no real menu and people usually order “the strongest thing you got and something to eat with that too.”
But enough worrying about your work. What do?
[ ] Write. Your update schedule has been struggling. [ ] You’re tired and you have to work on some… work. (Video games)
YOU (Gallus) have joined #thp Topic for #thp is “Welcome to #THP – Tactical Hashtag Positioning | SITE STATUS: 20 WEEK EXTENSION PLZ | STUPIDITY LEVEL: UR DUMNER| Archives: http://bit.ly/uwzY0Z | ROYAL RAINBOW! | ❄ LETTY’S HERE ❄ | <ShinraCo> oh look at the time it’s dicks Mode #THP +h Gallus by ChanServ <Neat> >Ash Lake <Neat> would you for $10? <Bram> hell no it looks cold <Anon221> >cold <Anon221> probably the least of your worries <Marol> anybody for proof? <Neat> …would you for $20? <Bram> yes <Bram> no, you mouthbreathing faggot. <Marol> plz i just want to right the next update already <Buttlord> http://danbooru.donmai.us/posts/1377823 hatatata <Gero-chan> himekaidou hatate (touhou) drawn by sanotsuki - Danbooru [Safe] <Marol> fuck <Marol> I mean <Marol> write. I meant write. <Bram> Riiiiiiight. <Anon221> wriiiiiiiite <Neat> yeah but can you left mar? <Anon221> also >not posting best tengu <Anon221> http://danbooru.donmai.us/posts/1378339 <Gero-chan> shameimaru aya (touhou) drawn by sanotsuki - Danbooru [Safe] <Anon221> GAL <Anon221> GALLY <Anon221> you should really get a ping on Gal btw <Anon221> gallus you shitter <Gallus> what do you want you fuck <Gallus> trying to write <Anon221> http://danbooru.donmai.us/posts/1378339 <Gero-chan> shameimaru aya (touhou) drawn by sanotsuki - Danbooru [Safe] <Anon221> set an alert for Gal. <Gallus> >ponytail aya <Gallus> good. <Gallus> also no <Bram> >trying to write <Bram> don’t you mean right? <Anon221> wwwww <Marol> stop you’re hurting me
It was time. To do that. Step one. Fondle the butt of your dame. Step two. You hadn’t really thought this far into the plan. Maybe you should fondle it again, you thought to yourself. But a hand slapped your fingers away from caressing that voluptuous sculpture of a posterior.
The girl seemed like she was none too fond of your idea. “So that’s it? Was that your master plan!?
She didn’t know of your reasons yet. “It was worth a shot.” Now she did.
“Of course I do! You just told me while you were narrating!”
You didn’t have a chance to respond. Bullets were flying everywhere, even through the cheap plastic shields that separated the audience from the professional curlers. Not that there was much of an audience left. But the curlers were still there, playing their hearts out to win. This is a real sport.
The dame was crying again. “At the very least, the world should give me a better death than by the hockey ring, next to this brainless detective with no conscious thought filter!”
“They’re curling rinks. Hockey rings are different.” The girl’s crying act was getting stale, like that one sandwich you left out over the weekend in the office. It probably could have lasted if you left it in the Tupperware® but you didn’t. You regretted your decision.
They were still shooting at you. This party of tomfoolery and mischief needed to stop. You pulled out your fan and blew those shooting clowns away into next week.
The dame was speechless, obviously in complete awe of your skills. She paused for a moment to collect her thoughts, most likely compliments to your prowess. “Was the thing you just did, ‘that’?” “What? No.” What a silly girl.
“…Never mind. I give up. Let’s just get on with this damn story.”
What? That’s just preposterous. “A story? You think of us as actors in a play? To dance and die for a viewer’s amusement?”
Hatate shakes her head at you. “…Please don’t waltz through various genres like they don’t mean anything. We have a script to follow. Wasn’t this supposed to be noir?”
[ ] All the world’s a stage. [ ] The show must go on. (get on with the plot you nimwit)
Welp. Now the hunt to find a proofreader. You should be careful not to startle a proofer when you spot one: they’re endangered species, apparently.
<Anon221> thp needs a new thing to hate. what should it be <Bram> thp stories <Captain> Isn’t that already the case? <Bram> hue <Marol> plz ;_; I want proof <Marol> plz.
The guy’s still complaining about proofreading. Doesn’t he know that proofreaders only appear when you least need them? You could proofread his, but…
[ ] You don’t get one, he doesn’t get one. [ ] Fine. Only because he hasn’t shut up about it since you got on IRC.
You’re only going to proofread because he’s been complaining about it ever since you got on IRC. But this is going to be the only time. You can’t just freely distribute proofreaders. It’ll disrupt the THP economy and give the writers a sense of entitlement. The only thing worse than shitty writers that never update are shitty writers that think they're hot shit because they have a proofreader.
<Gallus> marol if you shut the fuck up for a second I’ll proofread your update. <marol> … <marol> ok
<Gallus> send pastebin when ready <Marol> k <Marol> http://pastebin.com/0HmCnPPs <Gallus> line 2 – delete extra space between “let’s go” <Gallus> line 3 – passed, not past <Gallus> line 3 – add a “the” before “greatest” <Gallus> change your verb tenses they’re inconsistent. <Gallus> line 12 – rotisserie, not rotary <Gallus> >rotary <Gallus> what <Gallus> >all these italics <Gallus> why what are you even emphasizing <Marol> It’s just how I write <Gallus> your style sucks. I suggest you change it. <Marol> Keeping it because writer style. <Gallus> you faggot <Gallus> fine <Gallus> line 22 – again, inconsistent verb tenses <Gallus> >pichen <Gallus> what the fuck is this abomination <Marol> uh. Touhou death sound. <Gallus> >not pichun <Gallus> you shitter you had one job. <Marol> I think I’ll keep pichen. It sounds extra silly. <Gallus> um <Marol> ? <Gallus> whatever <Gallus> jesus is he supposed to act like a dumbshit <Marol> he’s shota. Take that how you will. <Gallus> ooook <Gallus> everything else is fine. <Marol> kk thanks
Welp. One shitty story made slightly less unshitty. Now’s a good time to sleep. Gotta catch up on all those hours that you missed the night before. You don’t care what time it is right now. It’s sleep time.
And you’ll sleep as soon as you check up on THP.
Oh. Somebody bumped your story. A couple of people voted… the fuck? You didn’t even post the update yet, but they’re voting on the next choice. You swear you were just looking for a proofreader so you can post it sometime this week. Did you post it by accident? Hovering over the last few posts, you can confirm that you did not. Uh.
You’ll give it the ol’ THP try: ignoring the problem. No other threads updated. Oh, right. A lot of the writers are gone. There’s some kind of anime nerd expo thing going on this weekend. THP is dead. Well, deader than usual.
Whatever. Time to sleep.
6:20 A.M. Why. Why does it feel like you’ve slept only one line break’s worth. You feel sore, groggy, and several other adjectives to describe fucking tired. It’s pitiful that you once thought that you were going to wake up well rested. It is but a pipe dream. Maybe a quick shower will help wake you up.
Instead, you fall asleep inside the stall for a good 45 minutes. Damn it, the warm water always catches you off guard. You dry your hair and fling the towel somewhere. You don’t really care where. You’ll pick it up later. Throwing on your tan sweater and gray pants, you make your way to your neighbor’s door. But not without locking your door first.
“Oi,” you shout through the broken peephole. “It’s time to work. I hope that you’re up already.”
Your neighbor creaks the door open, wearing the same shit from yesterday. “…I’m here.”
This idiot. “You’re not gonna work in a hoodie. Go change. And make it quick.”
He opens him mouth to complain, but you shoot him a dirty look. You’re the boss now. Grudgingly, he closes the door and goes off to change.
7:10 A.M. You still have time. He returns with a gray crewneck, whose sleeves go way past his fingers. And he’s still wearing the hat.
“For fuck’s sake, lose the hat already.” It’s amazing how people have such problems with discarding an article of clothing.
He shakes his head. “I need to wear this hat.” What a goddamn surprise.
“Fine, fine.” It probably has something to do with that white hair of his. You don’t want to waste time dealing with this kind of fuckery right now. “Let’s go already.”
You take a brisk pace, which is halfway between power walking and slow jogging. He has no problems matching your speed. You feel slightly annoyed by this.
The rest of your employees are already at the front of the entrance, lined up rank and file next to the windows. You throw Lily the keys to the place. “Get the door open. Let’s get to work.”
Lily raises an eyebrow at your neighbor. You reply with a motion of keys turning. Shrugging, she unlocks the door and leads everybody in.
You usher your new cook into the middle of your employees. “Well. As you may know, we needed a new cook. This is your new cook. Okay, great, let’s get to work.”
“Wait!” Cassie interjects, raising her hand. “But we don’t know anything about him! What’s his name?”
You now realize that you have no idea what his name is. You never bothered to ask. But it doesn’t matter.
Oh,” he speaks up, “my name is–”
“His name is Cook. And it will stay that way until he stops wearing that hat of his.” Problem solved.
“Welcome aboard, Cook~” Lily gives him a reassuring pat on the back.
“But I'm not–”
“Glad to have you here, Cook!” Cassie shakes his hand with enthusiasm, swinging him around.
“Glad to be here, but–”
“…Cook.” Rylee stares at the guy for a moment then shakes her head, sighing. “Hope you make it through the week.”
“To your stations, Cook.” You show him to the kitchen. “If you don't know how to make a dish, just throw things into whatever you're cooking with and pray that it turns out okay.”
“I don't think it works that way.”
“No, but that will be the way you work. If it's edible, we're fine. Just make sure you’re cooking something and, if you want, occasionally slap some sense into the drunkards who overstep their boundaries, alrighty?” You feel like your new cook recruitment speech gets worse every time. Not like it matters. Most people quit after a few days anyway.
“Um. Okay.” He doesn't really get it. Poor Cook.
“If you need any help, don't talk to me about it. Good luck.” He'll understand soon enough. It's less of a technical job and more of a really shitty cooking act on a second-rate improv show, except people are swinging fists at you.
Now you have to get back to your own job. Which amounts to sitting behind a counter and looking pretty. Time for cursory evaluations.
It's a slow day, even if it's Tuesday. Maybe the deadbeats all went out to go find their true calling and finally become useful to society.
Haha, right. They probably ran out of cash. But whatever happened, happened and customer turnout is at an all time low. At least Cook'll have an easy first day.
No customers for the little counter you run. The usual. Might as well head into the office. However, a tap on the shoulder stops you. Lily, spinning side to side on the stool, grins and smiles her natural smile. She rests her head on her arms. “Hi, boss~”
“If I buy a pint, would you talk to me?” She prods you, a slight gleam in her eyes.
It's a slow day, but...
[ ] “It's your money. What can I do for you today?” [ ] “Keep up the good work.” [ ] “Sure. You can talk to me while we work on invoices.”
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“It's your money,” you scoff, shrugging at her. It’s a sad day when you actually have to tend to a customer. Especially when the customer is your own employee. “What can I do for you today?”
“A pint, please!” Lily leans over the table, getting way too close to your face. You push her back, your palm against her forehead.
“Eh. Didn't you need your money for something other than alcohol?” You shake your head before she can reply. “...Guinness alright?”
“Give me anything,” replies Lily, still swaying left and right on the goddamn stool. She has the biggest shit-eating grin on her face. “Doesn't matter~”
What a nuisance. “Coming right up, then.” But you still have to do your job. Might as well, since you do your actual work only one day out of the year. Taking a clean glass out from under the table, you pour a solid pint from the tap by pulling down the lever. A painstaking eight seconds taken out of your precious time. “Here you go.”
“Thanks, boss!” The girl bounces around in her chair, reaching over the table again to hug you. You dodge and move the glass of beer out of the way – it's going to spill.
“You're hopeless, you know that?” What a mess this girl is.
“I know that. That's why you'll always be there to help me out, right?” She gives you a nod and a wink.
“Just drink your pint already,” you curtly request.
“Boooss.” Lily melodramatically slumps over on her chair, holding her glass with both of her hands. “Am I doing good?”
“You mean doing well?”
“Oh.” She corrects herself. “Am I doing well?”
“No, you’re doing horribly. Taking breaks to fraternize with your higher-up, drinking on the job, possible illegal use of overtime. It’s a wonder I don’t just fire you on the spot.”
“Boooss, you’re not helping!” sobs Lily. Poor girl.
“Good. I’m not here to help.”
“Now you’re just teasing me.”
“Yes,” you sigh, “I’m glad you’ve realized that. This shithole has too many problems to deal with. Our horrible work ethic isn’t going to stop this place from being run to the ground someday.”
“Hey, we’re not all that bad. We all have our moments.” Lily pauses to chuckle. Specifically, at you. “…Like when our dear manager fell asleep until closing time.”
“…You wanna get fired?”
“I’m sorry, boss. Please don’t fire me.”
“Not like I officially can. The fucken owner and co-manager lackey of our precious bar disappeared off the face of the earth.” Really, it gives you such a huge headache every day.
“Doesn’t that mean that you basically own this bar? Since everybody else is gone?” asks Lily. And Lily has a good point. A great point.
Just then, the sound of dishes clattering to the floor quiets the entire bar scene. Shouting is heard from the kitchen. Well. “Looks like it’s happening. Again.”
“When will they ever learn?” Lily rolls her eyes.
“As soon as they learn that coming to get wasted in the middle of the week is a bad idea. Especially during the day. We live in a world full of idiots.” Looks like you’ve lost yourself another cook. Why is it always the cooks that get themselves into trouble? Why can’t it be the bouncer? Well, other than the fact that nobody would fuck with Carl.
“What the fuck is this!? I never asked for deep-fried ass shit cock dick!” This guy is obviously smooth as fuck. “I’m not paying anything for this kinda shitty shit!”
“It’s what you ordered, sir,” Cook replies coolly. At least he’s handling it well. For now.
“And you’re making me pay $14 for mozzarella and salad!?”
“Look, I’m just the cook here. Plus, don’t you look at the menu and prices before you order anything?” Good. Diffuse the situation. “You dumbass.”
“What the fuck? You stupid sonuvabitch!” And suddenly, the situation explodes. And so does the customer. Throwing wild punches, he aims straight for Cook’s neck and face. Dodging slightly to the left, Cook pushes him back. Round two. The drunk takes a long swing, grazing at Cook’s shoulder. But he’s in position. Locking the customer’s arms in a hold, Cook exhales.
And then Cook full nelson slams the drunk into the floor, smashing his body down with a loud thump.
…Whoa. Holy shit.
The bar erupts into a cacophony of cheers and whistles. The dumb brutes, all of them. Cook bows respectfully towards you. Well. When he said that he could hold his ground, he wasn’t fucking around.
The man, now on the floor, hacks and coughs violently. “I’m… I’m filing a police report, you shits!”
“Be sure to tell them that you were the one that started throwing punches and was obviously drunk. Go ahead, you can even let your family know, too.” You wave to Carl up front, pointing to the man currently keeled over.
“Fuck you, man.” The guy admits defeat, letting himself be carried out by Carl.
Cook dusts his apron off, adjusts his hat, and smiles. What a card. A card that can do the fucking full nelson slam.
“…Back to work, everyone.” You dismiss your employees, shooing them back to their stations. Except Lily. “And you,” you point to her, “Finish drinking already.” You return to the back of the bar, forced to watch your employee take her sweet, sweet time sipping at her beer.
“But that would mean I can't spend any more time with you!” Lily pouts.
“You're just looking for any excuse to get out of work, aren't you?” Really, this girl.
“...Right,” she says, circling her index finger around the top of the glass. It makes a slight humming sound. She pouts, but for real this time. “It's not nice to make such vicious claims.”
“Nice was never in the job description.”
“But you're still so kind~”
[ ] “Do you need more hours or something?” [ ] “Compliment me more.” [ ] “Well, time to finish up. We've got work to do.”
[ ] “Do you need more hours or something?” [ ] “Compliment me more.” [ ] “Well, time to finish up. We've got work to do.”
“Lily,” you say with utmost sincerity.
“Y-Yes?” She replies timidly, taken aback by your serious seriousness.
“Do you need more hours or something?” you bluntly ask.
Heh, if looks could kill. She stares daggers at you, blushing with indignation. “Never mind, I was wrong!” she huffs. “You’re not kind anymore. You’re just a grouchy asshole who likes taking advantage of cute lil' waitresses like me!”
“No,” you correct her, “I’m just a grouchy asshole who pays folks like you because that’s my job. If anything, I’m being taken advantage of. Me and this entire establishment.”
“It doesn’t help that you have no delicacy.” She nods, reaffirming her statement. “No tact whatsoever.”
“What a cheeky subordinate, insulting her boss in the middle of the day,” you complain offhandedly.
“This ‘cheeky subordinate’ of yours would like to raise a complaint against the management hierarchy,” she nonchalantly declares.
“I do not approve of this dictatorship,” she groans. “Where are my civil rights?”
“You signed them away the moment you started working for me.”
“Mmm.” She downs the rest of the cup, sliding it down the table over to your side. “Boss?”
“Never mind,” she sighs, returning to her work post. “Lily, reporting back to work.”
You give the glass a quick rinse and rub and then throw it under the table, along with the rest of its companions who need to be more thoroughly washed. You sit idly at the bar, watching your employees handle the place. After five minutes, you decide that enough is enough. Time to retreat back into the office.
YOU (Gallus) have joined #thp Topic for #thp is “Welcome to #THP – Tactical Hashtag Positioning | TILDE STATUS: TIDDLED | SHIT LEVEL: YOUR WAIFU| Archives: http://bit.ly/uwzY0Z | ROYAL RAINBOW! | ❄ LETTY’S HERE ❄ | <Anon221> you don’t fap to traps? what are you a homo? Mode #THP +h Gallus by ChanServ <ShinraCo> http://yro.slashdot.org/story/14/10/20/192238/manga-images-depicting-children-lead-to-conviction-in-uk <ShinraCo> Welp. Goodbye, folder. <Bram> what are you, a pussy? <Valley> >charity >how dare you misogynists donate to charity <Valley> wtf? <Captain> You know how it is. <Bram> at this point it’s just becoming a fucking stupid he said she said argument. <Gallus> sup thp <BDC> B-B-B-But dirty gamers!!!! <Marol> updated Marol was booted from #thp by Valley (HERESY) Marol(~Marol@ you.are.the.best.touhou) has joined #thp <Marol> fuk u <Valley> kek <Buttlord> Hey <Buttlord> Shinra <ShinraCo> wut <Buttlord> Update when? <ShinraCo> Uhh… I might start the next update after work. <Buttlord> cool <Gallus> what do you write again <ShinraCo> A Streetcar Named Ten Desires <ShinraCo> It’s shit. <Gallus> cool. I might check it out later. <Gallus> Speaking of. I should update. <Valley> GALLBLADDER YOU WRITE A STORY??? <Gallus> eat shit
Well. You have your update ready in Dropbox. All you gotta do is post it. But since it’s been a while, it’s time to use THP’s good ol’ Excuse Generator!
[ ] You lost your notes. [ ] You had twenty-three tests. [ ] You had to find my inner self. [ ] You fought your dark side and won.
Evening. Sorry I couldn’t update but I had twenty-three midterms to go study for. I should be updating more regularly, now that most of them are over.
>>60116 >>60124 Also need a tiebreaker, apparently, because these guys are fukin timelords.
There we go. That should appease the THP shitters for now. Now you won’t have to update for another extended period of time. If anybody asks, you’ll just say that you lost your notes or some shit like that. Perfect.
<Gallus> updates http://www.touhou-project.com/others/res/58487.html <BDC> >futa is straighter than normal hentai <BDC> what in the fuck are you saying <Bram> >not liking dicks <Bram> yeah what are you gay or something? <Valley> >THP >not liking dicks <Valley> hahahaha ok <Qasta> Futa is hot as fuck. I like dicks but only on girls though. <Buttlord> Gallus: > She didn’t know of your reasons yet. “It was worth a shot.” Now she did. <Buttlord> >“Of course I do! You just told me while you were narrating!” <Buttlord> pffft <Anon221> futa is shit. <Anon221> only bc all futa are disgusting mutants that got dicks by ~magic~ <Neat> I fap to lesbians but i would never date one. <BDC> <Bram> >lesbians <Bram> what <Buttlord> isn’t this story just an excuse though? <Qasta> is it gay to fap to crossdressers or traps then? <Qasta> hmmmmmmm <Gallus> excuse? <Buttlord> an excusue for aya? <Buttlord> excuse* <Bram> >fapping to crossdressers <Bram> maximum gay <Gallus> hey fuck you butt <Gallus> that writefag should fucking update already holy shit <Bram> I fap to them anyway.
Productive as usual. You recline on your seat, cracking your neck. Well. Now that you have some spare time, you might as well work on the invoice.
…It’s scary how you nonchalantly dismiss a critical invoice for the sake of updating your story on a fucking Touhou imageboard and talking shit to people on IRC. But it’s not like the auditors will come storming into the place, demanding that this piece of shit establishment needs to file in their invoices or else.
So far, so good. Most of the purchases made match up to the amount of supply you currently have or had. You haven’t calculated revenue yet because you’re but one manager, but the numbers seem to be fair – or within the margin of error. Profits seem to be declining, though you can’t put an actual number on it. Maybe you should go bother one of your employees next time to do the fun revenue working. Yay, number crunching.
Numbers, check. Amount purchased, check. Line total and unit price, check, check. Just one thing is slightly off. The quantities purchased all come up to odd numbers, not adding up smoothly. Who the hell orders 87 crates? Why not 90? 85? Aaargh. But at least the invoices are done.
You can finally go home and–
“We're gonna go drinking, boss!” Cassie exclaims with way too much energy than necessary.
“Don't act like you're not included! Where should we go?”
Lily suggestively puts her finger on her lips, winking. “Boss, how 'bout your place?”
“No.” Not a chance in hell.
“Okay, then what about Cook's place?”
“NO.” NOPE. That might be even worse.
“Weeeeell,” Cassie drawls, “what about a bar?”
Rylee sighs. “I just woooooonder where we can conveniently find a bar that's still open?” The sarcasm just fucking oozes out of her comment.
In response, Cassie lays a few drinks out on the bar stand, passing them out frivolously like they were shitty mints that you get for free at an all-you-can-eat barbeque. She shoves a shot glass into Cook's hand. “Cheers to a fantastic first day for our swell cook!"
“...Was it really fantastic?” he asks nervously, setting down the shot glass on the table.
“Yes, yes,” Cassie replies, “Most of our cooks just let themselves get all battered and bruised. But not you! You smashed him to the ground!”
“And that's fantastic? Not a crime?” Cook warily eyes his fellow employee.
“That's irrelevant!” She hands Cook his shot glass again, eyes sparkling in anticipation. “Go on. Have some.”
And so, he does.
“And another!” Lily fills up another shot glass.
“And another~” Cassie already has another one prepared.
He takes both, exhaling slowly. Giving them a satisfied nod, Cook stands up and stretches. At the very least, the guy's not a lightweight. As for you, you'll get yourself some gin and orange juice. You're not prepared to get piss-drunk any time soon around your employees. You'll just leave them alone for now. After all, what's the worst that can happen?
By the end of the hour, Cook's passed out, Cassie's wandering aimlessly around the bar, Rylee's vanished into thin air, and Lily's blubbering nonsense into her shot glass, attempting to pour more for herself.
“Heeeeeeeeeey,” Lily mumbles in a drunken stupor. “We should complain about our boss since we're drunk and all!”
“You. There are two things wrong. One, I'm not drunk. And two, I'm your boss.”
“I know, wahaha~!” she apparently finds herself hilarious.
“Did we lose a Rylee? Should we panic?”
“Nooo, she left already. Had things to do.”
Oh. Things. Probably has to do with her... whatever. That's one less person you don't have to worry about. But what about the other three?
[ ] Take Cook home – he's had enough for one night. [ ] Escort Cassie. She's being dangerously stupid. [ ] Talk to Lily. And maybe stop her from getting drunk as hell, like the others.
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Cassie’s been wobbling around the bar. It’s only a matter of time before she gets hurt. She trips over the nearest stool, landing face-first into the lounge couch. Christ, she’s a time bomb, waiting to explode and cause some horrifying incident.
“Mmmnnn, yeees, boss?” She giggles under the couch’s cushions.
“You’re going to kill yourself, you know that?” She decides to respond by flopping off the couch to the floor. You sigh. What a mess. She weakly grabs for your hand, looking for support. Pulling her up, you drape her arm over your shoulder to keep her from toppling over again. “You're a horrible human being, Cassie. I hope you know that.”
“Why? Alljus' because I added extra hours to my work schedule an' force-fed our cook a coupl'a bottles of gin on a weekday an' e'storted a few drinks from my superior an– heheh, okay, maybe justa liiiittle bit...”
“Do you feel bad?”
“Yeees,” she slurs, hanging her head in shame. “I'll prob'bly regret this in the morning.”
“Obviously,” you roll her eyes at her. “All of you will.” The situation: Cook is busy becoming one with the floor and Lily is passed out, snoring noisily on top of the counter. Hopefully, they stay that way until the alcohol gets out of their system. You never signed up to work a babysitting business.
“Soooo, what we doing?” asks Cassie, shaking your shoulder.
“Getting you home. You're the only one that can still be saved – it's too late for the other two. They're goners.” You slowly escort her outside the bar, making sure she doesn't smash into any doors.
“Taking a drunk lady to her home, ooh~ how frivolous!” Dammit, you're trying to help this woman and all she's doing is making it unnecessarily uncomfortable. “Buuuuuut, you're a nice enough guy, I'd probably tap that.”
“As your boss, I'd like to ask if you can just shut up for a good five minutes, okay?”
“Mmmmaybe.” She stumbles over a crack on the sidewalk, clutching onto your shoulders again. “Imagine if Lily were here t'see this. She'd be so jealous, eheh.”
“Have I ever told you how much you all give me a headache?” How often you experience a pulsating headache is directly proportional to the amount of work-related problems you have. Which is to say a fucking lot. “Besides, that girl acts like that just to tease me and see my reaction.”
“Yeh, but she'll still be jealous.” Her grip on your shoulder loosens, releasing her grasp on you entirely.
“Hmm. Feeling a little bit better?” You turn around. She's slumped over in the middle of the sidewalk. “...Fucking hell.”
Her home's still a couple of blocks away, so you hoist her up over your shoulder in a fireman's carry. You wonder how fucking weird you look right now. Well, you'll only have to suffer for one more block.
“The proper way would've been the princess carry, you know.”
“...What? Are you awake?”
No response. What bullshit.
You stop at the door. Giving the knob a little turn, it creaks open. You're somewhat relieved that you don't have go go through Cassie's pockets to look for a key. However, it's also plenty worrisome that she has her fucking door unlocked.
Everybody's irresponsible. You live in a world full of people who never learn to lock their doors. Aaaaah, god. You go to the nearest room and throw her on the bed. Mission accomplished. Time to leave.
A light flickers on from the kitchen.
Oh shit. Fight or flight. Adrenaline pumping. And...
“Who are you?” It’s a girl. Goddamn, it’s just a girl. She has short brown bangs that barely fall to her shoulders and black-rimmed glasses. But her appearance isn't important. Who the fuck is she?
“Shouldn’t I be asking you the same question?”
“Babysister,” she deadpans. “Just put Willow to bed. And what about you?”
Oh, shit, right. You forgot that Cassie had a kid. “I’m Cassie’s boss, a pleasure to meet you.” Not really. You just want to leave.
She raises an eyebrow. “Her boss took her home? I know where this leads.”
“No you don’t,” you dismiss her thoughts. “I had the responsibility of helping her back home safely before she got herself killed. I happened to be the only one able to take her home. Everybody else is currently passed out or close to it.”
“So. Are you her prospective hu–?”
“Have a nice night.”
[ ] Two more idiots to go. -[ ] But who first? [ ] And that's good enough for you.
Two more idiots to go. Back to the hellish place you call “Morning Spirits Pub.” You internally complain to yourself about your workplace again. It’s starting to become a habit. Maybe you should fix that.
Instead, you mentally gripe some more about your work all the way back to the bar. Cook ‘s still there, wiped out in the same place when you first left. But Lily’s nowhere to be seen.
Well, shit. You rummage the office for a post-it note to tell Cook to stay put. Writing in huge bold font, you slap it on his forehead. You don’t want to go on another of these goose chases, figuring out where the next bumbling idiot is.
“Lily!” You shout for her, hoping that she’s somewhere nearby. No response. Here’s hoping that she isn't wrecking havoc into the world.
You enter the back storage room. Huge crates are stacked on top of each other, filling the room. You check every nook and cranny where a drunken employee could possibly get herself stuck inside. Luckily, you find no such thing. Only growing frustration.
Damn. Where the hell is she?
You check the bathrooms, the back alley, and even that moldy closet that you’ve never set foot in before. It’s disgusting, by the way.
Fuck. You have no idea where she is. God help you.
As if answering your plea for help, a muffled thump echoes from the office room. You make a mad dash to the office, planning on capturing the rogue Lily before she can do something dumb or embarrassing or both. In the room, you find a quivering mess also known as your employee.
“…Lily,” you sigh, more tired than angry. “Are you okay?”
“No.” She rolls around the floor, tears streaming from her eyes. “I hit my funny bone.” Her top is half unbuttoned and her skirt is slightly unzipped, drooping down her waist. What a wreck. “Heeeeelp.”
You try and pull her up but she stumbles forward, crashing into you. You bang the back of your head on the doorknob and suddenly you discover profanities that the human language has long forgotten. Your head hurts. And by hurts, you mean, holy shit this is some fucking painful pain fuck shit god fucking damn.
Struggling to upright yourself, you push Lily off of you and stagger around to find some physical support. After a moment of cursing and stumbling, you lean yourself on the table. Lily's looking at you with drunken puppy-dog eyes that scream, “I know what I did and it was wrong.”
Your head sends you some complaints. Deep agonizing waves of complaints. You're not angry. In fact, you're so far past angry that your emotions went around full circle back to resigned bitterness. Despite the pain searing through your everything, you ask her if she can walk.
Lily pauses. She daintily hobbles towards you, magnificently falling flat on her face. “Nnnno,” your employee slurs, sprawled out on the office floor. After a few failed attempts of up-righting herself, she meekly pleads, “Help?”
You begrudgingly lift her up, giving her some support on her wobbly legs. Clearing the door is the hard part.
“Ever consider how much crap you put me through?”
“Well, I give up. Everybody has their own problems. Just do you what you want.”
“So that means—”
“Regardless, I'm still going to give you hell if you do stupid shit like this all the time.”
After much struggle, you make it out the bar. Now that you have Lily outside, you can move her without everything being in the fucken way. The lack of Cook's body sprawled out on the floor certainly helps.
The walk towards Lily's place is an unusually peaceful one. Your employee is rather quiet, humming to herself the melody of Bach's Air – or at least that's what you think she's humming.
The night's calm. Disturbingly calm. It feels like you're taking Lily on a night walk, rather than escorting her drunk self to safety.
“So you're not going to mess with me tonight?”
“Not gonna bite the hand that feeds—” Lily trips over the crack on the sidewalk. You pull her back to save her from falling flat onto the pavement. “— me.”
...Lily doesn't seem to have noticed that she was right about to head face-first into cold asphalt. Really, this girl. You escort her all the way to her doorstep, which was a battle in itself because she had a hard time scaling the steps.
Job well done. You wave her goodbye.
“Bossssss~” Lily goes in for a hug, stumbling over the door stop.
You push her away. “Don't be dumb. You're going to hurt yourself. Go get some sleep. You don't get tomorrow off.”
“Yessir,” she croons, shutting the door.
Just one more.
You hurry back to the bar. There's not much of the night left. If you hurry, you might be able to catch a little bit of sleep before the morning comes. Cook, thankfully, is still passed out on the floor. You rip the post-it note off his forehead, scrapping it in the trash. Now all you have to do is get him back to the apartments.
[ ] Fireman's carry. He's knocked out for good. [ ] Over the shoulder like a bag. [ ] Piggyback. Just have him rest on your back.
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You lightly slap his face a couple of times. “Yo. Are you awake?” No response. He’s completely knocked out. Damn every single one of your employees, including the newbie. The guy gets plastered on his first night after work on a Tuesday. Granted, Lily and Cassie dragged him into this mess but nevertheless, you’re the one taking care of his unconscious self. Why can’t they drink like normal, responsible human beings?
It’s been a long night. You’re tired – tired being a huge, disgusting understatement.
At least Cassie and Lily have been taken care of, so you’re two-thirds of the way done. You might as well suck it up until you reach the homestretch. On the bright side, Cook isn’t going to be much of a problem. Mostly because he’s too busy being passed out to actually be a problem. Plus, Cook doesn’t make you feel like the only man in a world of drunk harpies.
Just the only sober one.
Crouching down, you lift Cook on your shoulders, securing his arm and leg with your arms. Despite the fact that he can full nelson drunkards like nobody’s business, the guy’s rather light.
And has boobs.
Cook has his thick hoodie on, but you can distinctly feel two breasts pressing on your left shoulder. They're not big, but they're definitely something. Either this guy has a lot of flab under that jacket, or he's a fucking she.
You think back to when you met Cook. Did you just assume Cook was a guy just because of his... her shitty hoodie-and-cap ensemble? Or is it too assuming to think that Cook is now a girl just because he or she has breasts? Maybe that's Cook's kink. Breast implants.
It's just your goddamn luck. You thought this would be easy because Cook is passed out. Now, it's only an infuriating obstacle between you and knowing what in the actual fuck is happening. You silently brood on the issue the entire way to the apartments.
During the climb up the stairs to the second floor, you snag your foot on the last step, reeling forward to recover your footing. You manage not to drop Cook on his head, but you shake him enough so that his hat falls from his head.
You're almost at the finish line. Releasing your grip on Cook for a moment, you spare your left hand to open your neighbor’s door.
…Wait. It's still not locked.
If there were ever a time to start sobbing uncontrollably, it would probably be right now.
You kick open the door and throw Cook inside.
Aaaaaaand what the fuck is that?
There are ears on Cook's head. Not the ones on the side, but the ones right on top of the head. Tonight is getting increasingly bizarre with every second that passes by.
From the early morning light, you can see Cook’s white hair and ears in plain view. You slap yourself lightly just to see if you're not delirious. Then you tug on Cook's ears. They won't come off.
Okay. There's the white hair. There's the ears. And there's the hidden tits.
So either Cook is cosplaying as Momiji, is Momiji… or you're just a goddamn loonie.
You pray to every god out there that Cook is Momiji.
If so, then Cook-Momiji would be a real life reverse trap. Wow. You couldn’t make this shit up even if you tried.
What the hell.
[ ] Sleep on it. You’re going to get your two hours of sleep no matter what. [ ] Wait in disbelief until Cook can give you some peace of mind. [ ] Ignore the problem forever. This is going to the grave.
File 141646934562.jpg - (173.62KB, 850x1214, an exam for an art emphasis for maya.jpg)
[x] Wait in disbelief until Cook can give you some peace of mind.
You’re… you’re in fucking An Excuse for Aya. Except it’s not Aya and it’s not fun and this is the worst Touhou story in the world. What kind of white wolf youkai gets a low salary job working shitty hours in a shitty bar with a shitty boss? But it looks like you’re waiting until you can figure this out. Goddammit, Cook. Wake up already.
A blaring alarm echoes throughout the apartment room. WELP, YOU DIDN’T FEEL LIKE SLEEPING ANYWAY. The fucking thing is on the floor. At this time, you realize that there is still no furniture. Even the boxes are gone. It’s just bare floor and a single alarm clock.
Cook flops over and heaves herself up, pounding her fist on her alarm clock to get it to shut up.
You have abso-fucking-lutely no idea how to start this conversation. “Cook.”
“Whaaathefuck,” Cook replies ever so eloquently. “Why are you here, shiiit.”
“We have things to discuss.” You’ll just throw out some questions for now. “Where are you from?”
“Genso–” Cook clears her throat. “Genoa, New York.”
She can’t be any more obvious. “Right. Of course. Then show me your visa.”
“…Visa?” She meekly repeats.
“Visa. If you would be so kind.” You stare at her dead on.
Cook is a shaky mess, her eyes refusing to meet yours. “Actually. I lied. I’m from Gen...eva. Geneva. I don’t have a visa. I’m an immigrant.”
“Cool. Then show me your passport. Or any proof of identification, to make it easier.”
“…I’m an illegal immigrant,” Cook miserably concedes, drowning in her sea of lies.
“You know I can fire you on the spot, right?”
She sighs in resignation. “Yeah. I didn’t really expect to be able to hold down a job. Not like anybody will ever hire me either.”
You decide to play dumb for now. “Is that because of the ears or what? I didn’t know immigrants had those.”
And then Cook goes into overtime-OH-SHIT mode. “Ffffffuck. Where’s my hat?” She scrambles around the room, tearing through her room. Which is surprisingly easy because she has no furniture.
“It fell when I was dragging your drunk ass back here.” You slip back outside to go fetch her hat from the stairs. With a lazy underhand toss, you throw the hat back to Cook. “Great life choices by the way.”
She grumbles and picks it up. “What are you, my counselor? Damn.”
“No. I’m your boss.” You shake your head at her. “By the way. Why didn’t you just tell me you were a girl? I’m pretty sure I’ve been calling you a dude for a while.”
“…Did you molest me, you sick freak?” Cook’s a hell of a girl, throwing rape accusations at you.
“Yeeeeees. My hobby is to molest my supposed male co-workers when they’re drunk as shit.”
She stares at you.
“I’m being sarcastic, by the way.”
“I know what sarcasm is. Don’t take me for an idiot,” she lashes out, glaring at you.
“Tengu,” you murmur softly. You gauge her reaction.
Cook drops her hat, jaw slightly agape. “What did you say? You said ‘tengu’ didn’t you?”
“No,” you bluff. “What the hell is that? I said I’m going to fire you if you’re late to work today.”
If it weren’t already obvious from her ears and hair that Cook is Momiji, then it’s doubly obvious now. You wonder if you’re in a horrible dream, living a THP story. How the hell can you even explain what is happening?
Your stories about flying girls in silly hats and frilly dresses are happening to you in real life. Riiiight.
Cook gasps, coughs, and then blinks. She’s probably also re-evaluating her life right now. “Wait. So you’re not firing me?”
“Why would I fire you? You did well yesterday. Up until the part where you got wasted and had me drag you back here.”
“…What about the ears? The hair? The fact that I’m a girl?” sputters our Cook.
“What ABOUT them?” you ask indifferently. “Do you really not want the job? I have more important problems than trying to figure out what kind of albino you are.” Even though you already know she’s a tengu. “What’s one more girl in the workforce? I don’t care. What’s important is that you’re on time for work. Don’t be late.”
And speaking of work. You barely have enough time to shower. Leaving Cook behind, you rush to back to your apartment (having to actually unlock your door) and throw off your clothes. You throw on the warm water that actually isn’t really warm at all because it takes a few minutes to heat up. Doesn’t matter. You’re cold as shit though.
Wednesday is calling. And it won’t stop until you pick up. Your only moment of rest is the five minute cold shower and the time it takes for you to change out of last night’s clothes.
Upon reaching the Morning Spirits Pub, you find that Cook is antsy. That’s expected. Lily and Cassie are both fidgety too. Rylee is the only one unfazed.
“So what’s wrong with all of you today?” you grouchily ask, not bothering to pretend to be nice and well rested. Rylee leaves for her post. Lily is busy looking at the dirt specks on the floor. Cassie is silent and Cook shakes her head.
“Great.” Aren’t they all enthusiastic today? “Let’s get to work.”
And then you head to the office, magnificently passing out on the desk to catch up on some much needed sleep. Thankfully, you manage to wake up before closing time. Still, you feel like shit. Not because you didn’t work at all today, but because your neck is crying out in pain from your awkward sleeping posture. Now that you’ve gotten some rest, there’s only one thing to do with this Momiji situation.
“Cook!” you scream from the office room. “We need to talk after work.”
She peeks in from the door. “Um. Did I do something wrong again?”
“Everyone did everything wrong but that’s unrelated. Come in.”
“It’s not closing time yet.”
“Yes, but your shift is over.”
“It is?” Cook checks the clock.
“It is. Because I said so.” Motioning to the chair, you urge her to sit down. “Now then.”
[ ] Talk to her and let her know about Gensokyo. [ ] Press her for details. Hint to her that you know about Gensokyo. [ ] It’s time to be vague as shit. [ ] Fuck with her. You deserve this after a long night.
“You know,” you melodramatically sigh. It’s time to get real with her. Which translates to fuck with her. “I heard that they’re merging Gensokyoto with Geneva.”
“What!?” Cook shouts a little more loudly than you would have liked. Looks like she’s desperately trying to keep her calm. And failing at it.
“Yeah. Kyoto’s going to hold legal jurisdiction over Geneva.” You shake your head.
“Wait. What did you say before?”
“Kyoto is merging with Geneva. I thought I said it loud and clear.” You keep your gaze level with hers. If there’s anything you’re good at, it’s lying through your teeth. “I figured I’d tell you since it was on the news. I guess it makes sense, since Geneva’s right next to Kyoto. Right?”
“...Yeah.” Cook nods her head shakily.
“I lied. Geneva’s on the other side of the world from Kyoto.” You keep a straight face the entire time.
“Oh. I forgot." She looks absolutely miserable.
“Are you-kai?” You ask, deliberately butchering the phrase, 'Are you okay?' You feel nasty making such a shitty pun.
Cook only twitches. “No, not really.”
“Sorry to hear that, Cook. Could you pass the tissues?”
Grabbing the box of tissues, she wearily acquiesces. “…Yeah. Here.” She looks like she’s going to cry.
How petty are you to spite the poor youkai while she’s down? Apparently enough to keep going. “Tengu.”
Cook claws at the desk. “What.”
“Thank you, Cook." You enunciate the 'thank you.'
Having enough, she stands up from her seat. “Gah, my name’s not fucking Cook! I’m Momiji Inubashiri!"
Well, shit. You conveniently got her to say that she was Momiji and you weren't even trying. “Uh.”
She goes on. "And to tell the truth, I don't even know where Geneva is. I'm from a place where everyone wears stupid hats and flies and shoots at each other with magical bullets and then drinks tea together with their enemies afterward. Plus, I'm a goddamn white wolf tengu. Is that so hard to believe?" She miserably wallows in her own despair. “You probably think I’m crazy now. Writing me off as some crazy girl like everyone else. Who would even believe that there's a place where girls with frilly dresses fight each other by vomiting out cute rainbow bullets, right?”
You rest your head on your arms. “Trust me, you have no idea.” Well. She did your work for you. You didn't even need to bother asking her about Touhou.
Cook blinks. “What do you mean?”
“Gensokyo, right?” you ask her.
“So you do know?” She narrows her gaze, glaring straight at you. “How?”
You only shrug. “Long story. I only know that it exists now. Tell me more about it.”
“First of all, there are humans and there are youkai. I'm one of those youkai. I guess youkai don't exist around here, but we’re roughly the same as humans. Except we're stronger. And even that’s debatable. People fly and shoot danmaku, colorful bullets, to duel.”
You nod your head. “And you use danmaku as a means of starting or stopping incidents, yeah?”
“Sometimes.” Momiji shrugs. “It’s also a way to kill time.”
"Welp. So Gensokyo’s fucking real.”
“What do you mean… real?” asks the tengu.
“I’ll tell you about it later.” You decide that now’s not the time to overwhelm Momiji. Now would be a pretty awkward time to drop the 'you come from a video game' bomb on her. “But now you’re out of Gensokyo. What happened?"
“I never asked to be whisked away to a fantasy world of corporate slavery. I think there was some kind of disturbance in the border and I just so happened to fall into it. Great luck, right?” She sighs. “Things have been going swimmingly. The moment I arrived, I was called a fetishist. And a cosplayer. I assume that’s a derogatory term. I had no money. I had no identification. I couldn’t afford furniture, so I had to steal hats and clothes before I could even think about holding down a job. I was fired constantly the moment anybody found out about my ears or tail.” Momiji dejectedly exhales. “I managed to save enough to get that shitty apartment next to you before I got fired again."
“I assume adjusting to our society has been boatloads of fun.”
“So much fun you could power a children’s amusement park with it.” Momiji rolls her eyes. “But I've figured it out, now. Sort of. Figured out what people say and how they act. Still, it’s hard covering up my ears." She stops to mutter some profanities under her breath. "No hat policies are the fucking worst."
“And your tail?” You question, genuinely curious about how she manages to hide it so well.
“Let’s not talk about that,” Momiji dryly states, sitting back down uncomfortably on her chair. She pauses for a moment before asking, “So... you believe me?”
“I don't see why not.” If only because she has the ears to prove it. And plus, suspension of disbelief is always a lot more interesting than the sensible, rational choice.
“Well shit," she breaths a sigh of relief. "Finally. It’s nice to know that someone actually believes me. I’ve been having a goddamn existential crisis ever since I got here.”
“Least I could do for my employee, human or not.” You shrug.
“But aren’t you taking this ‘not a human’ thing too lightly?”
“On the contrary, I think I’m taking it too seriously.”
She shrugs. “Fair enough. And by the way, I never got your name. I never managed to figure it out because the other girls always call you boss.”
“Gallagher.” Which you think is a stupid fucking name. “Call me boss.”
“Okay, Gallagher.” She snidely ignores your request.
You glare at her. “Don’t give me lip. I can fire you at a moment’s notice.”
“…Thanks boss,” she mutters, retracting her previous statement.
“Glad we’re on the same page.” It’s good being the boss. Even if it’s the boss of a shitshow bar.
“I have one last question.”
“How exactly do you know about Gensokyo?”
[ ] Yukari did it. [ ] A magical portal that creates a window of incidents happening in Gensokyo on your computer. [ ] Through a disgusting website that idolizes girls with frilly dresses silly hats and makes fiction stories about them. [ ] Genuflect No, this is not a real option and no, you can't vote for it.
[X] Yukari did it. [X] A magical portal that creates a window of incidents happening in Gensokyo on your computer. [X] Through a disgusting website that idolizes girls with frilly dresses silly hats and makes fiction stories about them.
[X] Yukari did it. [X] A magical portal that creates a window of incidents happening in Gensokyo on your computer. [X] Through a disgusting website that idolizes girls with frilly dresses silly hats and makes fiction stories about them.
[X] Yukari did it. [X] A magical portal that creates a window of incidents happening in Gensokyo on your computer. [X] Through a disgusting website that idolizes girls with frilly dresses silly hats and makes fiction stories about them. This is getting good.
[x] Yukari did it. [x] A magical portal that creates a window of incidents happening in Gensokyo on your computer. [x] Through a disgusting website that idolizes girls with frilly dresses silly hats and makes fiction stories about them.
[x] Yukari did it. [x] A magical portal that creates a window of incidents happening in Gensokyo on your computer. [x] Through a disgusting website that idolizes girls with frilly dresses silly hats and makes recursively realfiction stories about them.
[X] Yukari did it. [X] A magical portal that creates a window of incidents happening in Gensokyo on your computer. [X] Through a disgusting website that idolizes girls with frilly dresses silly hats and makes fiction stories about them
>>60399 Yeah, Lily's hair is brown, and my best guess for the other two is Reimu and Marisa, which would both have freaked Cook the fuck out and also don't make any damn sense in terms of the family relations they have.
The stench of alcohol is always stronger on New Years Eve.
The Morning Spirits Pub is infested with worthless fucks and alcoholics the day before the new year. You hope that you can get out of this shithole before it’s too late. But college has to pay for itself somehow. This is your last year and you’re definitely getting the fuck outta here. At least you have New Years off.
“Boss,” you address the manager. She happens to reek of alcohol too – the woman's no better than any of the other freaks that spend their time here. “You called?”
“Yeah, we got a new order of business.” The manager pushes forward a new recruit. She hangs her head down low. Definitely scared shitless. “You got yourself a promotion. You're no longer a shithead. You're now a provisional senior shithead. That means ya got responsibilities! New things to fuck up! Now go teach this girl the business. We gotta get her ready by tonight.”
“Tonight's New Years Eve,” you point out.
“Well, gee, thanks for the heads up. Fuckin' Sherlock over here.” The manager rolls her eyes. “Get her ready her by today and we got ourselves an available employee for New Year’s Day.”
“I'm working on New Years?” asks the new employee.
“Did I stutter? Shit, nobody wants to work on New Years. But you don’t get a choice. You’re new and we need employees. We’re not just gonna close on the busiest time of the winter, yeah? Someone’s going to work on New Years and it’s not gonna be me.” She throws the new recruit towards you and leaves like nobody’s fucking business.
The newbie has a small figure but looks even smaller because she’s cowering behind one of the building’s support beams. She has short brown hair tied into a neat little ponytail. Cute. But definitely not Morning Spirits Pub material. And definitely not New Year’s Morning Spirits Pub material.
“H-Hi. I’m Lily. Nice to meet you,” she murmurs.
Yep. She won’t make it through New Year’s Day. You’d rather not waste any time with this. “Hi. You’re not going to be working today.”
“Um… huh?” Lily has no idea what’s going on. “But aren't I supposed–”
“No,” you cut her off. “Boss said that somebody had to work on New Years. She never said it had to be you. You’re not cut out for this shit. New Year’s Day is absolutely fucking hell here. Shellie got PTSD from working last year's shift.”
“R-Really?” She retreats further behind the support beam.
“Really.” You may have exaggerated slightly. The point still stands. “So I’ll be taking over your shift today. Don’t think you got off easy. Next week, I’ll show you how not to be absolute shit at the job.” Man. What a hassle.
“No buts.” This girl needs to stop asking questions and leave. “Now shoo.”
The girl nods meekly and skirts to the door, looking back once before she exits. Now all you have to do is fill in for her shift tonight and everything will be fucken sunshines and rainbows.
You didn't really want a break on New Years anyway.
An Excuse for this story isn't dead I was overseas Anonymous2015/01/01 (Thu) 06:59No. 60432▼
From December 31st, 11:59 P.M., to January 1st, 10:34 A.M., you have experienced firsthand what it means to be a goddamn sinner. The beer taps are leaking, the tables are strewn all over the place, and you want to throw up from just looking at these fucktards bathing in their own alcohol and sweat.
And worst of all, you're sleepy. But at least you survived the night. Looks like the shitshow is over. All you have to do is clock out and you're free to spend the rest of the day in bed. Maybe take a shower beforehand. Your shirt reeks of so much alcohol it might as well be 100 proof now.
Welp. Time to leave.
“Erm... do you have some Guinness?”
Well fuckaroo. You turn around, feigning a smile. But you quickly drop it. The new recruit from yesterday is sitting down on the stool, timidly shuffling around in her seat.
You stand there for a moment, rubbing your eyes. “Identification, please.”
“U-Um. You saw my documentation when I was interviewed.”
“Identification,” you assert.
She finally hands over her driver's license. You pretend to glance over the card, giving it back to its owner. “Why are you here, newbie?” You ask, shaking your head. “Aren't you supposed to be home or somewhere... not here?”
“I don't have a place to stay today.” Lily shrinks back, pulling on her hair nervously.
Just your luck. You pour some Guinness from one of the taps that still work, sliding it over to Lily. But you slide it a little too hard, forcing Lily to save it with a dive onto the table. You sigh, eyeing the clock warily. Your shift's already over.
Whatever. Fuck it. It's not like some extra time is going to kill you.
“Whaaaat,” you groan.
“...Happy New Year,” she mumbles, covering her face with her glass.
So begins a new year. And it's kinda charming. To begin anew... even when you're in a place filled with broken windows, flickering lights, and passed out drunks.
Well shit. How do you deliver this as gently as possible? You were never good at that kind of crap. In any case, you’ll explain it to Momiji in the only way you know how. “Well, it’s more like I know about Gensokyo by proxy.” Which is bullshitting through your fucken teeth. “By a magical portal that creates of a window of incidents that happened in Gensokyo on my computer.”
Momiji stares at you as if you were the biggest idiot in the world. Sighing in disgust, she crosses her arms. “I don’t really believe you.”
“…Really now? You’re the one who comes from a world where everybody and their goddamn pets can fly and you can’t believe me?”
“But we’re not in a world like that, are we?” she mutters darkly, baring her teeth in a scowl. “And that still doesn’t answer the question. How do you know Gensokyo?”
“Fine, I’ll tell you. I know Gensokyo through a disgusting website that idolizes girls with frilly dresses, silly hats and fuckall and makes fiction stories about them.” Which isn’t wrong. Because that’s exactly what THP is.
“…I believe you even less now,” Momiji sighs. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
This has been sufficiently frustrating. You’re close to dumping the truth on her, but you convince yourself otherwise. After all, you’d be going fucking crazy if you discovered your existence amounted to a work of fiction sold in Comiket.
Eh. Fuck it. “Uh... Yukari did it.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Momiji exhales, nodding to herself. “Finally, it makes sense. I’m sick and tired of everything being so damn convoluted.”
Thank you, shitty third-rate THP plot devices. You never thought the day would come when you would appreciate them.
“Yeah, uh, right. Anyway, if you need any help with anything, feel free to ask someone else. Not me. I suggest Lily.”
“I always work for unreasonable people,” Momiji scoffs, adjusting her hat.
“I control your pay.”
Momiji cries to herself, whimpering. “I work for the best and don’t deserve such kindness.”
It’s hard not to smile smugly but you manage to restrain yourself. “Great. I’ll be heading out now.”
“Likewise.” She glances over the office and the bar, sneering. “I’d rather not spend any more time here than I have to.”
“It’s nice that someone agrees this place is utter shit.” Now you have someone else to voice your complaints to, whether she likes it or not. “But your shift isn’t over.”
“...It’s not?” she whines, desperate to get away from here. But she can’t.
“Because.” Flippantly, you point over to the door, where presumably your employees are doing work. “Then I’d have to give everybody their shift off. It would be unfair to everybody else if I let you off work early.”
“So why are you leaving?” Momiji grumbles indignantly, frowning.
“Because I’m the boss and I have to uphold labor hierarchy.” That and you’re not too fond of working a full shift after an entire night of hauling your employees back to their homes.
“I’m beginning to understand how this works,” she responds grimly.
“The sooner the better. Now off with you.” Shooing Momiji back to work, you get ready to leave. Looking over the office, you find that the desk looks horrendously untidy – almost as if somebody slept on it. Whatever, it’s time to leave.
And when you get home, you do what any other THP shitlord would do if they found out their employee was a Touhou.
YOU (Gallus) have joined #thp Topic for #thp is “Welcome to #THP – Taut Horny Peepees | TOLD STATUS: TOLDLERONE | FUCKS LEVEL: NONE GIVEN | Archives: http://bit.ly/uwzY0Z | ROYAL RAINBOW! | LILY WHITE IS CRYING | <Valley> ever had an erection for your dick? Mode #THP +h Gallus by ChanServ <Chireiden> >tfw no dick to bone u’re qt waifu <Bram> wait what you’re a g-g-g-g-g-girl <Valley> wat the fuck is a girl <Valley> there’s no such thing <Neat> WHAT THAT CAN”T BE POSSIBLE <Qasta> >girl <Qasta> is that like a brand name or something <Anon221> lel <ShinraCo> >can''t <ShinraCo> shit you need two of dem apostrophes <Neat> DOUBLE APOSTROPHE FOR DOUBLE EMPHASIS <Neat> IT’S LIKE AIR QUOTES BUT FOR THE INTERNET <Captain> He’s so surprised he used the shift key instead of caps lock <BDC> are you serious guys we have like a million girls on irc <Neat> who <BDC> chireiden, gallus, capn, valley, bram, buttlord <Neat> >literally everyone on irc are girls <Neat> d-did I just walk into a harem <Bram> >harem <Bram> as if I’d like you b-baka <Valley> everyone is the little girl in their hearts <Gallus> GUYS what would you do if a tohoe waifu existed in real life <ShinraCo> smang her <BDC> >smang <BDC> I hope you’re not using that seriously <BDC> Gal: I’d do what I always do when my touhou waifu appears in real life. <BDC> obviously wake up from my dream <Bram> talk to people on IRC about it <Captain> BDC why ;_; <Chireiden> y u ask gallbladder <Gallus> uh <Gallus> new story idea <Chireiden> >writing >2000 + (7.5*2) <Chireiden> nobody does that anymore. they only post updates about how their updates are going <Bram> speaking of are you ever going to ever update your story gallus
[ ] Might as well do it now. [ ] But you’re already on IRC and busy… not updating.
There goes your plan about complaining to the IRC that nobody ever tells you to update. Then again, you think about how easy it is to make up an excuse to not update. Shit, you could start it tomorrow because you “had a meeting” or some crap like that and nobody would be the wiser.
But that would just make you a shitbag. You’ve fucked with your readers enough. It’s time to throw them a bone. A shitty, poorly written bone. It’s time to get to work.
If only you had any fucking idea what your story was about. It’s been so long that you don’t have a goddamn clue. So you do the unthinkable. Re-read your own story.
Annnnnd holy fuck it is bad. Let it be known that you were a shitty writer and preach it to IRC. The self-depreciating cycle continues. Regardless, you have a story to write.
Bullets flew through the air like how penguins could not. Damn useless birds can’t even do their jobs. Luckily, you had an ace up your sleeve. Both metaphorically and physically because for some reason your lackey, in her pitiful attempts at whim and whimsy, stuffed an entire deck of cards laced with glue underneath your garments. You probably had a queen somewhere around your bra lining, but that was not as important.
It was time to explain what THAT was.
What was it really? You had no idea.
“Isn’t it time to save the day and conveniently make the situation better with whatever ‘that’ is?!”
Thematically, that would have been the ideal way to resolve the complication before. Sadly, reality is cruel and obnoxious like a bee that is not willing to sting you but instead buzzes around uncontrollably inside your private bathroom, preventing you from entering such quarters.
Oh. Shit. Suddenly, things got awkward. How in the fuck can you write a real life Touhou in a fantasy story? All of a sudden, a convenient character and plot device becomes a goddamn real person.
Wait. What? Something doesn’t add up here.
HOLY SHIT YOU’VE ALREADY UPDATED FOR THIS CHOICE HOW DID YOU FUCKING MISS THAT NOW THIS IS ALL A BIG FUCKING WASTE OF TIME. FUCK.
…fuck. It’s just one fuck up after another today, isn’t it? You didn’t think you could find new ways to hate yourself but what’s incredible is that you manage to surprise yourself every time. Whoop dee doo.
“Boss.” The sound of a voice suddenly jolts you out of your self-loathing session. For some god forsaken reason, you close the document without saving because… why? Why did you do that? You had just finished your self-loathing session but your brain decided otherwise. Well. It isn’t much of a loss, you suppose. It was an update that was completely and utterly useless. You turn around to face your intruder, Momiji.
You try and make pleasant conversation. “What do you want and why are you here?”
She uncomfortably looks around the room before focusing her gaze on you. “I’ve come to make a report on my shift.”
“And what are you reporting?”
“Everything went smoothly,” she says, voice growing fainter with every word she speaks.
“Look,” you sigh, “I don’t need reports on how work went unless something bad happened. Even then, you can report to Lily and things will probably be okay.”
“...Right,” Momiji nods passively, barely moving her face up and down.
Man. “By any chance, do you need something from me?”
The girl freezes in her place. Yep. You're right as always. “Do you happen to have a spare blanket? I... may need one.”
Momiji's living a top class life, isn't she? You'd laugh but that would be fucked up. Secretly, you want to post something like this on THP too but that would also be fucked up. “Just the blanket?”
“Just the blanket.”
“So you want just the blanket? Because I have an extra pillow, but I guess you don't need i–”
“No, I definitely need that too, thank you very much,” she adamantly grasps your left shoulder, a desperate look in her eyes.
“Alright then,” you shrug. You can't even bother to act surprised. Her apartment room's about as bare as it gets. Getting the extra pillow and blanket from the sliding door wardrobe, you hand it over with no particular difficulty.
She attempts a smile, but it's masked underneath her miserable face. “...Thanks.”
Eh, you'll throw her a bone. “Uh, do you need anything else?”
She heaves a heavy sigh and nods slowly in shame. “I... may need a mattress.”
Welp. “Unfortunately, I don't have any extra mattresses lying around. But there's a store about a block or two away."
“You don't have any money, do you.”
“Not at all.”
[ ] “It's coming out of your pay.” And it will be. [ ] “It's coming out of your pay.” And it won't be. [ ] “Good luck, have fun.”
You click your tongue. “Well then. You're getting a mattress.” Before Momiji can speak, you cut her off immediately. “And it's coming out of your pay.” Of course, you don't actually plan on following through with deducting her pay. Poor girl can't even afford a bed. Although you're not exactly loaded, you'll make do.
Momiji slumps her shoulders in resignation, admitting defeat. “...Okay.”
Man. You exhale, shaking your head at her. “Please. You're making this too easy. I'm not going to deduct your pay over something so trivial. As your boss, I'm not going to pay a cent towards the Give-Momiji-a-Bed Foundation... but as your neighbor, I don't see why I wouldn't.”
Momiji brightens up, flashing a rare glance of hope. “Boss!” she cries, tearing up over your words. You've never seen someone so goddamn happy to own a mattress.
“Don't get too complacent. Your financial situation is horrible and I expect you to shape up. This mattress is the only courtesy I'll give you. I'm not going give you any special favors.”
She nods earnestly, taking in every word with resolution. “I understand.”
Momiji catches you off guard with her good faith. Now you almost feel bad for telling her that the mattress was coming out of her pay. From the goodness of your heart, maybe you should buy her some sheets too. “Let's get going then. I have no idea when the store closes but let's not press our luck. And by 'our luck' I mean yours.”
She understandably gets herself ready in a hurry, readjusting her hoodie and baseball cap. You shoo Momiji outside, grabbing your keys, wallet and phone. Taking slow, deliberate motions, you lock your door with enunciated gestures. She takes a glance at her door and does the same.
“Locking doors is a natural talent of mine,” you add, leading the way to the mattress store. Momiji only shakes her head, following behind you silently.
The mattress store, more specifically the furniture store, is decidedly open. In the front are the premium mattress, the ones that you will never be able to afford. If only you could. You shuffle your way to the back of the store and find a decent twin-sized mattress, for a measly price of $124.99.
Well, fuck. At least it's part of a set, meaning that you won't have to buy sheets separately.
“Excuse me,” a voice asks. A suspiciously familiar voice. “Do you need some help?”
It's definitely Lily. Though she sounds a lot more reserved, you can't mistake her voice. You decline her assistance in hopes of chasing her away. “No.”
“Boss!” Your employee recognizes you, much to your disappointment, making a wild attempt at a hug.
You keep Lily in check, brushing her aside. “Not enough hours already?” you ask, eyeing her plastic nametag.
“Well, I'd appreciate it if you gave me some more~” Lily's gaze veers over to Momiji. “Oh. Cook? You're here too? What's happening?”
[ ] Tell Lily about the situation. Namely, how Cook is in need of a mattress. [ ] Give her a vague answer about how you coincidentally met up with Cook on the way here. [ ] Feign ignorance. See how Momiji responds.
File 143063742696.jpg - (261.80KB, 850x1200, an excuse for when is it ever going to update agai.jpg)
You don’t really want to elaborate because you have no fucking idea how to explain to the poor girl that Cook is not really Cook and that he is actually a she, who may or may not have come out of a Japanese video game. You’ll give Lily an answer. Not a good answer, but an answer nonetheless.
“I met Cook on the way back from work,” you start. “And, due to unfortunate circumstances, I’m buying him a mattress.”
Lily is understandably confused. As she should be. “What?”
“Mattresses don’t buy themselves.” You’ll offer her no room or time for questions. “As a customer, I think my needs take precedence. And right now, all I need is a decently priced mattress.”
Your employee hesitantly shifts her gaze from you to Momiji several times. Momiji offers her nothing but a half-hearted shrug. Visibly upset, she asks, “K-King?”
“Twin-sized,” you icily respond back to her. “Enough for exactly one person.”
She, who forgot to breathe, hastily blows out a sigh. “Okay. Would you like to see our selection?”
“N-No?” Lily repeats back with a helpless stare, obviously not accustomed to an uncooperative customer like yourself. You’d think that she’d be used to your shit by now but she never learns.
You shake your head at her. “Just give me the cheapest twin-sized mattress you can find.” Pointing to the $124.99 mattress, you ask her, “Anything cheaper than this one, preferably.”
“Yes, boss- I mean, sir- I mean.” She slumps over in total defeat. “…We have one priced for $99.99. Would you like to see?”
“No need, thanks. I’ll purchase it.” You waste no time with Lily, shooing her off before she could ask or say anything.
Momiji tugs at her baseball cap, adjusting the rim slightly. “By any chance, could you be a sadist?”
What. You? Sadist? That’s hilarious. “No chance at all.”
“I don’t understand you,” she grumbles.
“I’m the normal one here. You and Lily are both anomalies as far as society is concerned.”
“If that is the case, I don’t understand society either.”
You click your tongue. “Sucks.”
Lily returns, handing you a strip of paper. On the front is the usual receipt, attached to something that looks like a form. “Bring this to the cashier so they can arrange a delivery, alright?”
“Sure. Thanks Lily.”
She nods wearily. “If there’s anything else you need help with, please let me know.”
“Sure.” You won’t.
You wade through the aisles, dragging Momiji along with you until you reach the front register. A short stocky man with a buzzcut mans the counter. “Hello, do you need anything?”
“Yep.” You hand him the receipt and paper. “I’d like to get this delivered as soon as possible.”
“Okay,” he nods, clicking a pen several times before jotting several scribbles down on the paper. “Address?”
“640 Alcove Street, Room 312,” Momiji responds almost immediately, nodding to herself. She’s convinced that she's right. Too bad she’s wrong.
“640 Alcove Street, Room 321, actually,” you correct her, low enough for only Momiji to hear.
“…640 Alcove Street, Room 321,” she parrots back, hanging her head down in shame.
“Okay. When do you wish for it to be delivered? We currently have no deliveries, so that means we can queue you up tomorrow.”
“Great.” Very great. “But how about today?”
“Uh.” The cashier is completely at a loss. “I don’t know if I can do that.”
“What a shame.” Maybe the constant lack of sleep and stress from the job’s been getting to you. You don’t have the energy to be a reasonable customer. Not that you’ve ever really been friendly in the first place. “Cancel my order then.” You can almost hear Momiji’s silent protests behind you but you pay it no mind.
“Err, wait just a moment,” the cashier pleads. “Let me contact my manager.” He leaves his post to go run to the back of the store, rushing away from the scene. You very patiently wait a good 30 seconds before the man rushes back, wistful and annoyed. “We can set up the delivery today. It’ll be there before 9 PM.”
The man suppresses a sigh. “That’ll be $112.98.”
You pull out your wallet and eye your red Bank of America card. Sighing, you shake your head and instead pull out a Benjamin and his dear friend, Andrew. He takes his time counting the change and hands it over after careful consideration and deliberation. You take the money and leave with Momiji in tow.
On the way back to the apartments, Momiji finally speaks up. “I understand now.”
“You aren’t sadistic. You’re just mean.”
“Great. Thank you for your praise and compliments. My merit and generosity only extends to payments up to $112.98 by the way.”
“That’s fortunate for me, I guess.” Momiji glances around the empty streets, looking for any late night passerbys. After determining that there are indeed no other pedestrians on the streets, she takes off her cap and flaps her wolfish ears. She breathes a contented sigh before putting the hat back on.
“Must be uncomfortable wearing that all the time.” You had to resist the urge to touch her ears when she took off her hat.
“It’s the worst. I feel so constrained and stifled. Makes me wish I was back in Gensokyo.”
Gensokyo, huh? “Do you miss the place?”
She tugs at her cap again, restlessly pulling the visor up and down. “…Yeah, I guess so.”
The rest of the walk to the apartments is filled with a peaceful silence. You don’t have the energy to talk anyway. Instead, you walk through the brisk air, feeling the wind bite at your cheeks. It's almost a humbling experience. Almost.
You bid Momiji a good night and finally return to your domain. Home sweet home or something. The faint glow of the monitor bleeds through the darkness of the room. The computer screen is still on the scrapped update. You can’t bring yourself to even think about updating, so you slap the power button and head to bed. Momiji can deal with the mattress delivery herself. She’s a big girl.
Now maybe this time you might actually sleep well.
If only. The alarm blares its infernal scream. You wake up and you feel like shit. But at least you don’t feel like complete shit. It’s a step up.
6:35 A.M. You smack your alarm quiet and take your usual shower. Your attempts to get dressed are foiled because you cannot find matching socks for some reason. After a few minutes of searching, you give up and find two socks that are approximately the same. Fuck it.
You knock on Momiji’s door but quickly discover that it wasn’t locked. Nor was it fully closed. Goddammit. “Momiji.” You call out to her. No response. Man. You reluctantly barge into her apartment, calling her name one more time in vain hope that she responds.
Right in the living room is a twin-sized mattress with Momiji lying peacefully on top of said mattress. She’s wearing nothing but her oversized hoodie, curled up into a ball. The poor girl’s snoring too. As you take a step forward, her ears twitch ever so slightly.
[ ] Wake her up. You won’t accept tardiness. [ ] Let her rest. You can’t deal with this shit right now.
As a reasonable human being, you wouldn't dare wake up Momiji and disturb her rest. But as a boss, you don't really give a crap. Your employees should be and will be on time. Even if you have to literally drag them out of bed to do so.
You say that to yourself but Momiji is most certainly not wearing anything but that hoodie and you're... reluctant to do something to embarrass her. Or even worse, do something to embarrass yourself. “Momiji,” you whisper from the door. “Momiji!” you repeat, this time with a shout. Sighing, you take a breath and yell. “MOMIJI!”
No response. Christ, she's not waking up. You barge in, uncomfortably inching into the room. “Oi.” Still no response. Seriously, this is so much trouble. You don't want to just waltz in and shake her awake. But that's the only plan you have so it'll have to do.
You call out to her one last time in vain hope she'll wake up. “...Momiji.” Nope. Goddammit. You shake Momiji by her shoulders, hoping she'll wake from her slumber. Thankfully, she does. Momiji rouses, rolling over. Her tail pokes out from under the hoodie and her bare legs are exposed and fuck you're a horrible human being.
“B-Boss...?” she mumbles weakly, wiping the drool off her face.
Shit. You can't handle this. Doing a full about face, you turn yourself away from Momiji. “You're going to be late for work if you don't hurry your ass over. Be ready in ten.”
“Wait.” She clutches your hand, forcing you to stop in your tracks. Momiji curls her lips into a sleepy smile. “Thanks for the mattress.”
Ugh. “Let go of me.”
“Are you embarrassed?”
Please. “Not at all. Can you get just go get ready?”
“Then this is fine right?” chuckles Momiji. She uses your hand as leverage, pulling herself up.
“I'll ask you again. Let go, please.”
Momiji finally complies, releasing her grip on you. “You're not much fun, are you?”
Flatly, you reply, “I abhor fun and make it my daily mission to destroy any sign of it in my general vicinity. Now go get ready.”
“Okay.” She stands up, stretching her arms. Then Momiji, realizing her state of clothing, pulls down on her hoodie in bashful distress.
After a slight pause, you ask, “Are you alright?”
“No,” she miserably responds. “But I only have myself to blame.”
“So we're in agreement, then.” Pausing, you turn to face the door. “Be at the bar in twenty. I'm going ahead.”
During the walk to the bar, you look for anything that could distract you from the thought of Momiji, clad solely in large hoodie. But as expected, you don't find anything and you can only remind yourself that you're the worst.
It's time. You open the bar up and wait at the front counter to wait for your employees to file in. Lily's first. She's her usual self, bouncing around with enough energy to rival a small generator. Then it's Momiji, who retreats immediately to the kitchen. Then comes Cassie and finally, Rylee. A grand total of four employees. It's a wonder how this place manages to operate while being so understaffed. Every day is a mixed bag of good, bad, and hell-doesn't-seem-so-terrible-anymore.
Today seems to be going smoothly. Lily's teaching Rylee the basics of submitting reports on assets, Momiji's busy in the kitchen, and Cassie's serving the regulars. You're stuck manning the desolate bar but that's not bad either. So far so good. But from the corner of your eye, you spot something truly nasty, evil, and wretched through the windowpanes.
Shit. “Rylee,” you call to your employee. “Your time with paperwork's over. You man the bar. Now.”
Lily, suddenly anxious, starts fretting. “What's wrong? Boss, you never let us skip paperwork! What's happening? Mobsters? Loan sharks? Mobster loan sharks?”
“No. Even worse,” you groan. “It's my mother.”
Lily freezes. “Oh, no...”
Your attempts to hide are too late. Your mother walks in and promptly heads for the bar. She grimaces at the sight of Lily. “Oh, it's you. Have you finally learned to do something right yet? You mustn't be too lenient on yourself. A less-than-minimum-wage job can be easy too for people like you if you try hard enough.”
Lily shrinks back, nodding and mumbling something that nobody can hear.
You step in, staring at your mother dead on. “Hello. Are you done badgering my poor employees so you can feel good about your petty self, or do you need to bully a small child next?”
“Hello, my failure of a son. How is life in the cesspool?” She sneers, chuckling lowly. “Are you done wrestling in the mud yet?”
“My life is pretty good, with the exception that you continue to butt in it. Are you here to ruin my life again? Second time's the charm, yeah?” You grit your teeth. Your fucking mother's a total shithead.
“Just let it go, you whiny girl,” your mother spits, narrowing her eyes at you. “I can pay it back. Credit score doesn't last forever.”
“No, but do you know what lasts a long time? Grudges. They last very, very long. Maybe even forever if you try hard enough.”
“No,” you assert, “it's just the truth.” A few costumers start to stare. It appears your mother is making a scene. Again. “Now, ma'am,” you enunciate. “If we could have a civil discussion in the office–”
“No. I'm perfectly fine right here in this very spot.” Your mother crosses her arms and plants her feet on the floorboards of the bar.
Momiji walks in from the kitchen, hearing the commotion. She quietly assumes a position behind your other employees, curiously looking at the new visitor.
You should just let it slide and calm down. You should, but...
Stepping back further into the bar, you speak lowly, enough for most customers not to overhear. “Purposefully being a nuisance in public again?” You can't help yourself. And now you're far too invested and bitter to stop. “Some things never change, I guess. What's next? Ruining your son's life? Oh wait, no. You already accomplished that, huh?”
Your mother grips at the straps of her handbag. “Don't you dare talk down to me, you little shit.”
“I'm sorry, did I spark some emotion in your stony heart? Maybe even something like remorse? Gee, that would be nice–”
A cold wave of pain strikes you on the cheek. Your mother lower her arm, baring her teeth in a fit of anger. “Do you think you're worth anything now? That you're not just a shit stain with a big mouth? Think again, kid.” She raises her arm again.
But before she's able to strike you again, Momiji steps in between the two of you. “Miss,” she icily glares at your mother. “I'm afraid you need to leave. Now.”
Turning back to the exit, your mother leaves you with some final words. “Maybe one day, you'll grow your own spine.”
Lily manages to unfreeze as soon as your mother is out the door. In barely a whisper, she asks, “Are you okay?”
“I'm fine.” Whatever. No harm done to you. But fuck the devil that is your mom. Facing Momiji, you sigh. You were about a second away from fucking up big time. “Good work, Cook. I let my emotions get to me. You did the right thing, diffusing the situation like that.”
Lily tries to speak up, but you hush her wearily. “Let's just get back to work.”
The rest of the day is thankfully eventful until closing time, where you had to lock the doors and recount inventory. You see the rest of your employees off before shutting the bar down for the day.
Momiji, leaving last, joins you for the walk back home. She wastes no time speaking up. “So why did you let her do that?”
She brusquely answers vaguely. “You know...”
“I'd rather pass the event off as 'another belligerent customer being violent' and forget about it. It's better than writing a real incident report involving my supposed family. I'm not going to fight back.”
Your employee raises an eyebrow. “At the expense of your dignity?”
“Yes. I hope you realize that I value my job security more than some flimsy sense of self-worth.”
“You might be okay with that, but I'm not at all. I'll defend your dignity – or any of our employee's – even at the expense of my job.”
“Those words might have meant something if you weren't talking to your employer.” Shaking your head, you reply, “Regardless, you did well.”
[ ] For thanks, you’ll help her out with her clothing situation. Or her lack thereof. [ ] For thanks, you’ll give her extra on her next paycheck. [ ] For thanks, you’ll treat her out to a drink.
Maybe you should do something about her clothing situation, or her lack thereof. You eyeball Momiji, who has her gray hoodie on once again. Your thoughts wander back to the naked hoodie incident and you remember why you're a bad person. Who knew you could hide all that behind a huge ass hoodie and baggy jeans. “Momiji,” you declare. “You're a mess.”
“Thanks boss, I really appreciate it,” groans Momiji. “This is how you repay my hard work, huh?”
“I was thinking about that, alright?” You frown at her. What a cheeky girl. “Momiji.”
“What,” she curtly replies.
“You okay with wearing the same thing every day?”
She squints at you, furrowing her eyebrows. “What do you think I am, a slob?”
“Alrighty then. We're going to Goodwill.”
“Goodwill?” she repeats. And despite her snide remarks, she follows you without hesitation.
At this hour, Goodwill is all but empty. Two counters are open and the employees working at this hour obviously do not want to be here. You decide to make this quick and painless, for you, Momiji, and the employees on site.
Momiji is already browsing some goods, inspecting a black hoodie with a white check mark slapped onto the front.
“Like hoodies?” you ask her.
“Yeah. Hated them at first but they kinda grew on me. Pretty comfy.” She nods at the black hoodie. “This one's good. I'll take it.”
“You're not going to try it out?”
She blinks. “Why would I do that? The size is the same as the hoodie I'm wearing right now.”
Oh man. Momiji doesn't have a clue does she? “You poor sap. You can't trust the size tag. Momiji, you're thinking way too highly of tailors whose jobs are to make four dollar hoodies.”
She frowns at the clothing rack. “Man, I don't get it. Then why make a size tag at all?”
“To lure the gullible into buying clothes that don't exactly fit them.”
“Somehow, I doubt that. So should I try it on?”
You shake your head. “Might as well get all the clothes you want and try them all on at once. It'll be faster that way.”
“Hmmm.” Momiji wastes no time going through the entire store, selecting various clothes in a rather... calculated fashion. Rather efficient, isn't she? If you were here with Lily, it would take fucking ages. “Got my stuff. Where do I go to change?”
You point her towards the changing room. She heads in, twirling the hook of a coat hanger as she enters. From the inside, Momiji calls to you. “Boss.”
“Isn't it kinda sad to be so spiteful to your own family?”
“What, we're still on that?” You'd prefer never talking about or to your mother ever again, but whatever. “I don't really care about my mom anyway.”
The sound of coat hangers clacking against each other echoes inside the changing room. “Don't mean to pry, but what happened?”
“My mom did some stupid shit and stopped paying for college, so I had to try and get scholarships. Wasn't enough though, so I just had to drop out. I'm still pretty badly in debt and lost credit score, so shit's been rough.”
“I'll tell you about it later. But yeah. She's been doing shit like this ever since I was born.”
“If you had another chance, would you go to school again?”
School, huh? “Doesn't really matter to me. I doubt I'll get another chance at it.”
“Just humor me,” she groans, thumping against the door.
“I see.” The door clicks open.
“Got all your stuff?” you ask. She replies by handing you the clothes she picked out. Even the underwear. She places them on top. “Have you no shame, woman?”
“It's not like it's a big deal,” shrugs Momiji. “You're paying for them. I'll go put the other clothes back, yeah?”
“Whatever.” Total amount of clothes bought comes out to 5 hoodies, four shirts, four pants, two dresses, and three skirts. The dollar amount comes out to be... not much, surprisingly. They were cheap, but the hoodies were unexpectedly heavy so you had to pay extra for a cardboard box. Damn cheapskates. What kind of Goodwill even does that?
You wonder whether you could label this as an employee expense, but you think better of it. It would be a gross misappropriation of funds. Not to mention that you would have no idea how to explain why you bought a skirt with business reserves.
Momiji looks pretty thrilled at her new wardrobe, beaming at her cardboard box. “Free clothing. A good day.”
“Free for you, maybe. I'm expecting good things from you, Momiji.”
“I expect good things in return,” she smugly retorts back, twirling her box.
“Yes, it's called your paycheck.”
Momiji pauses. “Oh. Right.”
You bid her goodbye when you arrive at the apartment complex, retreating to your own residency. The night is still young but... eh. You don't really feel like updating. Then again, when do you ever feel like updating?
YOU (Gallus) have joined #thp Topic for #thp is “Welcome to #THP – The Homo Place | OLD STATUS: HAPPY BIRTHDAY CAPTAIN | VIDEO GAMES ARE DEAD | Archives: http://bit.ly/uwzY0Z | ROYAL RAINBOW! | LILY WHITE IS CRYING | <Captain> They could probably figure out my age with carbon dating Mode #THP +h Gallus by ChanServ <Buttlord> >best tengu >not momiji Chireiden has quit (*.net *.split) <Captain> http://www.twitch.tv/teamsp00ky oh shit is it happening <Buttlord> how does it feel to have shit taste Marol? <Marol> fk u kid wanna fite?? <Qasta> look at all these plebs not choosing hatate lol <ShinraCo> >Hataters <ShinraCo> Literally WORST TENGU Chireiden(~Chireiden@Hell.Domain) has joined #thp <Marol> Aya is best no other opinion is valid sorry. <Bram> Lord Tenma is best prove me wrong <Anon221> >Tenma <Anon221> w Chireiden has quit (Read error: Connection reset by peer) <Neat> momiji is great but aya is fine too <Captain> YOOOOOOOOO <Neat> hatates plz go <Valley> is it that Fuerte again <BDC> A I R G R A B Chireiden(~Chireiden@Hell.Domain) has joined #thp <Chireiden> FUCK MY GAY INTERNET HOLY SHIT <Bram> rip chi's connection <Qasta> twin tails or go home fags <Buttlord> gallus <Buttlord> gallus <Gallus> what do you want fag <Buttlord> what tengu is best <Bram> >asking gallus <Bram> do you expect any other answer other than Aya? <BDC> >gallus >what tengu is best <BDC> lol is this a joke gallus literally can't shut up about it <Neat> >literally <BDC> >pointy meme arrow
[ ] The choice is obviously Aya. [ ] ...Momiji, you guess.
<Gallus> Momiji <Gallus> ...I guess. <BDC> >momiji <Bram> >momiji <Buttlord> MOMIJIIIIIIII <Neat> W A T <BDC> nigga <Marol> gallus <Gallus> uh <Qasta> ...bro <Anon221> ????????????????????? <Qasta> person who stole gallus's nick pls go Chireiden has quit (Read error: Connection reset by peer) <Buttlord> holy shit w-we did it reddit <Neat> B T F O <Marol> g <Marol> a <Marol> l <BDC> is this some elaborate bait <Marol> l <Marol> u Marol was kicked by Bram (dis spam) <Valley> gally are you being bullied <Valley> this is a no bully zone you can tell us <Gallus> kindly, please go get fucked everyone Marol(~Marol@you.are.the.best.touhou) has joined #thp <Marol> seriously gallus what's going on <Marol> how can you do this act of HERESY to us <Marol> I have never felt so fucking betrayed in my entire life man <Buttlord> What has converted you to the holy church of awoo? <Gallus> eat shit <ShinraCo> gallus now burn-at-the-stake worthy <Buttlord> pls <Qasta> marol your waifu a fucking shit <Neat> Chireiden(~Chireiden@Hell.Domain) has joined #thp <Chireiden> what'd I miss <Bram> gall being a little bitch <Chireiden> so a standard night in thp <Gallus> w/e
Shit. Why do you like Momiji more than Aya now? The answer is right in your fucking face, but you refuse to admit it. Surely, you can't appreciate her smug son-of-a-bitch smile and how she gives you more snark than not. She's rough around the edges, hard-working, nice when she needs to be... and this train of thought isn't going anywhere.
Oh, right. You almost forgot that she is first and foremost, a Touhou. Naturally, as the protagonist of this shitty story, you're supposed to be happy that you're in such a predicament, right? Too bad you have no idea what the fuck to do. So a Touhou character magically shows up. What happens now? Something something, the end, and Momiji lives happily ever after, right?
If only it were that simple. For now, you'll help her out whenever it's convenient. Same policy as always. You mull over it some more until you hear the sound of the doorknob rattling. What the fuck. It's either the world's stupidest burglar or Momiji. One is easier to deal with and it's not Momiji. You walk up to the door and rattle the doorknob back at her.
“Ever heard of knocking?” You ask impatiently.
Momiji groans, muffled by one and a half inches of oak. After a moment, she gives in and knocks.
You open the door. “What.”
Momiji opens her mouth, about to deliver the world's most important message. “I'm not very sleepy.”
“Dear Momiji,” you breathe. “Tell me earnestly. Why do I care?”
She scratches the back of her head, lowering her head. “Dunno man, I was just bored.” Already squeezing herself through the slightly open door, she insists on trespassing and violating your peace and quiet. “Lemme in.”
“Got shogi?” asks Momiji, already looking around for something to do.
“No,” you reply, shooing her away from your closet. “I don't have anything fun. Go away.”
“But you just let me in, didn't you?” grins the wolf tengu, her white ears flicking back and forth in amusement.
You take a seat on your chair and swivel around to face Momiji. “It was a courtesy move, punk. And I have little courtesy to spare.”
“Well, I can't just waste my courtesy points. Might as well use them!” She peeks in and out of the apartment rooms, wandering around the place. “Want something to eat?”
Man. “Don't you know how late it is?”
“Hunger isn't bound by time.”
Well. “You're in an awfully good mood.”
“Been a nice day, for once.” From outside your room, you can hear her voice. “Found the kitchen. Oh, you have eggs!”
Is that really something to be happy about? Wait. Shit, you know how this goes. Momiji is going to burn the entire apartment down, isn't she? You hurry to the kitchen, scanning the area. Momiji is currently dipping some cooking oil into the pan, setting the heat to low. How sensible.
Oh... right. You almost forgot that she's not fucking crazy. You feel ashamed for doubting her. She's the cook of the pub, after all. Man, you're being pretty retarded right now. Is it because of IRC? It's because of IRC. Those asshats.
Momiji is currently rummaging through your fridge, pulling out the leftover takeout rice. She promptly throws it into the microwave.
“You know. You should probably ask people for permission before you handle their food.”
“Too late. Where are the plates?”
And so, the finished product is assembled – eggs on top of rice, enough for two. By no means is it a fancy meal, but you're not against the thought of eating. Eating happens to be one of your main hobbies, along with breathing and not dying a horrible death. You are particularly fond of the latter.
By the end of the meal, you reconsider your thoughts on your current pub cook. “I'm surprised it wasn't shit.”
“Should I take that as a compliment?” asks Momiji.
“If you want.” You glance at your computer from the kitchen – the front page of THP is in full view.
[ ] “Remember when I told you about a website about Gensokyo?” [ ] Better throw her out before it gets too late.
>>61376 She's your neighbor in the same apartment complex, so we know she's not homeless. It'd still be weird to throw her out all of a sudden though, especially since he did voluntarily let her in, and she made food for the two of them.
Not an actual update, nor is this canon. Also I never fucked up, posting a new thread in /others/
Taro Inubashiri wonders how in the world he got into this mess. A woman, who he initially thought to be an intruder, is now invading his living quarters. Apparently a friend of Aya's, Momiji Inubashiri sits cross legged on the couch's comforters, idly scanning the apartment and its décor. “It's rather cramped,” asserts she. “But then again, it feels... pretty homely. I like it.” She flashes a good-natured smile, something that throws him off-guard.
“Um, yes. Please, make yourself at home.” Despite being an acquaintance of his boss, Taro asks himself why this person is here in his home. It's suspicious. Not to mention that she has the same family name as Taro. And white fluffy ears... but that isn't as important. Thoughts of Aya's bird-like wings invade his mind but he quickly brushes them aside.
Momiji's eyes wander around the room. “You haven't eaten yet, right? Do you have a kitchen? I'll go cook something in the meantime.”
Taro is immediately broken out of his musings. “Oh, uh, yeah. Feel free to make something.” Is she really a friend of Aya's? Wait. Momiji? In that moment, Taro remembered that Aya did mention someone with the same given name as him. Also in that same moment, he realizes that Aya is a dangerous individual with a startling lack of common sense. Therefore...
“Waaaait!” Taro screams, sprinting full-force into the kitchen. The house is going to explode!
“Hmm?” Momiji dips a small bowl into thin broth, cooking what seems to be beef stew. Her hair is tied back with a hairband and her sleeves are rolled up. She adjusts the heat knob to medium, sprinkling some salt into the pot. “Did you need something?”
“Err, never mind. Sorry to bother you.” So, she can work the stove, Taro muses. Absorbed in his thoughts, Taro does not hear a faint knocking from the outside.
“Taro, the door,” Momiji points out. But he does not respond. She allows him five seconds before clicking the heat off, closing the pot lid, and getting the door herself. Before she opens the door, she adjusts the hairband to hide her wolfish ears.
The voices of Yoshio and Manabu jolts Taro from his reverie, snapping him back into reality. Oh god. How is he going to explain? He makes a break for the door.
By the time he gets there, Momiji is already bowing, seeing Yoshio, Manabu, and Tadashi off.
“Taro!” calls Tadashi. “Get back to bed. Your fever won't go down if you don't rest.”
“...What?” Taro replies, desperately attempting to decipher the situation.
“Your sister told us all about it.” Yoshio waves. “How you were so sick you collapsed during the phone call with your mom.”
“Mother was so worried, she told me to watch over him,” Momiji coolly nods. “You should keep resting, Taro.”
“R-Right.” He decides to play along. Having to explain why you have another girl in the house would be problematic. “I'll go then.”
Taro walks to the living room, completely stupefied. This is unprecedented. Even Aya didn't surprise you like that. When Momiji returns, he immediately asks, “What just happened?”
“I just lied on my feet, sorry about that.” She shrugs. “It would have been hard to tell them the truth.”
“What's the truth?”
She slips off her hairband, flitting her ears about. “Isn't it obvious? Aya told you already, right?”
“More or less. And speaking of. Where is Aya?”
MEANWHILE: Gallagher has to choke back a scream. “What the fuck, Aya. What in the shit happened.”
“Well...” she trails off. “This and that happened, and then the bar burned down.”
“This and that!? I told you to sit your ass down at the office! I've been gone for two fucking minutes.”
“One hundred and twenty goddamn seconds! What the fuck happened!?”
He can't hear her explain over the blares of the firetruck sirens. Gallagher, clenching his teeth, did his best not to break down into a sobbing heap of a man.