Akamatsuverse Untitled
- Thread starter SMWhat
- Start date
SMWhat said:
No. My story will never explain anything. My story will stay simple. For example, I will tell you now that in this story, Keitaro will be regularly killed by falling pastries. Also, Su's a bigot, Shinobu's a raver who deals drugs, Motoko regularly wails on an electric guitar and detests her older sister for stealing her family's hair many years ago, Kitsune's a mysterious ninja babysitter, and Naru is constantly plotting the death of the rest of the cast. Irregular cast members will include the ruthless space pirate Seta and his daughter, Sara, who has the power to turn into an assortment of vehicles, rodeo clown Haruka, magical catgirl Kanako, gelatinous blob and presidential candidate Mutsumi, Prof. Tama-chan, who teaches microbiology at Tokyo U, and Shirai and Haitani, two retired zombies on a mystical quest to save the world by collecting the shards of a magical key.
:rofl:
Might we see this tidbit in an omake?
While we don't need to know detailes about the story (it's your choice.
) i agree with toraneko, we need to know what he's on. Spoiler: In this installment, absolutely nothing important happens!
Oh ho ho.
---
<s>Chapt</s>Installment Six
Haruka was putting the cigarette to her lips when she heard the knocking and the door opened.
"That must be Kitsune now," she muttered stepping into the foyer and raising her voice. "Motoko, could you get Su and--"
She stopped, because it wasn't Kitsune.
She blinked, uncertain if what she was seeing was real or not. Then, she smiled. "Keitaro. I knew you'd come--"
She stopped mid-sentence yet again. This time, the cigarette dropped from her mouth, quickly going out on the wooden floor.
It was Keitaro, and yet it couldn't be. Because Keitaro really shouldn't have been bleeding from nearly every orifice on his body.
His mair was matted, and caked with blood, was the first thing Haruka noticed. he next her his eyes, both of which were surrounded with purple bruises His nose was steadily pouring out red streams that ran over his lips and down his chin, and a trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth.
Haruka focused on the nose, peering closer, and winced. Definitely broken.
Then, she lowered her eyes, and her scream was caught in her throat.
His pants were torn, one leg at the ankle, one leg at the knee. Both of his legs were raw and bleeding, like some had taken a pair of scissors and snipped randomly at his shins. But that wasn't the part that twisted Haruka's stomach--rather, it was the way Keitaro held one bloody, mangled hand (the other arm hung limply from his side) over his abdomen, which was
Haruka's mind tried to put an adjective to what she saw, and failed. There were no words. The closest she could get was "drilled".
"Hi, Aunt Haruka." Keitaro mumbled, grinning, as if all this was perfectly normal. "'M sorry that I run 'way." Dear god, he sounded almost happy, as if he was drunk instead of bleeding. Haruka could only watch, one hand held loosely to her throat, as Keitaro dragged himself to her, past her, and to the couch to the center of the room.
He sat down in it and leaned back, closing his eyes.
Haruka was at his side at an instant. "Keitaro! You're--what happened? Stay still! Try to keep calm!" she could only shout at him, beginning to panic, ironically.
Keitaro opened one bleary eye, looking at his aunt out of the corner of it "Am calm. Yu're the one's yellin'." He closed the eye again, and took his hand away from his abdomen to wipe at his nose.
"Keitaro," said Haruka again, this time a bit quieter. "Don't move. I'm going to call the hospital."
"No!" Keitaro suddenly shouted, wheezed, his eyes flying open as droplets of blood and spit flying onto the table in front of him. He raised the only arm he could move to grab at Haruka's wrist. "No. 'S okay. Din't get anything 'mportant."
"You can't know that for sure!"
He closed his left eye, relaxing again in the seat as his other eye glared at Haruka irritatedly, as if to say I've done all this before, so stop worrying. "Yeh I do. 'S not gonna kill me. Hur's like hell, but won' kill me." He closed the other eye as well, chuckling as if there was something about the statement he found humorous.
"But--but--" Haruka sputtered. "How did this happen?"
Keitaro opened his mouth as if to answer, paused, then spoke clearly, enunciating each word. "I fell," he stated, his smile wide, "down the stairs."
---
Mitsune came back at seven thirty and found Haruka sitting on the top stair, smoking two cigarettes at once and peering down the steps. Mitsune's eyes followed Haruka's, and she suddenly noticed a trail of blood she had missed in the fading light.
Their eyes met, and a silent communication ran between them.
"He's back, huh?' said Mitsune out loud, wondering how far back the trail led and how she had missed it. "Is he...okay?"
Haruka snorted. "You seem almost worried."
Mitsune sat beside Haruka, discreetly checking the bottom of her shoes. "I'm pretty sure something's wrong with your nephew."
She snorted again. "Yeah."
There was an uncomfortable silence, and Haruka spoke again.
"I think he was attacked by something. He won't tell me what."
Mitsune swallowed hard, hearing an audible click in her throat. Unconsciously, she grabbed harder at the strap of the bookbag that hung from her side. "I'll...check on him."
Haruka looked at her skeptically.
Mitsune tried again. "I need to return something to him."
Haruka's eyes narrowed, and she suddenly noticed the form under Mitsune's shoulder. "Is that his bookbag?"
Mitsune shrugged, and the bag made a by now familiar clink-thump by her side. "Yeah. He dropped it by the photobooth." She received nothing but a short nod in reply, and decided to take this as her cue to end the conversation and enter the House.
She shivered.
Talking with Haruka always made her nervous.
---
Gingerly, as if the bag was a bomb set to go off, Mitsune reached for the zipper. She trouched the plastic handle, then looked up at the wall between the room she was in--her room--and the landlord's room, which had been empty before tonight. "Should I?" she said, feeling a stirring of guilt inside her.
The wall said nothing.
Her heart, normally calm and controlled, pounded in her ears.
Mitsune pulled at the handle slowly. It seemed like an eternity before the zipper reached the other end of the bag and wouldn't go any further.
You shouldn't be doing this, she thought to herself. It was a familiar argument, though never before applied to something as serious as what she was doing now. It was a familiar argument that never failed to go unheeded.
She lifted her hand over the dark opening, and glanced at the wall again before plunging her hand inside, her fingers almost immediately meeting the hard cover of some textbook, which she found the edge of, grabbed, and pulled out. It was a history book.
She set the book by her side and put her hand back inside the cloth bag. This time, she pulled out an English book.
Math.
English--again? "Why does he have two of the same book?" wondered Mitsune.
Another history book.
A stack of notes.
"Ah..." she whispered as her hand found something that wasn't paper, book or note. Cloth--something rolled in cloth, as long as the bookbag it was in. She reached in with her other hand, using both hands to grab it, and lift it out...
The object sat on her floor, wrapped in the cloth. If Mitsune tried--if she tried really, really hard--she could pretend that the object was something Keitaro had bought for his cram school, like some fancy pencil sharpener or maybe a line of erasers or
Bullshit. You know whatever it is, it's not something normal like school supplies. She didn't know how she knew that, but she just knew. She was scared, suddenly, and she didn't know why. She wanted to take the wrapped object, whatever it was, and shove it back into the bookbag, underneath the things that actually belonged in a bookbag, and give it to Keitaro. And then she could go on with her normal life, betting on horses and flirting with
You got yourself involved when you chased after him.
Her head sank slightly. Cloth rolled away.
---
Oh ho ho ho.
Oh ho ho.
---
<s>Chapt</s>Installment Six
Haruka was putting the cigarette to her lips when she heard the knocking and the door opened.
"That must be Kitsune now," she muttered stepping into the foyer and raising her voice. "Motoko, could you get Su and--"
She stopped, because it wasn't Kitsune.
She blinked, uncertain if what she was seeing was real or not. Then, she smiled. "Keitaro. I knew you'd come--"
She stopped mid-sentence yet again. This time, the cigarette dropped from her mouth, quickly going out on the wooden floor.
It was Keitaro, and yet it couldn't be. Because Keitaro really shouldn't have been bleeding from nearly every orifice on his body.
His mair was matted, and caked with blood, was the first thing Haruka noticed. he next her his eyes, both of which were surrounded with purple bruises His nose was steadily pouring out red streams that ran over his lips and down his chin, and a trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth.
Haruka focused on the nose, peering closer, and winced. Definitely broken.
Then, she lowered her eyes, and her scream was caught in her throat.
His pants were torn, one leg at the ankle, one leg at the knee. Both of his legs were raw and bleeding, like some had taken a pair of scissors and snipped randomly at his shins. But that wasn't the part that twisted Haruka's stomach--rather, it was the way Keitaro held one bloody, mangled hand (the other arm hung limply from his side) over his abdomen, which was
Haruka's mind tried to put an adjective to what she saw, and failed. There were no words. The closest she could get was "drilled".
"Hi, Aunt Haruka." Keitaro mumbled, grinning, as if all this was perfectly normal. "'M sorry that I run 'way." Dear god, he sounded almost happy, as if he was drunk instead of bleeding. Haruka could only watch, one hand held loosely to her throat, as Keitaro dragged himself to her, past her, and to the couch to the center of the room.
He sat down in it and leaned back, closing his eyes.
Haruka was at his side at an instant. "Keitaro! You're--what happened? Stay still! Try to keep calm!" she could only shout at him, beginning to panic, ironically.
Keitaro opened one bleary eye, looking at his aunt out of the corner of it "Am calm. Yu're the one's yellin'." He closed the eye again, and took his hand away from his abdomen to wipe at his nose.
"Keitaro," said Haruka again, this time a bit quieter. "Don't move. I'm going to call the hospital."
"No!" Keitaro suddenly shouted, wheezed, his eyes flying open as droplets of blood and spit flying onto the table in front of him. He raised the only arm he could move to grab at Haruka's wrist. "No. 'S okay. Din't get anything 'mportant."
"You can't know that for sure!"
He closed his left eye, relaxing again in the seat as his other eye glared at Haruka irritatedly, as if to say I've done all this before, so stop worrying. "Yeh I do. 'S not gonna kill me. Hur's like hell, but won' kill me." He closed the other eye as well, chuckling as if there was something about the statement he found humorous.
"But--but--" Haruka sputtered. "How did this happen?"
Keitaro opened his mouth as if to answer, paused, then spoke clearly, enunciating each word. "I fell," he stated, his smile wide, "down the stairs."
---
Mitsune came back at seven thirty and found Haruka sitting on the top stair, smoking two cigarettes at once and peering down the steps. Mitsune's eyes followed Haruka's, and she suddenly noticed a trail of blood she had missed in the fading light.
Their eyes met, and a silent communication ran between them.
"He's back, huh?' said Mitsune out loud, wondering how far back the trail led and how she had missed it. "Is he...okay?"
Haruka snorted. "You seem almost worried."
Mitsune sat beside Haruka, discreetly checking the bottom of her shoes. "I'm pretty sure something's wrong with your nephew."
She snorted again. "Yeah."
There was an uncomfortable silence, and Haruka spoke again.
"I think he was attacked by something. He won't tell me what."
Mitsune swallowed hard, hearing an audible click in her throat. Unconsciously, she grabbed harder at the strap of the bookbag that hung from her side. "I'll...check on him."
Haruka looked at her skeptically.
Mitsune tried again. "I need to return something to him."
Haruka's eyes narrowed, and she suddenly noticed the form under Mitsune's shoulder. "Is that his bookbag?"
Mitsune shrugged, and the bag made a by now familiar clink-thump by her side. "Yeah. He dropped it by the photobooth." She received nothing but a short nod in reply, and decided to take this as her cue to end the conversation and enter the House.
She shivered.
Talking with Haruka always made her nervous.
---
Gingerly, as if the bag was a bomb set to go off, Mitsune reached for the zipper. She trouched the plastic handle, then looked up at the wall between the room she was in--her room--and the landlord's room, which had been empty before tonight. "Should I?" she said, feeling a stirring of guilt inside her.
The wall said nothing.
Her heart, normally calm and controlled, pounded in her ears.
Mitsune pulled at the handle slowly. It seemed like an eternity before the zipper reached the other end of the bag and wouldn't go any further.
You shouldn't be doing this, she thought to herself. It was a familiar argument, though never before applied to something as serious as what she was doing now. It was a familiar argument that never failed to go unheeded.
She lifted her hand over the dark opening, and glanced at the wall again before plunging her hand inside, her fingers almost immediately meeting the hard cover of some textbook, which she found the edge of, grabbed, and pulled out. It was a history book.
She set the book by her side and put her hand back inside the cloth bag. This time, she pulled out an English book.
Math.
English--again? "Why does he have two of the same book?" wondered Mitsune.
Another history book.
A stack of notes.
"Ah..." she whispered as her hand found something that wasn't paper, book or note. Cloth--something rolled in cloth, as long as the bookbag it was in. She reached in with her other hand, using both hands to grab it, and lift it out...
The object sat on her floor, wrapped in the cloth. If Mitsune tried--if she tried really, really hard--she could pretend that the object was something Keitaro had bought for his cram school, like some fancy pencil sharpener or maybe a line of erasers or
Bullshit. You know whatever it is, it's not something normal like school supplies. She didn't know how she knew that, but she just knew. She was scared, suddenly, and she didn't know why. She wanted to take the wrapped object, whatever it was, and shove it back into the bookbag, underneath the things that actually belonged in a bookbag, and give it to Keitaro. And then she could go on with her normal life, betting on horses and flirting with
You got yourself involved when you chased after him.
Her head sank slightly. Cloth rolled away.
---
Oh ho ho ho.
Hi, fellows! Here's our next bright cheery foray into hopelessness! Oh wait, a foray means it's usually "outside one's accustomed sphere". Like a novelist trying his hand at nonfiction. So, I suppose foray is the wrong word!
This story is pretty uplifting compared to me, though. Hoo hoo hoo.
---
Installment Seven
Had he been anyone else, anyone normal, he wouldn't have been able to tell dream from reality. They would melt into each other, the ceiling regularly shifting into the sky of whatever world his mind created. But he wasn't normal, and he could tell dream from reality because when he was awake, his body wasn't awash in pain as he was cut into pieces, as his mangled limbs were slowly crushed into useless meat, as
Of course, the pain he felt--the pain his brain created, as it was a dream, after all--was nothing compared to the real pain of being mutilated. It had assured him of that. This was just a trailer before a movie, only a sneak peek at what it had promised he would feel.
His parents often commented on what a sound sleeper he was. They always thought it was strange that he slept the same number of hours each night, as if there were some quota he had to meet before he was able to wake or be woken.
As he sat up in bed, instantly breaking into a cold sweat, he thought for a moment that he could still taste the blood.
He couldn't, of course. It was only his imagination.
---
None of them expected him to get out of bed, that morning, though Shinobu Maehara, in her infinite kindness, threw occasional glaces at the door to the landlord's room, in case Keitaro would step out of it, hobbling painfully and clutching his stomach with one hand, pushing against the wall with the other.
She was fully prepared to at least attempt to support his weight and lead his to the table on which she had prepared food, because it was important to remember to eat and drink when you were sick or injured. Your body was working overtime to heal itself, after all.
So, she was the only one who saw Keitaro when he stepped out of the room with a strange smile on his face, both hand in his pockets on the sides of his jeans, bookbag around his shoulder, walking steadily on his feet--and why shouldn't he walk steadily? After all, Keitaro Urashima didn't even have a scratch on him!
Shonibu dropped the broom she was using to sweep the hallway. "Oh, you're up." she tried to say, but didn't, couldn't. She tried again, and completely failed to say "Good morning."
Keitaro fixed a bloodshot eye on the girl, assessing her. Young kid. Probably still in middle school. Cute, in a little sister sort of way. The quiet type, the sort of person the world grabbed, chewed up and spit out.
Some people, he thought, get all the fucking luck.
Keitaro held back the urge to shut the door and retreat back into his bed, and instead fixed his gaze to the right of and past the girl's head.
"Where's Aunt Haruka?" he growled.
---
Aunt Haruka was sitting in the teahouse, doing what most people saw her do most of the day.
With a broom in her hands, her cynical expression, and her lit cigarette, she looked like some antithesis of Shinobu. She was doing much less work than Shinobu, too; she tried to ignore the fact that she had been sweeping the square meter of flooring for the last hour.
Haruka was not a woman who appeared to worry often, but now, with nobody watching her, she allowed her mask to drop and her face wore anxious expression. All she could think of was her nephew--first he had run out in the middle of that conversation with the girls, and then, a day later, he had come by bloody--well, bloody was a sort of understatement.
And then, he had insisted that it was alright, and discouraged her attempts to alert the hospitals. She would have agreed with Keitaro if his injuries had been something like gunshot wounds, but those...
Haruka closed her eyes and took in a deep breath.
The girls had insisted she not be so nervous--after all, if Keitaro wasn't complaining, it must not have been as bad as it'd looked, right? But every five minutes or so, she found herself stomping over to the House and getting one of the girls to check on him, then answer her questions: Was he okay? Was he breathing? Was his heartbeat regular? Did he feel like he had a fever? Was his--
"Look," Naru had said the last time. "if it makes you feel better, think of it like karma. That pervert peeped on us, and now he's kind of paying of all the pain he caused." It had certainly made Naru feel better, anyway--ever since the girls had seen Keitaro after he'd reappeared, the mood inside the House was somber. Naru, on the other hand, had been downright jovial.
Haruka would never admit it, but she'd really wanted to slap her.
Hell, even Motoko had expressed a little concern--alright, maybe it wasn't concerned, but she had offhandedly remarked that Keitaro's wounds seemed "grave", whatever that meant. Of course, after Keitaro'd insisted he was alright, she'd gone back to her sword practice.
The other girls had reacted as Haruka had expected them to react, for the most part. Su was Su, her childlike nature dismissing the entire incident as mostly irrelevant. Shinobu was terribly worried. And Kitsune...
Actually, Kitsune hadn't come back until later. She'd been acting strange, too. She'd run into Keitaro on the streets, and had seen or heard something that had spooked her.
Deep in thought, she took the cigarette from her mouth and looked at it, studying the embers at the tip of it, before bringing it back to her mouth.
There were four sharp knocks, and Haruka started, the cigarette flying from her hands and going out under a chair.
The door opened slightly.
"Aunt Haruka?" spoke a voice she knew well. "Are you there?"
And then the door opened the rest of the way, and Haruka could see Keitaro, healthy and smiling.
"Oh, there you are." Keitaro said, as if it everything that had happened the last few days was perfectly natural, perfectly normal.
Shocked into senselessness by having been given a sight of what was completely impossible, Haruka forgot even to replace the worry on her face with her normal apathy. She said nothing, busy following an infinite thread in a circle: Keitaro's okay but he can't be okay because he's hurt bad but he's okay but he can't be okay because
"This was a mistake." Keitaro's mumbled comment jolted her out of her dizziness, and she watched as he walked (not staggered, not limped, but walked) to a nearby chair and sat in it. He looked down at his knees, then up at Haruka, grinning. The smile didn't reach his eyes at all.
"This was a mistake." said Keitaro again, as if trying to make sure his aunt heard and understood every word he was saying. "I shouldn't have come here." He shifted, obviously uncomfortable. Haruka stared at him, wanting badly to say something, anything, but not knowing what.
"I guess the real..." Keitaro trailed off, not grinning anymore. Is he...crying? Haruka thought, gripping her broom tightly.
"I guess the real reason I came here--I mean, I said--I tried to say--"
He took a deep breath and tried again. "I convinced myself that the reason I came here was to study for Tokyo University--I'm a ronin, you see--" he glanced at her face, searching for a sign that she was disappointed in him. She gave none. "and I mean, that makes sense, right? Since it's so close, and all."
He went on. "But that's not the real reason. The real reason is because..."
He was crying.
Keitaro didn't cry.
Haruka internally panicked. Keitaro never cried. Keitaro was the one who faced every hardship optimistically. Even if given a broken heart, he would go on with a wide happy grin for the world to see, because that was the sort of person Keitaro was. You could make him sad, you could tear everything that made him happy away, but he'd never cry.
Something was dreadfully wrong.
"I'm here to say goodbye, Aunt."
Sheer incredulity froze her face as she mentally translated his ambiguous words into the only restatement that fit. She felt like a child, given a jigsaw puzzle and only now piecing the entire picture together. Still, she couldn't, didn't want to, refused to believe what she saw. "What--why are you going to--" She choked on the last syllable, unable to continue.
Keitaro's face darkened. "I can't tell you that."
Haruka painfully drew her face into expressionlessness once again. "I see."
There was silence for a time, only the two of them, staring into nothingness. Finally, slowly, deliberately, Keitaro rose and left without a word, his footsteps fading as he moved further and further away, but only when they were completely out of earshot did Haruka allowed herself to huddle into a ball and weep.
---
Did I do good? I had trouble with the interaction between Keitaro and his aunt, but I think I did pretty well.
Everyone's got this flat picture of Haruka as a tough woman who'd mow down children with a machine gun if she absolutely had to. But if you'd have stopped reading Love Hina at book one, you wouldn't have got that impression at all. Haruka's the very model of a carin' aunt. She doesn't hit him for calling her 'aunt', and she isn't the sort that says "tough luck". Yeah, she's a bit quiet, but she smiles.
I see Haruka as the sort of person who'd blast a man's head off easily if he were a thorough bad dude, murderer and arsonist and all that, but would only really roughly disarm a nice guy if he were holding up a bank because he was down on his luck. And Keitaro's her nephew, you know? She cares.
This story is pretty uplifting compared to me, though. Hoo hoo hoo.
---
Installment Seven
Had he been anyone else, anyone normal, he wouldn't have been able to tell dream from reality. They would melt into each other, the ceiling regularly shifting into the sky of whatever world his mind created. But he wasn't normal, and he could tell dream from reality because when he was awake, his body wasn't awash in pain as he was cut into pieces, as his mangled limbs were slowly crushed into useless meat, as
Of course, the pain he felt--the pain his brain created, as it was a dream, after all--was nothing compared to the real pain of being mutilated. It had assured him of that. This was just a trailer before a movie, only a sneak peek at what it had promised he would feel.
His parents often commented on what a sound sleeper he was. They always thought it was strange that he slept the same number of hours each night, as if there were some quota he had to meet before he was able to wake or be woken.
As he sat up in bed, instantly breaking into a cold sweat, he thought for a moment that he could still taste the blood.
He couldn't, of course. It was only his imagination.
---
None of them expected him to get out of bed, that morning, though Shinobu Maehara, in her infinite kindness, threw occasional glaces at the door to the landlord's room, in case Keitaro would step out of it, hobbling painfully and clutching his stomach with one hand, pushing against the wall with the other.
She was fully prepared to at least attempt to support his weight and lead his to the table on which she had prepared food, because it was important to remember to eat and drink when you were sick or injured. Your body was working overtime to heal itself, after all.
So, she was the only one who saw Keitaro when he stepped out of the room with a strange smile on his face, both hand in his pockets on the sides of his jeans, bookbag around his shoulder, walking steadily on his feet--and why shouldn't he walk steadily? After all, Keitaro Urashima didn't even have a scratch on him!
Shonibu dropped the broom she was using to sweep the hallway. "Oh, you're up." she tried to say, but didn't, couldn't. She tried again, and completely failed to say "Good morning."
Keitaro fixed a bloodshot eye on the girl, assessing her. Young kid. Probably still in middle school. Cute, in a little sister sort of way. The quiet type, the sort of person the world grabbed, chewed up and spit out.
Some people, he thought, get all the fucking luck.
Keitaro held back the urge to shut the door and retreat back into his bed, and instead fixed his gaze to the right of and past the girl's head.
"Where's Aunt Haruka?" he growled.
---
Aunt Haruka was sitting in the teahouse, doing what most people saw her do most of the day.
With a broom in her hands, her cynical expression, and her lit cigarette, she looked like some antithesis of Shinobu. She was doing much less work than Shinobu, too; she tried to ignore the fact that she had been sweeping the square meter of flooring for the last hour.
Haruka was not a woman who appeared to worry often, but now, with nobody watching her, she allowed her mask to drop and her face wore anxious expression. All she could think of was her nephew--first he had run out in the middle of that conversation with the girls, and then, a day later, he had come by bloody--well, bloody was a sort of understatement.
And then, he had insisted that it was alright, and discouraged her attempts to alert the hospitals. She would have agreed with Keitaro if his injuries had been something like gunshot wounds, but those...
Haruka closed her eyes and took in a deep breath.
The girls had insisted she not be so nervous--after all, if Keitaro wasn't complaining, it must not have been as bad as it'd looked, right? But every five minutes or so, she found herself stomping over to the House and getting one of the girls to check on him, then answer her questions: Was he okay? Was he breathing? Was his heartbeat regular? Did he feel like he had a fever? Was his--
"Look," Naru had said the last time. "if it makes you feel better, think of it like karma. That pervert peeped on us, and now he's kind of paying of all the pain he caused." It had certainly made Naru feel better, anyway--ever since the girls had seen Keitaro after he'd reappeared, the mood inside the House was somber. Naru, on the other hand, had been downright jovial.
Haruka would never admit it, but she'd really wanted to slap her.
Hell, even Motoko had expressed a little concern--alright, maybe it wasn't concerned, but she had offhandedly remarked that Keitaro's wounds seemed "grave", whatever that meant. Of course, after Keitaro'd insisted he was alright, she'd gone back to her sword practice.
The other girls had reacted as Haruka had expected them to react, for the most part. Su was Su, her childlike nature dismissing the entire incident as mostly irrelevant. Shinobu was terribly worried. And Kitsune...
Actually, Kitsune hadn't come back until later. She'd been acting strange, too. She'd run into Keitaro on the streets, and had seen or heard something that had spooked her.
Deep in thought, she took the cigarette from her mouth and looked at it, studying the embers at the tip of it, before bringing it back to her mouth.
There were four sharp knocks, and Haruka started, the cigarette flying from her hands and going out under a chair.
The door opened slightly.
"Aunt Haruka?" spoke a voice she knew well. "Are you there?"
And then the door opened the rest of the way, and Haruka could see Keitaro, healthy and smiling.
"Oh, there you are." Keitaro said, as if it everything that had happened the last few days was perfectly natural, perfectly normal.
Shocked into senselessness by having been given a sight of what was completely impossible, Haruka forgot even to replace the worry on her face with her normal apathy. She said nothing, busy following an infinite thread in a circle: Keitaro's okay but he can't be okay because he's hurt bad but he's okay but he can't be okay because
"This was a mistake." Keitaro's mumbled comment jolted her out of her dizziness, and she watched as he walked (not staggered, not limped, but walked) to a nearby chair and sat in it. He looked down at his knees, then up at Haruka, grinning. The smile didn't reach his eyes at all.
"This was a mistake." said Keitaro again, as if trying to make sure his aunt heard and understood every word he was saying. "I shouldn't have come here." He shifted, obviously uncomfortable. Haruka stared at him, wanting badly to say something, anything, but not knowing what.
"I guess the real..." Keitaro trailed off, not grinning anymore. Is he...crying? Haruka thought, gripping her broom tightly.
"I guess the real reason I came here--I mean, I said--I tried to say--"
He took a deep breath and tried again. "I convinced myself that the reason I came here was to study for Tokyo University--I'm a ronin, you see--" he glanced at her face, searching for a sign that she was disappointed in him. She gave none. "and I mean, that makes sense, right? Since it's so close, and all."
He went on. "But that's not the real reason. The real reason is because..."
He was crying.
Keitaro didn't cry.
Haruka internally panicked. Keitaro never cried. Keitaro was the one who faced every hardship optimistically. Even if given a broken heart, he would go on with a wide happy grin for the world to see, because that was the sort of person Keitaro was. You could make him sad, you could tear everything that made him happy away, but he'd never cry.
Something was dreadfully wrong.
"I'm here to say goodbye, Aunt."
Sheer incredulity froze her face as she mentally translated his ambiguous words into the only restatement that fit. She felt like a child, given a jigsaw puzzle and only now piecing the entire picture together. Still, she couldn't, didn't want to, refused to believe what she saw. "What--why are you going to--" She choked on the last syllable, unable to continue.
Keitaro's face darkened. "I can't tell you that."
Haruka painfully drew her face into expressionlessness once again. "I see."
There was silence for a time, only the two of them, staring into nothingness. Finally, slowly, deliberately, Keitaro rose and left without a word, his footsteps fading as he moved further and further away, but only when they were completely out of earshot did Haruka allowed herself to huddle into a ball and weep.
---
Did I do good? I had trouble with the interaction between Keitaro and his aunt, but I think I did pretty well.
Everyone's got this flat picture of Haruka as a tough woman who'd mow down children with a machine gun if she absolutely had to. But if you'd have stopped reading Love Hina at book one, you wouldn't have got that impression at all. Haruka's the very model of a carin' aunt. She doesn't hit him for calling her 'aunt', and she isn't the sort that says "tough luck". Yeah, she's a bit quiet, but she smiles.
I see Haruka as the sort of person who'd blast a man's head off easily if he were a thorough bad dude, murderer and arsonist and all that, but would only really roughly disarm a nice guy if he were holding up a bank because he was down on his luck. And Keitaro's her nephew, you know? She cares.
Let's go! Next part, up like a beautiful balloon!
---
Installment Eight
Naru Narusegawa had expressed relief when Shinobu had told her Keitaro was up and walking. That he was healed already made no sense to her, either, but she quickly forgot that. Her feeling of relief wasn't caused by the fact that the pervert was better (though that was what Shinobu believed), but because, finally, everything was starting to go back to normal.
Because ever since the boy had come to Hinata House, everything had become slightly...off was the only word Naru could come up with. Everyone seemed morose and sullen for no reason, as if they were attending a funeral that went on forever. Naru had no idea why she felt this way, but she felt like--she felt like--
She felt like she was dead, and her body just didn't know it yet.
But now that Keitaro was here and Keitaro was okay everything else would be okay too, right?
Grimly, she made her way to the prep school.
---
"Ah, what a cute doggy!" squealed Shinobu, squatting on the tiled walkway and extending a shaking hand.
---
Smelling the brisk morning air, Keitaro stepped out the front door of the teahouse.
He choked back his tears and forced a smile onto his face, then looked down at his bookbag. Even though he could easily feel its weight on his shoulder, he still had to look down at it every once in a while, just to make sure.
He had to thank that girl (what was her name?) for bringing it to his room from the photo booth. If he had lost the bag entirely...
He shuddered involuntarily, convinced himself that it was because of the cold, and sped up his feet. The trolly wouldn't wait forever.
It was slightly warmer inside the car, and Keitaro placed himself into an unoccupied corner, drawing himself into a ball. It's going to take a whole hour to get there. he thought, pulling his bookbag onto his lap. So, I might as well study a bit before I arrive...
The zipper was pulled, and
Keitaro's mental functions failed him for a second, and all he could do was blink at the sight with his jaw hanging. This is...
Almost believing that what he saw couldn't be real, he clutched the object between his thumb and forefinger delicately. It was one of those sheets of stickers, one of those squares of wax paper from which miniature versions of a photo were peeled.
One, two, three...fifteen. One sticker, the one that had been in the upper right corner, was missing.
And then Keitaro suddenly saw what they were photo stickers of.
That's me, and...
He used one trambling hand to place the stickers between the pages of his history textbook, where they wouldn't be ruined.
That's me, and...that girl...from the photo booth...
He leaned his head backwards against the trolly wall and stared out the window across from him.
He didn't get any studying done on the trolly.
---
The girl with the thick glasses he'd bumped into had stammered something and run away. The event had thoroughly puzzled Keitaro, and he couldn't help but feel as it he had somehow acted his part in some large, all-encompassing play without deliberately doing so. Mentally filing what had happened away in case he had to pull it quickly from his memory, he looked about the classroom for his friends, Haitani and Shirai. After all, a wise man had said something once
(didn't you know it was was a trap?)
about friends being important. Keitaro couldn't remember the exact phrase, though. He knew what the gist of the saying had been, but the words that had been used were
There was suddenly something on his head, and Keitaro drew in his breath sharply, stock-still from fear, wondering if this was the end or if he'd somehow be able to reach into
"You're really begging for it."
Keitaro felt nothing but relief, as he realized who the hand--it had been a hand--belonged to. "Haitani. Shirai with you, too?"
A voice to his right piped up. "You think you can cut it after skipping for a week?" Keitaro could tell from the voice that Shirai was smiling, and chose his words carefully.
They didn't know, after all.
"I've been...preoccupied with some things."
A long printout was flung onto his desk, and he heard Haitani and Shirai continued to speak, one picking up the train of thought whenever the other paused, like some twisted version of a two-man team of comedians.
"The results from the last practice test are back." said Haitani, pointing at the bottom of the printout.
"You're right here." said Shirai, pointing at the bottom of the printout.
In my defense, thought Keitaro, it's hard to get good grades looking over your shoulder all the time...
"Get ready for a third year, ronin. Wouldn't want to admit to that rank!"
"I can't believe you're aiming for Tokyo U with that score."
It's not my fault, he silently spat, but bitterness and shame burned his face, and his eyes turned about, searching for something, anything else to fix upon. Familiarity jumped from he scene he viewed, and he glanced at the girl he had earlier bumped into, before looking back at the printout, hoping that it had somehow changed in the few seconds he had taken his eyes off it.
It hadn't.
Haitani and Shirai were laughing, but Keitaro couldn't understand what they were talking about. He was alone. He had once belonged to the same company as his two friends, but now, he was in a different class, one where he had to fight a daily battle in order to continue his existance, and it was impossible to relate to the life he had once known.
And there, surrounded by his two closest friends and his classmates, Keitaro Urashima felt utterly, utterly abandoned. Internally, he collapsed into despair, not hearing anything from the world outside, not noticing when the girl stared at him from the other side of the room.
This sort of life really shouldn't exist, he thought, as Haitani and Shirai, uncomfortable hurling their comments against Keitaro's wall of silence, finally left, taking seats elsewhere.
And that's why--after I get to Tokyo U--
It'll be--
Such a relief!
Such a relief!
Such a
The classes began, and he worked with a vigor only attained by those with nothing left to lose.
---
It was embarrassing.
He remembered to bring everything he'd really needed: pencils, erasers, textbooks to study from, and the other things that were in his bookbag.
Really, he'd meant to pick up an apple or something from the kitchen, or maybe ask that one girl where all the vegetables were kept, but between waking up, and Haruka, and the trolly...
He shook his head, terminating that train of thought.
His stomach growled.
Taking a seat in the middle of the lunchroom, he rested his arms on the long, plastic table and stared at nothing in particular.
"Can I have a minute?"
The voice was behind him, above him. Someone was standing above him, where it would be so easy to suddenly thrust a knife into his back. Keitaro looked up, twisting his neck--it was that girl, the one with the glasses who he'd bumped into that morning. "Yeah," he grunted, nodding towards the seat across from him.
---
Blammo! Did I just write an entire chapter of filler?
...Maybe.
---
Installment Eight
Naru Narusegawa had expressed relief when Shinobu had told her Keitaro was up and walking. That he was healed already made no sense to her, either, but she quickly forgot that. Her feeling of relief wasn't caused by the fact that the pervert was better (though that was what Shinobu believed), but because, finally, everything was starting to go back to normal.
Because ever since the boy had come to Hinata House, everything had become slightly...off was the only word Naru could come up with. Everyone seemed morose and sullen for no reason, as if they were attending a funeral that went on forever. Naru had no idea why she felt this way, but she felt like--she felt like--
She felt like she was dead, and her body just didn't know it yet.
But now that Keitaro was here and Keitaro was okay everything else would be okay too, right?
Grimly, she made her way to the prep school.
---
"Ah, what a cute doggy!" squealed Shinobu, squatting on the tiled walkway and extending a shaking hand.
---
Smelling the brisk morning air, Keitaro stepped out the front door of the teahouse.
He choked back his tears and forced a smile onto his face, then looked down at his bookbag. Even though he could easily feel its weight on his shoulder, he still had to look down at it every once in a while, just to make sure.
He had to thank that girl (what was her name?) for bringing it to his room from the photo booth. If he had lost the bag entirely...
He shuddered involuntarily, convinced himself that it was because of the cold, and sped up his feet. The trolly wouldn't wait forever.
It was slightly warmer inside the car, and Keitaro placed himself into an unoccupied corner, drawing himself into a ball. It's going to take a whole hour to get there. he thought, pulling his bookbag onto his lap. So, I might as well study a bit before I arrive...
The zipper was pulled, and
Keitaro's mental functions failed him for a second, and all he could do was blink at the sight with his jaw hanging. This is...
Almost believing that what he saw couldn't be real, he clutched the object between his thumb and forefinger delicately. It was one of those sheets of stickers, one of those squares of wax paper from which miniature versions of a photo were peeled.
One, two, three...fifteen. One sticker, the one that had been in the upper right corner, was missing.
And then Keitaro suddenly saw what they were photo stickers of.
That's me, and...
He used one trambling hand to place the stickers between the pages of his history textbook, where they wouldn't be ruined.
That's me, and...that girl...from the photo booth...
He leaned his head backwards against the trolly wall and stared out the window across from him.
He didn't get any studying done on the trolly.
---
The girl with the thick glasses he'd bumped into had stammered something and run away. The event had thoroughly puzzled Keitaro, and he couldn't help but feel as it he had somehow acted his part in some large, all-encompassing play without deliberately doing so. Mentally filing what had happened away in case he had to pull it quickly from his memory, he looked about the classroom for his friends, Haitani and Shirai. After all, a wise man had said something once
(didn't you know it was was a trap?)
about friends being important. Keitaro couldn't remember the exact phrase, though. He knew what the gist of the saying had been, but the words that had been used were
There was suddenly something on his head, and Keitaro drew in his breath sharply, stock-still from fear, wondering if this was the end or if he'd somehow be able to reach into
"You're really begging for it."
Keitaro felt nothing but relief, as he realized who the hand--it had been a hand--belonged to. "Haitani. Shirai with you, too?"
A voice to his right piped up. "You think you can cut it after skipping for a week?" Keitaro could tell from the voice that Shirai was smiling, and chose his words carefully.
They didn't know, after all.
"I've been...preoccupied with some things."
A long printout was flung onto his desk, and he heard Haitani and Shirai continued to speak, one picking up the train of thought whenever the other paused, like some twisted version of a two-man team of comedians.
"The results from the last practice test are back." said Haitani, pointing at the bottom of the printout.
"You're right here." said Shirai, pointing at the bottom of the printout.
In my defense, thought Keitaro, it's hard to get good grades looking over your shoulder all the time...
"Get ready for a third year, ronin. Wouldn't want to admit to that rank!"
"I can't believe you're aiming for Tokyo U with that score."
It's not my fault, he silently spat, but bitterness and shame burned his face, and his eyes turned about, searching for something, anything else to fix upon. Familiarity jumped from he scene he viewed, and he glanced at the girl he had earlier bumped into, before looking back at the printout, hoping that it had somehow changed in the few seconds he had taken his eyes off it.
It hadn't.
Haitani and Shirai were laughing, but Keitaro couldn't understand what they were talking about. He was alone. He had once belonged to the same company as his two friends, but now, he was in a different class, one where he had to fight a daily battle in order to continue his existance, and it was impossible to relate to the life he had once known.
And there, surrounded by his two closest friends and his classmates, Keitaro Urashima felt utterly, utterly abandoned. Internally, he collapsed into despair, not hearing anything from the world outside, not noticing when the girl stared at him from the other side of the room.
This sort of life really shouldn't exist, he thought, as Haitani and Shirai, uncomfortable hurling their comments against Keitaro's wall of silence, finally left, taking seats elsewhere.
And that's why--after I get to Tokyo U--
It'll be--
Such a relief!
Such a relief!
Such a
The classes began, and he worked with a vigor only attained by those with nothing left to lose.
---
It was embarrassing.
He remembered to bring everything he'd really needed: pencils, erasers, textbooks to study from, and the other things that were in his bookbag.
Really, he'd meant to pick up an apple or something from the kitchen, or maybe ask that one girl where all the vegetables were kept, but between waking up, and Haruka, and the trolly...
He shook his head, terminating that train of thought.
His stomach growled.
Taking a seat in the middle of the lunchroom, he rested his arms on the long, plastic table and stared at nothing in particular.
"Can I have a minute?"
The voice was behind him, above him. Someone was standing above him, where it would be so easy to suddenly thrust a knife into his back. Keitaro looked up, twisting his neck--it was that girl, the one with the glasses who he'd bumped into that morning. "Yeah," he grunted, nodding towards the seat across from him.
---
Blammo! Did I just write an entire chapter of filler?
...Maybe.
This one, like the last chapter, is mostly filler, sort of. Not exactly, though.
---
Installment Nine
So.
So.
So, the thick glasses-girl was Naru. Naru Naru-something, one of the girls from the inn his aunt owned. She had seemed a bit pissed at him, especially when he hadn't immediately remembered who she was.
A lot pissed, actually.
She'd gone on and on about how he was some immoral pervert who ate babies while burning resthomes. Oh, and he'd never make it to Tokyo U.
Oh, and she'd mentioned she was tops in the nation, hadn't she? Tops in the nation on the last practice test, yes.
And finally, she'd sort of wound down like a dying watch and looked over to the space in front of him, where he hadn't had a tray of food. "Why don't you get something to eat?" she'd asked.
When she'd heard he didn't have any money for food, she'd been...pretty nice, actually. She'd offered him half of a her sandwich--the space between the bread filled with noodles and some red sauce that drip drip dripped out of the gaping hole in his skull and
He'd turned it down, explaining that he didn't eat meat. It wasn't a false statement, just a misleading one.
But, she'd offered him free food. Out of character, in his opinion. But then again, he'd met her right before she'd tried to punch his lights out. First impressions had a habit of coloring the rest of someone's perceptions like that.
And now, here they were, sitting at the table: her eating, him watching her eat. The silence was deafening, heard even over the sounds of the normal school hustle and bustle around them.
"So." he finally heard her say.
"So." she said. "What happened?"
Keitaro, busy inspecting his knuckled, raised his head to face Naru. "Hm?"
"Yesterday!" Naru's face took on an irritated expression. "With--with the bleeding! You were bleeding, and now you're just--" she gestured wildly, sputtering. "--okay. What gives?"
Keitaro looked at Naru dully. "Go away." he said, and refused to give any other response.
---
The trolly ride back was an exercise in awkwardness, with Keitaro and Naru holding tightly to to two of the handles hanging from the top of the car, both clearly aware the other was nearby, but neither saying a word.
Finally, the car came to its scheduled stop near Hinata House. Naru stepped onto the sidewalk as quickly as she could, eager to escape the uncomfortable atmosphere, hoping that perhaps, in the cool night air, it would diffuse harmlessly and stop pressing on her at all sides.
But it didn't, as Keitaro followed her off the vehicle at a slightly slower pace, looking down at his shoes as he walked with that stupid bookbag hanging from his hand.
The goddamned guy was a virus, Naru knew, unconsciously beginning to take the steps to the House at a faster pace. For some reason, the guy was emotional or something, and like a spider drawing a web to catch defenseless flies, he'd somehow created a cloud of melancholy that had spread to infect each of the other tenants.
She'd seen the effects of having him around yesterday: Shinobu smiled less than before, Su laughed less, Haruka and Kitsune had become all quiet and pensive...
Motoko seemed the same, but Motoko was Motoko, so it was kind of hard to tell.
But he'd been able to bring down the happy mood of the House, and he'd been able to do it without even being in it. Now that he was awake and living there, who knew what harm he could do?
Plus, he was a pervert, to boot. He'd end up depressing one fo the younger girls too much to fight back, and then copping a feel, or maybe even--
She shook her head, chasing away the image that had come with the thought, and gritted her teeth. There was only one solution.
Keitaro had to leave.
Keitaro had to be gotten rid of.
---
They were all waiting at the top of the stairway to the House, like an audience at a finish line. Motoko, Mitsune, Su--Shinobu was inside the house--waiting, unable to shake the feeling that something important had happened, as they watched the two figures appear.
"You walked home together?" Mitsune asked, grinning. "How sweet."
Keitaro shook his head, still staring at his feet. "No, we just got off the same car, is all. Why would I walk her home?" He head suddenly rose, his eyes focusing on Mitsune. "Hey--you're that--that girl, from the..." He trailed off, feeling embarrassed at not being able to remember the girl's name. "Uh..."
"Kitsune." She stuck a hand in front of her. Hesitatingly, Keitaro took it.
"You're named...Kitsune?"
It was a conversation between just the two of them, so they both failed to note Naru, her eye beginning to twitch, and Motoko, her fingers tightening around the handle of her katana.
"Well, no, that's just a nickname. My real name's--"
It was Naru who sprang into action first. "You--you pervert! Stop hitting on my friends!"
There was a terrible force and terrible pain and oh god it hurt it hurt and it wasn't so bad considering it was only one punch as opposed to but it fucking hurt and
Mitsune bent over Keitaro's prone and bleeding body. "Are you alright?" she asked as Naru stomped into the House, Motoko following.
Keitaro blinked, then reached a hand to his face to feel his jaw. "I'm okay...but I think my tooth got knocked loose. Don't worry," he said as he saw Mitsune start to bend over as if looking for the item. "It doesn't matter, anyway. It'll be back in the morning."
"Oh." said Mitsune. Then, realizing what he had said: "Wait, it'll be back in th--"
Keitaro's face reddened. "Never mind." he growled, his voice suddenly harsh.
"But--"
"Never mind!" he shouted, turning his back on the girl and stomping into the House in a manner not unlike Naru's.
---
I can't believe she won't let me use the outdoor bath..." Keitaro grumbled, tossing an empty carton of ramen over his shoulder as he sat in the barrel. "It's not my fault that stupid girl walked in on me in the bath."
He heard the plastic container make a dull thwock sound behind him, and reached over the side of the barrel for his bookbag, tugging pathetically at the zipper with one hand. "Really, I should be the one yelling at her for being a pervert, not the other way around."
"Stupid misandrists, all of them. Between glasses girl and the psycho with the sword, I'm being watched constantly." Finally, he managed to get the bookbag open. "And why? Because they think I'm going to go off and rape someone. Idiots. I don't even have time for a relationship."
Grimacing, he felt the inside of his mouth where his tooth had been with his tongue, tasting blood. "If this goes on, I'll end up dying because of them instead of--"
There was a tapping.
---
Installment Nine
So.
So.
So, the thick glasses-girl was Naru. Naru Naru-something, one of the girls from the inn his aunt owned. She had seemed a bit pissed at him, especially when he hadn't immediately remembered who she was.
A lot pissed, actually.
She'd gone on and on about how he was some immoral pervert who ate babies while burning resthomes. Oh, and he'd never make it to Tokyo U.
Oh, and she'd mentioned she was tops in the nation, hadn't she? Tops in the nation on the last practice test, yes.
And finally, she'd sort of wound down like a dying watch and looked over to the space in front of him, where he hadn't had a tray of food. "Why don't you get something to eat?" she'd asked.
When she'd heard he didn't have any money for food, she'd been...pretty nice, actually. She'd offered him half of a her sandwich--the space between the bread filled with noodles and some red sauce that drip drip dripped out of the gaping hole in his skull and
He'd turned it down, explaining that he didn't eat meat. It wasn't a false statement, just a misleading one.
But, she'd offered him free food. Out of character, in his opinion. But then again, he'd met her right before she'd tried to punch his lights out. First impressions had a habit of coloring the rest of someone's perceptions like that.
And now, here they were, sitting at the table: her eating, him watching her eat. The silence was deafening, heard even over the sounds of the normal school hustle and bustle around them.
"So." he finally heard her say.
"So." she said. "What happened?"
Keitaro, busy inspecting his knuckled, raised his head to face Naru. "Hm?"
"Yesterday!" Naru's face took on an irritated expression. "With--with the bleeding! You were bleeding, and now you're just--" she gestured wildly, sputtering. "--okay. What gives?"
Keitaro looked at Naru dully. "Go away." he said, and refused to give any other response.
---
The trolly ride back was an exercise in awkwardness, with Keitaro and Naru holding tightly to to two of the handles hanging from the top of the car, both clearly aware the other was nearby, but neither saying a word.
Finally, the car came to its scheduled stop near Hinata House. Naru stepped onto the sidewalk as quickly as she could, eager to escape the uncomfortable atmosphere, hoping that perhaps, in the cool night air, it would diffuse harmlessly and stop pressing on her at all sides.
But it didn't, as Keitaro followed her off the vehicle at a slightly slower pace, looking down at his shoes as he walked with that stupid bookbag hanging from his hand.
The goddamned guy was a virus, Naru knew, unconsciously beginning to take the steps to the House at a faster pace. For some reason, the guy was emotional or something, and like a spider drawing a web to catch defenseless flies, he'd somehow created a cloud of melancholy that had spread to infect each of the other tenants.
She'd seen the effects of having him around yesterday: Shinobu smiled less than before, Su laughed less, Haruka and Kitsune had become all quiet and pensive...
Motoko seemed the same, but Motoko was Motoko, so it was kind of hard to tell.
But he'd been able to bring down the happy mood of the House, and he'd been able to do it without even being in it. Now that he was awake and living there, who knew what harm he could do?
Plus, he was a pervert, to boot. He'd end up depressing one fo the younger girls too much to fight back, and then copping a feel, or maybe even--
She shook her head, chasing away the image that had come with the thought, and gritted her teeth. There was only one solution.
Keitaro had to leave.
Keitaro had to be gotten rid of.
---
They were all waiting at the top of the stairway to the House, like an audience at a finish line. Motoko, Mitsune, Su--Shinobu was inside the house--waiting, unable to shake the feeling that something important had happened, as they watched the two figures appear.
"You walked home together?" Mitsune asked, grinning. "How sweet."
Keitaro shook his head, still staring at his feet. "No, we just got off the same car, is all. Why would I walk her home?" He head suddenly rose, his eyes focusing on Mitsune. "Hey--you're that--that girl, from the..." He trailed off, feeling embarrassed at not being able to remember the girl's name. "Uh..."
"Kitsune." She stuck a hand in front of her. Hesitatingly, Keitaro took it.
"You're named...Kitsune?"
It was a conversation between just the two of them, so they both failed to note Naru, her eye beginning to twitch, and Motoko, her fingers tightening around the handle of her katana.
"Well, no, that's just a nickname. My real name's--"
It was Naru who sprang into action first. "You--you pervert! Stop hitting on my friends!"
There was a terrible force and terrible pain and oh god it hurt it hurt and it wasn't so bad considering it was only one punch as opposed to but it fucking hurt and
Mitsune bent over Keitaro's prone and bleeding body. "Are you alright?" she asked as Naru stomped into the House, Motoko following.
Keitaro blinked, then reached a hand to his face to feel his jaw. "I'm okay...but I think my tooth got knocked loose. Don't worry," he said as he saw Mitsune start to bend over as if looking for the item. "It doesn't matter, anyway. It'll be back in the morning."
"Oh." said Mitsune. Then, realizing what he had said: "Wait, it'll be back in th--"
Keitaro's face reddened. "Never mind." he growled, his voice suddenly harsh.
"But--"
"Never mind!" he shouted, turning his back on the girl and stomping into the House in a manner not unlike Naru's.
---
I can't believe she won't let me use the outdoor bath..." Keitaro grumbled, tossing an empty carton of ramen over his shoulder as he sat in the barrel. "It's not my fault that stupid girl walked in on me in the bath."
He heard the plastic container make a dull thwock sound behind him, and reached over the side of the barrel for his bookbag, tugging pathetically at the zipper with one hand. "Really, I should be the one yelling at her for being a pervert, not the other way around."
"Stupid misandrists, all of them. Between glasses girl and the psycho with the sword, I'm being watched constantly." Finally, he managed to get the bookbag open. "And why? Because they think I'm going to go off and rape someone. Idiots. I don't even have time for a relationship."
Grimacing, he felt the inside of his mouth where his tooth had been with his tongue, tasting blood. "If this goes on, I'll end up dying because of them instead of--"
There was a tapping.