Yes, I know that Betê Noir is not the correct spelling.
Mitsu me au.
Sono shisen.
Tojita sekai no naka.
Kizukanai furi wo shite mo yoi o satora resou.
Ding!
Incoming Text From: Sarah :P
u still cumin 2 my place?
New Message
Outgoing Message to: Sarah :P
yeah. just got2listen2dis bastard talk. fml.
Send
Ding!
Incoming Text From: Sarah :P
k. just get here b4 4. i have2leave 5.
New Message
Outgoing Message to: Sarah :P
k. don't worry. i'll jump out a window b4 he kee
"Marceline's texting instead of listening." Dafaq?
"Holy shit, Logan!" I shouted in surprise of hearing the voice behind me. "What the fuck is wrong with you, approaching me from behind like that?! More importantly, don't tattle on me. In fact, actually you aren't supposed to be near me! Restraining Order, remember?" The person I was talking to was Logan Huntzberger. He's twenty-six and he works for Easter. The reason I have a restraining order out against him is because he unlawfully had sex with me that was involuntary on my part and harassed and stalked me to no end. I was able to get a restraining order out against him; however, while I was able to prove the stalking, I was unable to prove the rape because I, idiotically, had showered before going to the police station.
"It's just paper." Logan said dismissively, as if he did nothing wrong at all in his entire life.
"Paper that says you have to stay the hell away from me!" I said. "Were you even paying attention at the hearing?"
"Were you even at the hearing?" Logan asked, already knowing the answer.
"The government doesn't want me anywhere near their buildings." I pointed out. "They're afraid I'll shoot 'em up or something."
"What does that have to do with anything?" Logan asked, this time seriously confused.
"THE COURT HOUSE IS A FUCKING GOVERNMENT BUILDING, YOU RETARD!" I shouted at the top of my lungs.
"ALL RIGHT, THAT'S ENOUGH!" My step-father, Hoshina Kazuomi a.k.a. "The Most Hated Bastard on Earth", shouted, causing both me and Logan to fall silent. "I can't believe this, you two are like kindergartners! I have an easier time dealing with Ikuto and he's passive-aggressive. (1)"
"Well, the passive-aggressive thing kind of is true…" I muttered under my breath. "But Logan's the one who started it!"
"I did not!" He said, offended. Why? I do not know.
"Yes, you did!" I said trying to defend myself. "You came up behind me and said 'Marceline is texting!' and that's what started it!"
"Oh really?" Logan said argumentatively.
"YES, REALLY!" I shouted, my voice getting dangerously close to a screaming level again.
"WELL I'LL HAVE YOU KNO-" Logan's voice was getting close to a screaming level as well when he was cut off.
"OKAY, IF YOU TWO REALLY CAN'T BEHAVE YOU CAN JUST LEAVE!" My step-father shouted.
"GLADLY!" I screamed and stormed out of there before anyone could object.
Yaketsuku kono kokoro kakushite chikazuite.
Toiki kanjireba shibireru hodo.
Arifureta koigokoro ni ima wana o shikakete.
Wazuka na sukima ni mo ashiato nokosanaiyo.
"I'm telling you, Sarah, the next time I walk into that building I'm gonna have an AK-47 in one hand and a flame-thrower in the other." Normally if I said something like that to someone, they'd panic and call the police and tell them that I was plotting a terrorist attack (Seriously, why would I do that? Unless Easter did something extremely stupid like endanger the lives of my brother and/or sister I would never actually do it. I don't wanna get strung up on the gallows over nothing.) but Sarah knows I'm just venting.
"Don't you need two hands to operate a flame thrower?" Sarah pointed out. She was working with wet strands of my normally black hair which had reverted back to its natural color of navy.
"Oh yeah…" I said. "I guess I'd have to leave the AK-47 behind. Oh, well, I'd probably kill more people by setting them on fire than shooting them anyways. If not, then at least some people would have died in a very tortuous way." How I hadn't been sent to the funny farm at that point I still don't understand.
"Yeah." Sarah said. "I understand what you mean. Sometimes when I'm working at my father's office, I can't help but think of how amazing it would be if someone threw a pipe bomb into the building as a political statement." Sarah's father, Alistair Vamparah is a politician who's running for a seat in the House of Councilors in the National Diet (2). He's also a part of a religious movement called the Hymn of One which kind of concerns me because the last guy who ran for a political position in this country and was a part of a new-age religious movement ended up killing a bunch of people on the subway with Sarin Gas so… Yeah. I'm kind of a little wary of him. But Sarah's cool, though.
"What way do you want your hair; up or down?" Sarah asked.
"Up." I said. "Definitely up."
"Okay." Sarah said. "I just need to put the dye back in."
"Okay." I said while pulling my head out of her kitchen sink. She picked up a hair brush she had on the kitchen counter and tried working it through my three and a half foot long hair.
"Jesus Christ, Marceline." Sarah remarked as she pulled the hair brush through my hair. "You have the longest hair of anyone I've ever seen. Why don't you cut it?"
"'Cause I'm poor." I simply stated. "All my money goes towards groceries. I can't afford to pay someone to cut my hair."
"I could cut it." Sarah offered. "I have scissors and I wouldn't charge you."
"Thanks, Sarah," I said. "but I don't wanna walk around looking like the Cynthia Doll from Rugrats."
"I wouldn't butcher your hair like that." She said, trying to convince me. "It'd just be a few snips and I'd be done."
"Yeah, right." I said. "I saw what you did to Aiko's hair and I do not want to have to shave all of my hair off like she did." Aiko was a friend-well, not exactly a friend; more like a person we occasionally committed crimes with-who had spent all of her money on pot and couldn't afford to get her hair professionally cut. Sarah offered to do it and when she was done Aiko's hair was completely destroyed. Some parts were longer than others, hell, in some spots she was completely bald. She had to shave it to make sure it all grew back the same length. Luckily it was Breast Cancer Awareness Month at the time, so she could just say she shaved her head in support of all of those affected by Breast Cancer instead of saying she was an idiot who let her idiot friend-person she occasionally committed crimes with-who had no experience cutting hair cut her hair.
"Oh, come on." Sarah said. "You let me work on your hair all the time. I'm working on your hair now."
"You're just dyeing it and braiding it up." I pointed out. "Plus, I am only letting you work on it because you are forcing me to go to a fundraising party for your father's campaign to get into the National Diet." I sounded annoyed when I said this and I should be. I'm wasting a perfectly good Friday night that could be wasted on learning Lithuanian, or hunting, or vandalizing someone's (Logan's) car, or listening to the same Eminem song fifty times on sitting in a stuffy room with pretentious douche bags while Sarah-who I came with to keep company-gets fucked in the coat room by some guy whose surname she doesn't even know. (Only surname because she'll definitely be screaming his given name.)
"Fine." Sarah said. "But for the record, I think you'd look much better with shorter hair."
"Yeah, I doubt that." I said.
Miesuita kotoba dato kimi wa yudan shiteru.
Yoku shitta gekiyaku nara nomihoseru ki ga shita.
Sabitsuku kusari kara nogareru ate mo nai.
Hibiku byoushin ni aragau hodo.
I stared at the ugly, devious person in the mirror. She was wearing a knee-length, silky, black dress with one of those square neckline-collar things (I'm not into fashion, so I don't know the correct terms.) and puffy short-sleeves. She was also wearing black high heels, black wrist-length gloves, this silver bracelet Sarah had let me-she borrow, a gold star-shaped necklace that technically was kind of a locket, but you couldn't put a picture in it because one side of the locket was bejeweled and the other had a mirror on it, and a silver cross necklace that had been on her neck since her parents trusted her not to put into her mouth when she was three. (This was still apparently too young because she still had managed to choke on it and had to be taken to the hospital to get it removed. Parenting mistake number two on their part.) Her now blackened hair was now in a French braid arranged as sort of a crown around her head. She had no make-up on at all because she was seriously allergic to that crap and would have to be taken to the hospital to get her face deflated. Both of our sapphire eyes blinked as we tried to decide the best way to kill each other.
Before I could figure that out though, Sarah came out in a curve-hugging, floor-length, spaghetti-strap, black dress with various pieces of jewelry made with fourteen karat gold jewelry-all of which was also diamond studded- and her short blonde hair tied back in a low bun. Her face was made-up like a clown's, but that somehow made her blue-grey eyes more alluring.
"How do I look?" She asked, doing a little twirl.
"Like a whore." I bluntly remarked.
"Well, look who's talking here, Miss I'm-wearing-a-dress-one-would-wear-to-a-funeral." Sarah said. I giggled a little. Not sure if I should have. "Seriously, that thing looks like something a five-year-old would wear to a funeral."
"Actually, I did wear this to a funeral when I was five." I pointed out. "I didn't have anything I haven't already been photographed in and I couldn't really go out and buy a new one, so I just went dumpster-diving in my attic. I was hoping to find something old of my mom's or my sister's that I could wear, but I found this instead. I had to use the matching silky-coat thing to lengthen it, but I think it came out okay." Sarah had told me that it's bad to wear something to a party that you've already been photographed in. I don't know why, but I don't question these things. Also, just so you know, I didn't sew the dress myself, I gave ten-thousand yen to a lady at our local Black Market to do it. Speaking of which, you can get a lot at the Black Market for ten-thousand yen, even a gun. That's better than K-Mart, plus you don't have to do the mental health screening or the three-day wait period. They just give it to you. You know, Macklemore should write a song about the Black Market like the one he wrote about thrift shops.
"You know, you could have just asked to borrow something of mine." Sarah pointed out.
"I can't wear anything of yours." I bluntly remarked. "You're too tall."
"Marceline, I'm one-hundred fifty-eight centimeters tall." Sarah pointed out. "That's only eight more centimeters taller than you."
"Eight point one." I corrected. "Besides, I wouldn't feel right taking your stuff."
"You take stuff from my room all the time!" She, once again, pointed out.
"Let me restate that." I said. "I wouldn't feel right taking your stuff with your permission. I'm perfectly fine with thievery." I should be. I've been convicted on thievery nine times and those are only the times I was caught.
"You know what, I'm not gonna argue with you about this." Sarah said. Let's just go now. I don't wanna be late.
For what? I thought to myself. That hook up you're gonna have with the caterer in the coat room? I know, that seems mean. Don't get me wrong, I love Sarah, (AS A FRIEND YOU DIRTY-MINDED FREAKS!) but I hate going to these events. I mean, there's nothing for me to do but get drunk and stare at the wall for six hours while I cover for Sarah, who's in the coat room getting banged by the valet, or some important person's son, or the guy who sets up the chairs, or whoever the fuck she finds attractive.
It's even worse when someone recognizes me as a Hunger Games Victor and tries to tote me around as a war hero or something. Let me tell you, I am not a war hero. I'm the furthest thing from it. I'm a murderer. I killed four people. I'm not able to live with myself. I'm so scarred by this that my brother has had to talk me down from suicide three times. To just come up to me and act like what I did is amazing and how lucky I am to have won and how lucky I am and all that other bull shit… Well, you must be insane! Only an insane person would act like murder is something to be celebrated.
Well, then again, most Japanese people believe that the Hunger Games is just a television show and the nation of Panem doesn't really reap two kids from every district and force them to fight to the death. They just think it's all for television and all the kids on the show are paid actors who are one-hundred percent fine and safe. Kind of like how everyone thought Happy Appywas a perfectly normal kid's show until they started making snuff films and it correctly predicted nine-eleven and that earthquake and tsunami we had here a few years ago.
Marceline, relax. I thought to myself. There's a low probability that that will happen. You're probably just being paranoid.
I sighed and hoped that that voice inside my head was right.
Tatoeba fukai shigemi no naka suberi komasete.
Tsunaida ase no kaori ni tada okasaresou.
Arifureta koigokoro ni ima wana o shikakeru.
Wazuka na sukima nozokeba.
It wasn't.
Within the first five minutes of arriving at the party, some idiot said directly to me "Hey! You're Katniss Everdeen! The girl from the Hunger Games! Can I have your autograph?" and proceeded to fan boy over me. Unfortunately, he was a member of the wait staff and I have come to learn that hitting someone whose chosen profession is to serve others food isn't a good idea if you don't want people giving you the evil eye for the rest of the night. I would've gotten Sarah to do it for me seeing as she's hell bent on ruining her father's diet nomination and wouldn't have cared if a bunch of political tight asses hated her but she was already in the coat room with someone named Kai. I, however, care what these tight asses think of me because when I inevitably kill the leader of a foreign nation, these people will probably decide if I deserve life in prison or execution. I personally hope they pick execution.
So, after that extremely rude busboy made a show of me, I decided that alcohol would be the best way to solve this issue. Sadly, the bartender didn't believe that my name was Stewart Gilligan Griffin and that I was above age, so I was forced to walk around the room and finish off the left-behind cocktails of those who were either mingling with the other guests or dancing to the Bach-like score that the orchestra was playing. As the liquid numbed my senses, blurred my vision, threw my balance way off, and gave me a speech impediment that wasn't there before you can honestly believe that my memory became worse and worse as well. So, bear with me as I try to recount the events of this night.
Alright, so at some point-I think it was around nine, nine thirty-I was drunk off my ass (Really?) to the point of wanting to start a fight with someone whose name I don't even know and getting arrested. However, my mind decided to pick someone whose name I did know. Logan Huntzberger.
To be honest, I don't know why he was at the party. That is a mystery I'm still trying to solve to this day. All I know is that he was there and I was drunk and that there was no possible way to stop hell from happening.
(3) "Ay you bastard!" I said slurring my words. When I walked over to him, he was talking to some pretty American-looking girl. I think he said something along the lines of "Oh-no." and she asked him something, probably who I was or what was wrong, and he said something that made her nod and walk away.
"What do you want, Marceline?" He asked. Obviously he was hoping to fuck that girl and he knows I'm about to ruin all chances of that happening. I have never been more proud of my drunk self than I was in this moment.
"Waddyou mean, 'Wanndo I want?'?" I slurred. "I wanna finish whawewere talkin' 'bout before."
And then he said something I can't quite remember, and then I said something that I can't quite remember, and it went on and on until Logan looked across the room and noticed something that he didn't quite like. Probably that American girl he was hitting on earlier was probably on the other side of the room trying to hook up with another guy. What can I say about Americans? They're obsessed with sex. (4)
Logan, however, took the American girl's flirtatious behavior as authorization to grab me by the arm and drag me off to wherever, probably to rape me. I yelled at him, probably saying something along the lines of "I don't want to go with you!" and "He's hurting me!" and "Stranger danger!" and for once someone actually came to my rescue.
I can't remember what he looked like. Just that he had dark hair and was really tall. Like, a few inches taller than Logan, and he's over six feet. He probably said something along the lines of "She said she's not going!" and Logan probably responded with "I'm sorry, who are you, her decision maker?" or something like that and it went on and on until security came and threw all three of us out. Logan and the other guy for fighting, and me for throwing up on Lynn Cheney's dress. (5)
The only thing I remember clearly after getting thrown out of the party was the other guy asking me my name. I responded honestly.
"Tsukiyomi Marceline."
Tsukamaete.
Tatoeba fukai shigemi no naka suberi komasete.
Tsunaida ase no kaori ni tada okasareteru.
Yay! Finished a real chapter for once! Go me! Woo! Not much else I really have to say, though...
Yonde kurete arigato. (Thanks for reading.) ^-^
(1) The word Passive Aggressive means someone who displays behavior including procrastination, stubbornness, resentment, sullenness, or deliberate/repeated failure to accomplish tasks for which one is responsible for. So yes, I would say that Ikuto is somewhat passive aggressive. If someone doesn't agree with me I am more than willing to make a blog post pointing out instances of this. Mostly 'cause I'm bored a lot.
(2) The National Diet is basically the Japanese equivalent to the United State's Congress or the United Kingdom's Parliament.
(3) Just note that I've never been off my ass drunk.
(4) It's a joke. I know all people are obsessed with sex, not just Americans.
(5) I really don't like anyone having to do with the Bush Administration. That's why I said Lynn Cheney.
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