It's cold again today, but that's okay. It's always cold in the winter, and concrete only makes everything colder. But that bracing chill on my legs and face every time I leave a happy customer's house is just another reminder that I'm still here and kicking, so why be bothered by a friendly reminder that I'm alive?

A little money to afford something longer than my usual skirt wouldn't hurt though. Or maybe socks would help more. Of course, if I have time to worry about something silly like that, I have time to head over to my next client! It's my duty to my customers to make sure they feel loved on Christmas, even if only for an hour! I can't waste time thinking about sad things like not affording a longer skirt!

I take a quick check in the secret pocket I keep on my body proper. Nobody in their right mind would think to look in the umbrella for the money, so it makes a perfect hiding place! So long as the wind doesn't pick up and tear the pocket out over a drain, like yesterday, or like how the news on my last customer's television said there would be a record snowstorm tonight with high winds! I still have the seven yen from my last customers. The local Girls don't let me work for more than 20 yen an hour or their boss will hurt them for not telling them about a potential employee, they tell me. The thing is, I get so scared that my friends will get hurt that I can never bring myself to work for more than a single yen, and I always end up advertising them at the end of my sales pitch...

I'm getting side-tracked. So, there's the seven yen. Snug and secure in its pocket. Good. There's the Ticket Home that should get me back to Gensokyo if I can earn the money for a trip from Okayama to Hakuba. While simultaneously feeding myself. And finding children that are young enough to not be numbed by video games and actually be scared when I find them. Between jobs to feed my body.

I'm getting sidetracked again. Seven more yen than you had this morning, good. Ticket Home, good. Box of home-made matches to sell between clients, good.

It's getting dark, and I'm on 221 Minato Dori. I only

Blackjack and games of youth.

Previous thread >>62644

Blurbs: www.touhou-project.com/others/moretheater.txt

---

“You really are incorrigible,” Reimu crossed her arms and shook her head. Still, I could tell she had a soft spot for my antics. Somewhat more than Alice did, at least. After a pause, she added, “maybe I should talk to the poor girl myself.”

“Maybe,” I said. “I’m not too keen on breaking hearts.”

“Could have fooled me,” she smirked.

I could get used to to that kind of banter. President and veep all alone in the student council room, trading friendly barbs, dealing with the needs of the student body… and, well, maybe the needs of our student bodies from time to time.

“You really need to at least pretend you’re not having dirty thoughts,” Reimu sighed. Oh, I made it a little too obvious.

“Sorry, it’s just that since we’re so close, I feel like I can let my guard down around you.” Not the best excuse but a little playful wink kept the mood light.

“Keep your guard up a little higher,” her laconic response was all in good humor, I was sure.

“But yeah, I don’t know, maybe it’ll be best if she hears it from you. I’m not sure if she’s fallen for me or would happily beat me to a bloody pulp.”

“The latter is a feeling I’m sure most girls here share,” she said, continuing to pile on the hurt.


“I can’t believe my cute president is so mean~” I feigned being hurt, wiping away fake tears with my sleeve. “And here I was going to propose we ditched this place and went off to a romantic retreat through the weekend.”

“What’s more romantic than getting work done with a subordinate?” she teased, clearly having deduced what I was thinking about earlier. “Do your job and you just may get those cookies you mentioned earlier.”

“A treat from Reimu? I’d finally be able to depart this world and make it to nirvana.”

“You’re a spirit filled with regrets now?” she shook her

CONFIDENTIAL - YOUR ORDERS

To: [REDACTED]

Tenma has picked up on a potential situation outside.
A criminal element operating in the National Capital Region has, in the course of their expeditious acquisitions, obtained information lending weighty credence to the possibility of a land existing cut off from modern day Japan. This particular band of thieves and malcontents has, on basis of intelligence gleaned from your prior investigation, been assessed as radicalized and non-trivially competent, and must be dealt with before they realize what they have on their hands. Your mission is to find and interrogate their leader, and evaluate the level of intelligence they have procured as well as the origin of this information before reporting back to the handler for new orders and eventual extraction. It is imperative that you determine the source—it is currently unknown how this information still exists after the separation from the outside world.

--------

PROLOGUE - FIRST WORLD PROBLEMS


Humans never realize just how much they keep hurting everyone.

As you pass through the door of the convenience store, the clerk at the front gives you a hearty welcome—clearly with little actual heart, as you note the scent of apathy people in her position always seem to give off beneath the surface. Skimming over the racks of magazines, you pick out one at random to read.

Swimsuits.

Your glance darts upward from the girls of the outside world to a lone police car outside the store. Standing by the cruiser, its operator's clenched hands and fixation on the radio tell you just what you needed to know as you arrived on this street—that it was a wise choice to not show up in your usual garb, and that your targets are stirring something up exactly where you expected them to.
The fear in the air almost makes you envy your opponents.
Almost.

In the few passes you've made around the Human Village, Outside World technology was a curious niche. The few who fell in, survived their first nights, and successfully s

The morning smashes you on the head and cracks your eyes open. It's a feeling you're intensely familiar with — the result of far too many drinks at the shithole down the street. You sit up and rub as much crust and haze out of your eyes as you can and silently praise the curtains keeping most of the intruding light out of your bedroom. The alarm clock reads 7:02. It's early, but apparently you were too drunk to wash your mouth out whenever you made it home. Now your tongue feels rotten and all you can taste is stale alcohol and ass. You breathe into your hand. It doesn't smell much better. You can't fall back asleep like this.

But when you throw your legs over the side of the bed, you become aware of slow, faint breaths that are not your own. You turn carefully behind yourself to the blonde head of the woman who had been sleeping next to you the whole time.

Holy fuck. You've had a barren run of it these past several years, so you can't help but feel impressed with yourself for hooking up with someone in a bar. But this is also way more awkward than you want to deal with this morning. If only you could remember the actual hooking up business. Maybe if you take a good look at her face, you could figure it out. . .

You hover closer to see, but her looks stop you cold. She's cute for sure, but there's definitely something that's... unsettling. She's hunched over into the fetal position, her slim shoulders barely sticking out of the blankets. Her face is round, just slightly tanned, and flawless even without the touch of makeup. There's just enough fat in her cheeks to where you'd like to pinch them, and she snores gently through tiny nostrils and pursed lips.

In conclusion, she looks just a little young, doesn't she?

Some women are that way though, and many even consider having a babyface to be an attractive feature. Yet as you look closer at her small form obscured by the blankets, you feel less and less convinced that this is a woman at all. Carefully, you lift up the covers to settle the matter once and for all.

Shit. Shit.

You are no expert of fe

“I couldn't care less about it.” You stop to take a bite of the pasta. You're not the best cook, but you're good enough. Maybe whenever Momiji returns to Gensokyo, you'll fill in as the cook. A sobering thought. “But I do care about the people who work there, more or less.”

“Well, aren't you just the sweetest?” Momiji flashes you a sly smile. “The girls have a great father looking over them.”

“Hahahah, no.” You shake your head with disgust at the wolf tengu.

She allows herself a quick chuckle. “Isn't that basically how it is? I know Cassie and Lily basically adore you. And Rylee...” she trails off. “Well, she's the rebellious one, right?”

“Nah.” You pause to think about your employees. You suppose they're all good people at heart. Even Rylee. Still an asshole to you though. “They're all big girls. They can take care of themselves. And if they can't, I'm sure as hell not going to.”

“But you do!” Momiji shivers, retreating further into her hoodie. “Lily said you saved them all from all kinds of shit. You're like their hero.”

“Sure, if you consider underpaying employees heroic. I didn't do jack shit.” You wonder exactly how much Lily told her. Not like it's a big secret, but you didn't think Momiji and Lily talked much outside of work affairs.

The wolf tengu pulls her hood up and retreats to your room. “I'm heading over to the bed. I'm just a little tired.”

At this point, it's a waste of your breath to tell her that it's not her fucking house. You sigh and pick up the plates, throwing them into the sink. A quick rinse does the job, but you should really get to washing all your dishes completely before you run out. Another time.

Momiji rests her head limply on your pillow, trembling under the covers. “Man, it's really fucking cold.”

“I feel alright. Are you sick?” You don't bother waiting for a response and immediately slap your hand on her forehead. She has a fever. The wolf has a fucking fever. “How do you even get sick?”

“Like most peopl

I'm thinking of writing something else and am looking for feedback. Even if you don't read this story, if you're interested in seeing more writing by me, feel free to share your thoughts. Right now I have a shortlist of the following things I could write:

[] A /th/ story involving an incident in Gensokyo featuring spell casters fighting it out.
[] Reviving my /sdm/ story, A Ruby Red Cotillion >>/sdm/59874
[] Reviving Violet Sky, a noir story: >>/others/37032
[] Reviving DiM, an /eientei/ story featuring scientific study of youkai, >>/eientei/22420
[] None of the above (insert idea here)

Additionally, I'd like to know if you would be willing to read anything other than the choice you've selected. Alternatively, you could rank the above choices in order of preference.
[] I'd read the others.
[] I'd only go for the one I voted for.

This is not a numbers vote, meaning that I won't go with what has the most votes. Since it's a commitment to write and do a halfway decent job I have to feel comfortable doing another story. I've been at this long enough to know that things won't work out otherwise. I want to have as much feedback as possible before making a decision and gauging where interests lie will be really useful. I'll see about writing more as interest and my schedule permits, so I'm not saying that I'm never going to do the others either.

Chime in wherever, no matter what other vote there might be in the story. Or talk to me on IRC. Just let me know what you think within the next few days.

And now, back to the regularly scheduled story.

-

A double rainbow of youth.
Previous thread >>62099

New Character blurbs: www.touhou-project.com/others/moretheater.txt
--

The rest of the lunch hour went by in relative quie

[x] Roll with it and play it cool

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

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

"What does that mean?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-------


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just don't use them.”

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

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

“But this person has a username.”

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

Momiji blinks. “What's the difference?”

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

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