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

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

Furthermore, your experience with bullet hells is…

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

Your familiarity with the Touhou Project is…

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

The absolutes of youth.

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The day to day of true youth.

Previous thread >>60834
Character blurbs: www.touhou-project.com/others/theater

--

After a brief phone call, I left home. She said she was already in town and, judging by the background noise, in a busy area. I was supposed to meet her at a plaza in the town center. She said she had a few things to take care of, but that she'd be delighted to spend time with me. Naturally, I made haste. I was looking forward to seeing her.

Since it was a normal business day, the center was crowded as usual. It was the tail end of the lunch hour. Salarymen of all stripes walked back and forth in groups, talking and joking about work and life. Once I got to the plaza, I started looking around.

Ah, there she was!

Standing under the shade of a tree, Tenshi was checking her wristwatch, looking bored. With her tall boots, skirt and thin top, and jumper tied around her waist, she looked older than she really was. If not for her long, carefully kept hair, I could have mistaken her for a different person. I supposed that I was used to running into her while she had her uniform on. Not that change was bad. Quite the opposite. It made me happy to see someone who knew how to dress well.

Beside her a large man in a black suit stood still, holding a number of bags. He eyed me as I approached, saying nothing. I greeted her.

“I thought I was being stood up,” she said, brushing a strand of hair away from her face with some flair.

“I came as fast as I could, sorry.”

“It's fine, I was just anxious,” she admitted with a smile and kissed me on the cheek, “I'm happy to see you.”

“Well, what do you want to do?” I asked.

“I was out here shopping,” she said, “Papa sent me to pick up new outfits for the coming year. I insisted that I could handle it on my own, but he sent the driver to escort me.” She rolled her eyes and indicated to the silent man next to her.

“Nice to meet you,” I greeted the driver.

I got no reply. He simply star

A jet of sunlight burns through your half-closed blinds, forcing you to wake from your much-needed sleep. Closing the blinds fully, your bedroom enters into a familiar darkness. You blink a couple of times before rousing yourself out of bed. Your high school diploma, the pride of your recent years, remains tacked onto the wall, permanently enclosed as a plaque. The world seems heavy today, despite your willingness to get up. You heave yourself over to the washroom. A groggy face in the mirror greets you as you wash up, fit with unkempt hair. How lovely. A quick wash in the shower quickly fixes that, however. As you tidy up and put on a change of clothes, you fully open the blinds. A view of the city awaits you, or at least as much as you can see before everything is cut off by a towering building. Still, you were glad to be awake! You have no time to waste. Your clock glares '7:25 A.M.' at you with bold, red letters, reminding you that you have an interview with the newspaper agency in thirty-five minutes. Which is plenty of time. Finally, you'll get to have a job of your own! You at look yourself in the mirror. "Yes!" you exclaim. "I'm ready."

…Or you would be, if the story would ever fucking update. This time, you wake up for real. Your throat’s dry, your hair’s a mess, and it’s godawful 7:25 A.M. in the middle of Saturday. Throwing off your stained gray shirt two sizes too big for you, you put on a black tank, also two sizes too big for you. You don’t even bother to deal with your hair – it’s unsalvageable. Your lips are cracked dry so you pacify the pain by licking them because it hurts like shit when you don’t even though it hurts like shit when you do all because you forgot to buy that fucking chap stick when you totally could have when you went to the convenience store a day ago buying cheap-ass beer, stale ramen, and three bars of Three Musketeers now all half-eaten and in the trash because you forgot they taste like ass.

It could be worse. You could be a total bitch.

…God, your lips fucking hurt. You want to g

The special kind of knowledge found in youth.


Previous thread >>59947
Character blurbs: www.touhou-project.com/others/theater

-

There really wasn't much to the errand.

The library was almost entirely empty. With no upcoming exams and the senior class all but gone from the school, only those who were legitimately interested in reading stayed behind after class. In a modern society like ours, that meant just a handful of people sitting here and there. It also meant that I found the person I needed to talk to right away.

The girl with a soft and melodious voice smiled as she handed me the form I needed to fill out. I wasn't sure if it was out of habit or genuine politeness. Funny that I hadn't ever noticed her before. I didn't usually spend time with underclassmates but redheads tended to stand out. Still, I felt that there was something more than her than our routine exchange may have shown. Or maybe I was just hopeful. I guess I did prefer girls with a little devilish streak in them.

There wasn't much of a chance for small talk. I had what I needed and she made no effort to prolong the encounter.

I didn't get a chance to go on the offensive either. A tug at my arm cut that plan short quickly.

“Oh, it's been a while,” I said, failing to think of anything cleverer than that.

She silenced me with a finger pressed to her lips. Urging me silently to follow her, Patchy led me to one of the vacant study rooms at the back of the library. It was the kind of place that would normally be full of students poring over books so that they could do their assignments. Predictably, with the virtual end of the school year, there was no one around.

“I see you've moved up in the world,” she said flatly, closing the door behind her. It was almost eerily quiet in the small room. If it wasn't for the small window that allowed us to see into the library, I would have felt that I was in a different place altogether.

“How have you been?” I asked with a smile. No point guessing what she mea

The boldness and beauty of youth.


Previous thread >>59459
Character blurbs: www.touhou-project.com/others/theater

--



The night life in a city usually peaked the closer it was to the weekend. In the middle of the week only the more hardcore pleasure-seekers and miscreants stayed out late and partied. I was lucky to count myself among their number. I had no problem waiting until it got dark and the seedy underbelly of the city really came to life. I didn't run with too excessive a crowd so I was sure that the little money I had would more than cover the price of admission for a night of fun.

I alternated between sitting at a park bench and walking around aimlessly, observing the transition from day to night. Small businesses closed first. Then came the salarymen in a zombie-like stream from their offices to the train station. Then people like me started appearing. People looking for a good time, walking with a special someone or looking for that special someone – sometimes willing to buy their company for a little while. In the side streets and back alleys, tough-looking types would also appear. It was best to steer clear from them as they often passed the time in cruel and unusual ways.

“Do you want to go there tonight?” I overheard a conversation between two university-aged guys wearing flashy clothes and way too much cologne. I was walking just behind them, trying to make up my mind on where to go.

“You mean that new nightclub? Dunno, it might be a bit too... uh, libertine for my tastes. I heard that a lot of weird stuff happens in the VIP room.”

“Don't be an idiot,” the first said with a coarse laugh, “that's just good marketing on their behalf. They want people to spend a lot so they make a buttload of cash. It's just a normal club.”

“Still, I heard that you can't even order your own trick, they pick for you.”

“Well, the club's name is Desires,” the first guy laughed again, “I think it's kind of cool that they

Prologue: Dancing Days

Her song wakes you up. The guitar tickles your spine. The drum measures out the beats of your heart. You listen. The singer is different, the instrumentation.

The territory is strange. You know the shape of it.

"Dancing Days," the Stone Temple Pilots cover, pipes over the tinny bus speakers, one right over your dreaming head. The sound is just louder than the rain pattering on the roof and against the windows. You can't ignore the song, but you try to focus on the rain. It anchors you in time.

You are moving to your new home.

You feel the slight but distinct weight of your medication in your pocket. Not now. Not yet.

You pass the last hour of the ride in a silent haze. If not the song, the constant lurching of the bus as it pulled into stops hardly several blocks apart would have shaken you awake. It's needless how many stops there are; you almost wonder if the route itself is mocking you.

Your memory is coming in fits and stops now, struggling against the rain and cold; the sharp smell of old whiskey, the color and angle of the sun. A much-loved copy of "Houses of the Holy" playing on a well-worn player seated on her front porch. The nature of that last smile.

Her shrine broken. Her name profaned.

The bus rattles to a stop in front of a looming apartment complex, its sides stained with exhaust and rain and time. A sign out front reads "Land of Enchantment Apartments -- Y. Yakumo, Proprietor." A dim "Vacancy" sign juts out from the second story, lit in the only bright colors on the block.

You shuffle off the bus, past the mother and child, past the snoring old man, past the business-suited man reading a new hardcover, "A Crown of Swords," with great intensity. You step into the rain, immediately soaked. A bored busman hands you your luggage, a single modest piece with a sleeping bag tied up top, and waves you off. You're not even to the door when the bus rides out.

A chime over the door rings your entrance to the smoky little front office. There's a pair of little yokai he

——you rouse.

Another dreamless night.

You lie in bed a while, staring up at nothing, thinking of nothing.

Lacking senses. Lacking orientation.


Time passes.


You sneeze, and notice yourself.

Sniffling and sighing, you drag yourself out of bed, stepping into a pair of bunny slippers. Pink, white, and fuzzy, they were the first thing you’d bought for yourself when you had finally moved out of that glorified basement of an interception base, resolving never again to suffer the indignity of cold floors in the morning. You throw on a bathrobe, too, garishly floral, and stuff your nightstand pistol into the left pocket, suppressor poking neatly out of the hole in the bottom.

Yawning, you trod over to the washroom, where you take a single look in the mirror, and immediately give up on the idea of trying to fight the bird’s-nest tangle claiming to be your hair. You have no plans of meeting anyone today, anyway. Still, you go through the rest of your morning ritual, brushing your teeth and washing your face, letting the cool water wash away the last remnants of drowsiness.

Sunlight peers through translucent curtains, lending a pleasant early-morning glow to the cream-walled apartment. You take a quick detour through the kitchen, emerging back into the living room already munching on a cheese sandwich.

You are just about to flick on the television, when your doorbell rings.


The peep-hole shows … nobody?


You stuff your mouth with the cheddared toast, freeing up a hand to keep your pistol behind your back as you cautiously open the door …

… the hallway is empty. There is a small parcel lying on your doorstep. A cursory inspection reveals a brief message, scrawled in permanent marker:

ENJOY!
—SACHA

So it was from Molchanoff. You set it down on the coffee table and sit down to unwrap it.


——your breath catches in your throat.

It is a mug. On its side is emblazoned a familiar black-and-gold flash, gaudy and glorious.

You hold it up in front of yourself, sinking backward into the sofa. Sinking backward into a wave of emotion, despi

Good day, dear readers! Are you in the mood for a clusterfuck of a crossover by a virginal sacrifice brand new author? Be gentle with me. Criticism is appreciated though! this has to be a bad idea for a first story that's why I'm staying anon

I notice that there is a distinct lack of crossovers (at least, I'm having trouble finding them via story list). I'll assume that's because they can be generally obnoxious, author-serving, and horribly executed. I'll try and avoid that. Tell me if I fail. Really, tell me so I can hit myself and scrap it all. Until then, time to make the biggest clusterfuck you guys have ever seen!

If all goes well you might see some more of me. If I make any blatant mistakes please inform me of them!

- - - - - -

Everything looks white.

You look around. Nothing but white looks right back at you, if shapeless, immaterial color could "look". You seem to be some sort of shapeless, formless being, as trying to move, feel, or otherwise utilize any sort of a body proves futile after several attempts. On that note, how do you know how to move a body?

The white and your ponderings as to the situation are both interrupted by a sound. A hole opened up to a material, real looking hallway to your left. You consider this to be a vast improvement over absolute nothingness, and will yourself towards it. However, you find yourself unable to pass through, only capable of moving your view to its edge. But hey! Moving! That's nice. Good job, you!

Through the rectangular hole is a long hallway, with no visible end. It's lined with doors and entryways of widely-varied types, shapes, colors, and so on and so forth. A single being who looks, for lack of a better word, generic, is standing before one, pulling small circular objects from through it. Seriously, you can't even tell what gender they're supposed to be.

Closer inspection reveals that these objects seem to be bubbles of some sort, each containing miniature structures. Models, perhaps? What fun! They aren't ships, but it stil

Through the reinforced windows you can see a bright speck of light in the sky.

A research space station, one of the finest achievements of humankind. Space has been conquered. Living in it is trivial. Transportation seemed to hit a practical cap on speed just under 0.8c and even instantaneous teleportation over short distances was something under development.

And then, a mining digsite on a complete backwater moon of a gas giant in Epsilon Eridani hit on something new. Something completely off of the periodic table of elements that you're familiar with- and before it could be given a name, a proper name that wouldn't be easily confused with something else, some yahoo of a politician back on Earth called it plasma. And the name stuck, much to the scientific community's collective disappointment.

Plasma opened up all sorts of new advancements in technology- it's among the most energy-dense materials in existence, it bonds with organic compounds in interesting and new ways, and it has all kinds of potential uses.

Shipping plasma any significant distance for research would have taken over a decade, and that's not always practical. Besides, your corporate overlords wanted results, and they wanted them fast.

Humanity had constructed twelve large space stations outside near-Earth orbit prior to the massive undertaking that created the one you're now shipping to.

The ship awoke you from cryogenic stasis two days ago. And now the pilot, on final approach, makes an announcement. “We are now on final approach to Space Station 13. Please secure any and all belongings.”

You yawn, reach up to the hook above your berth, and detach the satchel from its resting place. In the next berth over, you hear a faint honking.

That sound has baffled you for the last two days. What's making the honking noises? And more importantly, why won't they stop? Forty-eight hours of nigh-uninterrupted mysterious honking can drive people mad.

Then the ship thumps against the station, and it rocks as the docking clamps engage.