Meeting both students which have recently returned to Japan, Rika finds them wildly different.
Current IC time is: Wed Oct 30 19:00:18 2002 - Night / Moon: Waning Half
Classroom
The bluish white walls of the classroom, green curtains that hang by the both sides of large windows which take almost all of the wall, the glittering green blackboard (well, it’s not a greenboard, is it?) and polished wooden tables all speak ‘high class elite school’, and well, it is.
At the moment, the classroom is empty, quiet and peaceful, and actually, the whole impression it leaves is that of loneliness. The floor is glistening with water in several places, apparently, because it was very recently washed.
Emiko
This young woman is slight of build and possesses a beauty that belies her age. Straight, shoulder-length blonde hair is styled to frame the curve of her face and strikes a light contrast to the pale golden complexion of her Asian heritage. Perched atop her small nose is a pair of thin, rectangular framed glasses that do little to obscure the striking hazel of her eyes.
She wears a bright, short school uniform jacket over a high collared blouse. The jacket front folds over to the left and is held in place by three large blue buttons. The pair of blue sleeve cuffs is trimmed in a thin golden yellow stripe, as is a blue scarf formed from the lapel, flowing broadly over the shoulders of the jacket to a slim point mid-back, above which a golden crown denoting the Eriol Gakuen school is placed. The same school emblem is present on a thick strip of blue that forms the right armband. It appears once more as a golden medallion on the jacket’s right breast, suspended from a blue ribbon with central gold stripe. The short mini skirt matches the jacket’s bright white with narrow pleats of blue. Traditional leg socks flow down her long legs and into a pair of white babydoll boots with blue toes and heels.
Attempt number two for the day. Emiko sits at a desk in the back of the classroom, busily reading through a small book in front of her. She’ll occasionally lifts her head to stare out the window, catching sight of a few students that are running around outside. She’d forgotten about clubs and how active children in Japan are after school. You’d rarely catch any student staying after in New York. Thankfully it’s been rather peaceful in this upstairs classroom where she’s free from the prying eyes of giggling girls and boys while she flips through an elementary Japanese grammar guide.
Rika
This girl fits the textbook definition of ‘cute redhead’, and while she’s unmistakably asian, her relatively pale skin and dark green eyes, coupled with flaming red hair cut in a pageboy style make it easy to forget about it, especially since there’s no sign of hair dye. She does seem to wear some makeup on her face, still posessed of soft, childlike features, but it’s hard to trace just what did she do with it - there isn’t much. Overally, she resembles a fox - lithe and slim, and generally small, since she’s rather short.
She is dressed in the Eriol Gakuen girl’s uniform - white jacket with blue sailor flap and cuffs, not to mention the tacky crown-shaped medal, white and blue short skirt and the long blue stockings with regulation white shoes. She looks unsurprisingly feminine and attractive in this attire, which was probably the initial idea. She’s dragging around a thick cloth bookbag, and a tiny Minolta Dimage Xi digital camera is hanging on her neck on a chain.
An unusual hairband rests upon her hair - a silvery, thickish metallic object with glistening chrome parts. It looks very pretty, almost like jewelry, but very weird. And it has leds.
Rika peers through the open door of the classroom. She might not move at the speed of light, but the light of her camera’s flash travels before her, SNAP as soon as her head appears through the doorframe. For a few brief moments the head hangs there, as if disembodied, before all of the tiny Rika slips through the door, “Still here, huh?” she comments. “Even most clubs are already done for the day.”
“Aah?!” is the girl’s first reaction at the sudden flash from the doorway which had taken her quite by surprise. Emiko stares at the new arrival for a few moments after that; never before has she seen someone with such… jewelry. She closes the book and slides it under the flap of her leather satchel that’s on the desk. “My apaato is being painted, so I needed a place to study,” she starts to explain.
Rika chuckles, slowly approaching the new girl. “Maeki Rika desu.” she says, introducing herself. That simple introduction is followed immediately by another, brighter flash from the tiny Minolta camera dangling from her neck.
Rika laughs. Emiko must have heard one of those laughs from a distance, before, now’s her time to be subjected to it directly. “Ooooohohohoho.” Rika laughs with a shrill, high-pitched, annoying and decidedly sound to it. Halfway, she stops, coughing. “Sorry… habit. The people from the school paper don’t talk to me, so I can’t be the school photographer, can I?” she says in a perfectly normal voice with a rather silly grin to it.
Nanako
Surpassing the average Nihon girl in height, if not weight, Nanako appears best characterized as a sullen beanpole. About 172cm, she carries a trim frame with somewhat stiff, precise movements, as though her mind were perpetually elsewhere and detests distractions. Her hair, black and fine as typical of her ethnicity, falls to mid-back in a meticulously woven braid, with short bangs crossing her brow. Her light amber eyes constantly dart with both intelligence and acuity, and the leaden, firm attention of a lifetime watcher. Her voice is light, but murmured, as though stirred from sleep. While her movements are staid and concise, they carry a measure of tension or anxiety, as though time were always wasting, and an appointment always looming ahead.
An impeccably pressed uniform of sturdy-looking, dark green cotton is tailored perfectly, if a bit squarely, to Nanako’s form. Consisting of a dress jacket, pants, and white bloused shirt with a Mandarin collar beneath, it has a decidedly military appearance, with epaulets on the shoulders, and a wide white armband on the left bicep. The armband, as well as the breast jacket pocket and blouse collar monogram, bear various characters in a foreign, though certainly Asian, character set. A pair of black socks and laced-up black dress shoes, polished to a spit-shine, round off the ensemble.
Nanako enters the classroom, with a click of wingtip shoes. She carries a manila folder under her arm, filled wtih a neat sheaf of paper, and seats herself in the desk closest to the teacher’s, typically that of the class president. She gives both of the other girls a thorough look-over, a nodded bow to each, and stares out the window.
Emiko recognizes Nanako from their brief meeting earlier, and briefly wonders what it was like in China and how long she was there. However, she returns the other new student’s nod and forces a polite smile for Rika, and a reply of, “Oh,” unable to think of what else to say.
Nanako riffs through the pages of the manila folder before rising, unfolding rather stiffly, and paces with wingtip clicks to the wall nearest the window, to catch the attention of future glass-gazers. She blue-tacks a notice to the lower pane of glass. “Computer and Electronics Club. Now Accepting Members,” the paper invitingly reads. A series of blank lines scores the rest of the page, then at the bottom, in painstakingly perfect penmanship, “Contact Sadate Nanako, Class 3 president.”
Rika turns to the sound of the ruffling paper, and her weird hairband goes beep snip and SNAP with an unmistakeable photographic flash. She blinks curiously at the newcomer and her advertising notice.
Emiko slides the textbook she was reading into the confines of her satchel and pulls out another, thinner book that looks like a guidebook of some description. Her gaze flows between Rika and Nanako, though she manages to suppress a small jump as the camera flashes. That can take some getting used to.
Rika smiles a wide grin. “Everything.” she answers simply. “That’s meant quite literally.” That’s what Rika had a schoolwide reputation for since at least five years back, after all. Folding her arms on her chest she looks at the jumpy younger student and stands still, leaning back on one of the tables.
Emiko raises a hand to her thin lips and stifles a small chuckle at the rather simplistic reply and shakes her head slightly. Given that the two girls are engaged in conversation, she flips open the small guide book and begins to read.
Nanako reaches a hand over her shoulder to give her long braid a slight tug. “Well, look, you realize you’re going to get sued if you publish people’s likenesses without consent. The Americans made an artform out of it, and this school is full of zaibatsus ready for a little blood. And besides, you should be using an opaque amber lens to muffle the flash. It’s generally only yellow light that gets muted in indoor chromatography anyway.”
Rika giggles, sliging up to sit on the table she was leaning against, “I just tweak the picture digitally before printing if I need to shift the color balance. Using various color lens rids the picture of information which could have been valuable otherwise.”
Nanako frowns immediately, as though a servo were responsible, and nods towards the table. “Sit in a chair. You’re not in elementary school,” she advises brusquely. “I’m not talking about color balance. I’m talking about not getting your lights punched out for getting caught snapping people when they’re not looking.”
Rika shrugs, without changing her position, as the temperature of her voice drops a level. “And I’m talking about color balance and persistence of memory. I don’t have a habit of publishing people’s pictures, but what I see is what I remember. Always. Forever. If you’re planning to rid me of it, you’ve got a lot of trouble heading your way.” she says, her grin turning from a reasonably friendly one into something more vicious with a twist of just a few facial muscles.
Flip. Another page and she still hasn’t found the nightclub her grandfather was talking about. The conversation several meters away from her continues: light, balance, absence of light, hitting lights? She looks up from her book and catches up on the mood and tone of the conversation and eyes the two briefly, not sure what to do. It’s not her place to say anything, or maybe it is? She is the older of the trio, or she’d guess having not seen Rika in any of her classes. Well, she hopes the two can resolve it peacefully. For the moment she turns back to her book.
Nanako rolls a shoulder, and gives Rika a jocular smile. “I’ve got nothing for you to take from me, little girl. Don’t threaten me like a little bozuka. And that wasn’t a threat, it was a friendly suggestion. But I can see where your mind is. If you won’t take a piece of advice from your sempai, I won’t waste time giving it. I’ve got stuff to do.” She stuffs a hand in her jacket, does an about-face, and gives Rika her back, going back to whatever she writes on the contents of her folder.
Rika silently reaches into the thick bookbag she was dragging behind herself all that time - something which is only made to look like an Eriol Gakuen standard issue bag, because there’s no way in hell you could fill one in such a way. Out comes a big, professional level digital camera, obviously a Minolta Dimage lineage but strangely devoid of any markings, with an attached flash that could kill small insects. SNAP goes the flash, filling the room with bright light as Rika takes a poster-grade picture of nothing but Nanako’s back. Sticking the monster back into the bookbag, Rika slides off her table and starts silently making her way to the door.
Luckily, Emiko’s eyes were fixated on the book in front of her. The bright flash of light does get her attention though, and she squints once or twice before looking up to see no trace of the instrument Rika must have used. However, she does see Rika toting her large bag towards the classroom door, and offers a polite, “Mata ne,” to the departing girl.
Rika tosses just a cold, laconic “Ja.” over her shoulder, before she is out of the door and out of sight.
Nanako murmurs, “Ja ne,” in a low tone without looking up.
Post a Comment