third, fourth, fifth etc. are just showing support
Type: Posts; User: Electric Sheep
third, fourth, fifth etc. are just showing support
GET ROASTED MICHELLE
all im saying is
great way to end 2020, get curbstomped in a mash
game should end today
man gg guys
was really fun
spamming till im removed from the thread
make my shot hit or youre bad
was fun yall
i blame jaleb
Arena Attack Wolhaiksong
I'm sorry friends, I let you down
We used to ride this same train all the time.
I sat still and alone. Out in the darkness, past the window, I could make out trees. Their branches were bare, other than a dusting of snow. In the springtime, this place would be beautiful, full of life. Leaves and flowers everywhere, a dim sunset over the ocean, and all the great smells of nature. Maybe there would be more people on the train, a family with their kids. They could be here after a long day at the beach taking the train back home into the city. Old friends, just for a moment, catching up before returning to their daily lives. Maybe I’d be here, humming along to my favourite song, happy to hear myself and the ringing making music. Sometimes I think back and miss those times.
Soon, though, the memories are taken over by a dark, vitriolic loathing. I hate this place. I’m reminded of where I am. I’m on a bench, on a train. The hum of the engine vibrates through me. It vibrates through my seat, and through the carriage floor. I can feel the wheels on the track, buzzing. It’s cold outside. Snow is shaken off branches, carried by the wind. The trees rattle, their naked branches flying. I feel a pit in my stomach, which might have to do with missing dinner.
I shouldn’t have come back here.
Just past the trees is the ocean. I know somewhere out there is my home. It’s warm there. Cleo is probably resting, curled up on his favourite pillow. You can’t get a fireplace built into an apartment, but the space heater is enough. Laying in bed, I can hear it gently rattle at night. I can feel Cleo laying beside me, me wrapped in my favourite blanket. I sip my coffee and read my book.
Instead, I’m on this train.
Out the window in the other direction, there is a metal wire fence. It’s a sad, flimsy thing. It shakes in the wind, clanging against itself. The city is too far away for anyone to really hear it. Even at night, there should still be cars roaming the streets, people laughing and having fun. With only a week until Christmas, stores will be crowded. The cold offset by that feeling. Outside a department store just off the main street, a person with a bell around their neck might be waiting. The gold bell she wears will chime a sound that will blend in with the rest of the holiday noise. Her sensitive ears will be cold if she doesn’t dress for the weather, but that’s okay. No one will pay attention to her, no matter what’s happening. She’s just a “catgirl”.
But that isn’t me anymore. I’m on this train. Instead of a bell, I have papers, a French passport. It’s been years since I’ve been back here. In a couple minutes the train will begin to slow to a stop. The rushing air will settle around us, and we will be told to grab our bags and depart. I’ll grab my things, cover my ears, and leave the train. I’ll be stopped. Asked where my “owner” is, where my bell is, why I’m covering my ears. They might take me aside, try to scare me. They’ll call me a stray, say they’re calling the CE to take me away.
But I’m a French citizen now. I’m a person. They can’t treat me like that. But they will. It’s inevitable. Despite that, I grab my bags and depart.
Basically empty. I scan the terminal. Nothing out of the ordinary, I can relax. It takes me a moment to find the sign pointing towards the station. A quick check of my things later, and I’m off.
They haven’t exactly redecorated the place since I was last here. A simple loading and unloading area, with guardrails around the tracks. The entire area is enclosed by overhanging glass, casting patterns of warped light on the ground from the lamps outside. In the day, you can see the trees and the sky, and at sunset, the entire building glows – gold and glass. A tourist spot, within walking distance to both the boardwalks and shopping district. I briefly think back to standing by the ocean. Really, this place was beautiful. I wish I could just be here, without any of the problems.
The faint sound of music fills the terminal as I make my way towards the gates. My ears perk up. Rustling, crunching. A moment later my eyes catch up. A pair of guards, doing their rounds. I narrow my eyes, forcing the pair into focus. I see them walking and estimate their pace, routing. I begin seeing spots I could take cover, hide. They’re approaching a T-juncture, just ahead of me. They haven’t noticed me. The exit, just past them. I need to get by. It’s irrational. I’m just a person, walking. I feel for my purse at my side. Everything is fine. Rationally speaking, there’s no need for me to hide, I can just keep walking right on by, no problem.
So I do. I fix my breathing and posture and continue towards the exit. As I approach, one of the guards offers me a nod. I respond with a smile and a wave. They’re dressed for the weather, wearing the same thick, winterized jackets that the police do. Closer now, I can make out their badges. Low-level enforcement, basically volunteers.
“Careful, miss. Cold tonight. You need directions?” His voice is kindly, unintimidating. Scanning his wrinkled face, I vaguely recognize the man, but I can’t place the name. The easy conclusion is that this is just routine, an everyday inspection. Nothing to worry about. He’s probably been walking this same route for years, watching over the trains and the people. Being honest with myself, I’d love to stop and talk with him. See how things have been. Alas, my stomach protests the idea, demanding offerings of appeasement.
I shouldn’t have trouble finding my hotel. I shake my head and thank the pair, making my way towards the door.
I’m a little nervous. Have things really changed at all? Part of me hopes it has.
The steps are slick. Unsalted. A cautious step followed by a deep breath. The air here is crystal clear, but the cold burns my lungs. It doesn’t feel so bad, better than waiting in the stuffy customs lines. Wisps of wind-blown snow are wet against my scalp, and I can feel the last bits of warmth from inside being blown off my body. My ears twitch and I feel a shiver.
Down these steps is the courtyard outside the station. Couples and families walk this way and that. There’s music playing. The music is carried by the wind, down the street. The crackling of neon signs lighting up joins the cacophony. Trees decorated with lights and ornaments dot sidewalks, and the streetlamps are encircled by flowered wreaths. Pop-up stores surround the square, each adorned with their festive designs and flashing bulbs. The colours are all a blur. I look at my feet. Covered in snow. I’m probably just hungry. I know this place, been here a million times before. I’m hungry so I should go see my friend. My shoes make a satisfying crunch as I go off, weaving through the crowd.
I make it halfway through the courtyard when I hear a familiar sound. My head swings to the side and my eyes focus in the general direction of the noise. Down the street, around the corner. Block and a half. It’s slightly muffled under my thick winter hat but I know that noise. A chiming bell. Next, my nose perks up. Exactly what I’m looking for. For a moment the crowd around me melts away. I see my way past, where to jostle, where I can squeeze through. I could probably climb past the fence, through the lot, and out the other side but I discard that thought. For a moment I can block out the sounds of people singing and children crying. I focus on the bell. Two. Close. Talking? I double my pace.
It only takes a few moments to reach the corner.
I feel my vision expands, taking things in, but it all falls away. My target, a familiar takoyaki stall. I see the girl tending it, Milk, her talking to someone. I wasn’t ready for this conversation, but my stomach is rumbling. Next thing I know I’m standing just meters from the cart. I take a deep breath. I can feel my heart beating, my mouth salivating. I’m hungry. I compose myself, fix my hat and approach. I see the girl tending the stall’s nose twitch, she turns to face me and her face lights up, immediately recognizing me.
“Maple? Maple Minaduki? It’s been a while!” Her excitement is palpable, though somewhat overshadowed by the smell of takoyaki. God, I want one. The takoyaki balls are fresh, hot and steaming in the cold air. The aromatically infused steam wafts over, the onions, enough that I can practically taste them. The oceanic flavours; the salty, crunchy exterior. The melty texture, the crispy bonito.
I’m sadly brought back to reality. Milk giggles and asks, “so, you’re looking to buy some, meow?” She nods towards the display.
With some effort, I turn my attention to Milk. Evidently, despite my long absence, she’s still working at her “mother’s” food stall. She’s mostly grown up now, wearing a white, red, and yellow jacket over a striped shirt. The clothes are a little too big and don’t really fit her properly. Her silver hair is longer now, too, messily going all the way down to her shoulders. Which... fair, honestly. Knowing her mother. What catches my eyes is the gold bell tied to a red ribbon encircling her neck. The red ribbon really doesn’t go with her overall look, but I’m sure she’s proud of it anyway. What catgirl wouldn’t be?
I meet her olive eyes. Unshakably focused, her pupils fully contracted. I recognize this body language. I give her a nod and a smile. “Give me three of the classic, thanks.” I put some change into the dish. “A coffee, too.”
She skewers three of the freshest ones, and gives me the ‘you’re welcome’ look. “I heard you were, like, at art school or something. I’m so envious!” I internally cringe, but keep it from reaching my face. I hadn’t been there for a long time. I would have to figure out who spread that around. “Anyway, here you go.”
The offering is even more delicious than I imagined. I chew on the takoyaki and think of a question with which to avoid her question. “You’re all grown up now, aren’t you? Last time I saw you, you were only this tall.” I gesture at her bell. “You know, that look really suits you. The bell brings out your eyes, and I love that you went with the colour red.”
Her eyes light up, and she immediately looks a little less tired. “Isn’t it great? I always looked up to you and the other Minaduki meows.” She gives me a look, up and down, “you look amazing as always by the way, but that red ribbon always looked cat-tastic with your eyes, so since we’re the same, I thought we’d match... Where’s your bell now?”
The other catgirl startles slightly, drawing my attention. She looks almost like a doll, her pink hair flowing with an elaborate braid on the side, finished with a little white bow. Her white striped sky blue dress suits her perfectly, looking tailor-fit even. Her outfit is too perfect to be picked out by her. I suppose I only need one guess.
A conversational landmine waiting to happen? I give Milk a little nod, a grin, and pat my purse — yeah as if that would answer her question. I change the subject. “So, who’s your friend?”
“Well uh, she should probably introduce herself, right?” Milk appears a little taken aback. I can smell her sweating. Her smile tightens, she’s trying to hide her concern or, what, embarrassment?
Not an expected reaction.
I turn to fully face this girl. Draw my ears forward, narrow my eyes slightly, study her face. She’s nervous. Obviously recognizes me. I draw my shoulders back slightly, shifting back on my feet. “That dress looks absolutely adorable on you. Aren’t you cold?”
The girl’s cheeks flush. No immediate response, so I follow up with another question. “You look a little young to be out on your own at this time of night. Where’s your family?”
Her pupils dilate. She smells scared, or at the very least concerned. Am I really that intimidating? “Sorry, I should get home. I’ll see you later, Milk?” She takes three quick steps back, her bell rattling. She moves quickly, darting through the crowd. My eyes track her as she leaves, and my ears keep listening even after she rounds the corner.
I turn to her and smile. “Well, it was nice chatting with you, but I should really get going. Have a good night, yeah?” Quickly, I look away from her frowning face and begin planning my way back to the main street.
As I walk away, she calls back to me. “I guess the rumours are true then, right? Be careful out there, Maple. Don’t get caught without your bell.” She sounds a little sad. I do too, honestly.
After wandering for however long, I found myself in the same park we used to go to. I don’t know how long I walked. My feet are sore and I ran out of coffee three blocks ago. I don’t know why I came here. Dark trees above me and beside me. The lights here were dim, hardly working. Something drove me forward.
I thought back to Milk, the pink-haired girl. They looked happy. Here? I don’t know. My feet feel like they’re moving on their own, taking me here. Forward, through this park. I looked at my shoes. Covered in snow, wet, cold. My fingertips felt a little bit numb through my gloves.
My ears twitched. A sound, at the edge of my awareness.
I felt something. Like nausea, coming up over me. Like a shiver, cold. An icy ball of something. It shook my stomach, travelling up to my chest. Up my neck.
I took in a big breath of air. The air hurt my lungs, but I kept breathing, pushing that thing out. I slowly released the breath, my body shivering. I focus on my hearing. Above me, branches groping for purchase, blocking the view of the moon. They rustle, crackle, and snap. Overhead, a bird, flying through the sky. It watches the city from above, looking for a place to take roost. Above that is the night, a cloudless sky. And there I am. A girl on the ground in a park. The furthest place from home. I focus.
I hear it again. Ringing.
I open my eyes and look into the darkness. My eyes don’t see it, but I know they’re there. A group of catgirls at the edge of the park. Too far to smell, too dark to see: they don’t know I’m here. They’re coming to this park because that’s what they do. It’s Christmas. A family on a walk. A memory flashes in front of me, but I focus on my ears instead. The group, walking in this direction.
I sigh and walk in the other.
It’s 2am when I finally check into my hotel room. The first thing I do is wrap myself in a blanket. Sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed, I close my eyes. The room is warm. My music is playing. The carpet is soft as I squish it with my toes. The blanket is coarse and prickly, but I’ll take what I can get.
I pull out my hairbrush and begin smoothing out my hat-head. I spend time untangling my blonde mane, making sure my ears are okay. They’re sore from being under that darn hat all day, far too sensitive for that. I feel a headache coming on, too. Irresponsible, and it really won’t stop someone from recognizing me as a catgirl. My big, slotted eyes are a dead giveaway if you can’t see my clawed hands. Not to mention the tale.
The last thing I do is start thinking. My mind wanders, thinking about my sisters and the inevitable conversations that we’ll have. I’ll have to talk to that pink-haired girl again, maybe apologize.
The only other people on the night train coming here was an elderly couple who mostly kept to themselves. We exchanged pleasantries near the start of the journey, and it seemed the man preferred his silence. I recognized the woman from when I used to live here, though. Hano, something. She used to work at the elementary school near where we lived. She was one of the ones who would supervise when we played, or answer whatever childish questions we had. She seemed like a gentle old lady, retired now. I was sad that she didn’t recognize me. When the train stopped, we said goodbye and went our separate ways. In some ways, she was the sort of person I wanted to be one day. I didn’t quite know what that meant, but I could figure it out.
It was still a week from Christmas, but I really didn't want to stay that long. Cinnamon might make me, and maybe that would be okay. What I couldn't push out of my mind was that feeling that I had drifted too far from the catgirls here. The bells, the expectations. I want them to come back with me. See my home, meet my friends, taste independence for the first time.
It's not home anymore, but I fall asleep.
Haven't finished part 2 yet, sadly 😔
going to at least
write a bit
im so mad
omegatilted right now
I have a 12 minute long voice recording that is a legacy but apparently those aren't allowed so
guess I'll die
working on a legacy, if youre going to kill me, wait for me to post it
if i dont post it by :50, feel free to policy kill me
i want to take a week long bath
$%#!ing drown me
Confirmed town people
whatcha wanna talk about
back on conputer
what it do
Follow my soundcloud