I couldn't help but stare at myself. It had been so long since I had done my makeup like this—if...
[Rebooted] Drowned in Honey
- Thread starter Guiding Bolt
- Start date
- Original
- Created
- Status
- Ongoing
- Watchers
- 27
- Recent readers
- 0
- Threadmarks
- 5
-
Statistics (3 threadmarks, 6.6k words)
User Total Guiding Bolt 3 Threadmarks Reader mode -
Loading…
Opening -- 0.00
- Location
- the point is of no return and you have reached it!
I couldn't help but stare at myself. It had been so long since I had done my makeup like this—if I'm being honest, since I had done my makeup at all. It was refreshing to look at myself and see someone who wasn't ugly looking back at me.
It had been refreshing, anyway, before that thought came across my mind. What had been a cheerful smile turned to a familiar glower. There was the girl I knew and hated again. I brushed my hair away, tucking the cleft bunch of strands behind my ear. I tried to smile again. Today was the day—my day.
The light of my candle flickered. It wasn't worth my attention. Today was the first day of my first semester at Sakurai Senior High School, and I couldn't help but be a little excited. I knew it'd be a letdown, but until that happened, I could pretend that this school would be different. Smile, Nell.
I smiled at my reflection, and when I made eye contact, there was a twinkle in my eye. A glistening spark of liquid light and happiness, the culmination of all the feelings that I felt today.
I imagined Lilly standing beside me, her black hand on my unclothed alabaster shoulder, whispering those encouragements that she always whispered. Felice was right there beside her, her lily-white hand resting delicately on my other shoulder, only visibly distinct by the embroidery inspired patterns of gold henna that traced her fingers. Before I knew it, their whispers joined together, and before I knew it there was a cacophony of praises and encouragements for me, and I was all the more unworthy after hearing them, and that twinkle in my eye all the bigger.
"Morning, honey~. It's the first day of school, are you ready?" Except those words weren't right, and that voice wasn't hers. The Lilly on my shoulder began to crumble, and where her lips once sat were instead the lips of my dear mother, and instead of Lilly's heaven-sent voice the voice of my momma echoed in my ears and in my brain.
"Da~a~arl~a~ing, come on, breakfast's getting cold!" I knew I should respond, but I was fixated on the way Lilly crumbled before me. As the waning light of my candle flickered again, I saw the cracks between Lilly's face spread, and between the cracks I saw the straight lines of her jaw curve inwards, and the light of her eyes replaced itself with the light of my candle, and for a moment it was not Lilly I looked at but--
I looked away. I felt that twinkle leave my eye and begin to run down my face.
I grabbed an Aztec cardigan and threw it over my loose top. When I saw my reflection, it really wasn't refreshing anymore. I took a deep breath. I could hear my momma's quiet prowl up the stairs. The pitter-patter of her feet against the rental home's stairs was meant not to wake me, but somehow I know that I've awake every time she's tried it.
I stepped over to the mirror and rubbed at my eyes, before moving in to fix the smudge beneath my left eye. The lock to my door clicked open, and soon enough, my momma had slipped through the door, tiny brass-key only in her hand another moment before she slipped it into her purse.
"Oh. You're up, honey?" Her voice was a perfect blend of Southern drawl and Midwestern standard. She didn't sound like a caricature anymore, though there were times before the move to Minnesota where she definitely had. I didn't look at her face, but I'm sure if I had, her lip would be slightly pursed as she held back an exasperated sigh.
I didn't like looking at my momma. The way she tried so hard for someone so worthless always made me cringe.
"Mm," I exhaled, half a response to her and half an accomplished sigh from having finished fixing my smudge. She deserved more than that. "I woke up a little bit ago. I've been trying to. . ." and it was there that I lost track of my words. What was I trying to do? Trying to doll myself up, to make myself someone else's standard of pretty, just so that I could fit in and make a better impression at a school I knew wouldn't help me? Objectify myself for some chance at a veneer of happiness? What was I--
My momma's voice didn't let me finish those thoughts. "You look nice. Felice-inspired look today, hon?" No. Felice was a lot more fashionable. If I had been staring at her in the mirror for the past six hours, my mood would've gone from this ecstaticity to some sort of real happiness. The sort of happiness that would free you from this mortal illusion and help you accept nothingness.
"Yeah. I wish I still had that brush-kit she got me," I said. I still wasn't looking at my momma, instead staring at the reflection of my comforter, draped off the side of the leather couch I called a bed, but I'm sure if I had looked at her she'd have a cautious smile on her face, happy that for once I was doing what she described as 'normal girl things.'
It wasn't completely a lie. I did miss that brush kit. Felice had a way of finding things that had a certain ethereal beauty. It's why she liked me so much, apparently—she likened my skin to the 'spiderweb-shawl of a spinster's specter,' my eyes to the 'glass gaze of a ghoul' and my hair to 'silver strands of starlight.' In her world, such titles were compliments. I am still unsure.
My momma said something, but I missed it. I looked over to her and rubbed at my eyes. She paused for a moment, and I paused too, not wanting to admit this new failure (I was bad enough at being a daughter when I wasn't losing track of my mother's words). Then she lowered her head and nodded to me.
"Be down for breakfast soon, okay? I wouldn't want it to get too cold for you baby." With that she turned and sauntered back down the stairs, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I turned my gaze back to the mirror and put my hand into my hair, gently combing out some ruffles, and for a moment, I closed my eyes and relaxed.
When I opened my eyes, I saw a ghost in the mirror. Felice's hand rested upon mine, guiding my fingers through the ruffles. I leaned forward to squint, to try and see her more clearly—but as I moved from that inch she vanished, and where that fragment of Felice once flickered was instead only the cold and stagnant air of my room.
I shivered.
The way my hair now sat, brushed away to two distinct sides, with the nape of my neck exposed—it reminded me of my Father. It reminded me of how my momma always used to wear hers, back in Clemson. I tossed my hair to the right, then the left, and when it settled the scattered strands were no longer in any recognizable style, but for the eternal classic "natural beauty" that I was nowhere near confident enough to pull off.
I didn't want to look at myself anymore. I finally forced myself from the vanity and began the descent to the kitchen.
The house my momma and I were renting was more of a shack. It was from an area of housing in Kuzawa that had been formally (though not fully, in a legal sense) condemned by the city authority, though that did not stop shadier members of the housing market from selling the few close-to-code buildings that hadn't been formally investigated.
My room might well have been the best room in the house. It was small, much smaller than the room I had had back home, barely large enough for the frame of the twin bed I had mounted over my sofa-turned-bed and the wooden desk I had sitting next to the sofa. Pushed up against the backwall of the room, you always had a good view out of the window from the chair, into a similar room in the house next door.
You would've had a good view, anyway, if not for the poster that plastered the window of the house opposite: on one side of the poster was a woman in shades of pink, her head entirely cut off from the poster, against a background of black; on the other side of the poster was block white lettering that read "Less Is More."
The stretch of wall in my room opposite my sofa-bed had the few posters and relics of my past that I didn't hate to look at. There was a promotional poster for the film Heathers, handed down from my mother to me, beside a few framed comic books that Gale had given to me—the Amazing Spider-Man #122, Watchmen #11, Superman vol 2 #75—and a simple, minimalist painting of a willow tree swaying at dawn that Josie had made for me. It wasn't much, but it was mine, and that was rare these days.
The rest of the house was less cozy.
Based on the scratchings, etchings and general markings scattered across the walls near the bedframes and the plethora of two-foot by two-foot alcoves hidden behind failing sections of drywall, I assumed that this place was, at some point in the not so distant past, a drug den (maybe even something worse). I didn't really mind; it was in a way comforting that the people who lived here before me weren't perfect—somewhat comforting that the good karma of the house had already been destroyed enough that my own could hardly add to it.
But it did make me worry for my momma. When she had been with Father in Clemson, the two had lived a life of capital-L luxury. I don't remember all that much of it, given that the relationship had been falling apart since weeks after my birth—Gale claims that I was the catalyst for the marriage failing, and my momma has never disagreed—and even before that, when she had lived with her own mother in Minnetonka, she had been a member of one of the MNSP area's more affluent families.
For her, this place was a change. I brushed my hand against the crumbly wall paper and continued down the stairs.
I only hope that it ended up a good change for her. She had wanted more than anything to get out of the country, and with the new branch of the company opening in Kuzawa, she had found an opportunity. The job didn't pay much right now, but as the branch developed, theoretically her wages would increase to compensate her increased workloads, and—and long story short, my momma is working three different jobs right now to try and build up a savings for us.
Our living room, or the hallway between the bathroom, the kitchen, the stairs and the door that we liked to call out living room was nearly devoid of substance. There was a small wooden table we had put a flower vase on when we moved here, but somewhere along the line I had forgotten to water it a few days, and somewhere along the line after that it had ended up flooded, and now the dead remains of the flower simply sat there as a reminder. A picture frame sat next to the vase, enshrining a photo of Gale, my momma and me.
Father had been cut from the photo. From the jagged lines of the cut, I don't think it was done with a scissors.
I was in the kitchen, now, sitting down at one of the two stools by the counterspace next to the stove. The stools weren't the same style, nor the same height, and they had a predisposition towards shakes and wobbles. But they were stools, and when my momma and I had picked them out, the Ainu woman who sold them to us had said "they may not be the most sturdy, but I dare to say you'd shake to if someone put the weight of their world upon you." Something in the way she had said it had brought a laugh to my momma's face in what had been a quite awful week, and now the stools stood as some sort of reminder to her that always brought a smile to her face.
I didn't need to announce my presence for my momma to slide the plate of fried race and egg over to me. I took one of the plastic forks from our cutlery bag (a bag that was always on the verge of falling off of the table, no matter how many times we moved it back to the center). It tasted good, like always—my momma had been a very good cook, and it was one of her happiest moments when I took after her in that department.
She turned off the stove and took a seat next to me. Her own bowl was smaller than mine, but as for our usual dance, I ended up sliding ninety percent of what she had tried to give me onto her plate. She needed it more than I did—besides, feeding a waste of space makes for a waste of food. We ate in silence, for the most part. Sometimes my momma would ask questions, though they were always the sort she knew the answer to, and sometimes I'd try to ask her about work and she'd sigh and stop eating.
Today was no different, and when she had finished her plate and mine, she hurried and got up to prepare to run to her first job. I took a moment to get up after she had went back to her room, spending the time adjusting my grey capris and cardigan.
Getting to school was around a half-hour walk. My momma had made it very clear that there were public busses throughout the city that I could catch to make the trip easier. The problem with that—well, going to catch a public bus was the stuff of my nightmares (what wasn't), and I doubt that'd actually get me there any faster than walking would.
I don't know why I was afraid of the public busses. It wasn't really a fear that I had founded on anything. I stepped over the threshold, glanced down the road, then frowned and went back inside to grab my book bag. It's just something that had welled up inside me, supported by each and every one of those unfavorable bus rides I had went on in Clemson or in Minnetonka, until eventually I had reached a breaking point and decided that I wouldn't ride one again.
Thinking about it, it wasn't really sensible of me. I should just get over myself and ride the bus. It'd be easier on everyone and involved, and my momma, well, she could sleep in more before work if she didn't have to worry about making breakfast so early for me. I bit my lip and threw my bag over my shoulder. The bag had belonged to Felice, and every time I saw it, it reminded me of her with its lily-white cotton and its stitched-in cursive lettering of "just cozy."
I could try the bus. I would try the bus. Not today. Today was my day. But one of these days, I would make myself try the bus. If it made it easier for my momma, if it took out any amount of that weight that rested upon her, then it was worth it, wasn't it? I crossed the threshold again. It had to be worth it. She did so much for me. It was the least I could do for her. There was a twinkling in my eye again.
It had been a long, long time since the last time I had walked to school. In my first years at Clemson—K through 4th, maybe a little into 5th, I had lived so close to the school that it wasn't any trouble at all to walk. That must have been back in the 20s, though, and I know it was before the Children of Christ became active in that part of the country. After the first Chains came into town, my momma decided she'd be driving me to school herself.
She never told me those were her exact reasons—I remember bits of a conversation with her and Gale, where Gale was saying a lot of words that were too big for my elementary-schooler brain to figure out, where she had said the middle school was too far away for me to walk, and I remember the utter confusion that had put me in because the middle school was less than a block further—and that, well, that was probably a good thing. I had enough to think about without thinking about that.
I didn't realize how much I had missed walking to school until now. Clemson had been a cute town; Minnetonka, for the few years I lived up there, cuter. But compared to the beauty that was Kuzawa, they were both specks of dirt, dust and stain.
Even the rundown area where we were living had a rustic Japanese charm to it, and the graffiti-covered signs for American-Japanese Coprosperity still glimmered with beautifully drawn caricatures of the myriad of Japanese and American ethnicities dancing under the light of the rising sun and the fifty-two stars. There were smaller children playing basketball in one of the smaller back alleys of the district (though the basketball was a repurposed soccer ball that it looked like one of them had colored on in crayon) and plenty of broken windows to go along with their game.
Even those broken windows, though, were not the drab and dreary spectacles of failed urban development I had saw in my few months in Chicago—the light refracted against the broken shards like a kaleidoscope, and where there might have been ruin there was instead pristine beauty. If I had had any skills at all, I might have tried to make some painting or song about the light, tried to capture it for others eternally—but instead I trudged along and looked past that fleeting beauty.
Ahead of me, some fifty yards, I saw a group of some seven or eight people. Well, students. More study was needed to figure out if they were people. I regretted that thought as soon as it had formed, and I winced, trying to recover and make out who the people were a bit more clearly.
Among them was a tall man (more of a boy) wearing what looked like a traditional school uniform, despite the abolishment of the uniform several years ago, a similarly tall woman (less of a girl) in a matching uniform who had her arm locked with his, what I figured quite quickly were several groupies of the couple and a pair of girls who looked remarkably like the leading woman.
Maybe this was my chance to meet some new people. Make some new friends. Sure, I doubt there'd be another Felice or Lilly up there…but there'd be someone, anyway, and someone is better than no one.
At the same time, it looked like a pretty tight knit group. Maybe just barging in to join them wouldn't work out. I'd need some sort of plan to join them if I wanted to look normal.
[ ] Approach the group.
[ ] Walk alone. Kuzawa is beautiful—there's no need to ruin it with company.
[ ] Favorite school subject: write-in
[ ] Worst school subject: write-in
[ ] Sport, hobby or extracurricular of choice (1): write-in
[ ] Sport, hobby or extracurricular of choice (2): write-in
Drowned in Honey ("transfer schoolgirl quest") is a quest that follows the life and quite possible death of Nell. In the last attempt, there were a lot of moments where it was a sad or dark quest; that will be the same in this quest. But I hope to do fix my mistake with my prior attempt and put in enough good, happy and light moments that the dark moments don't feel too crushing and that you, as players, don't feel like every option will inevitably lead to failure. Thank you for sticking with me so far, whether you're a new reader or someone from the discord, and I hope that you enjoy the story to come! ^.^
It had been refreshing, anyway, before that thought came across my mind. What had been a cheerful smile turned to a familiar glower. There was the girl I knew and hated again. I brushed my hair away, tucking the cleft bunch of strands behind my ear. I tried to smile again. Today was the day—my day.
The light of my candle flickered. It wasn't worth my attention. Today was the first day of my first semester at Sakurai Senior High School, and I couldn't help but be a little excited. I knew it'd be a letdown, but until that happened, I could pretend that this school would be different. Smile, Nell.
I smiled at my reflection, and when I made eye contact, there was a twinkle in my eye. A glistening spark of liquid light and happiness, the culmination of all the feelings that I felt today.
I imagined Lilly standing beside me, her black hand on my unclothed alabaster shoulder, whispering those encouragements that she always whispered. Felice was right there beside her, her lily-white hand resting delicately on my other shoulder, only visibly distinct by the embroidery inspired patterns of gold henna that traced her fingers. Before I knew it, their whispers joined together, and before I knew it there was a cacophony of praises and encouragements for me, and I was all the more unworthy after hearing them, and that twinkle in my eye all the bigger.
"Morning, honey~. It's the first day of school, are you ready?" Except those words weren't right, and that voice wasn't hers. The Lilly on my shoulder began to crumble, and where her lips once sat were instead the lips of my dear mother, and instead of Lilly's heaven-sent voice the voice of my momma echoed in my ears and in my brain.
"Da~a~arl~a~ing, come on, breakfast's getting cold!" I knew I should respond, but I was fixated on the way Lilly crumbled before me. As the waning light of my candle flickered again, I saw the cracks between Lilly's face spread, and between the cracks I saw the straight lines of her jaw curve inwards, and the light of her eyes replaced itself with the light of my candle, and for a moment it was not Lilly I looked at but--
I looked away. I felt that twinkle leave my eye and begin to run down my face.
I grabbed an Aztec cardigan and threw it over my loose top. When I saw my reflection, it really wasn't refreshing anymore. I took a deep breath. I could hear my momma's quiet prowl up the stairs. The pitter-patter of her feet against the rental home's stairs was meant not to wake me, but somehow I know that I've awake every time she's tried it.
I stepped over to the mirror and rubbed at my eyes, before moving in to fix the smudge beneath my left eye. The lock to my door clicked open, and soon enough, my momma had slipped through the door, tiny brass-key only in her hand another moment before she slipped it into her purse.
"Oh. You're up, honey?" Her voice was a perfect blend of Southern drawl and Midwestern standard. She didn't sound like a caricature anymore, though there were times before the move to Minnesota where she definitely had. I didn't look at her face, but I'm sure if I had, her lip would be slightly pursed as she held back an exasperated sigh.
I didn't like looking at my momma. The way she tried so hard for someone so worthless always made me cringe.
"Mm," I exhaled, half a response to her and half an accomplished sigh from having finished fixing my smudge. She deserved more than that. "I woke up a little bit ago. I've been trying to. . ." and it was there that I lost track of my words. What was I trying to do? Trying to doll myself up, to make myself someone else's standard of pretty, just so that I could fit in and make a better impression at a school I knew wouldn't help me? Objectify myself for some chance at a veneer of happiness? What was I--
My momma's voice didn't let me finish those thoughts. "You look nice. Felice-inspired look today, hon?" No. Felice was a lot more fashionable. If I had been staring at her in the mirror for the past six hours, my mood would've gone from this ecstaticity to some sort of real happiness. The sort of happiness that would free you from this mortal illusion and help you accept nothingness.
"Yeah. I wish I still had that brush-kit she got me," I said. I still wasn't looking at my momma, instead staring at the reflection of my comforter, draped off the side of the leather couch I called a bed, but I'm sure if I had looked at her she'd have a cautious smile on her face, happy that for once I was doing what she described as 'normal girl things.'
It wasn't completely a lie. I did miss that brush kit. Felice had a way of finding things that had a certain ethereal beauty. It's why she liked me so much, apparently—she likened my skin to the 'spiderweb-shawl of a spinster's specter,' my eyes to the 'glass gaze of a ghoul' and my hair to 'silver strands of starlight.' In her world, such titles were compliments. I am still unsure.
My momma said something, but I missed it. I looked over to her and rubbed at my eyes. She paused for a moment, and I paused too, not wanting to admit this new failure (I was bad enough at being a daughter when I wasn't losing track of my mother's words). Then she lowered her head and nodded to me.
"Be down for breakfast soon, okay? I wouldn't want it to get too cold for you baby." With that she turned and sauntered back down the stairs, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I turned my gaze back to the mirror and put my hand into my hair, gently combing out some ruffles, and for a moment, I closed my eyes and relaxed.
When I opened my eyes, I saw a ghost in the mirror. Felice's hand rested upon mine, guiding my fingers through the ruffles. I leaned forward to squint, to try and see her more clearly—but as I moved from that inch she vanished, and where that fragment of Felice once flickered was instead only the cold and stagnant air of my room.
I shivered.
The way my hair now sat, brushed away to two distinct sides, with the nape of my neck exposed—it reminded me of my Father. It reminded me of how my momma always used to wear hers, back in Clemson. I tossed my hair to the right, then the left, and when it settled the scattered strands were no longer in any recognizable style, but for the eternal classic "natural beauty" that I was nowhere near confident enough to pull off.
I didn't want to look at myself anymore. I finally forced myself from the vanity and began the descent to the kitchen.
The house my momma and I were renting was more of a shack. It was from an area of housing in Kuzawa that had been formally (though not fully, in a legal sense) condemned by the city authority, though that did not stop shadier members of the housing market from selling the few close-to-code buildings that hadn't been formally investigated.
My room might well have been the best room in the house. It was small, much smaller than the room I had had back home, barely large enough for the frame of the twin bed I had mounted over my sofa-turned-bed and the wooden desk I had sitting next to the sofa. Pushed up against the backwall of the room, you always had a good view out of the window from the chair, into a similar room in the house next door.
You would've had a good view, anyway, if not for the poster that plastered the window of the house opposite: on one side of the poster was a woman in shades of pink, her head entirely cut off from the poster, against a background of black; on the other side of the poster was block white lettering that read "Less Is More."
The stretch of wall in my room opposite my sofa-bed had the few posters and relics of my past that I didn't hate to look at. There was a promotional poster for the film Heathers, handed down from my mother to me, beside a few framed comic books that Gale had given to me—the Amazing Spider-Man #122, Watchmen #11, Superman vol 2 #75—and a simple, minimalist painting of a willow tree swaying at dawn that Josie had made for me. It wasn't much, but it was mine, and that was rare these days.
The rest of the house was less cozy.
Based on the scratchings, etchings and general markings scattered across the walls near the bedframes and the plethora of two-foot by two-foot alcoves hidden behind failing sections of drywall, I assumed that this place was, at some point in the not so distant past, a drug den (maybe even something worse). I didn't really mind; it was in a way comforting that the people who lived here before me weren't perfect—somewhat comforting that the good karma of the house had already been destroyed enough that my own could hardly add to it.
But it did make me worry for my momma. When she had been with Father in Clemson, the two had lived a life of capital-L luxury. I don't remember all that much of it, given that the relationship had been falling apart since weeks after my birth—Gale claims that I was the catalyst for the marriage failing, and my momma has never disagreed—and even before that, when she had lived with her own mother in Minnetonka, she had been a member of one of the MNSP area's more affluent families.
For her, this place was a change. I brushed my hand against the crumbly wall paper and continued down the stairs.
I only hope that it ended up a good change for her. She had wanted more than anything to get out of the country, and with the new branch of the company opening in Kuzawa, she had found an opportunity. The job didn't pay much right now, but as the branch developed, theoretically her wages would increase to compensate her increased workloads, and—and long story short, my momma is working three different jobs right now to try and build up a savings for us.
Our living room, or the hallway between the bathroom, the kitchen, the stairs and the door that we liked to call out living room was nearly devoid of substance. There was a small wooden table we had put a flower vase on when we moved here, but somewhere along the line I had forgotten to water it a few days, and somewhere along the line after that it had ended up flooded, and now the dead remains of the flower simply sat there as a reminder. A picture frame sat next to the vase, enshrining a photo of Gale, my momma and me.
Father had been cut from the photo. From the jagged lines of the cut, I don't think it was done with a scissors.
I was in the kitchen, now, sitting down at one of the two stools by the counterspace next to the stove. The stools weren't the same style, nor the same height, and they had a predisposition towards shakes and wobbles. But they were stools, and when my momma and I had picked them out, the Ainu woman who sold them to us had said "they may not be the most sturdy, but I dare to say you'd shake to if someone put the weight of their world upon you." Something in the way she had said it had brought a laugh to my momma's face in what had been a quite awful week, and now the stools stood as some sort of reminder to her that always brought a smile to her face.
I didn't need to announce my presence for my momma to slide the plate of fried race and egg over to me. I took one of the plastic forks from our cutlery bag (a bag that was always on the verge of falling off of the table, no matter how many times we moved it back to the center). It tasted good, like always—my momma had been a very good cook, and it was one of her happiest moments when I took after her in that department.
She turned off the stove and took a seat next to me. Her own bowl was smaller than mine, but as for our usual dance, I ended up sliding ninety percent of what she had tried to give me onto her plate. She needed it more than I did—besides, feeding a waste of space makes for a waste of food. We ate in silence, for the most part. Sometimes my momma would ask questions, though they were always the sort she knew the answer to, and sometimes I'd try to ask her about work and she'd sigh and stop eating.
Today was no different, and when she had finished her plate and mine, she hurried and got up to prepare to run to her first job. I took a moment to get up after she had went back to her room, spending the time adjusting my grey capris and cardigan.
Getting to school was around a half-hour walk. My momma had made it very clear that there were public busses throughout the city that I could catch to make the trip easier. The problem with that—well, going to catch a public bus was the stuff of my nightmares (what wasn't), and I doubt that'd actually get me there any faster than walking would.
I don't know why I was afraid of the public busses. It wasn't really a fear that I had founded on anything. I stepped over the threshold, glanced down the road, then frowned and went back inside to grab my book bag. It's just something that had welled up inside me, supported by each and every one of those unfavorable bus rides I had went on in Clemson or in Minnetonka, until eventually I had reached a breaking point and decided that I wouldn't ride one again.
Thinking about it, it wasn't really sensible of me. I should just get over myself and ride the bus. It'd be easier on everyone and involved, and my momma, well, she could sleep in more before work if she didn't have to worry about making breakfast so early for me. I bit my lip and threw my bag over my shoulder. The bag had belonged to Felice, and every time I saw it, it reminded me of her with its lily-white cotton and its stitched-in cursive lettering of "just cozy."
I could try the bus. I would try the bus. Not today. Today was my day. But one of these days, I would make myself try the bus. If it made it easier for my momma, if it took out any amount of that weight that rested upon her, then it was worth it, wasn't it? I crossed the threshold again. It had to be worth it. She did so much for me. It was the least I could do for her. There was a twinkling in my eye again.
It had been a long, long time since the last time I had walked to school. In my first years at Clemson—K through 4th, maybe a little into 5th, I had lived so close to the school that it wasn't any trouble at all to walk. That must have been back in the 20s, though, and I know it was before the Children of Christ became active in that part of the country. After the first Chains came into town, my momma decided she'd be driving me to school herself.
She never told me those were her exact reasons—I remember bits of a conversation with her and Gale, where Gale was saying a lot of words that were too big for my elementary-schooler brain to figure out, where she had said the middle school was too far away for me to walk, and I remember the utter confusion that had put me in because the middle school was less than a block further—and that, well, that was probably a good thing. I had enough to think about without thinking about that.
I didn't realize how much I had missed walking to school until now. Clemson had been a cute town; Minnetonka, for the few years I lived up there, cuter. But compared to the beauty that was Kuzawa, they were both specks of dirt, dust and stain.
Even the rundown area where we were living had a rustic Japanese charm to it, and the graffiti-covered signs for American-Japanese Coprosperity still glimmered with beautifully drawn caricatures of the myriad of Japanese and American ethnicities dancing under the light of the rising sun and the fifty-two stars. There were smaller children playing basketball in one of the smaller back alleys of the district (though the basketball was a repurposed soccer ball that it looked like one of them had colored on in crayon) and plenty of broken windows to go along with their game.
Even those broken windows, though, were not the drab and dreary spectacles of failed urban development I had saw in my few months in Chicago—the light refracted against the broken shards like a kaleidoscope, and where there might have been ruin there was instead pristine beauty. If I had had any skills at all, I might have tried to make some painting or song about the light, tried to capture it for others eternally—but instead I trudged along and looked past that fleeting beauty.
Ahead of me, some fifty yards, I saw a group of some seven or eight people. Well, students. More study was needed to figure out if they were people. I regretted that thought as soon as it had formed, and I winced, trying to recover and make out who the people were a bit more clearly.
Among them was a tall man (more of a boy) wearing what looked like a traditional school uniform, despite the abolishment of the uniform several years ago, a similarly tall woman (less of a girl) in a matching uniform who had her arm locked with his, what I figured quite quickly were several groupies of the couple and a pair of girls who looked remarkably like the leading woman.
Maybe this was my chance to meet some new people. Make some new friends. Sure, I doubt there'd be another Felice or Lilly up there…but there'd be someone, anyway, and someone is better than no one.
At the same time, it looked like a pretty tight knit group. Maybe just barging in to join them wouldn't work out. I'd need some sort of plan to join them if I wanted to look normal.
[ ] Approach the group.
[ ] Walk alone. Kuzawa is beautiful—there's no need to ruin it with company.
While we're at it, some character building information:
[ ] Favorite school subject: write-in
[ ] Worst school subject: write-in
[ ] Sport, hobby or extracurricular of choice (1): write-in
[ ] Sport, hobby or extracurricular of choice (2): write-in
Character building will continue throughout the prologue. Options chosen at later points can overwrite and change the preliminary points of character building decided here.
Drowned in Honey ("transfer schoolgirl quest") is a quest that follows the life and quite possible death of Nell. In the last attempt, there were a lot of moments where it was a sad or dark quest; that will be the same in this quest. But I hope to do fix my mistake with my prior attempt and put in enough good, happy and light moments that the dark moments don't feel too crushing and that you, as players, don't feel like every option will inevitably lead to failure. Thank you for sticking with me so far, whether you're a new reader or someone from the discord, and I hope that you enjoy the story to come! ^.^
Last edited:
Important NPCs and Characters
- Location
- the point is of no return and you have reached it!
Americans (Minnetonka or Family)
Americans (Clemson)
Lucille Irvine (née Thompson)
Age: 36, though she's had her 30th birthday the past few years
Occupation: Secretary at Saito-Kushner Law; janitorial staff for Marquis Solutions; ACT/SAT Math and Writing tutor with Xelle
Hobbies: Cooking, working and singing
Appearance: My momma is a short, blonde woman with curly southern hair and traces of her original, thick southern accents. She has soft green eyes and rows of freckles. At home, she usually wears sundresses or nightgowns; at the law offices and while tutoring, she tends to wear more formal, but still somwhat floral, dresses.
Ever since Dad left, Momma has been a lot happier of a woman (I think). Though sometimes she still falls into ruts and picks up a bottle, most night's she's completely given up drinking. It's always worried me a little when I would find her in the middle of the night watching recorded cooking shows, but that's just Momma being who she is, and if that helps her cope instead of drinking, I'll take it any day. It's good that she's safe to be who she is again.
Mood: Stressed
Relationship: Mother-Daughter [★★★☆☆☆☆☆☆☆]
Age: 36, though she's had her 30th birthday the past few years
Occupation: Secretary at Saito-Kushner Law; janitorial staff for Marquis Solutions; ACT/SAT Math and Writing tutor with Xelle
Hobbies: Cooking, working and singing
Appearance: My momma is a short, blonde woman with curly southern hair and traces of her original, thick southern accents. She has soft green eyes and rows of freckles. At home, she usually wears sundresses or nightgowns; at the law offices and while tutoring, she tends to wear more formal, but still somwhat floral, dresses.
Ever since Dad left, Momma has been a lot happier of a woman (I think). Though sometimes she still falls into ruts and picks up a bottle, most night's she's completely given up drinking. It's always worried me a little when I would find her in the middle of the night watching recorded cooking shows, but that's just Momma being who she is, and if that helps her cope instead of drinking, I'll take it any day. It's good that she's safe to be who she is again.
Mood: Stressed
Relationship: Mother-Daughter [★★★☆☆☆☆☆☆☆]
Gale Thompson
Age: 22, though honestly, he hasn't aged since he was eight
Occupation: Night manager at the west Minnetonka Holiday Express
Hobbies: Online gaming, Netflix binges and harassing you
Appearance: Gale is short (5'4"), chubby and muscular. Gale would probably have been a cute guy if he had known what to do with his facial hair or fashion, or at least, what to not do with his facial hair and fashion. With a moustache straight out of the 1880's and a love of sweater vests, I'll admit he gets looks. Just . . not the good ones.
Gale is my step brother from Father's other marriage. It was weird growing up with him in the house. He was always a loner, kind of, and he ended up spending more time with me and my friends then with any friends of his own—but it wasn't like he was a bad person. And besides, he grew up with Father—any type of normalcy here is to be praised.
Mood: Unknown.
Relationship: Brother-Sister [★☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆]
Age: 22, though honestly, he hasn't aged since he was eight
Occupation: Night manager at the west Minnetonka Holiday Express
Hobbies: Online gaming, Netflix binges and harassing you
Appearance: Gale is short (5'4"), chubby and muscular. Gale would probably have been a cute guy if he had known what to do with his facial hair or fashion, or at least, what to not do with his facial hair and fashion. With a moustache straight out of the 1880's and a love of sweater vests, I'll admit he gets looks. Just . . not the good ones.
Gale is my step brother from Father's other marriage. It was weird growing up with him in the house. He was always a loner, kind of, and he ended up spending more time with me and my friends then with any friends of his own—but it wasn't like he was a bad person. And besides, he grew up with Father—any type of normalcy here is to be praised.
Mood: Unknown.
Relationship: Brother-Sister [★☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆]
Lilly Armstrong
Age: 19—so young, so talented, so much better than you are
Occupation: Secretary for Senator Nadine Sechtig [D-MN], student at the University of Minnesota
Hobbies: Singing, art, law studies, political activism and working out
Appearance: Lilly is tall—Lilly is black—Lilly is fierce. With a tight afro meticulously kept short and a pair of staggering blue eyes, Lilly always held a crowd's attention, whether she be on stage (like when she was singing self-written ballads at nationals for the Solo and Ensemble festival) or off of one.
Though it wasn't "her thing," she excelled in sports when you knew her as well. Together with Felice, she commanded the school's Track and Field standings and kept our soccer team at the top end of Division 2. In the Academic Olympiads—well—I could go on for days about Lilly.
The thing I remember most about Lilly is just how beautiful her eyes looked that last time I said goodbye to her, the last time I saw her, and that look of utter hatred and betrayal that followed as I ran out the door.
Mood: Unknown.
Relationship: Estranged friend [★☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆★]
Age: 19—so young, so talented, so much better than you are
Occupation: Secretary for Senator Nadine Sechtig [D-MN], student at the University of Minnesota
Hobbies: Singing, art, law studies, political activism and working out
Appearance: Lilly is tall—Lilly is black—Lilly is fierce. With a tight afro meticulously kept short and a pair of staggering blue eyes, Lilly always held a crowd's attention, whether she be on stage (like when she was singing self-written ballads at nationals for the Solo and Ensemble festival) or off of one.
Though it wasn't "her thing," she excelled in sports when you knew her as well. Together with Felice, she commanded the school's Track and Field standings and kept our soccer team at the top end of Division 2. In the Academic Olympiads—well—I could go on for days about Lilly.
The thing I remember most about Lilly is just how beautiful her eyes looked that last time I said goodbye to her, the last time I saw her, and that look of utter hatred and betrayal that followed as I ran out the door.
Mood: Unknown.
Relationship: Estranged friend [★☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆★]
Felice McLachlan
Age: 18. And she looked it.
Occupation: Model with Steamy, student at the University of Minnesota
Hobbies: Art (henna, ink, watercolor, graphic design, sculpture), sports (Track & Field, University soccer, women's basketball, co-ed softball), coaching and partying
Appearance: When I think of Felice, the words "fragile" and "dainty" always pop into my mind. I want to picture her as a porcelain doll, stunning everyone with her beauty as she dances throughout life and the world. But that's only part of the picture of who Felice is.
Felice is slender, fierce and built. If she had been a man, I'm sure she'd be playing college football—the big screen stuff, D1, on track to NFL college football—and as it is, she's just beneath the level for American national soccer players. She is the picture of athleticism. At the same time, she is delicate in so many ways. When I see her with a brush in hand, it's impossible to picture her on the field. Each movement she makes is smooth and flowing, indecipherable from the next dancing motion.
It would be an injustice to Felice to say that she had two different sides, one of art and one of sports, because there were times when they flowed together perfectly and her artistry and athleticism became one. She was a star. Destined for greatness. I was a speck in her past, but to have come so close to one so glorious—that's more than most people got in their lives.
Mood: Unknown.
Relationship: High school friend [★★☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆]
Age: 18. And she looked it.
Occupation: Model with Steamy, student at the University of Minnesota
Hobbies: Art (henna, ink, watercolor, graphic design, sculpture), sports (Track & Field, University soccer, women's basketball, co-ed softball), coaching and partying
Appearance: When I think of Felice, the words "fragile" and "dainty" always pop into my mind. I want to picture her as a porcelain doll, stunning everyone with her beauty as she dances throughout life and the world. But that's only part of the picture of who Felice is.
Felice is slender, fierce and built. If she had been a man, I'm sure she'd be playing college football—the big screen stuff, D1, on track to NFL college football—and as it is, she's just beneath the level for American national soccer players. She is the picture of athleticism. At the same time, she is delicate in so many ways. When I see her with a brush in hand, it's impossible to picture her on the field. Each movement she makes is smooth and flowing, indecipherable from the next dancing motion.
It would be an injustice to Felice to say that she had two different sides, one of art and one of sports, because there were times when they flowed together perfectly and her artistry and athleticism became one. She was a star. Destined for greatness. I was a speck in her past, but to have come so close to one so glorious—that's more than most people got in their lives.
Mood: Unknown.
Relationship: High school friend [★★☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆]
Americans (Clemson)
Gisele Corbeau
Age: 20.
Occupation: Studying at a Clemson community beauty school, jobless
Hobbies: Art (make-up, henna, hairdressing, painting, the likes), swimming, hunting and fishing
Appearance: A second-generation french immigrant, Gisele does her best to look like she's straight from Paris. Her long, black hair (almost waist length, per her insta) is constantly in a red, black or yellow beret, chosen to match her outfits.
Though you haven't been in touch that much since you moved away, you've started to rekindle the friendship since moving overseas. Something about Gisele recently worries you, though--she keeps talking about how much she regrets being so late and how she wishes that she had more time to spend with you.
Mood: Unknown.
Relationship: Close middle school friend [★★☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆]
Age: 20.
Occupation: Studying at a Clemson community beauty school, jobless
Hobbies: Art (make-up, henna, hairdressing, painting, the likes), swimming, hunting and fishing
Appearance: A second-generation french immigrant, Gisele does her best to look like she's straight from Paris. Her long, black hair (almost waist length, per her insta) is constantly in a red, black or yellow beret, chosen to match her outfits.
Though you haven't been in touch that much since you moved away, you've started to rekindle the friendship since moving overseas. Something about Gisele recently worries you, though--she keeps talking about how much she regrets being so late and how she wishes that she had more time to spend with you.
Mood: Unknown.
Relationship: Close middle school friend [★★☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆]
Last edited:
Character Profile
- Location
- the point is of no return and you have reached it!
Name: Eleanor "Nell" Irvine
Age: 18
Favorite Subject: --
Worst Subject: --
Appearance:
Social Status: --
Happiness: --
Homesickness: --
Age: 18
Favorite Subject: --
Worst Subject: --
Appearance:
Social Status: --
Happiness: --
Homesickness: --
- Location
- the point is of no return and you have reached it!
Reserved.
You may post!
You may post!
:O
But that was half the fun! T-T
Also things felt like they were on the upswing a bit.
I'm kinda tempted to go with the same subjects and stuff as last time, but I don't remember what they were
Terran Imperium
[French]
- Location
- Southern France
[X] Walk alone. Kuzawa is beautiful—there's no need to ruin it with company.
[X] Favorite school subject: Science Physics
[X] Worst school subject: Mathematics Algebra
[X] Sport, hobby or extracurricular of choice (1): Track/Field club
[X] Sport, hobby or extracurricular of choice (2): Swimming club
Let's beat our PC's inferiority complex out by socializing. Ya can't be ugly if ya have an anime girl's face! 
And sports, its important to have a healthy body!
[X] Favorite school subject: Science Physics
[X] Worst school subject: Mathematics Algebra
[X] Sport, hobby or extracurricular of choice (1): Track/Field club
[X] Sport, hobby or extracurricular of choice (2): Swimming club
And sports, its important to have a healthy body!
Last edited:
... *Looks at the first iteration of the Magical Girl and Ozzy* ... Yyyyeeeeaaaaahhhh. About that.
"Halp?" "Die Demon!"
And there was also that one girl we tried to be friends with and... I think ended up going Yandere for until we found out she had a girlfriend? All in, like, six hours.
... That was a fun time.
kinigget
Best Demon
- Location
- People's Republic of Portland
the fun is about to continue then?
let's see if we can't manage to not horribly break ourselves within the first few days this time
[X] Walk alone. Kuzawa is beautiful—there's no need to ruin it with company.
[X] Favorite school subject: Science Physics
[X] Worst school subject: Mathematics Algebra
[X] Sport, hobby or extracurricular of choice (1): Track/Field club
[X] Sport, hobby or extracurricular of choice (2): Swimming club
let's see if we can't manage to not horribly break ourselves within the first few days this time
[X] Walk alone. Kuzawa is beautiful—there's no need to ruin it with company.
[X] Favorite school subject: Science Physics
[X] Worst school subject: Mathematics Algebra
[X] Sport, hobby or extracurricular of choice (1): Track/Field club
[X] Sport, hobby or extracurricular of choice (2): Swimming club
Zeroth Jupi
Sporadic Writer and Haver of Ideas
- Location
- Somewhere
- Pronouns
- He/She/They
[X] Walk alone. Kuzawa is beautiful—there's no need to ruin it with company.
[X] Favorite school subject: Science Physics
[X] Worst school subject: Mathematics Algebra
[X] Sport, hobby or extracurricular of choice (1): Track/Field club
[X] Sport, hobby or extracurricular of choice (2): Swimming club
[X] Favorite school subject: Science Physics
[X] Worst school subject: Mathematics Algebra
[X] Sport, hobby or extracurricular of choice (1): Track/Field club
[X] Sport, hobby or extracurricular of choice (2): Swimming club
Dromeosaur
Feathery Raptor of snowy planes and frozen sea
- Location
- The land of Trees and Squirrels
[X] Walk alone. Kuzawa is beautiful—there's no need to ruin it with company.
[X] Favorite school subject: Science Physics
[X] Worst school subject: Mathematics Algebra
[X] Sport, hobby or extracurricular of choice (1): Track/Field club
[X] Sport, hobby or extracurricular of choice (2): Swimming club
[X] Favorite school subject: Science Physics
[X] Worst school subject: Mathematics Algebra
[X] Sport, hobby or extracurricular of choice (1): Track/Field club
[X] Sport, hobby or extracurricular of choice (2): Swimming club
I wish we had an 8ball command on SV right now.
[X] Walk alone. Kuzawa is beautiful—there's no need to ruin it with company.
[X] Favorite school subject: Science Physics
[X] Worst school subject: Mathematics Algebra
[X] Sport, hobby or extracurricular of choice (1): Track/Field club
[X] Sport, hobby or extracurricular of choice (2): Swimming club
Algebra's easy, maybe Calculus? I know we had AP Calc in my final year of high school, but that might be too much here? Then again, Japan. Fuck it.
Last edited:
Terran Imperium
[French]
- Location
- Southern France
Ya guys know something I don't anyway. I trust ya and will change my vote about socializing.
It depends on people. Algebra too for me is easy. I just pulled out a random one and let's just say its just not the PC's thing. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
... Somehow I missed that that was worst school subject. Whoops.
Nevermind. Algebra makes sense.
Inclinedtoserve
Towering Star
- Location
- Up above the world so high
[x] Walk alone. Kuzawa is beautiful—there's no need to ruin it with company.
Loner life is best life! People will just beat you down, tear you apart, and turn out to be monsters from some unknowable abyss.
[x] Favorite school subject: Science Physics
[x] Worst school subject: Mathematics Algebra
[x] Sport, hobby or extracurricular of choice (1): Track/Field club
[x] Sport, hobby or extracurricular of choice (2): Swimming Club
Loner life is best life! People will just beat you down, tear you apart, and turn out to be monsters from some unknowable abyss.
[x] Favorite school subject: Science Physics
[x] Worst school subject: Mathematics Algebra
[x] Sport, hobby or extracurricular of choice (1): Track/Field club
[x] Sport, hobby or extracurricular of choice (2): Swimming Club
kinigget
Best Demon
- Location
- People's Republic of Portland
...wait, wasn't that us though?
We were the most Abyss-y, but that was everyone I think. Especially Ozzy. Fuck Ozzy.
Inclinedtoserve
Towering Star
- Location
- Up above the world so high
...What? I wasn't even being serious. Did that actually happen in the original thread? I haven't read it.
... You have no idea what you just got yourself into.
Excuse me, I need to go laugh/weep for your soul.
Mostly laugh, but that's just me, because you have no idea.
Inclinedtoserve
Towering Star
- Location
- Up above the world so high
Chuckles
I'm in danger!
Though to be honest just the name of the thread made me wary of social interaction. Can't get drowned in honeyed words and lies if you don't interact with people who will deliver them.
Last edited:
- Location
- the point is of no return and you have reached it!
You're really not all that far off honestly. From what we saw anyway.
Terran Imperium
[French]
- Location
- Southern France
I don't want to read the original thread. It won't be fun if its not a surprise anymore. 
Jhin Lemon
Lawful Cute
- Location
- Trapped in the interwebs, please send help
[X] Walk alone. Kuzawa is beautiful—there's no need to ruin it with company.
[X] Favorite school subject: Science Physics
[X] Worst school subject: Mathematics Algebra
[X] Sport, hobby or extracurricular of choice (1): Track/Field club
[X] Sport, hobby or extracurricular of choice (2): Swimming club
[X] Favorite school subject: Science Physics
[X] Worst school subject: Mathematics Algebra
[X] Sport, hobby or extracurricular of choice (1): Track/Field club
[X] Sport, hobby or extracurricular of choice (2): Swimming club
- Location
- the point is of no return and you have reached it!
Getting on my plane back to the US from Amsterdam now. Will close the vote when I land, but it looks like there's already some clear winners.
Last edited: