Okay, this is the Prologue and Part 1 'cause that's all I have so far (although Part Two is very close to completion). This is THREE PART and I may do some editing with the format when it's all said and done.
T O B I - C H A N , L O S T I N N Y CP R O L O G U EThere was a long, semi-tragic tale behind my presence in New York City. Potentially my least favorite place in the entire world.
See, a good friend of mine, Sarah Garza (she'd kill me if I mentioned her middle name), had invited me on an expedition to the famed capitol, where her Aunt and cousin resided. I'd always wanted to meet this cousin of hers (who we'll call Olivia), so I was instantly intruiged. Unfortunately. You know, fortune has never liked me very much...Yes, this is something I'm just noticing. Sorry to keep you all waiting.
Anyway, she had me convinced, but I was naturally nervous. I'm a nervous wreck, you see, and I absolutely detest people. They're always so shallow, all about who's richer or more popular, and they absolutely cannot see what's right in front of their silly faces. We are ALL human. No exceptions, comments, complaints, or wishes. I'm not a genie. You can't just rub me and expect a wish; it doesn't work like that.
So she had me going to a place full of my worst fears. Crowds, maps, and the mafia. I can get myself lost in my own house sometimes. It's rather shameful...Oh, but I failed to elaborate on that last little issue. The mafia has always terrified me. I don't really know why...perhaps because it's the MAFIA. Scary, eh?
Why, oh why did I get on that plane?! How on Earth did I ever convince myself to pack my entire room in a single suitcase and fly off to NYC? Because, despite what those blasted shirts say, I absolutely, whole-heartedly, totally and completely do NOT "heart" NYC.
P a r t O n e
The Wrong Bread"So, um, where exactly are they?" I questioned my comrade in arms, Sarah. Glancing down at her, she looked completely unruffled, as if she'd done this a thousand times. I, on the other hand, was barely holding it together. All those people...
"They'll be here eventually," she answered simply, not bothering to carry on the conversation. Well, I had nothing better to do....so I pulled out my iPod. Pwnage, I just know ya'll were thinking I'd strike up a conversation! But I didn't!
Colours of the Heart by UVERworld. J-pop, a gorgeous song. It's like, you don't even have to know what they're saying, it's just naturally beautiful. And it just really amazes me when guys can hit the high notes.
When I noticed Sarah trying to get my attention, I lazily pulled one earbud out. It was my favorite part of the song, after all...Then I registered what she was saying.
"Ohhh! Where are they--hold on a sec," I broke off when the song changed, not wanting screamo-ish rock to be blasting in my ears when I met my friend's relatives. Talk about awkward. You Are So Beautiful by Escape the Fate. Surprisingly motivational, and very uplifting..."So?" I pressed, switching my iPod off. It was an unneccessary detail anyway.
"They're right over there," she sighed, pointing at a pair of woman, one taller than the other, on the far side of the room. Even Sarah got a bit tired of me on occasion.
The two of us, rather than waving them over or having them wave us over, met them somewhere in the middle. Though, due to the fact that I was feeling particularly lazy, it more on our half than theirs. If you catch my drift.
"Hello, I'm Tobi, nice to meet you..." I greeted them. Then, deciding further conversation was unneccessary, I wandered away. Though they stared after me, none of them made a move to follow. I suppose they thought I'd rejoin them after they had caught up on recent events with one another. Actually, I just wanted to see what a New Yorkian street looked like for myself.
We all see them in movies. Streets filled to the brim with cars, buses, and taxis, winding around all those tall buildings. Well, the movies are extremely accurate, because the moment I stepped out of that airport, I was greeted with an assortment of honking vehicles, shouting pedistrians, and the horrible stench of pollution.
I present to you...The reason I love Arizona. Despite the intense heat and random rain showers, Arizonian air is beautifully clear. No pollution, no humidity (with the possible exception of Pheonix-they do have a bit of pollution, I believe)...New York, on the other hand, made me want to wear a gas mask. And we thought China was bad! Further proof that humans, particularly Americans, have a bad habit of looking over things that are clearly right in front of them. Such as skyscrapers; they're there, but we never really look at them, even though they're so immense.
The first thing I really saw was a sign saying, "Subway" that had an arrow directing its readers down a long flight of dirty-looking stairs. My incessantly growling stomach found I could not resist the temptaion of a Subway turkey foot-long, especially after the long, foodless flight from Georgia.
Now, if I were anyone else, I would've known right away that the Subway I was looking at and the Subway I was thinking about were two different things. But I was me, so I only paused a moment to wonder why Subway was underground in New York before heading down those stairs, a flock of businessmen surrounding me. Or perhaps it was a pack...? Maybe a herd, or a gaggle, or even a murder?! They did resemble crows in their black suits.
Before I could continue my thoughts on the name for a group of businessmen (and just as I was moving on to pod, due to their resemblance to killer whales), I'd reached the bottom of the concrete stairs. What I saw made me wonder...Why did New Yorkian Subways look like bullet trains?
Of course, being me (once again), I didn't see much problem with this. I just bought my ticket and stayed with the businessmen, who happened to be discussing some kind of math, as they boarded the bullet-train-restaraunt thing. Inside, however, I was forced to face the facts. This was not, as I had originally thought, a place of food, food, and more food. Rather, it was a kind of transportation, and a crowded one at that.
Fear propelled my actions henceforth, but before I could leap out of the blasted contraption, the doors had slid shut. Darn those automatic door systems...How was I to find a way out of this one?
P a r t T w o : Finding Atlantas
Let me tell you, a long ride in this "subway" thing is not AT ALL pleasant. I for one find it to be the complete opposite.
"What's so dang horrible about riding a subway?" you may ask. To which I would reply,
"Well, since we're being honest here, besides the crowds of people packed like sardines, the fact that it was a choice between my butt going numb or standing the whole time, several people knocking into me, being approched by some frightening characters, and having absolutely NO idea where the heck I was going, everything was just peachy."
Then you'd probably say, "But, Tobi, that sounds a lot like a run-on sentence," and we would most likely have a long, drawn out conversation about the life cycle of butterflies and the evolution of fish into people. But of course, you'd probably point out that people are supposed to have evovled from monkeys.
My friend, where do you think the monkeys came from?
Indeed, we could go on and on. However, my situation at the time was much more dire, and demanding of immediate attention. Otherwise my situation might have been discovered by social services under charges of abandonment.
So when I finally got off the subway because I simply couldn't stand being in it any longer (my usual pessimism had led to a long, drawn out imagining of all the things that could go wrong while riding a subway), I had no earthly clue where I was. Not only was there no exit in plain sight, there were various tunnels leading off who knew where. I turned to get back onto the subway, but it was already gone. Okay, this was NOT funny. How was I supposed to get out of a tunnel that had no exits?! Gah!!
Suddenly, the sound of whispering voices met my ears. Someone was there, and probably watching me, and let me tell you that is NOT a nice feeling, in fact there are a lot of NOT's in this tale, I've just noticed, I'll bet you already noticed, why does everyone seem to--
"Who might you be?" asked a rather extravagant-looking teenage girl as she sauntered over to where I was standing. I, in response, turned my thoughtful, slightly panicky blue-gray-green (I'm not entirely certain what color they are) eyes towards her. Her features were memorable, yet not. Unforgettable, yet at the same time forgettable. It was an odd sensation.
"Tobi, Tobi Oguri, and who might you b--"
"Wait, you're Tobi?! THE Tobi Oguri?!" she questioned furiously, cutting off my question. Okay, so she wanted to ignore all common curtesy and get straight to the point. Fine, fine...
"Yeah, but when you put it like that, I can't help but wonder who's asking," I retorted, keeping my eyes on her face to see if her expression would give anything away. Despite her previous excitement (which looked to be bordering anger), she'd now managed to smooth her face into a calm mask.
"Sho Park, at your service, Tobi-dono," she answered, bowing so low I wondered if she'd fall on her face. To my slight consternation, she remained upright.
Park...It sounded American enough, but I knew from experience it was Korean. Which struck me as a little odd, considering her features looked more Japanese. Not to mention her name, "Sho". It was a common name for Japanese boys.
Then there was that title she'd referred to me as..."-dono" was the most respectful honorific you could add to someone's name. She basically just called me the Emperor (or, in this case, the Empress).
"Your last name is Korean, but your first is Japanese, and you look distinctly Japanese. Care to explain?" I asked, a slight smirk on my face. What can I say, power is a very nice thing, and I've always been a bit blunt, as it were.
"I'm the third generation since a Korean man married into our family, and ever since my family's children have all been male. Until me, that is," she explained readily, serving to startle me somewhat. I hadn't expected to be right, much less answered so directly!
"Oh...Well, why'd you call me 'Tobi-dono'? Since when am I anything important?" Yeah, the moment I find out I'm apparently some kind of royalty, I immediately question it. Force of habit, I'm afraid.
"You're famous, duh! Every yanki in Japan knows your name! You might as well be our diety!" she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Oh yeah, that cleared everything up. One minute I'm a normal (if not slightly insane) teenage girl, the next I'm some kind of yanki goddess. Okay, who's spreading false rumours about me around here? Heck, I've never even been to New York, much less Japan!
"Uh, yeah, mind explaining why?" I asked of her, skepticism clear in my voice. Most likely on my face as well, but I didn't have a mirror to prove that at the moment.
She gave a fervent, almost fearful look around before whispering, "The Movement." Like I had any idea what that was supposed to mean. I decided not to question it; apparently, someone with my same name and face and everything was out there, moving. Should I be scared...?
"O-oh, right, right, of course," I stammered, scratching my head nervously. "So...where are you taking me, exactly?"
"The battle," Sho hissed, grabbing my arm with a surprisingly tight grip and pulling me away before I could recover my voice. Otherwise, ya' know, I woulda been shouting and protesting and maybe even putting up a fight. Totally.
Dear me...what was I getting myself into?
P a r t T h r e e : Yours Truly, The Trojans
There was that famous battle, a long time ago, between Troy and some other country over some girl or something. Anyway, I remember how Troy tricked the other country (Greece, maybe) by hiding in a giant horse and pretending to be a gift (sorta like a peace offering), and then attacking when night fell.
Apparently, we, the Yanki, were up against "Troy". Otherwise known as the Spanish mafia. Well, the female Spanish mafia, actually. They didn't have an official name like us. Which, according to Yuki (Sho's assistant or something), was part of the reason they hated us so much. We just kinda hated them back. I mean, when somebody hates on you, it's only natural to hate right back on 'em...isn't it?
This battle wasn't your usual cat fight, though. Yanki are as tough as they come, and don't go down without throwing several kicks and punches in the enemy's direction. Unlike those stupid male Yakuza, however, they don't use guns. Guns are for wusses, according to them. According to Sho, actually, but she seems to be their representative, so...
"Yuki-chan?" I said softly, tapping the Japanese girl on her shoulder. She promptly turned to face me, bleached white hair shifting slightly on her back. It was surprisingly long for someone who relished in the retelling of every battle she'd ever been in and/or witnessed.
"Yes, Tobi-dono?" She prompted me, cool gray eyes never leaving my face.
"Do I need...a weapon, or something?" I asked, terrified of her answer. Too bad for me, Lady Luck hated my guts.
"No, why on earth would you need something so cowardly?" She responded in a cold tone of voice, shooting a suddenly disgusted look at me. I'm not a people person, I'm NOT a people person, there goes another NOT....
"Can I have a cookie?" Oh dear. She was going to KILL me!! I just blurted out the first thing that came to mind, which happened to be my stomach! Like this cold-hearted killer would ever give me a--
"Sure~!"
I stared at her for a moment, unblinking. Was this the same person from five seconds ago, or had she been hypnotized? Maybe replaced by a happy, motherly robot? Who happened to have a warm, gooey, chocolate-chip cookie in her hand...
I just couldn't help myself. I practically dove for the cookie, shoving Yuki aside in the process. However, I didn't even notice her, so deep was my fixation on the lovely confection. How I love cookies...soft and gooey and chewy and chocoately...I could use a thousand words and still be unable to describe the beauty of a cookie.
"You know, Yuki," I started conversationally, speaking past the cookie filling my mouth,"It's not just the cookie part that draws you in. The CHOCOLATE is a major part of the joy earned from eating a cookie," here I paused, needing visual representation. Aha!
I happened to have a graph about chocolate just sitting in my pocket, begging to be used. "This here graph shows the magical powers of chocolate, my friend. See, depressed man eats chocolate, depressed man becomes happy man, the world is a better place~!" I cheered.
Choruses of, "You're a genius, Tobi-dono," and, "Three cheers for Tobi-dono~!" as well as, "All hail Tobi-dono!" broke out within the secret Yanki headquarters. That was where things started to get a little weird, though, taking into consideration how the headquarters were subway tunnels and about two hundred people were bowing at my feet. Ah, well, after a day or so it was easy enough to get used to. The constant compliments were very flattering, after all.
"Tobi-dono. It's time," a now-serious Sho said firmly from her position beside me.
"Uh...yeah, exactly how will I be involved?" I inquired in as polite a tone I could manage, freaked out as I was. Who wouldn't find impending doom and possible demise in some Mafia war frightening?
"You'll talk to the leader. Then...it starts," she answered gravely. As if I knew what "it" was. If only I was a telepathic mind-reader sent from the Heavens to guide them during this time of conflict like I said I was...
What? I had tell them something, didn't I? And that was the first thing that came to mind, thank you very much!
I was at the head of the group, Sho on my right and Yuki on my left, as we darted through the tunnels, headed towards the subway.
And so, we went to war.
E P I L O G U E
As it turns out, the Spanish mafia did not maim or otherwise
harm us. Rather, they wanted to express how enraged they were at us for getting a seperate name.
That's right; they were jealous. These tough, hardened looking women were jealous of us for being "Yanki" rather than "Yakuza". According to them, they were just the "Spanish Mafia", clumped together with all the stupid men of the organization.
Remember that so-called "Movement" of mine? Well, apparently I was famous thanks to some over-exaggerated facts about my peace-making skills. The Yanki figured that if anyone could solve their problem, it was me.
Turns out they were right, but that didn't make me any happier with them. I thought I was famous for some kind of protest, or rebellion. Instead I was the No. 1 pacifist.
Anyway, after both sides thanked my profusely and showered me with I.O.U.'s, I made my way back to civilization. Against my own will. I mean, really, after all that struggling and freaking out,
I'd found a place among the tough female gansters of the world.
Then they dumped me back among all the human-life forms of N.Y.C. You can imagine how...non-peaceful I was feeling.
Disregarding my feelings of violence, the rest of the trip was relatively normal. No one had actually noticed my sudden disappearance (I suspected hypnotism, seeing as the Spanish Mafia was also deep into the occult), much to my disappointment. I was at least expecting a search party, y'know? Bitter, bitter disappointment.
I bet you're thinking this whole tale was just one big, fictional story. I mean, who really carries around graphs proving the magical healing powers of chocolate? Well, if you ever happen to meet me, you'll have your answer. And perhaps a piece of chocolate pie, if I'm feeling generous, though such moments are a highly endangered species.
Scratch that, I really want some pie now. I think I'll go borrow some from my MAFIA friends.
Sincerely,
~Tobi~
P.S. Oh, and by the way, I don't have a phobia of the mafia now.
P.S.S. Crowds still terrify me.
P.S.S.S. And I still do NOT "heart" NYC.
**I told ya' it's only three parts. If anyone wants me to write out the "Battle", though, I'd be perfectly willing. SORRY about the weird spacing, the formatting is all off today...