Hideaki: A Tale of Manliness

[DanjaDoom]

For everyone looking to read and leave a comment, would you mind critiquing my characterization? As in, it's strong points and weak points? Would be berry helpful.

[Hoitash]

Er, well...

Hideaki did seem a bit OOC this part, but I'd be willing to chalk that up to the stress of the game.

your interpretation of Mr. Hakamichi is pretty different from others, so I can't really comment on it.

I will say your interpretation of Lilly, Akira, Shizune, and Misha seems pretty good. Misha comes across as kinda... slow, but it's Hideaki's pov, so it works.

[DanjaDoom]

Hideaki did seem a bit OOC this part, but I'd be willing to chalk that up to the stress of the game.

He's trying to not become the same quasi-sociopath bear-man-child his father is, but he's starting to slip through the cracks. Drama.

your interpretation of Mr. Hakamichi is pretty different from others, so I can't really comment on it.

Well, I didn't want to make him too much of an asshole. Continuity and all that. He's getting better every day.

I will say your interpretation of Lilly, Akira, Shizune, and Misha seems pretty good. Misha comes across as kinda... slow, but it's Hideaki's pov, so it works.

You pretty much got it spot on there.

[Dr. Robotnik]

Relevant.

[DanjaDoom]

Relevant.

You always find the best jokes you can use for your story after you're done writing it.

[Hoitash]

Occupational hazard.

There's always next time, though. Writing is very Eco-friendly thanks to all the recycling

[DanjaDoom]

Occupational hazard.

True, true.

Guess it's time to start thinking up the next wacky zany sitcom adventure for Hideaki to go on.These psuedo-route writers have it all cushy. They don't have to go and think up crazy moments at golf courses and amusement parks!

There's always next time, though. Writing is very Eco-friendly thanks to all the recycling

Hey, I finally get to use this!

[Dr. Robotnik]

If I may make a suggestion; perhaps something involving one of the other girls? Hideaki and Rin would be hilarious.

[DanjaDoom]

If I may make a suggestion; perhaps something involving one of the other girls? Hideaki and Rin would be hilarious.

NO YOU MAY NOT MAKE A SUGGESTION, PEON.

Kidding. That's not a bad idea, actually. I may just do that.

[Kitsune Spirit]

This is a work of genious. I kept hearing Hideaki talking in a monotone, uninterested voice, the perfect foil to his blowhard dad's BSing.

[DanjaDoom]

This is a work of genious. I kept hearing Hideaki talking in a monotone, uninterested voice, the perfect foil to his blowhard dad's BSing.

For the record, the only voice I hear when writing Jigoro is Big Bob Pattaki from Hey Arnold. And Hideaki, is... hmm. I guess teenage Leonardo DiCaprio. For the ladies.

[Dr. Robotnik]

I didn't even think of Big Bob when I imagined his voice, but the voice I had for him is pretty much exactly that.

[DanjaDoom]

I didn't even think of Big Bob when I imagined his voice, but the voice I had for him is pretty much exactly that.

It just fits too well. Both are muscular, boisterous businessmen who also happen to be shitty parents.

[DanjaDoom]

I may or may not have written this under the effects of gummy vitamins and iced mocha slushies from the convenience store a block from my house.

Also, a bit shout out to all of the television shows I stole jokes from paid homage to.

The Gang Steals Cable: Part One
“Alright, now turn it over a little to the right!”

“Dad, it couldn’t be any more righter if it were about to be hit by Hurricane Isaac in Tampa.”

I hear a snap muffled through the chimney. “Hey, that was a pretty good one!”

“Yeah, thanks, it just sort of popped to my head. Seriously though, this thing’s creaking. If I turn it any more there’s a very real chance it’ll go soaring off the roof, and I have the wire tied to my ankle.”

“Well why the hell would you do something retarded like that?”

“You did it. Incentive.”

“Ah, yeah. Well, just double tape it and grab on to a loose shingle!”

Recently my father and I began what’s known ‘round these here parts as “Hakamichi Family Spring Cleaning.” It’s not really spring, but the name stuck because it’s just so cheery and covers up the fact that we’re actually up on the roof stealing cable. Well, I’m up here, really, but Jigoro’s making sure to give his best encouragement as he sips on chocolate flavored liqueur and watches reruns of Workaholics.

“How does this thing even work?” I ponder aloud.

“Hell if I know, but my trusty liaison guaranteed me it had a shelf life of ten years or so. Haven’t had any hiccups with it so far, and aside from some necessary maintenance I have to do every few years, everything’s peachy!”

“You mean I have to do it, right?”

“Keep up with that attitude and I won’t bother recording that stupid House episode you wanted to see! I swear, it’s as if some people just don’t want to see their hard work paid off!”

I’d call him out on the hypocrisy of his statement, but I really want to watch House later. Best not to test him.

A few more minutes of adjustment, and I should be all finished for the day. I would have been done earlier, but a certain bespectacled sibling and her pink-haired myrmidon had to use the car for reasons unknown, putting it on me to move my dad’s stick shift death machine out of the way and, consequently, into the neighbors Indian wood carvings. There’s a few noticeable scratches on the front bumper, but honestly the car looks like a piece of crap anyway. I mean, it’s like a couple more specks of bird poop on your uncle’s oldsmobile; is anyone really going to notice, let alone give enough of a shit to care?

On second thought, my dad probably would, he’s petty like that. I’ll buff it out later.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Shizune and Misha pull up to the house in dad’s red Maserati, perhaps a little faster than necessary. Shizune’s pent up anger manifests in her driving ability. Which, of course, is the absolute worst place for it to manifest behind performing heart surgery, but as long as she’s not manifesting all up on me, I won’t complain.

“How’re things going, Hicchan?” Misha asks, weighed down by a half dozen or so shopping bags.

“Just about finished,” I yell back. “Can you do me favor and not do anything exceedingly obnoxious for the next hour or so? The foundation’s gotta settle down. Just stick to being normally obnoxious and we’ll be all good.”

“Wahaha!~ Look at you, talking like a handyman! The girls are definitely going to like that! Just be careful though, they might think you love your tools more than them!”

Jokes on her, the only girl who has my heart now is Sailor Mars. Oh, and Lilly.

Sailor Lilly.

Mmmmm, yes...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Hey, Bob the Builder, can you pass me the chickpeas?”

Misha guffaws to herself like Dane Cook when he hears one of his jokes. The last hour has been one torrential downpour of every handyman joke she can think of. She hasn’t even gotten to Home Improvement yet, scarily enough. How does she even know this shit?

Nonetheless, I do as she asks and return to my dinner plate, as Shizune shovels more and more sesame chicken into her maw in a vain effort to keep it all for herself.

“So, what’d you buy today?” Jigoro asks gruffly, obviously not caring what the answer is.

“Glad you asked!” Misha beams, producing three crimson bags ripping at the seams with, to put it eloquently, a lot of really glittery crap.

“If that stains my floor, pink girl, so help me--!”

“Don’t worry, Jigocchan! It’s light glitter! The sales guy guaranteed me that it was stain resistant! That is, it resists staining itself on other things... I think. Anyway, it’s very exclusive!”

“Let me guess,” I butt in. “It’s so exclusive he’s the only guy in Japan who sells it?”

“Wow, yeah, that’s exactly what he said! You’ve seen him too, Hidecchan?!”

Wah-wah-waaah.

“So, three bags worth of glitter, huh?” Jigoro asks, his face contorted into a grimace. It’s as if all this unchecked waste and wanton spending is physically hurting him. Or he’s allergic to glitter.

Shizune taps the massive shoulder across from her and begins to sign.

[The supply of sesame chicken in this house is unsatisfactory. I recommend you get more. Preferably now. Perfume makes me hungry.]

He scoffs. Loudly.

“Hideaki, tell your sister she’s lucky she still has a room and to slow down on that sesame chicken before she gets love handles.”

My father’s made great strides in his understanding of JSL over the past few months. For example, as opposed to not understanding what she’s saying and ignoring her, he can now partially understand what she’s saying and ignore her. There’s still a lot of middle manning, however.

I do as he asks. Needless to say, Shizune looks none too pleased at that weight comment, setting her fork done forcefully and stomping away to her room to write a blog or something. I don't know.

Patting his stomach with satisfaction, my father checks the time on his pocket watch.

“My, my!” he exclaims, oddly upbeat.

“New episode of Parks and Recreation is on soon! See, now aren’t you all glad I got the cable back on so we can partake in this great family time?”

“Aww, Jigocchan, I think that’s the first time you've called me one of the family,” says Misha, beaming with warmth and joy.

“Whoops, poor choice of words! Family and Misha time! Hideaki, go check to see if the cable’s still running smoothly, will you?”

“Right, so when am I going to see some reparation for going up to the roof twice in one day?”

“Well, that all depends on how funny the episode is tonight, now doesn’t it?”

Oy vey, and goyim, and whatever else was in that slightly racist comedy booklet I picked up the other day. Grabbing my emergency tape, emergency bungee cord, and emergency ointment (I have a lot of emergencies), I make my way out into the night. I pass by Shizune on the way out the backdoor, hunkered down in the kitchen and reaffirming my suspicions about university girls and blogs about male oppression. She’s also eating a pint of ice cream and grunting to herself, so I guess she’s trying to maintain a balance between petty stereotypes and she-wolf independence.

It all leaves a bad taste in my mouth, quite frankly. No, wait, that’s the ointment. Oh fuck that burns! Shiiit!

I burst through the patio doors and make a beeline towards the pool, taking in the sweet, cooling relief of chlorine and grasshopper limb water. Yummy.

Well, that was fun and potentially lethal. Guess it’s time to get on up to the--

How long has that red light been in the pool?

I keep my eyes locked onto the glowing dot as it traverses all corners of the pool, each movement more erratic than the last. After about seven or so brushes against the end of the diving board, the dot happens upon my shoes, and looks to be pretty interested, if it’s complete stillness is any indication. Now it’s moved on to my jeans. It seems to like my shirt; guess it’s a fan of The Descendants? It passes along the brim of my glasses and rests on my forehead.

Wait... red dot... forehead...

Uh-oh.

BOOM.

An explosion of electricity erupts behind me as I dodge into the nearby bushes, a bullet whizzing dangerously past my ear.

I stick as low to the ground as humanly possible to hide, a task hindered by the new and colorful words flying haphazardly out of my mouth. I never knew how shrilly my voice could be.

Gate, gate, where’s that fucking gate?!

The yard has become engulfed in pitch black. Not even a garden light is left standing to guide me. The sound of struggle and breaking glass echoes to the outside, spurring me to run as fast as my Vans can carry me. My foot catches in a towel on the floor, sending me down to the red brick patio. The statue next to me shatters with a deafening pop. A millisecond later and that would have been my head.

My hand reaches an elevated platform. Stairs? Yes! Once I reach the gazebo, I can hop the fence into the neighbors orchard and hide away until I finally figure out what in the blue fuck is happening.

I reach one foot over the brick half-wall before being impeded by a blinding searchlight in my face.

“DO NOT MOVE!! STEP AWAY FROM THE WALL AND GET ON YOUR KNEES!”

About a dozen or so more lights surround me. Seeing as the alternative is to become a test dummy to see how many times someone can get shot in a ten foot freefall, it’s better to just do as they say. I can only hope I remain dignified and resolute in this hostage situation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Ramirez, get that kid some new pants! Eye in the Sky, this is Noble Eagle, do you copy, over?”

“Affirmative, Noble Eagle, this is Eye in the Sky. Mission status, over?”

“Operation Hammer of God is a success, over. All hostiles have been apprehended. ”

“Affirmative, Noble Eagle. For God and country. Eye in the Sky, out”

“For God and country.”

Who the fuck are these guys? They look more Robocop than beat cop.

Our house has been taped at all ends, with military personnel in what looks like really expensive paintball gear roaming the premises to search for... something. I’m honestly not too sure just what they’re looking for. They definitely look official, though.

One of them, apparently the leader of this operation, moves over to address us as we’re lined up on the side of one of their armored cars.

“Listen up! We’re--”

“NO, YOU LISTEN TO ME ASSHOLE! I DON’T KNOW WHO THE FUCK YOU THINK YOU ARE BREAKING INTO MY HOUSE WHILE I’M WATCHING-- ARRRGGGHHH, MY EYES!”

That was my dad, in case you couldn’t tell. That was also my dad getting maced, in case you couldn’t tell.

“Please, just tell us what you want!” pleads a now bawling and red-faced Misha.

The commander sighs through his helmet and signals for his men to drag off the body of my father, like poachers hauling off a gorilla for transport.

Misha bawls something incomprehensible, and our captor has finally had enough.

“I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL BREAK PROTOCOL AND GO MUNICH ALL OVER YOUR ASSES IF YOU DON’T SHUT UP!”

“That was just tasteless, dude, eleven people died,” I scold.

“Yeah, I know, usually our apprehended are alot... quieter when we apprehend them,” he sighs.

Quickly adjusting his posture, he signals for two more of his masked cronies to stand beside him for intimidation factor.

“My name is Captain Korben Dallas, but you can--”

“Like from The Fifth Element?” Misha interrupts.

“--but you can call me the man who brought your evil ways to a close! We’re a part of one of the world’s most elite special forces units, A.N.U.B.I.S.”

“What does it stand for?”

“That’s for me to know and you shut the fuck up.”

“Sorry, I’m drawing up blanks here. What exactly did we do to warrant Special Forces breaking into our house and just generally fucking our shit up?”

“You stole cable.”

….

“And, like, killed a guy? Because if we did, then it was probably one of those two.”

“Hey!”

“Sorry Misha, I’m too pretty for jail.”

“Nope, you just stole cable.”

“How the hell does stealing cable warrant all of this crap?! It doesn’t really make any--”

My complaints are cut short by two gloved hands wrapping their way around my throat, banging me against the side of the truck.

“HOW DARE YOU MAKE LIGHT OF THIS SITUATION! DO YOU NOT HAVE ANY EMPATHY? ANY CONSCIOUS?! YOU’LL BE LUCKY IF YOU EVER WALK THE STREETS A FREE MAN AGAIN AFTER THIS!!”

It takes about four men to pry Captain Korben off of me. By the time all’s said and done, I’m left with a very sore neck and a poorer understanding of the justice system than I had before.

“Cool it, sir, he/she’s just a kid!”

“I DON’T CARE! HE NEEDS TO LEARN TO RESPECT OUR AUTHORITY!”

“ OK, OK!” I wheeze. The next few things I try to say are interrupted by coughs, but I manage to get back on track.

“So, without trying to choke me out... you’re telling me that all this is because we allegedly steal cable?”

The Captain’s squad mates carefully release him, and he begins to breath evenly and regain his composure.

“That’s correct.”

“Well, I mean, shouldn't you be focusing on something... more important?”

“Now listen here, dick weed! There is absolutely nothing more important happening in the world right now than an upper class Japanese family stealing cable!”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“... OK, I can buy that. But, what’s going to happen to us now?”

“Now we take you back to our gulag and wait for the prongs of justice to lay their judgement on you. Or you suffer a severe anal prolapse due to the severe amount of prison sex you’ll be undergoing. And believe me, you will be undergoing it. Especially you, Tilda Swinton, you’re confusing the hell out of me as we speak.”

I attempt to speak up on behalf of my masculinity, but the sudden image of my anus prolapsing jumps into my thoughts and twists my words into a pained squeak. Not really helping my cause.

“Hey, boss?” one of the underlings speaks up, his voice muffled. “Maybe we should just drop them off at regular prison this time? The gulag’s getting kind of full, it’s starting to--”

SMACK.

“GODDAMIT, SOLDIER! To show any respite is an affront to Lady Liberty herself! Would you rub your scrotum across the face of Lady Liberty?!”

“Well, no, but--”

“If you let these savages run free, you’d be doing exactly that! If I see someone stealing cable, then by God I’m going to butt him in the face with my M16! And I don’t care if his mama’s there, his grandmama, innocent bystanders, little kids, babysitters, bill collectors, whatever. I’ll butt his whole block if I have too! Know why?!”

“Because you don’t--”

SMACK.

“Because I just DON’T GIVE A FUCK! And if you question my authority again I’ll stick your dick in a pencil sharpener, write a scat porn story with it, and send it to your grandparents! Then I’ll fire you!”

Some lone voice inside is beginning to tell me holy shit this guy may actually be insane enough to try and write a porno with someone’s mutilated genitals.

His cronie wisely backs away, and the Captain tries in vain to regain some semblance of not being batshit.

“Take them away, dammit! Where’s my ritalin?!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Pssh, Hideaki?”

“Hmm?”

“Where do you think this van is headed?”

“Probably going to drop us off at Peter Piper and let us play House of the Dead all day.”

“Really? Well, that does sound pretty fun, but I don’t think--”

“Oh for God’s sake, Misha, will you just let me sleep?’

The nighttime sky has managed to grow even darker, with only a little light shining in through the barred windows of our transport. Shizune goes for attempt number eighteen to escape from her bonds, and I only realized a little while ago that the smoldering pile of funky patterned rags is my father. The truth is, I’m wide awake now, my mind racing just as hard about where these supposed government agents are taking us. Quite frankly, we’re the absolute last group of people who would survive in a prison system; Misha’s plump and naive, I’m limber and kissable, and Shizune’s deaf. It’s like the Unholy Trinity of prison sex prevention.

Our van very suddenly screeches to a halt, asphalt flying in through our windows and threatening to suffocate the lot of us.

“We’ve arrived, kiddies! Don’t make any sudden movements!” a voice from outside calls. Our doors are flung open, letting an alien light into the premises. Only as we’re being led out (dragged out, in Jigoro’s case) do I realize that nothing I can see remotely resembles our area of Japan in any way.

“A military base, from the looks of things.”

“Very astute, Misha.”

“Quiet down!” barks one of our escorts, nearly blinding me with the red glow from his hi-tech goggles.

Every building here is some otherworldly shade of chrome, the horrors of what could be happening within their confines beyond even my imagining. In one building we pass, I can hear clearly the violent, anguished screams passing into into the night.

“What building is that?” I ponder aloud in fear.

“Unisex bathroom,” one of the guards answers. “We had Mongolian tonight. Told them it was a bad idea...”

We’re led (dragged) to the biggest, spikiest, chromiest building in the compound. It makes sense that these guys would make this their base, this whole thing just seems like one bad cliche. Don’t get me wrong though, it’s still plenty terrifying.

One of the group breaks formation and enters a long string of digits into a control panel nearby.

“General, we’ve brought the insurgents.”

“Let me see them firsthand...”

“Y-yes, General, whatever you say.”

The massive double doors in front open wide, steam billowing ominously from the insides as if from the belly of a dragon. Out steps the most obnoxiously large man I’ve ever had the chance to lay eyes on. He appears to be doubly as large as my father, both in height and weight. The apparent General dons the same fancy, all-black garb as his subordinates do, save for the addition of a military general hat and a flowing black cloak, which conveniently obscures the extent of his largeness.

“So, these are the maggots who’ve been stealing cable from the good citizens of the world, eh?”

With each step he takes towards us, the ground seems to shake beneath our feet. He chooses to face me first, the sick and wounded gazelle of the herd.

“Are you nervous, son? Do I scare you?” he asks monotonically, a robotic edge to his voice.

“If we’re being completely honest here, I just pissed myself. Now you kick me out of the base for being a coward, which would technically count as a desertion, and I can leave? Right?”

“Nice try, kid. But we don’t let our deserters leave quite so easily. We bring them back, and give them a duty that would make them wish they died right then and there.”

“W-what would that be?”

“Latrine duty. And we just had Mongolian.”

With a swift and precise swish of his finger, he leads our group up into the massive fortress ahead, letting our imaginations run wild with the horrors that we may face.

“You are in hell, little ones. Cable-stealing hell. And I am the devil...”

[Hoitash]

...What in the name of Love Live!'s costumes did I just read?

Whatever it was, it was awesome .

Also, a bit shout out to all of the television shows I stole jokes from paid homage to.

Aren't all writers word pirates in some form or another?

Although you'd think being a pirate would pay better (oh right, pirates rarely stole valuable stuff that they didn't need to not die. Dang history channel...)

Also: myrmidon.

I am now imagining Misha attacking Troy and slaughtering Trojans beside Achilles . Preferably with a very large hammer.