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Shin Hyakuji High School Tvtropes
The Book that is Hyakuji's Story has come to a close. However, there are still plenty of stories left to be told in the madcap Anime Universe it inhabits. As one book closes, so too does another open. Presented by veteran Hyakuji Staff Members, check out the next generation EVOLUTION of "Anything-Goes" Anime Roleplaying at Senki Academy
The Book that is Hyakuji's Story has come to a close. However, there are still plenty of stories left to be told in the madcap Anime Universe it inhabits. As one book closes, so too does another open. Presented by veteran Hyakuji Staff Members, check out the next generation EVOLUTION of "Anything-Goes" Anime Roleplaying at Senki Academy
| Magic & Misdemeanors.; Haha. Get in Line. | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Dec 16 2010, 10:10 PM (366 Views) | |
| North | Dec 16 2010, 10:10 PM Post #1 |
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Outside the Majikku Mall. 17:46hrs. A twisted and mangled plume of smoke distorted into the chill air. The sun was setting in the distance; the clouds and buildings in the distance coming alive with hues of gold, red, orange, yellow; the occasional sliver of purple mixing with the vest spectrum of blue-light decompressing in the atmosphere. Tomorrow would be a beautiful day; at least for the morn'. If it weren't for the nicotine burning a tick in his brain Knox wouldn't have ventured the outdoors; the windchill was making it hard to smoke the cigarette as it was, fingertips burning bright red with the cold settling in like pilgrims into uncharted territory. If the leather jacket had a collar, he'd have pulled it up around him, but the motorcycle jackets these days think the simple clip works well enough alone. Bah, humbug. The man took another long, slow drag, aimed at the setting sun, and flicked his cigarette at the sun. He never waited to see where it fell. Cheers. Inside the Majikku Mall Bookstore. 17:59hrs. "No, no...I don't need help. Thank you, thank you..." That was, however, until he found the signs in the mall splattered with Japanese characters; and he cursed himself, in <English>. Luckily, there was a section of the store [albiet, small] with the words "ENGLISH" written above the location markers. Perfecto! He was there in a heartbeat. In the weeks since he'd been around in Japan again he'd brushed up his Japanese dialect, but reading the symbols was still out of the question. He knew a few. Dog, Cat, Person, Home, Food, Bathroom. Shoe. The essentials. It was in the small English section though [which didn't comprise of more than three aisles, near the back] that he found it sub-divided. All your basics. Humor, New-age, sci-fi, religious, political, blah blah blah. What Ryan was after, was business management; something he found relatively quickly; as it wasn't more than two feet away from self-help, a glance away from romance novels. Sharon Fullen; ah. That's what he was after. Twenty minutes, twenty-nine steps, and over two-hundred yen later [He'd have to have a serious, sit-down talk with someone about the ten-thousand percent inflation rate. He hated numbers as is; this, was garbage] he was sitting down with a handful of books at a table in the small cafe-area. Those high-seats, near the window. With the jacket off you could see the bullet-holes in the back, but hey, who says it's not just old? Pen and a notepad on the table, books open, he was taking notes. Far, far removed from his usual setting; but this was a mission he had. So, a mission he would see out. I mean, really; how does one with No Experience start their own restaurant? Sure, he liked food [who doesn't?] but that was no indicator. After nineteen minutes had passed he groaned, smoothly and took another sip of his coffee; leaning back in his chair and surveying the landscape around him. The outdoors, the people mulling around inside. That's when he noticed a few of them were staring at him. It was then, he realized something; the last twenty minutes, he'd been muttering to himself in English. Nevermind the stature, the dirty jacket or the beard; he was out of place like a porno-mag in a christian school. So much for blending in. He shrugged, embraced it, leaned back and smirked. The bastard would have lit a cigarette if the sprinklers overhead wouldn't have gone off. <"Y'all act like you never seen a white boy before..."> Oh; did I mention his total lack of tact? Edited by North, Dec 16 2010, 10:20 PM.
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| Dominique | Dec 17 2010, 02:29 AM Post #2 |
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IZUNAAAA DROP!
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Ah, the great suburban shopping mall. Also known as a shopping precinct or shopping centre in various cultures it was in America, as it was everywhere else, the hub of socio-cultural gatherings. From here, getting immersed into this uncomfortably in-your-face culture could be accomplished from what amounted to a few hours 'trolling' the shops and generally being a 'mall rat' as the kids referred to it. Of course, if anyone was no stranger to shopping it was Lynn. Truly no one could quite match her money-dropping prowess and it almost seemed as if she acquired wealth for the sole purpose of throwing it away like it was her last paper shuriken against the great villain that was not having enough crap to fill up your dorm room. If such a game existed, Lynn would have the top ten high scores and people would create documentaries about attempting to beat them. But metaphors aside, she did have a thing for shopping. However, today was not a day for buying new wardrobes or dropping big bills to get the latest gadget. It was a research expedition in every sense of the word. All the things you ever needed to learn about the language and culture of a consumer people could be found at this mall and she'd been brushing up pretty hard on her Japanese. Lynn had to hand it to herself for coming up with such a creative way to do so. When all research failed, a headfirst approach was always the next step. Her father had always told her there was no substitute for experience and Lynn found herself unable to disagree with him. Great magicians think alike after all. There was only one place to find the things she needed of course. A bookstore! While it hadn't taken her long to find the place, the hard part had come along when, after purchasing what amounted to a small fortune in literature, she attempted to take them somewhere to actually begin sorting and reading them. There was no place like the cafe of course for this sort of literary adventure. The smell of roasting coffee and the sound of slick fingers on rough paper edges was enough to make the hairs on her neck twinge in anticipation. However, it appeared to be a bit more silent today with only a few people seated here and there. One in particular, however, seemed to be the source of animosity amongst the silent minority. Seated in the center of the food court was about the most suspicious looking man she'd ever seen. Seated where he was, he looked like the smoking bullet hole in the bulls eye of the otherwise unscathed target that was the common area of Japanese food vendors. Lynn watched him for a moment with a certain curiosity, no doubt one shared by the other people around her who rarely saw something that looked quite so...hostile without actually being hostile. I mean, she was dressed like a great white goth magician carrying a floating walking stick and a pile of books stacked higher than the bows in her hair and people barely seemed to bat an eye at her. Still, she could understand why someone would be suspicious of someone who looked an action movie anti-hero. There were few things in this world that would get her to sit anywhere near someone like that, but this situation just so happened to encompass one of them. Lynn desperately needed a place to sit and the table just across from him appeared to be the only one not covered in noodles, grease, used napkins or unidentifiable liquids. Overall, not a bad trade off. At least if he killed her, it would be in broad daylight in front of witnesses. Lynn sauntered delicately towards him from behind, clicking her tongue as she heard him speak. <"Riiiiight, I bet it's the color of your skin that makes you stand out."> She mumbled with a smile under her breath. However just as she passed him, the corner of one of her books caught the back of his head, sliding out from the stack and settling neatly on his table. Lynn didn't seemed to notice as she soldiered on to her wonderfully sanitary table and finally set the books down. She leaned backwards where she stood, feeling a crick in her back from the load. The walking stick seemed to float to the top of the book stack and start looking them over as if it had a book club of its own to stock. With a sigh, her finger browsed the bindings, looking over the various titles until she found one she liked. With a flourish Lynn swiped it from the stack as the rest fell neatly down a peg to filled the void. You got pretty good at building book stacks when you did it this often. Opening it gently, she quickly lost herself in the words, floating out into her own world. A world of learning! |
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| North | Dec 18 2010, 01:38 AM Post #3 |
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Oblivious wasn't exactly the right word; neither was apathy. He knew. He cared - somewhat. He just didn't care enough to change. He had yet to buy a new razor and shaving with large pieces of glass had given him a nasty little gash last time. No; what Ryan needed was a soap-stone, badger-hair brush and a mach-5 something or other. New jacket couldn't hurt; maybe clothes that weren't stained with a mixture of red, purple and blue paint; smeared together could only look like dirty blood. He was either a hard working hobo or an out of contract murderer. Either way, he was reading books and drinking coffee - paying customers generate cash. End of story. It wasn't until he heard the sound of his native tongue behind him did he turn his head. It also held with it that great american sarcasm. Shiny. She looked the part; she looked like she could have been from there; but it didn't register right away. It's the way enemies unite with a common goal in mind - the only factor linking the two people currently in the cafe [besides the obvious shared adoration of textual knowledge, ink on skin] was the sounds and punctuated nuances of the English derivative. Harsh consonants and accentuated vowels. It wasn't as quick a dialect; it didn't flow as smoothly as Italian, but he grew up with it, so he used it as his own. But the source... It's a bird! It's a Plane! No, it's...a yeti? A slender, female yeti? It was like looking at a still-life portrait of your typical goth - only inverted. Bright white; stainless. Young. He could barely hear her steps; and that was probably just the weight of the books pushing gravity down on her body further. Not weak. He didn't realize he was staring until, rubbing the bump on his head, did he realize he was struck. There was a book on the floor near his seat. It took only a second to put pieces together. Something odd happens when you wrap yourself up in your own world; you lose the real one. Damnit all; that had just happened. Daydreaming again. Bows in the hair? Bright white? He had seen it before. But where? She was probably a student at the meta-human-high that happened to be a place Ryan had no intentions of visiting. Bookstore attracted bookworms. Well, and convicts. And now, crisp, white sorcereress'? Whatever a female wizard was. Whatever it was, she was wearing a smile; so right away we have playful, sense of humor, dry-wit. Combine that with books and you have intelligence; but not just booksmarts. Bookworms are quiet. She'd have ignored him, moved on, and read; shy. No; this was an academic adventure, not another day indoors; so she used both sides of her brain; she was analytical and experiential; and he went over the four classes of people in his mind. King, Lover, Warrior, Magician. Dominant right-brain behavior - creative, outlandish - it was in her dress. But also...something more. So was she the lover, or the magician? Was her head in the clouds or was she grounded? It could go either way; and more than likely would. Thank God the book he was picking up off the table wasn't the Kama-Sutra. That, would be awkward. Leather bound, hard-cover. Whatever she was reading wasn't romance novels; but the cover was too worn for him to make out and he cared little to find out. Instead, he did what any good Samaritan would do; he threw the book at her from across the way. No, I'm kidding. But he did, after a moment, slip from his chair and stride over to her, a slow smile seeping into his eyes as he pressed the book down on her table. His voice was quiet, slow; like gravel on sandpaper. Love those country boys. <"Believe y'dropped that when it smacked me in the head, doll. And I swear, this isn't some cheesy line, but...you are from the states, right? Because, for some reason you look familiar, and I can't put my tongue on it..."> All he needed right now was a "Hey, you look familiar, too!" - and he prayed that day would never come. With the beard, the change of hair style, the smile; he looked little like the mug-shot he had seen in the news; he looked like a different person than the one that stood trial on world-wide news. The first meta-human to ever stand public trial. What a feat. Put away for Kidnapping, Assault and Battery, property damages, arson; and the rumor had it, on the inside? Behind bars? He had beat a man to death. With his bare hands. Hands that were now on his belt, on her book. Knuckles scarred over and calloused by god knows what. He was an infamous celebrity, once upon a time, but she would [hopefully] be too young to remember it; or put those pieces together. Fingers crossed. |
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| Dominique | Dec 18 2010, 05:28 AM Post #4 |
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IZUNAAAA DROP!
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Language, as a rule, was the fundamental building block of human civilization. Without which, the human species' cooperation that led to the founding of great societies with the capacity to share knowledge would have never left the bedrock. With the books collected, the absorption of Japan's native culture could move on to phase 2: language studies. While conversational Japanese was pretty straight forward in and of itself, it was only when you could communicate naturally with those around that the inner subtleties of their culture could and would be revealed to you. The same principle's applied back home which is why so many out-of-state idiots so often left penniless. They never learned the language. The book began simply enough. Read the English phrase and the corresponding Japanese phrase beneath it. Say it aloud and repeat it twice. The trick was of course to begin to see and hear patterns among that words that would make it easier to connect certain words with certain meanings. Overall, not very specific but a decent starting place for someone who learned their conversational Japanese on the flight over via Sailor Moon DVDs borrowed from their unusual Anime-loving friend. "Let's see...Step 1: read the phrase in Engli-- blah blah blah let's just get it over with..." Re-reading what she'd already established in her head a moment ago just seemed silly. "Sore wo misete kudasai." Please let me see that. "Sore wo misete kudasai." Practicing the repetition several times and doing her best to memorize each one, Lynn's periphery paid no heed to the sudden spike in movement as the thuggish rogue had begun shifting in his seat. "Norikae ga hitsuyo desu ka?" Do I have to change trains? That seemed like a pretty useful one, though she felt a bit more inclined to take the bus in most cases it seemed a waste to miss out on the train culture that seemed to permeate the country. The Japanese seemed to really like their trains and in all honesty she'd never actually ridden on one. Who the heck takes a train around Nevada? Still, these phrases didn't seem to have any kind of pattern to them at all. Maybe if she skipped down a couple they'd combine them. Something like asking to see a train ticket and asking about when they changed trains? A lot of books like this tried to make connections like that. Well that was an unusual one. What kind of connection were they trying to draw here? "Kirei na hitomi dane." Lynn say quietly to herself. You have beautiful eyes...were they supposed to be flirting with the ticket counter lady now? It didn't make much sense at all, perhaps this had been a waste of money. Still, there was no sense in not taking her money's worth out of it. Just as she opened her mouth to say it aloud once more, another book fell to the ground just in front of her. Was the stack falling? "Kirei na hitomi dane." She repeated, just as she looked up to meet the eyes of the dirty man who'd been a table away up until now. It occurred to her that if he was going to insist on hanging about, that phrase was going to prove rather useless. Or unusable. She looked back down at the book, the familiar cover recognizable from one of her recent purchases. The odds seemed low that he'd be reading similar reference material, so Lynn immediately looked back at her stack to check for its presence. Unsurprisingly she noticed it was conspicuously missing. As he spoke, she did recall bumping something as she was walking. It was easy to lose track of a single in such a large group though this sort of thing happened more often than it didn't. Lynn's lip curled in slight discomfort as he seemed intent on putting his best 'moves' on her but at the very least the dishonest flirtation was in a familiar language. If a slightly more disjointed version of it. "I'm from Nevada, actually." Her voice had just a far flung touch of a diluted Scottish accent in it. A similar mixture could be found in Pennsylvania Dutch, but one rarely heard as much about the virtually unknown Nevada Scotts. Probably because that wasn't a real thing. More than anything though, Lynn desperately wanted to be completely unrelated to anything in his memories that he wanted to put his tongue on, but to her dismay she couldn't help but recognize the man. He'd stood out like a white, robed thumb at the Arcadia meeting given his uncommon size and obvious age difference. Though she couldn't place quite how old he was, there seemed to be a lot of acquired age through unhealthy living that was taking a toll on his complexion. The city of neon lights ran their businesses on people like him. "We were both at the Arcadia meeting. I was the one sitting closest to Hiro." Not because she tried to or anything, it just worked out that way. And if it hadn't Lynn would have totally tried to. |
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| Fin | Dec 18 2010, 11:42 AM Post #5 |
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One does not simply eat one packet of mee goreng
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"S-sir...! Please, get down from there...!" He ignored her. "I'll get fired because of this...!" Still he ignored her. "Please... please sir...! I'll... I'll even... I'll do whatever you-" He snapped the heavy book shut. Now really, that girl... Can't a guy have some relaxation time once in a while? He set the book aside and sat upright, his hood scraped the ceiling. He had been lying flat on his back ON one of the bookshelf. You could say he just liked heights, but no. Well, not particularly. He does like heights, but that's not the main reason he was reading a book on a shelf instead of on the table. The books that really sparked his interest are placed waaay up there at the top row. Not to mention, they're all big and undoubtedly heavy. To bring all of them down and looking for a table would be too much of a hassle. So, he opted for the easier route. Why look for a place to read when there's one right above the books you wanted to read? He had found a perfect place too. There's no people bumping into him, no sticky grease or chewing gum, no... no... ... well there's nothing to annoy him up here so he's quite comfortable being on the shelf. There. 'Nuff said. He could even sleep up here, if it wasn't for that store-keeper badgering him to come down due to the fact that he's 'scaring away customers'. Sheesh. So annoying. He rolled on to his back, going so far as to tip himself off from the edge of the shel- ... OI!!!! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!!! FROM THAT HIGH YOU COU- Tap. Eh? Instead of crashing down and breaking his neck, he landed on his foot. Not just gracefully, but very very lightly too. The moment his hand was disconnected from the shelf and he was practically and literally airborne for a split second, he did a single small somersault, before positioning himself in a standing position and literally floated down to the ground, as though he was falling through water. He looked around and said, "What are you looking at?" to the petrified woman whom had just told him to get a decent seat instead of the shelf. He walked away from the scene. Something bluish flickered from under his feet before dying out completely. ... Great. Now he's standing there in the bookstore without a book under his arm like an idiot. He came here to read, to find something worth of his interest. History books are worth his interest. As well as books about myths and old folklore. Don't get me wrong, the last two were a recent addition. At least, until about a few weeks ago. But he couldn't find any of them anywhere. It's like someone took everything out just to annoy him. Grumbling slightly, he pulled off a complicated looking book about the Japanese Language from a massive stack of books he came stumbling upon. ... Dang. There's a whole lot more he needs to learn... "Nani ka nomimasen ka..." ... No, he doesn't want a drink. |
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| North | Dec 19 2010, 02:17 AM Post #6 |
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Nevada....Wow. Way off. It wasn't the initial thought that came to mind when he saw the girl sitting before him now. At first it was New York City - secondly, Chicago. He never made the connection to Vegas, and so Ryan having seen her magic show in the past would remain a distant memory, untapped, unscathed, and buried under scabs and alcohol. He'd have shrugged, but he didn't care enough to. He knew her not from the states, but she did hail from them. It gave them one more thing in common, but unless he came back with 'Oh, I know Nevada. I'm from Alaska!' it was a conversation that would never happen. The states were as cool as the other side of the pillow, but Japan was currently the place to be. There was little else to it, really. Stay, work, eat, live. In the end, it was only the scenery that changed. And let's be real here. A rooftop view in London looks like a rooftop view in Brooklyn; looks like a rooftop view in Tokyo. Bright lights and tall buildings. The same things with different geographical locations. The daily grind burned the same way it did in the states; just another language, another flavor of life. Culture dictated bows instead of handshakes. Small cars instead of that Tundra he so powerfully lusted after. Oh well. Some day, when he was in a country that allowed such monstrosities. Arcadia, though. That made more sense. Come to think of it...yeah. He was the one he'd laid eyes on when Selene, Star and he were chatting to eachother in English; she'd eyed them based on their vocal nuances. Touche, Lynn. Touche. But what was she wearing then? Dear God, that's why he couldn't remember her. A dress that looked like the Times Square of NYC rolled up into glittering black fabric and jewels. He couldn't think much; from what he understood [which was little] people don't choose their uniform; uniforms choose them. Ryan, for example, was Ezio; womanizer, murderer, conspirator, and rated on online forums as one of the most badass characters to walk the threedimensional planes. Hoozah! But Lynn, Lynn looked like something out of Vogue. Gotta love it. She also looked like she had those eyes that were scanning him for ulterior motives; and he groaned. Teenager head-games. So not in that stage. He held back his groan. "Sounds about right. Maybe I'll see you at the next one." Bam. Japanese. Take that, world. He turned on his heel, watched someone drop from the top-shelf of a bookcase with little more than a sideways glance, and resumed the seat at his own table. The pen twirled between his fingers like he were a drummer. The occasional note jotted down. Regular salary of cooks, waiters, waitresses, hostesses. Equipment. Cuisine styles. Costs of start-up. He groaned. He was definitely renting that calculator from Aurora when he returned home. This, was ludicrous. If it weren't for his partner, he'd have sunk underwater already. And exactly what types of events was he to have on a saturday night? He knew of no local bands. After a while it would be fine, but starting, new town...well. Time would tell. His notes sprawled out over the table, loosely. Refurnishing those pool tables would have to wait another two weeks. Crap. |
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| Fin | Dec 21 2010, 11:49 AM Post #7 |
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One does not simply eat one packet of mee goreng
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"Doing some accounting work, mister?" A voice came out in near perfect Japanese. Izumi River popped his head over the battle-worn mans shoulder, eying the clutter of paperwork on the table with interest. Apparently, he became bored by the Japanese Phrasebook Guide he decided to turn his attention to the guy working on the same table as he found the massive stack of books. Clack, clackclack, clack, goes the keys on the calculator, as the man jammed fingers after fingers on the little buttons with faded numbers on them. He rounded the table, stopping right behind him and squinted over his shoulder blade. Numbers after numbers, plus and minus signs, multiplication and division, words and words written in English, salaries for cooks, waiters, waitresses, hostesses, some documents and books about business management propped over some more books about business management, sticky notes everywhere filled with notes written in English... Hard-working, isn't he? And, from the looks of it, he seemed to be grinding his nose hard on the whetstone. The sixteen years old boy smirked. He liked hard-working people. ... Although, this guy seemed like he's working himself waaaay too hard. His head slowly and surely passed through the man's ear, his face, then... "Doing some accounting work, mister?" A voice came out in near perfect Japanese. |
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