avante en garde - SATURDAY NOON PST

[idolpro]

[ The bar is unit-colored with light unit paraphernalia, although it's all just for show. Fortunately, comfort isn't part of the unit aesthetic this time—all seats are cushioned, whether the booth seats or the bar stools, comfy and lush. Idols can sit anywhere they like, it seems.

There's alcohol available, but everything else is locked behind the wall-cabinet. . . the recipe book is also available to peruse at one's leisure.

Ah—the door opens, and a fuzzy sort of shade steps in. It looks like idols will be serving the Damned, today. . . ? ]

RECIPE BOOK

Comments

CUSTOMER ORDERS - TURN IN BY REPLYING TO ORDER COMMENT

[idolpro]

ORDER 1

[idolpro]

"H-hi! So, it's my birthday, and, uhm, I want to try some alcohol, but. . . U-uhm, I don't really know anything about drinks. . . ! Could you make me something for beginners? But, uhm, if it could be on the sweeter side, that would be great. . ."

Re: ORDER 1

[unbr8kable]

[Plonks a margarita down on the bar, made with two memories and a healthy dollop of tequila]

Enjoy.

ORDER 2

[idolpro]

"It's my wife's birthday today! She would have been fifty six today. . . hey, bartender, could I get a mojito with extra lime? . . . You don't serve that here? What, you must know how to make one, though. It was my wife's favorite drink."

Re: ORDER 2

[unbr8kable]

[Serves up a mojito from [alcohol - herbs - fruit x2]

...Cheers.

ORDER 3

[idolpro]

"You know, there's this drink my grandma would make for me all the time when I was a kid—it was some kinda juice, but it had this... what's the word, pop? No no, not like sparkling cider. I dunno how to explain it. Anyway, could you make that for me?"

Re: ORDER 3

[unbr8kable]

[Serving up a cream soda from [milk - juice - club soda]

...

ORDER 4

[idolpro]

"Listen to this, bartender. . . I was just broken up with today. . . we were going to get married, but they left me for another. . . I'm so depressed. . . could you make me something comforting? Really, I just want to eat a whole tub of ice cream right now. . ."

MAKE YOUR OWN RECIPE - TURN IN ORIGINAL RECIPE DRINKS HERE

[idolpro]

DISCUSSION/MINGLE

[idolpro]

ORDER 1 DISCUSSION

[heavyliesthecrown]

Re: ORDER 1 DISCUSSION

[heavyliesthecrown]

Alcohol again...

[ He sighs. Why does he feel like he is surrounded by it so much these days? ]

I do not really understand the urge for everyone to drink once they turn a particular age. But... looking at this menu, doesn't a margarita seem the most appropriate?

Re: ORDER 1 DISCUSSION

[worthathousand]

Ah, well... I've never had most of these myself, but you're right that the description seems to fit perfectly.

So that's one drink of alcohol then, and for juice... two shared memories? Goodness.

Re: ORDER 1 DISCUSSION

[unbr8kable]

Prolly people want it 'cause people tell you not to do it...

MEMORY - Juice

[heavyliesthecrown]

In order to help with the margarita... I shall share a memory, then, if that is all right?

[ He supposes he must crush the ice and pass it around. ]

Well then... shall we?

[ But it isn't a memory he's had before or could have expected. ]

[ It's your turn to go inside and receive your orders. But from the look on your classmate's face, pale as a sheet as he steps outside of the suddenly ominous door, a nervous pit forms in your stomach.

SS, an important and well-known idol competition held every year. No one could have expected that this year would be so drastically different from any other. Each unit is to be divided into different regions in Japan. Leaving, once there, is forbidden without a heavy penalty, and every member is expected to be given a secret order that they must not share with anyone off the unit without a heavy penalty or even disqualification.

In the Leader meeting, it was made clear that those at the helms of their units would carry an even heavier order. With each word, the room had descended into uneasy dread by the sudden weight of what they were being tasked with.

And you can't understand it at all. How... is this related to any sort of typical idol competition? Something is beyond wrong, isn't it? But as the leader of your unit... as the one put in charge by your honorable senpai, you will represent Knights and forge ahead- even claim victory for the unit.

Those thoughts are suddenly cut short when you are asked to step inside.

Prior to this, the Gatekeeper, as he seems to be going by, the one responsible for all of this, had made it crystal clear to the entire room that each unit leader carried a heavy burden. And you were to receive your order now.

The room is dimly lit, a little too dark for your taste as you step inside. And the smile that greets you is anything but sincere. Even you can catch onto the lack of sincerity or good intent behind his expression.

. . . . And you were right to worry. You feel dazed, listening to the command and warning, face drawn and pale. Every one of his words is an unpleasant shock- and any protest you make is quickly silenced.

When you step out of the room, it is your turn to look as though you'd just walked off of a battlefield. Your fingers clench at your sides.

You have protect them.

It's fine. This will be fine. You're the leader of not just your unit, but your are now the family head. That means, no matter what, it is your responsibility to see everyone safely through to the end.

Still... you never imagined such a handycap. In a battle between your unit and others, you are not allowed to accept any challenges- despite the fact that your unit is known for its duels. Any challenges declined will result in the loss of your unit's competition currency. It will result, almost immediately, in a loss.

And if you do accept a duel and compete?

Then your cousin... and the rest of the branch family will disappear. And that- that is not a risk you are willing to take in any way shape or form. You don't remember when you made it outside- or that you had been holding your breath. Only that your chest is tight and your stomach in knots.

What... What are you going to do? ]

ORDER 1 memory (juice 2)

[unbr8kable]

[Reluctantly, Nemesis crushes more ice and passes it. A memory plays]

[When it's over, she looks away, clearing her throat. The tips of her ears are red]

...That's enough for the drink, right?

ORDER 2 DISCUSSION

[heavyliesthecrown]

Re: ORDER 2 DISCUSSION

[worthathousand]

For a guest whose wife passed. Ah, I hope we can do right by this one.

[ a beat ]

...Do any of you know what a mojito is? I suppose we know we need fruit for it.

Memory (Herbs)

[heavyliesthecrown]

[ It can't be as bad as last time. He passes the crushed ice around, and, well- it's a memory of when he was in middle school. ]

How did you come to find yourself in this predicament? Hands shaking you still the trembling by grasping tight to your own clothes, eyes casting about in a panic. Nothing here resembles anything you are used to. The people, the strange way they dress or even their manner of speech feels foreign to your ears. And it’s all the result of your foolish wandering, which more than ever you regret now. Ordinarily, right now you would be in one of your lessons. But thanks to the blunder of some of the adults in charge of your scheduling, your lessons were delayed. And like a fool, with all the sudden free time, after wandering around for quite some time, you’ve become lost.

Fear bubbling up in your chest, you push through the doors of a very large building, breathless as you rush inside. Truthfully you aren’t thinking rationally right now. You’ve never been lost before, and your phone isn’t on you. There’s no way to call the adults for help, and so you just keep moving, as though you’ll find an answer so long as you don’t stand still. One door, then another, followed by dozens more. But no matter which door you open, the more hopelessly lost you begin to realize you are.

By this point, tears sting your eyes and begin to trail down your cheeks. Every room you stumble upon is full of things that don’t exist in your environment. The stench of alcohol and the odor of tobacco burn your nose, and your eyes and ears are overwhelmed by the vivid sights and sounds that greet you. Genuinely frightened, you cry while fully running now.

It’s pathetic.

You’re fully aware that if this was ancient times, by now you would already have reached an age where you’re considered an adult. You shouldn’t be blubbering like a child. But instead, you know nothing. Your entire life, you’ve been treated with the greatest of care, tended to in every aspect, like a flower carefully raised in a miniature garden that has never known struggle.

You don’t know where to go or who to turn to. Occasionally you pass others by. They seem like aliens. You’ve never seen others wear such strange clothes before and in your hysteria, you can’t seem to comprehend anything they’re saying. Unable to work up the courage to approach any of them, you struggle to swallow down your tears, too prideful and ashamed to let others catch you crying in public. And so whenever you cross someone, you put on a brave face and march past them confidently.

. . . In reality, you must look like a shameful idiot, like Don Quixote picking fights with windmills.

It feels like a long time has passed. Walking in a blurred daze, music from somewhere in the distance reaches your ears. It’s familiar. It sounds like the melodies your only friend and enemy is always humming to himself recently. By now, you’re so distraught that you begin to really believe everything is out to get you. And so, even though you and [ REDACTED ] argue constantly, more than anything you want him there too. Even though he’s younger than you, he’s always been braver and more mature. Just one small step ahead of all of your effort and work. This fact remains a point of annoyance but is also why on some level you respect him. Just a little.

I don’t care, I’ll even take that stupid [ REDACTED ] at this point if he’ll help me…!

And that is why, like a small child all over again, you want nothing more than to hide behind him right now. That ‘big kid’, once more.

“Touri-kun-!”

With a sob you throw yourself through the door with the music… and stumble into a gathering of what you can only assume are outcasts. Perhaps it is what people call a bar…?

Men and women, young and old… all of the people in the room are dressed peculiarly in unique outfits. Their language is crude, words coarse. Much of what is being said is mindless gossip while others speak of past glories. And there, in the corner of the room, is a strange fellow passionately singing karaoke.

Maybe it is because he is drunk, but he gives no mind to the melody, only shouting out lyrics that are so strange, one might wonder if he’s simply making them up. You try to hold back your tears as you intently take in the strange sight that surrounds you, but he notices you watching him and suddenly approaches in a rush.

“Ah…!”

Does he think you’re an old fan…??

Overwhelmed, you suddenly find yourself holding a handful of signed CD’s that he shoves into your arms. Apparently, he is a retired idol who has fallen from popularity, or so he says.

The name on the CD is “Backgammon”. You can read the word just fine. Your English has always been good, but you don’t know what the word actually means. When he notices your confusion, he jumps into telling you a number of long, boastful stories about himself. Being an idol is his single most happy memory in his life, in his whole youth.

From his stories, it seems that he hurt others in his past. And all of this time, he’s held onto those regrets. In his drunken confusion, it seems he’s actually mistaken you for someone else, too. Wracked with sobs, he begs you passionately not to wind up like him.

He’s clearly had a number of drinks by this point. And he continues to sob when he begins singing again.

“My king! My king! How I hate you and how I love you!

How I’ll regret it all my life, and how I won’t! You’re the reason for all my unhappiness, but for my blessings too! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, but that’s just why I love you!”

It’s incomprehensible and full of contradictions. But those words… screamed amid the beautiful melodies of the song… they burn themselves into your ears and you’re unable to shake them.

At some point, you are finally found and are utterly worn out when you are. Your thoughts and senses are vague and fuzzy, and you’re a touch intoxicated from the mere smell of the alcohol and tobacco. You’re not particularly sure you can say for sure what you’ve seen in these past few hours. Everything blurs together like a fever dream or illusion of some sort. That’s what it feels like.

But the CD’s are very real.

At the very back of a chest full of drawers, in a tansu passed down to you from generations past, is where you keep the CDs. In the space between Mozart and Chopin, sits a disc, burned with the songs of a pitiable idol forgotten by time.

Pulling out the CD, you crawl up onto your bed in order to pull your legs against your body, and tuck your head into your knees. Whenever you feel like you’ve lost your way, you do this. And then cling to the music of that idol like a lifeline that you can’t afford to let go of.

Every day is so difficult. Sometimes it feels like you’re drowning. You listen whenever your parents scold you unfairly. Or whenever you harbor tiny doubts about the dozens of traditions and customs handed down to you from ages past. Whenever you make a shameful mistake that would be forgiven and laughed away for any other child, but not Suou Tsukasa. You have to be perfect at all times or else it will reflect badly on the family. You’ll be looked down on or bring shame to your parents. The pressure is enough to choke you at times, building in your chest.

Whenever those feelings overwhelm you, you listen to the melodies of that pitiful person who cried and screamed and told you not to become like him. To live without regrets.

By listening to the music, the music of someone so much more unfortunate, are you simply trying to feed your ego? Or taking pleasure in looking down on those at the bottom, knowing there are people even lower than yourself?

You’re blessed with your upbringing. Always dressed in the finest, high-quality clothes. You spend your days being loved, never once tasting bitter setbacks because the world is already yours. Everything is given to you. Clever and well-mannered, you can conduct yourself in the way the adults expect you to.

But… you feel even more miserable than the man in that bar, the one who had fallen into ruin. Struck with the feeling that you haven’t managed to grasp your own life within your hands, you lift a hand up and wipe at some of the silent tears trickling down your cheeks.

If your sole purpose is to be polished to perfection, only to be sent out into the ranks one day to die… it’s an existence as empty as the antiques scattered throughout the mansion. It’s as though you’ve “lost”. Not only to [ REDACTED ], but to everyone in the entire world.

Within your heart you scream-- frustrated and sorrowful, ugly and grating to the ears, but choked with emotion like the song.

My king, my king! How I hate you and yet love you! How distasteful, and yet how beloved!”

“Ah… “

A realization washes over you. The “King” the man sang of in the bar… has it actually been “himself” all along…?

You don’t know what he’s talking about, but you feel a strange sense of understanding. The conflicting emotions inside you echo in rhythm to that fractured song.

And then, you feel calm.

Awash in the beautiful, healing melody, is the realization that there are others who feel the same jumbled and chaotic emotions as you, and your loneliness eases. You relax a little on your bed, truly grateful that there is someone else out here in this wide world, who feels similar to you.

Who could that idol have been? Even now it feels like you dreamed him up, someone and yet no one at all, a figure conjured up within your confused mind. That pitiful man who reeked of alcohol who once betrayed his friends to fulfill his selfish desires…and, as if the gods themselves were out to punish him, he ultimately failed. His dreams were shattered, and he became a shadow of the idol he once was. He was defeated… one of countless others like himself, most likely.

People like that rarely--if ever--enter your field of existence. Your surroundings have always been perfectly curated with only things of beauty. But the melody of that song resounds within your heart. And with the comfort it provides, doubts and questions begin arising after learning of things you don’t know about. And ever so slightly, your gaze begins to drift from the beautiful scenery that has been laid out before your eyes. Just like when you took a little detour and burst into the scene of that dimly lit bar…

Memory (fruit x2)

[unbr8kable]

[The memory this time isn't so bad; irritating but also enough to make her smile a bit.

Of course, extra lime was the request, so after some hesitation Nemesis puts in for another memory. After this one, fer shoulders hunch and her lips press flat, arms wrapping tightly around her middle]

[While there is an empty space afterwards where she could come up with some clever quip to wave away the entire experience, instead she just heads to the unlocked cabinet for some limes]

ORDER 3 DISCUSSION

[heavyliesthecrown]

Re: ORDER 3 DISCUSSION

[worthathousand]

Looking at the list of juices, this one could easily be lemon-lime soda, but don't you think cream soda sounds more interesting? More like a special treat, according to the description.

Perhaps that's what this guest is thinking of?

MEMORY - Juice [mild nsfw: nudity, references to sex]

[worthathousand]

[ Amaranth crushes some ice, trying to think... happy thoughts? fun thoughts? what kind of thoughts is she supposed to think?
And... oh no. By the time the memory finishes, her cheeks have gone bright pink. ]

-------------------

Sunlight filters through the flaps of your tent, where it dapples prettily across the sleeping women beside you—one on either side, their skin bare beneath the blankets. You’ve been self-indulgent, letting yourself sleep this late (that is, letting yourself sleep past dawn at all), but the soldiers had truly earned last night’s celebration. The residents of Hayashi Village had been eager, too, to show their gratitude for having been liberated from occupation by Viridian’s forces. And, well, they’d kept plying you with drinks and toasts and samples of their fine local sake… and the local women had been incredibly beautiful…

Well. Perhaps you had been due to release some of your own tension too.

Still, it wouldn’t do to miss the scouts’ morning reports, so you begin re-fastening the ties of your clothing, still half-smiling to yourself at the memory of the celebration…

Perhaps that’s why you don’t hear the polite cough from outside the tent. Or the slightly more insistent cough after that.

“Oh, this is ridiculous.” The voice is muffled.

All at once, daylight floods the tent as one of the flaps is brusquely shoved back, illuminating your two still-sleeping companions along with you, one breast still loose from its bindings. Silhouetted in the opening is a tall woman with some sort of case strapped over her shoulder. Her eyes have gone slightly wide.

You feel your cheeks flush as you yank the flap closed again with a curse that comes out a bit louder than you intended.

“Mela’s tits!” Tits, indeed.

It only takes a few minutes for you to finish getting dressed properly, and another two for you to strap on the fine armor that Lord Okudaira Noriko had commissioned for you (it’s a bit overkill, but you feel the need to compensate). Your cheeks stay hot the whole time.

Eventually, you find the woman sitting at the fire with your Scale Lords, her case—which you recognize as meant for carrying a koto—placed across her lap. She meets your eyes, and her lips curl at the edges in catlike amusement.

You have faced down hundreds of armored soldiers with nothing but your naginata, but no, this is absolutely how you die, isn’t it.

The moment passes (you lived, somehow), and the woman at last introduces herself. Her name is Nakajima Shiho, and she has been serving as a traveling messenger and bard ever since she lost her parents in the war; now, she has traveled to offer her services to the White Lily of Battle and her army—both as a chronicler, and as a potential diplomat. For, she says, a bard may travel freely where others may not. Apparently she had arrived in the pre-dawn hours, when it was said you preferred to wake. No wonder she had gotten so impatient.

“My lady—“ you begin, but she corrects you.

“I am no noblewoman.” She still has that faint, catlike smile, and you feel yourself blush again.

“Ah… Nakajima, then. I… ah… I cannot neglect my own duty so gravely as to allow a civilian to put herself at risk like a soldier. Indeed, it was with such purpose—ah, that is, the protection of civilians—that I first took up my blade.”

“Please, General Amakura, give me a chance to prove to you how invaluable my skills can be. You have long been the sharp edge of battle; if you but allow it, I will show you the disarming power of song.” A beat, and then she looks you straight in the eye. “Besides, haven’t I shown I’m skilled enough to surprise the great General herself?”

Oh, you are so doomed.

ORDER 4 DISCUSSION

[heavyliesthecrown]

Re: ORDER 4 DISCUSSION

[heavyliesthecrown]

. . . I feel sorry for this person. Something comforting. It seems there are a few recipes that might fit that description, but don't you think tea would be more calming than coffee? That may just make them jittery.