idolpro | avante en garde - SATURDAY NOON PST

avante en garde - SATURDAY NOON PST

[ 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

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[ 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…

Edited 2022-03-21 01:46 (UTC)

...This one make more sense this time?

I suppose it isn't that it doesn't make sense...

But I feel a little embarrassed, still.

[ Running around crying like a child, and then everyone witnessing him cling to a CD. ]