Post by Daimon Darren on Aug 19, 2018 0:31:51 GMT -4
Too early. Darren firmly decided at the very moment he woke up that it was too damn early and that this job started too damn early. He went back to sleep.
Not two minutes after, a bucket of cold water was poured on his face by a familiar, terrifyingly motherly figure. She was the blonde sleepyhead’s mother, and boy was she pissed at him right now.
A dynamic creature of thirty-something years that was eyeing her fourth decade with apprehension, Daimon Chiyo wore her hair wildly on either side down to her chin, clinging hard to stylish hairstyles, graphic tee-shirts cut wide to reveal one of her shoulders and slim jeans.
Despite her best efforts, however, her visage was beginning to betray the fatigue from the conspiring factors of age, raising her child alone and working eight to six-thirty when she wasn’t taking overtime. Nonetheless, kids mired all the while.
Darren had learned the meaning of the acronym “MILF” much earlier than other children. It had taken some time to get used to.
As much as kids mired, however, they were usually scared of her and for good reason. Darren’s personality had to come from somewhere, and his father was a more subdued person. Chiyo was loud, very much so, and expressed her opinions with just as much voice and gusto. The neighbors sometimes complained. Semi-often, in fact.
This morning would be a good example of something old Akiyama-san next door might bring up in a strained but polite tone of voice while ‘casually’ striking up a conversation around the mailbox. Though anyone who knew her son knew Chiyo had very good reason to scream and was in fact, doing a pretty decent job of keeping the volume down.
Once again, Darren had gotten into trouble for fighting. Coming to hero school had came with conditions, one of such was that Darren stop getting himself in so much trouble and so much fights if he could have them at school. Darren had promised hero school would responsibilize him. Darren had promised the teachers would like him at hero school.
And lo and behold, though Chiyo told herself and Darren with voice and gusto that she didn’t knew what she had expected, that of course she should have seen this coming, that she must be the dumbest fucking mother in the world to have conceived such a dumbass son, lo and behold, the principal had called her, on the house phone, and APOLOGIZED, she emphasized, apologized and told her that Darren had gotten himself in a fight while on a run around school.
The principal had really meant to apologize about the security at the school, but Chiyo knew her son, and she knew exactly what was really going on: Darren had been looking for a fight and had found it. Darren denied he did such a thing and said that she was undermining his development, and that he was making progress, and this and that. Chiyo called his bluff easily. “You’re a decade too late to lie to me, boy!” she vehemently informed him. He tried bringing up the martial arts club too, to no avail. “Don’t fuck with me! You mean to tell me ordering a bunch of delinquents around is a chore to you? Do you take me for an idiot?!”
And so, she had taken drastic measures, the likes of which had her pour buckets of cold water over her son’s head so he would go. If hero school wasn’t gonna teach him responsibility, then a job would. And no, no, no, not the nice kind of job that earns you money. No, no, no, insisted Chiyo. The kind you showed up to so you could do something nice for society.
Bringing us back to this morning. With great help from the cold water, Chiyo yanked her son up, had him shower, dress, and eat a nourishing breakfast, in that order but seemingly all at once, and drove him in her beater car to his new job. “Enjoy yourself, kid!” she shouted as she drove off and honked and aggressively hurled insults at someone who suddenly pulled out of a parking spot without warning.
“Dumbass!” was the last thing Darren heard of his mother this morning as he stepped inside the grey, functional building. The interior was just as functional; it looked like a school cafeteria with its tubed chairs and plain tables. The lights were economical LEDs, and a couple of lunch ladies, and lunch lads, and lunch old men and even a few lunch children were busying themselves behind a counter full of food trays. A couple of very homeless-looking dudes were sitting at a table eating rice with vegetables and chicken. A third one with an impressive if slightly dirty beard was snoring in the corner with a huge smile on his face, a crust of spit forming on the hairs in the corner of his opening and closing mouth.
“Waaaaaaaaaah…” yawned Darren to announce his presence. “I'm in the Yotsuya soup kitchen, right? I’m Darren, the new dude. Waaaaah,” he yawned again. “I start today. I think.”
Not two minutes after, a bucket of cold water was poured on his face by a familiar, terrifyingly motherly figure. She was the blonde sleepyhead’s mother, and boy was she pissed at him right now.
A dynamic creature of thirty-something years that was eyeing her fourth decade with apprehension, Daimon Chiyo wore her hair wildly on either side down to her chin, clinging hard to stylish hairstyles, graphic tee-shirts cut wide to reveal one of her shoulders and slim jeans.
Despite her best efforts, however, her visage was beginning to betray the fatigue from the conspiring factors of age, raising her child alone and working eight to six-thirty when she wasn’t taking overtime. Nonetheless, kids mired all the while.
Darren had learned the meaning of the acronym “MILF” much earlier than other children. It had taken some time to get used to.
As much as kids mired, however, they were usually scared of her and for good reason. Darren’s personality had to come from somewhere, and his father was a more subdued person. Chiyo was loud, very much so, and expressed her opinions with just as much voice and gusto. The neighbors sometimes complained. Semi-often, in fact.
This morning would be a good example of something old Akiyama-san next door might bring up in a strained but polite tone of voice while ‘casually’ striking up a conversation around the mailbox. Though anyone who knew her son knew Chiyo had very good reason to scream and was in fact, doing a pretty decent job of keeping the volume down.
Once again, Darren had gotten into trouble for fighting. Coming to hero school had came with conditions, one of such was that Darren stop getting himself in so much trouble and so much fights if he could have them at school. Darren had promised hero school would responsibilize him. Darren had promised the teachers would like him at hero school.
And lo and behold, though Chiyo told herself and Darren with voice and gusto that she didn’t knew what she had expected, that of course she should have seen this coming, that she must be the dumbest fucking mother in the world to have conceived such a dumbass son, lo and behold, the principal had called her, on the house phone, and APOLOGIZED, she emphasized, apologized and told her that Darren had gotten himself in a fight while on a run around school.
The principal had really meant to apologize about the security at the school, but Chiyo knew her son, and she knew exactly what was really going on: Darren had been looking for a fight and had found it. Darren denied he did such a thing and said that she was undermining his development, and that he was making progress, and this and that. Chiyo called his bluff easily. “You’re a decade too late to lie to me, boy!” she vehemently informed him. He tried bringing up the martial arts club too, to no avail. “Don’t fuck with me! You mean to tell me ordering a bunch of delinquents around is a chore to you? Do you take me for an idiot?!”
And so, she had taken drastic measures, the likes of which had her pour buckets of cold water over her son’s head so he would go. If hero school wasn’t gonna teach him responsibility, then a job would. And no, no, no, not the nice kind of job that earns you money. No, no, no, insisted Chiyo. The kind you showed up to so you could do something nice for society.
Bringing us back to this morning. With great help from the cold water, Chiyo yanked her son up, had him shower, dress, and eat a nourishing breakfast, in that order but seemingly all at once, and drove him in her beater car to his new job. “Enjoy yourself, kid!” she shouted as she drove off and honked and aggressively hurled insults at someone who suddenly pulled out of a parking spot without warning.
“Dumbass!” was the last thing Darren heard of his mother this morning as he stepped inside the grey, functional building. The interior was just as functional; it looked like a school cafeteria with its tubed chairs and plain tables. The lights were economical LEDs, and a couple of lunch ladies, and lunch lads, and lunch old men and even a few lunch children were busying themselves behind a counter full of food trays. A couple of very homeless-looking dudes were sitting at a table eating rice with vegetables and chicken. A third one with an impressive if slightly dirty beard was snoring in the corner with a huge smile on his face, a crust of spit forming on the hairs in the corner of his opening and closing mouth.
“Waaaaaaaaaah…” yawned Darren to announce his presence. “I'm in the Yotsuya soup kitchen, right? I’m Darren, the new dude. Waaaaah,” he yawned again. “I start today. I think.”
