Post by Daimon Darren on Oct 7, 2019 9:14:25 GMT -4
Darren raised a surprised eyebrow when Miku hinted that maybe she was. Her? Miku? It couldn’t be. It wasn’t like her at all. She was the kind to hold her boyfriend’s arm like the handle of a grocery bag when she was with Akio. Right, and she had been with Akio. Fuck no, Darren wasn’t going after Akio. No chance in hell, any of the seven heavens, earth, Midgard, Nirvana or the Discworld.
Plus, Miku was like a little sister (he heard the first notes of “Sweet Home Alabama” playing in a dark corner of his head, which he promptly kicked in the butt). She was little and fragile and to be protected like the beansprout she was, not lewded like… He couldn’t think of any lewd plants, and he decided he didn’t really want to.
“Right,” he finally said, taking care to put as little conviction in his voice as humanly possible. (He came close; the least convicted phrase ever pronounced by human vocal chords happened back in 1994, when a group of tobacco CEOs had sworn before the American congress that they had no idea that tobacco cause cancer and that, frankly, they were shocked and never would have ever. They continued to produce, sell and and aggressively market cigarettes to adolescents for decades after, having admitted in the same hearing that they’d rather they children don’t smoke.) From the way Miku hurried away afterwards, he reassured himself that it was a joke.
Damn, he hoped. It would be the bad kind of band drama otherwise.
G, of course, destroyed Darren’s budding thesis in one fell swoop. It was rather impressive.
The way Miku blushed and flustered and panicked prompted an automatic “what the hell” sideways look from Darren, directed as much to the girl -- he had no idea she was blushing because of G catching her with Akio -- as it was towards himself -- several of his neurons had assembled a band and were playing Sweet Home Alabama louder and louder inside his brain and remind him that he was the one who started it.
“We were, erm, organizing things with the squad. How we’re gonna record and whatnot. It’s important stuff.”
There was a dead silence, the kind of silence which spoke louder than a chemical explosion.
“So, um… If everything’s good, we’re boutta head out. Gotta meet Chim ASAP so he can teach you how to use your m… voice,” he corrected himself, right on time. “Alright? Then sayonara la vista, baby!” he added, dragging Miku out by the wrist and already mentally slapping himself for saying something so unbearbly cringe as “sayonara la vista”. He even forgot about the vigilantism for a second.
“Your dad is… Something,” he said once they were outside and, remembering he was still holding her wrist, let go of it in a hurry. “So, what do we do now? Bring the other nerds? We ain’t gonna fuck around just the two of us, are we?”
God, shut the fuck up, said the voice of reason in his brain. Where the skieeeees, are so blue, sang the redneck neurons band.
Plus, Miku was like a little sister (he heard the first notes of “Sweet Home Alabama” playing in a dark corner of his head, which he promptly kicked in the butt). She was little and fragile and to be protected like the beansprout she was, not lewded like… He couldn’t think of any lewd plants, and he decided he didn’t really want to.
“Right,” he finally said, taking care to put as little conviction in his voice as humanly possible. (He came close; the least convicted phrase ever pronounced by human vocal chords happened back in 1994, when a group of tobacco CEOs had sworn before the American congress that they had no idea that tobacco cause cancer and that, frankly, they were shocked and never would have ever. They continued to produce, sell and and aggressively market cigarettes to adolescents for decades after, having admitted in the same hearing that they’d rather they children don’t smoke.) From the way Miku hurried away afterwards, he reassured himself that it was a joke.
Damn, he hoped. It would be the bad kind of band drama otherwise.
G, of course, destroyed Darren’s budding thesis in one fell swoop. It was rather impressive.
The way Miku blushed and flustered and panicked prompted an automatic “what the hell” sideways look from Darren, directed as much to the girl -- he had no idea she was blushing because of G catching her with Akio -- as it was towards himself -- several of his neurons had assembled a band and were playing Sweet Home Alabama louder and louder inside his brain and remind him that he was the one who started it.
“We were, erm, organizing things with the squad. How we’re gonna record and whatnot. It’s important stuff.”
There was a dead silence, the kind of silence which spoke louder than a chemical explosion.
“So, um… If everything’s good, we’re boutta head out. Gotta meet Chim ASAP so he can teach you how to use your m… voice,” he corrected himself, right on time. “Alright? Then sayonara la vista, baby!” he added, dragging Miku out by the wrist and already mentally slapping himself for saying something so unbearbly cringe as “sayonara la vista”. He even forgot about the vigilantism for a second.
“Your dad is… Something,” he said once they were outside and, remembering he was still holding her wrist, let go of it in a hurry. “So, what do we do now? Bring the other nerds? We ain’t gonna fuck around just the two of us, are we?”
God, shut the fuck up, said the voice of reason in his brain. Where the skieeeees, are so blue, sang the redneck neurons band.
