Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers or Transformers Prime
Summary: It was the one last tie to her home she had, and she couldn't find it in her to snip it off. A Miko character study.
Warnings: A bit O.O.C.
...
She was born a rock star. A passion of rock and roll had raged inside her like a tsunami for as long as she could remember, a love of guitar forming the day she first heard the instrument, and so she picked her life-long career and stuck with it. She was going to be a rock star, and that was that. And that would have been fine, had she been born somewhere else.
Don't get her wrong, she loved Japan. The culture, the history, the people, everything. She was Japanese and proud. But... Japanese people weren't rock stars. Japanese people didn't sneak out late at night to go listen to bands that were banned in most parts of the country anyway. Japanese women didn't get big, famous jobs that included lots of traveling and lots of strange crowds. Most women didn't even leave their hometowns. They became housewives, had children, taught the children, cooked, cleaned, etc. That was about it. The Japanese high-paying workforce was primarily men, and the women who got into it were few and far between.
Not that she didn't think she could get in. She had all the stubbornness and brains needed to get any kind of job she wanted. It wouldn't be easy, but she could do it if she really put her mind to it. But even then, Japan wasn't really known for its rock and roll. It was known for its tech and health care, not for guitar solos. No, if she wanted to be a really famous rock star, she would have to get a fresh start somewhere else, boost her popularity. It was the easiest solution, even if it didn't make any sense.
And her parents didn't help any. Traditional and high class. Men in the family became doctors, lawyers, and/or tech nerds, women became brides to other high class men. The smarter and slyer the woman the better.
So she played along. The sooner she got on their good side, the sooner she got the money, the sooner she could follow her dreams. So she quieted her tongue- to some extent- and acted like everyone else. Got passing grades, pretended to be interested in the things she was supposed to be interested in, hid the things she was really interested in. She was your typical Japanese girl.
And even then, she stood out. She only dressed formal on formal occasions, never tried to impress the boys in her class in any way, spoke out against those she thought were wrong. Half the classes she took she didn't have any interest in, the others she only had a waning interest in. She didn't fit in, but she was close enough to the others to not draw any real attention to herself.
She made friends with the right people, hung out with the wrong 'after hours.' Stuck to the rules, snuck out whenever she got the chance. It was a balance between right and wrong, tradition and emotion, a balance she couldn't win no matter how hard she tried.
Her days were boring. Her nights? Not so much. Night time was her time to shine, and even then, she held herself back. Sure, she knew a few places where her kind of people liked to hang, but even they might think she was too enthusiastic, and being noticeable traveled through the grape vine a lot faster than the bored-looking girl who'd quite possibly been drug there and ditched. What would be a better excuse if she were found out? 'Sorry, I really like that type of stuff and I knew you wouldn't', or 'Sorry, one of my weirder friends dragged me there?' No, she wouldn't lose control. She would be careful, she would be patient. Her chance would come, someday...
And then, someday came. A lot sooner than one might expect. Sure, she wasn't the best at rock and roll yet, but certainly she'd be able to get some credit in 'the entertainment capital of the world', right? (Stupid, lying brochures.) It wasn't even about getting away from home. It'd been about her future career and how going to Nevada could help put her on the path to success. What more could she possibly want?
So, for once in her life, she studied. She studied a lot. She was primed and ready with plenty of study tips she'd learned over the years and put it too use. She would learn everything she could about America. And she did. English- mostly taught as a dead language to students- quickly became natural. Eventually, she even managed to lose most of the Japanese accent, making it barely noticeable to the point she wondered if it was actually there or if she was just imagining it. Next came the culture, which she found herself highly intrigued by. It was so much more open than what she was used too! People could do things in America without batting an eyelash that most people in Japan didn't even have nightmares about doing. It was so horrible yet so intriguing that she found herself glued to every word on the pages.
And soon, she could talk and act like she born and raised in America. The first- and only- time she'd ever studied in her life ended up being more helpful than any of the stuff those dorks planning on going to collage ever had learned.
It wasn't until the night before she left that she realized. It'd clicked, halfway through the night while she was idly staring at the ceiling and double checking that she'd packed everything she'd needed (Toothbrush? Check. Clothes? Check. Rock posters? Triple check.) She'd sat up on her futon, eyes flickering around wildly as the new thought processed.
She was free.
No parents breathing down her neck, no strict traditions to bind her, no nothing. She could be herself without any worry or concern. They wouldn't know Miko the mild-mannered girl with a fake smile and nothing really smart to say, only Miko the rock star, the girl who didn't mind putting herself in danger to amuse herself, the one who would do anything for a real friend. The real her. No more hiding or acting. What did she have to lose? She spent the rest of the night smiling at the wall, the thought running non-stop through her mind. She was free.
Locking herself in the plane bathroom the moment she was free after takeoff, she'd pulled out her scissors and hair-ties. She put the main part of her hair into the style she'd always loved- pig-tails, obviously- but had never been able to wear often because her mother loved keeping her long hair down. She pulled a strand over her face, decided she'd dye it a different color (Red? No, that was too much... Purple? No, that wasn't it... Pink? Pink would do quite nicely) along with the tips of her pigtails. Securing the rest in one big pig-tail on the back, she angled the scissors, pressed tight against her neck. A few snips and she'd have the hairstyle she'd always liked, short in the back and long on the sides. Sure, it looked really weird when it was down, but she hated the feeling of the hair against her neck.
She tightened the clamps, drew them to almost a complete close. Two more measly centimeters, and the first chunk would be gone forever. Her hand trembled, the scissors slid down a bit. She sighed angrily, yanked them away from her head, leaned against the wall, closed her eyes. No, that was too big a step, especially since this wouldn't last forever.
Besides, she chuckled bitterly too herself, she'd look like a dork. She wouldn't want that on her first away-from-home gig, right? The hair stayed, as she knew it always would be. She was, after all, too chicken to cut that one last tie to her family.
After that, it served as a reminder of sorts. Every thump on the back by the hair-tie felt like a tap on the back. A 'hey dummy, don't forget. Gigs don't last forever.' And they didn't. They never would.
She would enjoy this to the fullest. It was selfish and self-serving and would never fly back home but she just couldn't find it in her to care. She was free and she wouldn't waste one of the few chances she'd have in her childhood years to be herself.
And if she got to make some awesome friends and kick bot butt along the way? That made it all even more worthwhile.
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