B-Slap
The barstool is hard and uncompromising on your ass, but not as hard and uncompromising as your fashionable girlfriend. She is tall and leggy, with curves in the right places. Tagaya Saiko is a girl that most boys pine for, and you envy these imaginary admirers for their comfortable distance away from her.
"Why don't you transfer to the conductor course?" she demands.
And you answer. "Because Maestro Viera is my one and true teacher."
"Why don't you go to Europe?"
"Because flying is out of the question."
"Then go by ship!"
"Because ships are worse! Let's talk about something else."
But she railroads on. "Why did you have to get kicked out by Eto-sensei? Even if you were unhappy, you chose that course. Look you have to go in on Monday and..."
Correction, you quit. The Pufferfish shouted "forte" and "forte" like a metronome, while rapping your head with his idiotic paper fan. The final straw came when he belittled you for having a complete score. He was only your piano instructor and had no right to criticize your studying conducting. Piano is piano and conducting is your dream, and your dream is to stand in Vienna once again. And-
"...Are you even listening to me?" Saiko demands.
"Yes, of course."
"What did I say?"
"Are you listening to me?" you repeat.
"Before that!"
You finish your amber drink and signal for another. Saiko's lips press into a thin line. Her forehead furrows. The topic has been tread before, and time and time again. It's pointless, you tell her. Gulp. You chat about a more interesting topic, but she switches it back. Gulp. Pointless. Gulp.
"God, I hate it when you're like that," she sighs like an silver screen heroine. "Haven't you had enough?"
"I didn't come here to fight. You free later on tonight?" you offer peace, though she started it.
"No, and you'd better not act like this tomorrow. My parents are going to be there," she snaps. She tosses several bills on the table as she rises. "And we're not finished with this, yet!"
You want to return her parting shot, but rising takes to much effort. The waitress puts down a clear drink instead of scotch.
"Don't overdo it," the buxom woman says with a wink.
Don't look down at me, you think at her swaying derrière. Is she swaying or is the room swaying?
Your hand reflexively closes on the glass and tilts; carbonated seltzer shoots up your nose. An extended bout of coughing racks your body. The air in the bar becomes oppressive, and you want to go outside for a cigarette and some fresh air, but balance remains elusive.
Everything seems annoying, from the loud salarymen to the decor to the basted piano in the corner. The instrument usually gathers dust, but, tonight, it is emitting an evil racket. Your mere queasiness blooms to a full blown nausea by the ridiculous little flourishes being added to Chopsticks. This gussied-up tune reminds you think of the saggy horror of a whore caked in makeup that you once saw in Antwerp. But that is not important. He must be stopped. It takes titanic effort to rise.
The chopping tune transforms into a jumble of notes, and, with more horror, you make out Beethoven's Pathetique. Though tables and chairs put themselves in your way, you enter the piano's darkened lair. The villain comes into view: a bowed head adorned by a black dog's pelt.
The player looks up. Her childish face gasps likes a fish, twists into a pouting duck, and rises swallowing swan. The wild rendition solidifies into a brash recitation. She misses a rest and flubs a note, but the piece is undoubtedly good. The piece ends as sharply, and you are released from the music's hold.
Her cheeks are flushed from the exertion. You don't recall sitting, but you are parked at a nearby booth.
"Hi," she says. "My name is Noda, Noda Megumi, but my friends call me Nodame."
"Chiaki Shinichi," your head feels clearer now. "Noda-san-"
"Nodame."
"Nodame," you agree. "Do you study the piano?"
"Yes," her hands are large, crafted for the ivory keys. "Don't you go to Momongaoka?"
She recognizes you. Nodame reveals that she is a second year in the piano course. She lost track of her friends hopping between bars. It happens every time they go out. She hoped to find her friends here and saw the piano. Not knowing what else to do, she stayed put and began playing.
"Nodame plays when she is happy, plays when she is lost, plays when she is angry," her fingers wander among the keys, teasing out a random rhythm. "Tonight Nodame is sad, because the boy she liked is going overseas to New York."
You recall the hallowed halls of Juilliard fondly. You accompanied your father when he gave a series of guest lectures. That was right before the sudden sea storm swept you overboard into the surging shark-infested waters of the Caribbean. Just thinking about it makes you turn green.
She rises from the piano to join you, but you wave her back to the bench. You ask her to play something.
"What? Oh, how about this?" She looks oddly frog-like as she squints and bobs. Her fingers plucks out a playful 'Berceuse'.
"Overseas," the word tumbles out miserably when the lullaby ends. The wide seas restrict you to this narrow island. Planes are just as bad. Your last plane trip began with an igniting engine and continued with a forced landing into the teeth of a raging storm at O'Hara. They had to drug you for the rest of the way back to Narita International. Man was not meant to fly or sail.
Nodame stares at you. "Ignore what I said," you add. Pity is the last thing you want.
"Excuse me, but I cannot ignore a fellow man's plight," a tall man interjects. He places a Heineken next to you and sips from a second bottle. The man is dressed in a suit and a white lab coat. His demeanor reminds you strongly of a reptile. "Dr. Keifuka."
The serpentine doctor lures Nodame away from her seat with the offer free drink. He sits down next to you, boxing you in. You sidle away from his repulsive presence.
"I could not help but to overhear your sorrowful tale," every syllable feels oily. "A talented young man wasting away, when the world waits for him."
"It's none of your business," you answer.
"I can help you."
"Really? How?" Nodame asks.
You open the beer with the Doctor's bottle opener. The cold brew hits the spot. Nodame accepts anti-freeze tinted liquor that the Doctor passes from the waitress.
"Are you afraid of airplanes or ships, my dear?" Keifuka asks Nodame.
She sways her head in wide arcs. A few sips rouges her cheeks.
"Then, you can help."
"Really?"
"Hold out your wrist," Keifuka taps a silvery disk onto the inside of Nodame's outstretched wrist. Cords whip from the disk around her over-sized wrist, and the face dilates open. She sniffs at the device like a primate.
"How's a watch going to help me? Besides it's on her arm," you snort.
"Good point."
Keifuka's hand lashes out like a coiled cobra. He slaps a second disk on the back of your hand. Tentacles snake around your wrist. You try to tear off the wrist, but the cords are unyielding.
"Get this off of me, old man. I'm not paying you for this Crackerjack box toy."
"Don't be difficult," he says.
You take a swipe against him, but a powerful jolt stops you mid-swing.
"Keep that up, and you might not be able to play piano anymore," he warns jovially. "Mr. Chiaki, keep within three meters of the girl or you will die."
"You're joking," you scoff, but the dangerous look in his narrowed eyes freezes you. Nodame has fallen fast asleep. In moments, your head becomes incredibly heavy as well, and the table becomes an inviting place to put your head and rest.
Brightness stabs your eyes, and you awaken to a cloud dust motes dancing thickly in the light. Your head pounds with the force of a jackhammer. Your limbs ache. Instead of a bed, you lie on a small mound of soft, hard, smooth, and crinkly objects. The rest of the room is also heaped with trash. A heavy weight is attached to your arm. It looks like a mop. No, it's that girl that you met, Nodame.
You are relieved to find that you are still dressed.
A stomach-churning stench permeates the room; it is ripe, fruity, and thick all at once. You pry the off the deadweight to stand. The world spins, but your flight instinct overcomes your pain, and you step cautiously through the garbage. You ignore the squishy substance that your foot encounters. Just as your reach the door, an earsplitting alarm screeches.
The source is nearby; it's on your wrist. Your sharp ears pick up a second source from behind you. Nodame's body stirs from its resting place. The door lock is jammed. The hunched form shambles forth with its arms outstretched. Your hands fumble. She's closer. The dead bolt opens with a sweet clunk. You fall through the metal door into the bright sunlight. Your motion is arrested by another metal mass.
"Mukya!" Nodame exclaims. "A robot, and it's flying."
Your disbelieving eyes agree. The terrier-sized machine floats at chest height, held aloft by a propeller that projects from its boxy head. Spindly arms and miniature tank treads project from the cubic torso. Its glass eyes scan both you and Nodame. She shelters behind you.
"Good morning," the Keifuka's voice issues from the robot's mouth. "I see that you have not heeded my warning. But you were not, how shall we say, in the best state to listen last night.
"Allow me to fully explain. On your wrists lies my latest project: B-Shock. It was invented to aid in the study of human behavior. The system is set to detonate once you move beyond a set distance. In your case, three meters. Allow me to demonstrate."
The robot pulls a pair of tiny robots from its torso and drops them. The tiny robots drive in an expanding figure eight until they are about a foot apart. The alarm sounds again, and then they suddenly erupt into fireballs.
You stare at your B-Shock watch in disbelief.
"I assure you that the blast is 100 fatal."
"You're kidding me. How do I get this off!" you shout.
"Excellent, you have moved from denial to anger and bargaining. Allow me to record this."
You curse at him. A neighbor shouts for you to shut up.
"How do I get this off!" you demand again.
"The B-Shock system will deactivate itself once you are in international air or water. Ta-ta." the robot turns and flies into the distance.
"Sempai, what are we going to do?" Nodame asks.
"How am I supposed to know?" she shrinks from your roar.
You find your rumpled Marlboros. The first hit takes off the edge of your craving. The street below the veranda looks familiar. Even the deep red railing below your elbow looks familiar. You turn. The number apartment number is 201 Noda. Next to it is 202 Chiaki.
"Gyabo, we're neighbors. Who would've thunk," Nodame observes.
After stubbing out your cigarette, you retrieve your shoes and enter your apartment. You need a shower. The B-Shock refuses to come off, but you are beyond caring about electrocution. The hot water feels great. The day starts to feel normal as yesterday's dirt is scrubbed away. You leave the stall wrapped in a robe while humming Schumann's Carnival, which is also playing on the sound system. You don't remember putting on music.
Nodame hugs her knees beside a speaker. Nodame pulls into a crouch as you approach.
"Chiaki-sempai, what are we going to do?" Nodame asks.
"How am I supposed to know?" And why are you here?" you stuff the CD insert into the case and place them on the table. The human disaster has mixed up your shelf. Franz before Robert Schumann and Skalovski after Sibelius. "Don't touch my stuff."
"We have to stay together. That man said so," she looks genuinely afraid, but suspicion brews in your mind.
"He said so. How do I know that you aren't taking orders from him? Even if these things are real, how do I know that you aren't in on this scam?" you were about to leave when you heard her playing. She already knew you, but how much did she know? Did she know that your family has money?
"I'm not! I'm not trying to trick you. Please believe me," she looks genuine. She also looked startled by the machine.
Questions, there are too many questions. Is B-Shock for real? Is this a scam? But no money was mentioned. Is this a joke? Who would have such bad taste? Eto-sensei? No, he has no taste. Not Saiko, too serious. Keifuka was definitely fishy; he fit mad scientist to a "T", down to the lab coat. An actor? Definitely fishy. And Nodame, simple minded or mastermind?
The Bartok ringtone interrupts your musing. It's Saiko.
"Awake yet?" she is still peeved.
"Obviously, if I'm talking to you," you respond coolly. Yesterday remains fresh in your memory. Nodame spikes the volume before she's able to find the mute button.
"Is somebody there?" Saiko asks. "Anyway, you didn't forget our date, did you?"
Date? Crap, you forgot in the amid the madness. "No, of course not."
"You'd better not be late. No excuses."
"Of course not, I was just about to leave, too," you say to the dial tone.
You belatedly realize that you should have feigned sickness. You still could, but she would check on you. Or an emergency could pop up. However, she knows your family and would also check. You don't want to burden your uncle with lying for you. It goes too strongly against his grain. Your mother and father are overseas. There's no one else to use as a cover.
Other possibilities flash through your mind, but each idea is worse than its predecessor. The only path is to meet your fate head on.
Your watch and the B-Shock read 10:45 AM. The meeting is at noon, but you need to be there at least twenty minutes before the hour. Saiko's father arrives fifteen minutes early, and if you don't beat him there, you are late. Mr. Tagaya probably craps to a master schedule. A taxi should be able to get there quickly on a Saturday morning.
"Nodame, get into the shower," you order.
"Gabon?"
"I need to go out, and I can't leave you behind."
"Can't leave me behind, that sounds so romantic," Nodame simpers.
"Stop it."
"Clothes? I was going to do laundry today and I don't have anything clean."
As she washes, you rummage for clothes. A T-shirt, khakis, and the wool sweater that shrunk in the wash should do. She can wear of boxers, and her chest is probably flat enough go without a bra. You pass a pair of towels and the clothes around the door. Nodame emerges holding the over-sized khakis with one hand. The spare belt fits. She can almost be cute when clean. By the time her hair is dry, the cab arrives.
During the ride, you finish coaching Nodame in your web of deceit. The time is twenty-five minutes before the hour. Nodame is broke. You stop by the ATM. The old man fumbling with his PIN ticks away five precious minutes.
Nodame enters the hotel lobby behind you. Saiko and her parents are waiting for you. Saiko looks pissed, but that's her default expression these days. Greeting and compliments are smoothly traded. Saiko glances at the gaudy B-Shock, but does not comment. A waiter leads your group to a table. You improvise tying a shoelace to let Nodame stay in range. She sits alone at a nearby table. Lunch begins as planned.
Mr. Tagaya has an endless repertoire of golf epics. All you have to do is maintain eye contact and nod occasionally. The bird-like Mrs. Tagaya works on her fourth martini and begins to openly stare at you. You're not sure how you would embarrass Saiko in front of her parents, but you think that you are doing well.
Just before the entrees arrive, Nodame begins to cough dramatically. A waiter pounds on her back, but the coughing abruptly stops. That's not right. She's supposed to cough until you arrive. A rattling tattoo sounds from her table. You excuse yourself from the table to help. The girl is desperately banging on the table with her open hand. Her eyes bulge in their sockets. Even her face is turning to blue. Nodame is putting on the act of a lifetime. Wait, she's not acting.
You thrust the waiter aside and wrap the struggling girl around the belly. Her waist is thinner than you expect. She makes desperate noises in her throat. The top of her head rams into the bottom of your chin. You ignore the stinging at the tip of your tongue and thrust your doubled fists up her solar plexus. It's not working. After the fourth thrust, a mess of chocolate cake spurts out. Nodame collapses at the edge of the table.
Her face returns to its normal color.
"I'm OK, I'm OK, I'm OK," she gasps in response to your questioning. "That was scary. You can let go now."
You release her shoulders. Small, cool hands grasps turns your face, and a kerchief daubs at your lip. Mrs. Tagaya's face hovers close by.
"That was very brave," the woman coos.
You wave away Mrs. Tagaya's hands, and unbutton your collar to dry out the damp perspiration. Saiko's expression is unreadable. You loosen your tie, and gallantly offer to take Miss Noda home, because she lives near you. Nodame politely refuses once, but accepts your second offer. You bid farewell to the Tagayas and retreat.
Nodame seems distracted on the trip back to the apartment complex.
Upon arriving home, you realize that you didn't eat lunch. You prepare salad for two. The small salad at the restaurant whet your appetite for more.
"Nodame, set the table. The forks are in the top second drawer from the frig," you order as you mix the dressing. Yesterday's crusty French loaf is still good.
As you eat, Nodame stays slumped against the table. The salad tastes fine. She remains inert even after you've finished an after meal smoke.
"Are you sure that you don't need to see a doctor?" you ask.
"Nodame has never felt this way before."
"What are you talking about?" you ask as you turn on the faucet. There are two and a half days of dishes in the sink.
"Sempai, No-nodame is in love with you!" she shouts.
You turn in surprise. Surprise turns to shock. The shock is mirrored at the other side of your kitchen on the face of Tagaya Saiko. A styrofoam box of pollo rustica lies splattered on the linoleum, your ordered, but uneaten lunch.
"I can't believe this. I don't believe this," Saiko says. "How? When? Why that, that thing?" she stabs a finger at Nodame.
Her glare is aimed Nodame's torso, the gray sweater. It was the same sweater that Saiko gave you two Christmases ago.
"Saiko, calm down, I can explain everything," you answer.
"Calm down? I'm already calm," Saiko answers shrilly. "Explain yourself. You've got ten minutes."
"Fine, I'll tell you the whole truth."
You recount the ridiculous events of the past eighteen or so hours with thirty seconds to spare.
"B-Shock? That excuse was so stupid that my entire body hurts!" she seizes two bunches of her hair.
"Saiko, how else would you explain these events? And you know that I don't have taste this lousy," you display the pseudo-Power Ranger accessory.
"I don't care about the stupid watch. You must think that I'm stupid," tears stand out in her eyes and drown her words. Saiko screams, yells, and rages, but rarely has she cried in the six years that you've known her. "I saw you, you know. I saw you pay her. Even though you're stubborn, conceited, and difficult, you were never underhanded and sneaky."
"Listen, I wasn't completely honest, but look at the situation I'm in now," you approach her.
"Situation? You've made your own bed. I can't believe that you'd pull something like that! Paying someone to fake choking! You know how to really impress me? Start by telling me the truth!"
Saiko shoves you back and sprints to the door. She fumbles for her shoes. The hellish alarm rings, but you catch up and grab her arm. Saiko shakes you off. A crash, Nodame lies sprawled halfway across the living room. You haul Nodame up, but she's become a jellyfish.
You're pissed. After the diarrhea that's hit the fan, Saiko can't have the last word twice in a row. You haul up Nodame and brace her against your body. You charge through the closing door.
"Saiko!" you yell. She is at the bottom of the stairs holding a shoe. "I'm telling the truth. Why would I make up such a stupid lie?"
"You tell me. I might believe you if you weren't holding that skank! There's a limit to shamelessness, you know," Saiko tosses her hair.
"Skank? What's a skank?" Nodame mumbles.
Saiko hurls the her shoe. You dodge, but accidentally haul Nodame into the line of fire. She is caught at the side of her face. The impact dislodges the loose heel. Her cheek is red.
"I hope that you and that tramp are happy in your delusional fantasy world," Saiko continues.
"Tramp?" Nodame mumbles. She seizes your arm with one of her own and blows a raspberry with the other. "Well, he can't live without me! He can't stand to be away from me. So, there!"
Nodame lets you go reluctantly. Two thirds of the way down the stairs, the alarm sounds. Saiko waits for you to finish the descent. You unconsciously check over your shoulder. Nodame is not moving. You turn back in time to catch Saiko's other shoe.
Saiko runs down the street in her stockings. You stare dumbly after her, but are forced to retreat after a neighbor threatens to call the police. The alarm silences.
You want to hit something, and the top three things on your lists are Nodame, Nodame, and Nodame. As you pass the listless girl, she hangs her head at the top of the stairs. You raise your arm, but let the shoe drop limply on the top of her head. The whole choking fiasco was not her fault. You flop bonelessly on the couch. Nodame drops into a ball by your side. The door closes with a dull boom.
You have worn B-Shock for less than 24 hours.
A/N: One shot combining characters from Ninomiya's Nodame Cantabile with the situation from Nakano's B-Shock. Title and crossover concept originally by limulux. The character Nodame also makes random noises, which are repeated here.
The original manga B-Shock set the initial range to one meter, which sharpened the effect of the mcguffen, but I wanted to try something different. I also thought that Chiaki's explosive personality would want to end it swiftly if he were stuck within a meter of Nodame. As for the string of Chiaki's mistakes, I would like to point out that he gets stuck with Nodame the human lamprey in the canon.