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Symphony of Sound: ThreeThere was smoke everywhere, empty beer cans and half-full glass bottles of Bacardi littered the floor, and the music was pulsing through the dim room. Teenagers from school, and surprisingly enough, the neighboring junior high, danced with wild abandon, silhouettes against the light, an orgy on the dance floor.
Sora sighed and slumped against the back of the couch, raspberry rum Bacardi bottle in one hand, the other rested on her forehead as she squinted into the dimness and tried to pick Mimi out of the crowd. Mimi had given her the alcohol to hold, and Sora had only taken a sip before realizing that she really didn't want to get plastered and have to take care of an equally inebriated Mimi.
Takeru and Hikari sat next to her, the blond boy's arm wrapped protectively around the brunette's slim shoulders, her head rested under his chin, her eyes closed, fast asleep. Taichi sat a little ways away, cigarette caught between two fingers, beer bottle held in the same hand, with a petite blonde girl in his lap giggling as he murmured meaningless nothings into her seashell ear and kept a hand at her tiny waist.
Yamato was on Sora's other side, a small, beaten-up and tattered notebook in his lap, a chewed-up pen behind his ear, and a cigarette dangling from his lips and a glass bottle of Absolut Vodka on the table next to him, already almost half gone. He claimed that he was at his creative peak when he was absolutely smashed-slash-plastered. Sora thought that coffee was the way to go when it came to get the creative juices flowing.
She, of course, had no qualms about drinking, especially when it came to warm sake or the Absolut Vodka that Yamato was currently nursing, or Stolichnaya, or green apple Bacardi, or even the occasional sour apple Schnapps. But not a party, where there was a high chance of getting busted by police and getting caught in a compromising situation. College would not approve, and neither would her mother.
"Hey," Koushiro said, sitting down heavily next to Sora and eyeing the Bacardi clutched between her fingers.
Sora smiled wryly and waved the bottle around a bit. "I'm not drinking. Mimi is."
Koushiro's reddish-brown eyebrows disappeared under the hair spilling over his forehead, and he looked over to where Mimi was dancing rather provocatively with a hulking quarterback. "Shouldn't you…?"
Sora laughed and shook her head, her ponytail loosening a bit. "Nah, she's fine. I'll pull her out of there before things get too hot and heavy."
"How's it feel to be a babysitter?" Koushiro asked.
Sora frowned. Izumi Koushiro was without a doubt a baby genius, and he was known for having a way with computers, but sensitivity was not one of his strong points. She knew him to be unconsciously sweet and caring and helpful, but at the same time horribly blunt and slightly oblivious.
He was one of this childhood friends who hadn't changed drastically. He still had a way with computers of course, and he was the head of the tech club at school, second in command of the computer networking system at school, and was taking classes that were even more advanced than hers. His hair was still a spiky, reddish-brown mess, his voice was still matter-of-fact and to-the-point, but he had grown taller, a little darker, and had quite a way with the ladies, who surprisingly loved tech geeks. Sora would always see him as the kid who said "Prodigious!" instead of "Cool!", and she would never hold it against him, but seeing him swarmed in the hallways, with pretty girls hanging off of him left and right, was something that still made her laugh.
The same was with Jyou, when she thought about it. He was a senior, been accepted early into five different top-notch universities, and was currently banging his head against the wall trying to figure out the pros and cons of each school. The black-that-looked-blue-haired boy had grown even taller, skinnier, more intelligent, and a bit more reclusive. His hair was longer but he still had his glasses, and Sora had pathogenic microbiology with him. He was good to talk to, though not so much at expressing himself, but Sora loved for his clumsy sweetness and his habit of turning thirty-second explanations into ten-minute speeches.
"Thanks for being so blunt, Kou-chan," she said, rolling her eyes. "But it's not fun," she admitted finally. Koushiro laughed and patted her on the shoulder consolingly.
"Go dance," he said. "I'll keep a watch on Mimi's alcohol."
Sora quirked an eyebrow in way of inquiry.
"And by that I mean dump it into the closest potted plant," Koushiro added, almost-black eyes gleaming. He took the bottle by its neck, plucked it from Sora's hands, and cocked his head in Yamato's direction. "Go ask him to dance."
Sora's eyes widened. "Why?"
"He's halfway drunk and still doesn't have new lyrics," the computer genius said, leaning back against the sofa cushions and looking around the room, probably for a potted plant. He cared more for Mimi than he would ever admit, and it made Sora smile.
"The least you could do is relieve him," the boy added, eyeing the clear contents of the bottle he now held.
The music pulsed and the lights flashed and Sora considered Yamato's slouched profile, cigarette tip glowing between two long, guitarist fingers, vodka bottle at his feet, the bite marks in the pen perched behind his ear, and a pensive expression on his face.
As she moved closer, she could see that the notebook was open to the fifth page, and Sora could make out an indistinct scrawl between the light blue lines, Yamato's handwriting in black ink distinct against the white of the recycled paper. There were two lines slapped down on the page, which had been boldly crossed out. There were notes in the margins, doodles in the top right corner, and a chunk ripped out of the bottom.
Sora reveled in details. She thought that life was nothing without them, because people didn't have personality and objects didn't have color and ideas didn't come alive. Blood wasn't simply red: it was crimson and carmine and titian and strawberry and ruby all mixed together and dashed with a hint of brown, a touch of black, and a shade of blue. It was the same way that the sky was actually cerulean and azure, and the same way that Taichi's eyes were chocolate and sienna. Mimi's hair was caramel and honey, and leaves in autumn were gold and pumpkin and flaming red.
Description, description, description.
"Hi," she said quietly, sitting down next to him and peering at his notebook.
He took a drag from his cigarette and Sora watched the glow of the tip, Yamato's lips when he exhaled, and the cloud of smoke that drifted lazily into the air as he breathed out. "Want some?" he held up the fag.
"You can keep your cancer stick to yourself, thank you," Sora said, glaring at him and pushing his hand away.
He laughed. "Still too good for drugs, Sora-chan?"
Yamato had been smoking since the not-so-tender age of fourteen, which meant he'd been at it for two years. He'd picked it up when he'd picked up a guitar, along with coffee and alcohol, and Sora was sure that he was simply emulating Hyde from L'Arc-en-Ciel and that the fad would pass, but–though Yamato wasn't addicted and could go for weeks without smoking–whenever he was in the process of writing songs or music, he would go through two packs of cigarettes per day, along with at least six or seven cups of coffee, or hard liquor, if he could get it.
Sora ignored him. "What're you writing?"
"You mean what am I not writing?" Yamato asked wryly, contemplating his cigarette then throwing it on the carpet, grinding the butt underneath his heel. "I've got nothing. No creativity; I might as well join some pop star's record label and start lip synching."
Sora snorted and shook her head disbelievingly. "No pop label would take you. You look too much like a tortured soul."
"Emo label." He revised quickly, making a face and combing his gorgeous hair down over one eye, fixing her with a soulful gaze with his other eye.
Sora rolled her eyes. "You're off my iPod if you do."
He laughed out loud and pushed his hair back to normal, lyrics dilemma momentarily forgotten. Sora reached over for the vodka at his feet and tossed back a sip, and winced when the liquid burned in her mouth and down her throat. Yamato watched her, amusement in his dark blue eyes, and Sora grinned at him.
"Let's dance."
XHis clothes were musty with smoke and his gorgeous eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed, baggy from lack of sleep, and he looked thinner. His cheeks were sunken, his cheekbones more prominent, and his hair hung limply, not as bright and blond as it normally was. There was a pencil perched behind his ear, his T-shirt was wrinkled and stretched oddly, and his jeans were stained.
This was Yamato when writing.
He slumped against the wall and Sora watched him, concern in her carmine eyes, as he rubbed his face disconsolately and hung his arms over his knees, contemplating the floor. There was a distinct cloud smelling of liquor, cigarette smoke, coffee, and sharpened pencils surrounding him, and she couldn't help but wince as he came closer. She wondered how he managed to get to school this morning, for he looked lost and dazed and not all there.
"I need a new name for the band," was the first thing that came from his lips, and Sora winced, because she knew that she was the reason that he doubted himself.
"Teenage Wolves is fine," she assured him, sitting down next to him and folding her legs against her stomach and resting her chin on her knees. This was completely contrary to what she said to him otherwise, and she felt bad for lying to him, but she knew that he wouldn't remember any of the conversation the next day.
"I need something new, something different," he agonized, gripping his hair between his fingers, and it stuck up in odd spikes, and Sora resisted the urge to laugh.
"Something original?"
"Stop mocking me," and he said it with such seriousness that she stopped, sighing and smoothing his hair back.
"You'll think of something, Yama-chan," she said softly, patting him on the shoulder, and suddenly she was all business, and she prodded him deftly. "Homework? Proper clothing? Why the hell are you wearing a T-shirt? It's fucking snowing!"
"Didn't do it," he said wearily. "Jesus, Sora, I've been chain-smoking for the past forty-eight hours, drunk 8 cups of coffee average in 12 hours, and I've finished off the whiskey under the sink, and you're asking me about homework and appropriate clothing?"
"You finished the whiskey?" she asked, shocked, forgetting about his clothes. Instead, she worried about his liver.
He nodded mutely and hung his head between his knees. She stroked his hair soothingly, combing her fingers through it and pushing it off his forehead, before patting his knee and standing up, taking his considerably larger hand in both of hers.
"Let's get your books," she said, helping his stand.
"I think I've forgotten where my locker is," he mumbled, head drooping, eyes shutting slowly.
Sora laughed and began walking. "Taichi'll help you to class, I promise."
His response was silence, and Sora took it as an affirmative.
"Thanks, Sora-chan," he said, suddenly, leaning his head down and whispering into her ear, and she smiled to herself, leading his along slowly.
X"Bible Kiss Bible," Sora whispered, doodling the words in her English notebook, and looking at Taichi expectantly. "What do you think?"
"About what?" Taichi asked, pulling a highlighter out and underscoring a passage in Hamlet.
"Bible Kiss Bible."
"Never heard of them," Taichi replied absentmindedly. He was underlining passages frantically with different colored highlighters, trying to keep up with the teacher's rapid lecturing. "Hey, what does this mean?"
Sora leaned over and read the passage that he was pointing to. "Taichi, it's reinforcing the point that Hamlet's crazy," she said, with a touch of asperity.
Taichi was silent for a moment, the nodded and underlined the sentence heavily with a pen.
"So Bible Kiss Bible sounds like a band name?" Sora continued.
Taichi switched back to his notebook and paused only to throw Sora a reproachful glare. "Of course it does. Think logically, Sora-chan…who would call a book that?"
"Well, why do you assume that I'm talking about either a book or a band?"
"Because you sure as hell weren't talking about a tennis player," Taichi replied, rolling his eyes. He jotted down a few more notes, and sighed with relief when the teacher stopped talking.
"I want you all to find the pertinent passages in the book that will support you thesis for your final paper. I'm giving you fifteen minutes of class time to work on this, and I expect the first paragraph of your essay, with your thesis underlined, and all your supporting quotes typed out, by tomorrow."
Sora rolled her eyes and bent down, reaching blindly into her messenger bag and searching for her text. She came up with the dog-eared copy and flipped through the pages, reading her notes in the margins thoughtfully and unsticking post-its marked with arrows that had originally pointed to quotes, crumpling them and placing them on the desk. She looked over at Taichi, who bent over his book, head propped up by his hands, his forehead furrowed and lined.
She liked him when he was concentrating. His broad shoulders were hunched and his head bent over a tiny paperback and his eyebrows knit in extreme absorption, and Sora could almost forget that he was the boy that used to go outside and play soccer in the mud in lieu of doing his homework. She of course had been his partner in crime, and when she thought about it, her life had changed loads (for better or for worse, she didn't know).
Back in Odaiba, she had been smart, probably one of the top ten in her class, but she didn't apply herself, and she knew it didn't matter, because her teachers loved her, and when it all came down, she could do sample problems on the chalkboard faster than the kids who had actually done their homework. Her literature teacher had loved her reading voice and often asked her to stand and recite poetry to the class, and her science teacher had her do demonstrations in front of the class. She didn't have to work for anything, and she knew that she was guaranteed entrance to Tokyo University. Her future was set: she knew that she would be a biochemist or work at Squarenix; she had nothing to worry about.
She would finish school, go to tennis practice, and after some tutoring work, she would go home and help her mother cook dinner. Life back in Japan had been relatively low-stress for her, considering the environment, but that all changed in New York City.
The city was huge, bustling, full of taxis and buses and trains and subways, which was nothing that Sora couldn't handle, but she knew that she had more to prove living there. She wasn't guaranteed entrance into Harvard or Yale; she had to work for it. To some teachers, she was just an immigrant who spoke English with an inflection and to the students, she was a Japanese girl who didn't even look Japanese, with her auburn hair and her odd crimson eyes; her peers had been expecting someone like Sato Ayumi: graceful and charming, feathered black hair and brown eyes, and Sora knew she was nothing like her. Mimi had fit right in; she played off her differences and made herself unique, telling her new American friends that she was half-Asian and hence her unique coloring, but Sora couldn't bring herself to lie. It wasn't that she was inherently honest, because that was far from the truth, but she couldn't handle lying about her culture and heritage. She didn't want to tell the blonde cheerleader in her first period class that she dyed her hair, or that she was half-Irish and half-Japanese.
Mimi had stopped talking to those new friends soon enough, realizing that she liked being one hundred percent Japanese too much, and the seven kids stuck together. Hikari had been better at adjusting; she was sweet and people latched on to her, knowing that with her disposition and charisma, she was the ideal best friend. Takeru had been shy at first, but he had gotten on well with a group of Japanese kids in his grade, and he and Hikari were still young and not as jaded as Sora or Yamato or Mimi or Taichi and they established a solid circle of friends.
Sora, Yamato, Mimi, and Taichi, on the other hand, tended to stay together. Sora was Mimi's soul sister, and vice versa, and Yamato and Taichi got along better than they would ever admit. The four of them had been through too much to ever forget anything, and they stuck together through thick and thin, and Yamato and Taichi had tried to yell some sense into Mimi when she had gone through her half-Asian phase, and everyone joined together to support Yamato when was in a funk. Taichi was fairly happy-go-lucky, and whenever he had a problem, he kicked a soccer ball around until it was gone. Sora kept to herself, even in her group of friends, only sharing with Mimi and maybe the two boys when it was absolutely necessary. She cried to herself some nights, but she never burdened others with her problems. She'd learned a long while back that nothing was forever, and even though she suspected that this would never happen to her and Mimi, there was always the possibility that they would have a falling out.
"Soraaaaa," Taichi said, tugging on her sleeve.
She glared at him and shook him off. "What?"
"The bell rang two minutes ago," he said calmly. She realized that he was standing, Hamlet and highlighters in hand, pencil stuck behind his ear.
"Then why're you still here?" she asked, blowing her bangs out of her eyes and tossing her copy of the play into her bag and pulling the strap over her head.
"Waiting for you, Sora-chan," he said. His eyes sparkled, like they used to when they were eleven and kicked the soccer ball around for hours and stuck ice down each others T-shirts and licked at ice creams while sitting on park benches and giggled when it dripped off their chins and arms. "Friends do that for each other."
Sora smiled and followed him out of the empty room.
X"Bible Kiss Bible?" Taichi said suddenly, dribbling the soccer ball up and down the field as Sora sat on the sidelines in the muddy grass, watching him with her chin propped up on her fists.
"Yeah," Sora said.
"Where'd you come up with that?"
"Don't remember," Sora replied, shrugging and standing up carefully, trying not to get mud on the sleeves of her dark blue long-sleeved T-shirt. She pulled her hood over her head and her hands disappeared into her sleeves, and she crossed her arms over her stomach. "But what do you think?"
"I like it, but you should ask Yamato," Taichi said, kicking the ball to her. She stopped it with her left foot, and the boy jogged over, slightly winded.
"Hi," Mimi said, walking up and wrinkling her nose at mud puddles scattered around in the grass. "What're we talking about?"
"How'd you find me?" Sora asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Sora-chan, you couldn't hide from me if you wanted to," Mimi replied casually, waving her off and waving the subject away. Sora made a face at her, and Mimi laughed, putting an arm around her shoulder.
"Bible Kiss Bible," Taichi said suddenly, and Mimi raised an eyebrow, replying, "Haven't heard of them."
"See?" Taichi said, looking utterly pleased.
"Fine," Sora said. "I'm telling you, three hours after the fact, the name doesn't seem that cool."
Taichi laughed, and Mimi hit him on the shoulder. "What're you two talking about?"
Sora rolled her eyes and picked up her messenger bag, adjusting the strap on her shoulder and opening it up, digging around and coming up with a scrap of paper. "I'll go tell him, I guess," she said, squinting at the paper and turning it upside-down and then again on it's side.
"Do you want to go to a movie tonight?" Mimi asked, her voice hopeful.
"We have to do homework before," Sora said. She pulled her cell phone and flipped it open, checking the screen. "Mimi, it's already five! Can't we go tomorrow?"
"Soraaaaa," Mimi wheedled. "You won't go shopping with me, you won't go makeup-hunting with me, you won't get smoothies with me, and now you won't even go to the movies with me?"
"Mimi, shut up," Sora said, a grin on her face. "I do all of the above with you, and more."
Mimi fixed Sora with a stare and fluttered her eyelashes, curled, lengthened, and given more volume with black mascara.
Sora sighed. "Call me at seven, okay?"
Mimi clapped her hands and hugged Sora quickly. "I will, I will!" Sora rolled her eyes and began walking away.
She heard Taichi laugh and was pretty sure that he put an arm around Mimi's shoulder, saying, "And until then…"
And she heard Mimi respond with a, "Ew, you're muddy, you cretin, get off of me." Sora laughed, waved at them without turning back, and walked off the muddy soccer field, heading towards Yamato's band practice area.
A/N: Well, I got rid of that writer's block fairly quickly. More Taichi-Sora interaction in this chapter, some drugs and vodka action, and I think this chapter is longer than any of my other ones. :D
The idea for 'Bible Kiss Bible' is from an episode of Gilmore Girls. It's from one of the earlier episodes in the third season, but I'm not sure which one, and I would never print falsehoods, especially where Gilmore Girls is concerned.
No, I'm serious.
Thank you thank you thank you to AAAAALL my lovely reviewers (especially Kryssie, for the nice long review). Huggles abound! Tell me how it is, eh? What you thought about Yamato's cigarette habit, if they all seem really OOC, etc., etc. Criticism (constructive or otherwise) is always welcomed.
Reviews make me smile, of course.
And obviously, there's more to come.