Popstar Comics
Chapter 1: Another Day in Paradise
I was met with a piece of plywood to the face this morning when I got up, along with an annoying remix of some pop band I couldn't care less about. Normally I'm pretty good at not slamming my head on the bottom of the upper bunk, but it looked like today was just going to be another one of those days. Silently cursing, I threw off my covers and tossed my buzzing alarm clock, shambling my way to the bathroom in irritation.
These damn work hours. Who the hell opens a comic book shop at seven in the morning?
"Breakfast is ready!" calls Pit from the kitchen. It smells good, but I pretend not to care. Not only is mister goody-two-shoes accomplished in archery, speed delivery, and singing, but he can also cook. The ladies love him. "Pittoo! Are you awake yet?"
"What did I say about calling me that?" I holler from the bathroom with my head dunked in cold water. Seriously, I despise that nickname. It may have been cute when we were little, but I'm nineteen years old now. I have my own body, my own brain, and my own set of personal traits that make me who I am. I'm not just some carbon copy of my brother despite the fact that our parents refused to acknowledge that. To them, I was just a twin, the pup who always followed another's lead, the one who was cast aside while his brother danced in the spotlight.
In other words, I was a nearly identical but not so talented Pit. A Pit-two.
"Daaarrrk. If you don't hurry, you're gonna be late," he calls to me. A few seconds later I wander in to the kitchen with a bedhead and dark blotches under my eyes. Yeesh, it's bright in here.
"I got time," I reply, grabbing a spoon and pouring myself a bowl of Super Mari O's. I didn't want to eat the wholesome meal he prepared for me, but that didn't stop him from placing a plate down beside my bowl complete with an egg, a sausage, and a slice of toast. I growled in his direction, but I couldn't maintain it as he smirked at me with that cutesy apron he was wearing.
"You'll thank me later," he says. "After all, the key to an active day is to start off with a healthy breakfast! That's what Lady Palutena told me."
I find myself rolling my eyes as he makes another nod to his damn goddess. Pit was a parishioner of a not-so-popular religion belonging to Palutena the Goddess of Light. She was as beautiful as goddesses come with her elegant gown and shimmering emerald hair. That's how she was depicted in the picture atop Pit's shrine anyway—the one near the exit to our apartment. He claims to have spoken to her before, but to me that's just a bunch of baloney. If she were any kind of real goddess, she would have given us the power to use our wings like they were meant to be used.
To this day, I still don't know why we were born flightless angels.
"Whatever." The next thing I know I'm chomping down on some undercooked eggs, but that doesn't stop me from reluctantly thanking Pit for the food.
"Better get a move on since it's almost eight. Come to think of it, I better get ready too!" He throws off the apron and practically swallows his meal before I get a chance to poor a glass of milk. The next thing I know the dishes are in the dishwasher and he's off to pretty himself up for another day of Paratroopa Post's delivery services.
Wait, did he just say eight?
I check the clock and nearly spit out my drink when I realize that I overslept. In the midst of the calamity, I somehow managed to scarf down my food and beat Pit to the bathroom just as he was about to enter.
"Hey!" I slammed the door shut on his face. "What gives?" Three seconds later, I was cleaned, groomed (for the most part), and shut away in my room to get dressed.
"You moron!" I shout while stumbling into my jeans. "Why didn't you tell me I overslept!?"
"I thought you set an alarm clock?"
"I did!" I glance at the clock on the floor, noticing that both hands had frozen stiff. "Damn thing's broken."
I looked up and he was already standing at my door decked out in his uniform with a mailbag slung on his shoulder. He seemed to be rather amused by my struggles.
"Well that's your fault then," was all he said before strutting to the exit. "Come on; I'll lock up."
I feel the urge to knock him on the head, but my will manages to overcome my temper. I couldn't afford another late day as I was already on my third strike with the manager. Without thinking, I slip into whatever shirt I could find, grab my lanyard, and bust my butt past my brother without saying anything. I hear him shut the door behind me but by the time he calls good-bye after me, I'm already down the steps and on the street.
Welcome to New Smashopolis, home of the filthy, the rich, and the filthy and not-so-rich. Pit and I have lived here for most of our young adult lives, although it wasn't until just this past year when we started living on our own. Before that, we were looked after by foster parents all through secondary school, and then after graduating I've never looked back since. It's been an uphill struggle, but I like the freedom compared to how things used to be.
In the city there were two main districts: The east end and the west end, both interconnected by a backbone known as the Goldenrod Bridge. Pit and I are from the west end, and it's also where you got most of your businesses and shops. It's divided into four main areas that form the housing, the public areas, and two more for everything else. The east end is probably the worse side of the two because over there you got most of your slums, but they also have some nice restaurants, parks, and strip clubs. The city as a whole is known for its art and technology being one of the prime producers of electronic entertainment, although those jobs are left to the bigger corporations. During the day the streets tend to be mostly vacant. The night however, is when the city truly comes alive, and you can typically expect to bump into someone you know if you just so happen to be taking a stroll down Dreamland Street after hours.
I end up crossing over that street on my way to work, pedalling my shoes as fast I as I can before making it to Fourside Avenue. Traffic is a pain in the ass, but thankfully I never have to stop at the crosswalks. Eventually I arrive at this hole-in-the-wall location squished between a room for rent and some Asian cuisine place. I'm sweating a little, checking one of the town clocks to see how late I am.
Forty-nine minutes. Great...
This was probably going to be it for me. The boss had already threatened to fire me once after the incident last week. According to him, he had two more potential hires waiting to be called if I couldn't fit the bill. Not that I cared one way or the other since I was supposed to be up and out of this job a few days ago. Maybe this will make Pit think twice about sticking his nose where it doesn't belong again.
Silently, I push my way in through the door, the bell above chiming my entrance. I'm immediately met by the sight of my co-worker, who could have looked a bit more enthusiastic to see me.
"Late again, Kuro," he says. "That's your third strike."
Swell. I suppose "good morning" isn't as popular as it used to be.
"My alarm didn't wake me up at the right time," I scoff, making my way down the long aisles of cardboard boxes. My co-worker nudges a sign-in sheet in my direction, where I'm presented with two more tardy memories of my track record. The next thing I know I'm writing down my name and thinking of some shoddy excuse as to why I'm late again. A gloved hand stops me from filling out the details.
"Don't sweat it, kid; I got you covered," he says to me. I stare at the sharp eyes beneath the lens of his helmet, unable to tell if he's being serious or pulling my leg.
For his sake, he better not be.
"What?"
"I won't tell ol' Dedede," he says quietly. "Just say you came in on time and I'll vouch for you. He hasn't left his office all morning."
I spare a glance past the figurine shelves to the door labelled "Employees Only." Beyond that contained Popstar Comics' only bathroom, as well as a storage closet, inventory, and most importantly my boss' room. For a moment, I thought I saw the door sway by some unknown force, or perhaps that was just my imagination.
"What's the catch, Falcon?" I ask to my co-worker. His name wasn't exactly Falcon, but it was the only one that I settled with after the list he gave me. There were a few reasons why I didn't fully trust this guy, and one of them had to do with our very first encounter.
"Catch?" he replies. "There is no catch. I'm just tryin' to do you a favor." He takes back the sheet and slides it under the counter. "Just pretend that nothing ever happened. You arrived here the same time I did."
He gives me a nod and a small smirk, but ultimately I'm apathetic. Me not being fired right here and now is more or less prolonging the inevitable.
"Fine," I mutter. "So what are we doing today?"
"Same thing as yesterday and the day before." Falcon shrugs. "Get some boxes and bring 'em out here. I'll sort 'em out as they come."
His orders puncture me like small needles, but I suck it up and follow through with my assigned duty. This is what sucks about being the new guy. More or less, I become the grunt who has to handle the monotonous tasks. Pick up a comic box, move over there, pick up another one, blah blah blah. No wonder I'm being paid peanuts.
I suppose now's a good a time as any to talk about Popstar Comics and its bizarre employees. They opened about a month ago, a family owned business under the name "Dedede." From what I've gathered during my little time working here, the store specializes in selling official Nintendo branded products. For those who don't know, Nintendo is one of, if not the biggest comic book publishing company in the world. They have fans all across the globe, all poor suckers who would easily shell out hundreds of dollars for merchandise that just so happens to have that big N stamped on it. And I'm not just talking about comic books. I'm talking action figures, board games, clothing, blankets, junk food, you name it. Oh, and bobble heads. Ohh those stupid bobble heads.
Long story short, Popstar Comics is a Nintendo fanboy's wet dream, and I'd be lying if I told you I hadn't seen these weirdos for myself the odd times I was working the register.
They come in packs, usually twos or threes, all huddled around over the next cringe-inducing issue of Super Mario Brothers or The Legend of Zelda. Occasionally you'll get the twenty-nine year old virgin neckbeard wandering into the store, slobbering over mint-condition issues of Nintendo classics like Balloon Fighter and Excitebike. Others, or what I'd like to call "normal people," just poke their heads in only to be driven away by the putrid smell of body odor and mold. Interestingly, the store has only been open to the public for about a month and already we were up to our necks in meeting order and pre-order deadlines.
As I carry boxes out of the backroom like someone's pet monkey, I can't help but catch Dedede's closed door from the corner of my eye. There is a small sticker on it that reads "Manager," but it's a wonder how anyone like him could have earned that position. Every time I see him he's either in there watching Japanese cartoons or some other kind of nerdy crap. When he's not fiddling with his collection of teenage girl figurines, he's out in the front barking at me that I'm doing something wrong.
"Easy on the merchandise! Don't spread the dust all over! And for cryin' out loud will you stop dragging your feet everywhere!?"
Oh yeah, I'll stop dragging my feet everywhere, right after I drag your body outside so I can—
"Hey, how's it goin'?"
Falcon's voice passes over my head to greet a customer walking in. Like the dog I am, I keep my mouth shut and continue placing boxes. The customer gives me no notice, and soon enough he's at the counter chatting it up with Falcon about when we're going to have the next issue of Pokémon on our shelves. I blissfully ignore them.
Douglas Falcon is probably the strangest character in this building by far. The first time I met him was during the interview when he asked me to show him my moves. I honestly had no idea how to answer him, but that didn't stop both him and Dedede from laughing in my face at how confused I looked. The real interview commenced shortly thereafter, but I swear most of the questions they asked were just to make sure I wasn't retarded. And of course, what interview is complete without the classic "What's your biggest weakness?" question?
I told them I have a short temper. They laughed again.
A few weeks after that, I got a call from Dedede saying that I got the job and that I was to start the first Monday after the weekend. It's been nine days since then, but I can't say I've found enjoyment in this new environment. The assignments are so menial, not to mention all anyone ever does around here is tell me what to do. And Captain Falcon is the worst one of them all.
He has a real attitude that guy; I'm not just saying it out of spite either. He outright refused to tell me his real name several times over the course of the first few days. I had to go to another co-worker to get his full name, which I can confirm at this point is Douglas Jay Falcon. He refuses to respond to anyone who calls him by his first name though, saying that if you're going to talk to him, call him either "Captain Falcon," or just "Falcon" for short.
"I do it for the fans!" he told me one time. "All the kids love Captain Falcon!"
He's what some might call a crossdresser. No wait… Sorry, I mean a cosplayer. He cosplays Captain Falcon, who is apparently the hero in the F-Zero series of Nintendo comic books. The story has something to do with street racing in outer space with aliens, while Captain Falcon works as a bounty hunter who fights dangerous criminals and brings them to justice. And so every day, Falcon struts in to Popstar Comics wearing a tight blue racing suit and a flaming crash helmet that covers half his face, just like Captain Falcon does in the series. He admits, however, that even though F-Zero is not as popular as it once was, true fans still visit the shop in hopes of taking pictures with their all-time favorite superhero.
That's funny because I have yet to see someone enter this store recognizing him as Captain Falcon instead of some flamboyant bodybuilder.
"He'd be able to help you out," says Falcon all of a sudden. I notice him point a gloved finger at me, directing the customer. I stand up, furrowing my eyebrows at the next ridiculous task he was going to assign me. "Kuro, can you help this man find Pokémon Ruby issue number 63?"
The customer approaches me and almost mechanically I drop what I'm doing and start filing through one of the boxes on one of the tables. Falcon had shown me how to do this before, and the procedure was braindead simple, but I wasn't about to screw up again. I fished for the comic, pressing my fingers over each issue until number 63 came up charmingly wrapped in plastic. I handed it to the customer who appeared somewhat paranoid by the way I handled it. Figures he was just another wannabe collector. Falcon gave me a nod and the man was back at the counter checking out for the day. I resumed my tasks without saying a word, not even to the customer who gave me thanks.
Do I have a problem? No. I just wish I wasn't working this stupid job anymore. Give it another late day and maybe these morons will finally get the idea that I'm sick of this place. The only reason why I was doing this was to appease Pit-stain, and I did promise him that I'd give it a week at least. Well, it'll be two weeks this Friday, and personally I think I've overstayed my welcome. The guys over on the east end have probably been dying to see me again.
Before this whole comic book thing started, I was just a street punk who spent a little too much time in the city after dark. I like it though, having the freedom to do what I want. Out there I had people who always wanted to hang out with me. I felt a sense of belonging, a sense of friendship, and I sure as hell felt much more respected than I do at home. Sure it wasn't the safest place to be every night, but I made a name for myself in less than a year becoming the dark angel that everyone recognizes as Kuro. It even says it on my nametag.
"Kuro?" Dedede asked me at the interview. "That's a weird name. What is that, Japanese?"
Honestly I have no idea where it originates from, but it sounds a hell of a lot cooler than "Dedede." My name stuck with me ever since I started living on the streets and I've kind of grown accustomed to it. I didn't tell Falcon or Dedede about my real name seeing as how there was no point. I'm dead-set on leaving this place first chance I get. Soon enough, Kuro will be able to reclaim the name that he once made for himself.
I finish moving the boxes and Falcon comes over to cut some of them open. As expected, the boxes are filled to the brim with comics, mostly old issues of series that haven't been shelved yet. Even though they had been here for a few weeks, Popstar Comics was still in the middle of unloading merchandise. You'd think they would have done this long before their grand opening.
"Mornin' fellas."
Dedede finally emerges from the shadows of his office looking like he just woke up. He howls a yawn, hobbling over to the counter to inspect the sign-in sheet. I watch him for a few seconds as he glazes over the names before his eyes catch mine.
"Went to bed earlier last night, Kuro?" he asks.
"Umm…" Falcon gives me a glance as I respond. "Yeah."
"That's what I like to hear. Once you start getting into the routines, it'll be like second nature to you."
As if. Wednesdays start at seven in the morning, then nine on Thursdays followed by noon on Fridays. My schedule is anything but routine.
"Uh huh." I don't say much and he knows it. I came off as one of those introverted types when we first met, yet he still has the nerve to hire me anyway. I shake my head and get back to work, handing Falcon books as he starts laying them out and putting them in their proper locations.
It's at this point when I decide for good that I'm just not going to show up tomorrow. Walking out right now was an option, but I didn't want to have to own up to it to these bozos. I figured that one more day wasn't going to kill me (a full week's pay is also nice), so I held my tongue and behaved like a good dog for most of the day. I answer questions, I direct customers to where they need to go, and I sweep the floors until they shine. I am Kuro, angel of darkness and follower of none.
Before the end of the day when we're cleaning up, Dedede approaches me with a pat on the back. With Falcon taking a bathroom break, it seemed that he wanted to meet with me in private, or as private as you could get with the store windows just on the other side of the room.
"You've done some good work, kid," says Dedede. "Even though you've only been here a couple weeks, you've really helped to pick up the slack around here."
I give him a queer look, broom in hand.
"I'm always late though," I reply. "I'm not a good worker."
I try my best to drop a hint, but it looks like his ignorance outsmarts him.
"I can let it slide since you don't complain much. I know these work hours aren't flexible for everyone. Especially for those…" He pauses. "Wait, you're still in school right?"
"No," I say. As a matter of fact I hate school.
"Oh, well in that case, I'm glad you decided to choose us as your first job!"
Not like I had a choice…
"Thanks… I guess," is all I muster. I really wasn't sure what I was supposed to say. Maybe now might be a bad time to tell him I plan on jumping ship?
"Because you've been such a big help around here…" He winks at me. "I've been getting a big surprise ready for you and the other guys."
This of course piques my interest, the thought of getting something more than dirt pay and a sweaty back from this job. But what was he talking about? A raise? Better hours?
"Am I getting a raise?" I blurt. Whether I was spoiling the surprise or not I really didn't care. He grins at me but I'm unable to decipher the context.
"You could look at it that way," he says. "I already mentioned this to the other two, so I figured it would be best to save it for tomorrow when you're all here." He pats me on the back, which comes off as a firm pound. "So make sure you're here bright and early tomorrow for the great unveiling of the big surprise!"
He waddles off with a laugh, which all of a sudden makes me skeptical about the whole thing. It turns out, however, that Dedede was not in fact joking and that he did indeed have something big planned for tomorrow. Was he really going to give me a raise?
In any case, it was at this moment when I decided to postpone my retirement by one day, at least to see what all the fuss is about. If Dedede comes up to me and says he's going to start paying me three times my salary and knocking an hour off my work days, then maybe I'll stick around for a little longer. Money is money after all. Still, I couldn't let Pit live with the satisfaction that I was actually happy with this job, so for now, I decided to keep Dedede's announcement a secret. To him, this will be just another dreary day of shop organizing and box moving. Another day in paradise.
Author's Note: A thousand thanks to Paradigm of Writing, ChaosxPaladin, Wotahbotah3k, LegitElizabethWWEFan, SolarEnergy07, PozzyP, prowessMaster44, and bladewielder05 for leaving reviews last chapter. Also thanks to any silent readers who are following this story. I'll see you in the next update.
