At the checkout. We were astonished how much we had. We had...
- tomatoes
- 2 flank steaks
- garlic
- cilantro
- onions
- 2 avocados
- a lime
- spices
- 2 two liter bottles of coke
- a cheap bottle of wine
- grapes
- bananas
- strawberry yogurt
- kiwi yogurt
- a small bag of M&Ms
- a bags of Maltesers (google it)
- a huge bar of a KitKat
- a slightly smaller bar of Cadbury
- a 16-box of Ferrero Rocher
- a puzzle magazine
Astounding. Claire and Ryu eyed at me as they saw the continuous line of sweets and shit running down through the conveyor.
"Your friends are quite needy," Claire bitched. "Very, very needy."
"Oh, forget it, Claire," I replied back.
It all only accumulated two plastic bags, which dangled from my fingers I passed by and continued to sit on a bench where I perused Claire and Ryu starting to argue with each other.
Mutual acquaintance my ass.
"Ryu, you have so many things," Claire commented. "It's all... Japanese-like."
"That's because I am Japanese," Ryu stated.
"Well, it would be nice for you to at least... be all Kiwi and all that."
The cashier looked at Claire with a shocked face and then resumed back to putting Ryu's stuff in the plastic bag.
"There are not many Kiwi influences in Japanese culture. Besides, your culture is partly influenced by other cultures as well. The English and all that," he commented. It was true.
"Well," Claire paused. "That's a bit touchy."
"You sound insulted when you said my stuff was Japanese," Ryu cocked an eye at her as the cashier moved on with his stuff.
"Well, I didn't know-"
"Claire, I literally told you that on the first day we met each other-"
"I keep forgetting, okay?" Claire defeatedly gave up her brashness, for once. I was only guessing to not being racist in front of many people with her megaphone-like voice, projecting everywhere.
Monika nudged towards me, still watching them in curiosity.
"Water and oil those two are," Monika said with a judgment-like voice.
"Indubitably," I replied.
They were silent. Thank God that debacle was over.
In a blink of an eye, we were walking out the front door of the mall. That wasn't so great of a sentence, wasn't it? But the metaphor after this will make it better. Imagine, conjure up in your mind this. Imagine eight people, who are walking out of an explosion, in slow motion, but the explosion is a mall door, where it automatically opens when someone is near. The four Dokis' hair and Claire's hair were floating in mid-air, and I and Ryu were walking in a gentleman fashion in front. This isn't a movie, but imagine brash electronic punk-like music, that's specifically tailored to suit for slowly walking out of an explosion. That was I thought in mind as I walked out. I think a similar scene was in Kingsman - the first Kingsman, by the way.
Okay, we were actually walking like normal people. A bit over-the-top.
We waved goodbye to Ryu and the bleeding bitch and got in our car. We were on the road again.
The radio was instantly turned on, by Monika's magic bullshit, and the Beatles instantly blared from the radio. Again, classic Monika. Old song shit. She might be the equivalent of a liquor-drinking grandfather living in a countryside with a Texan accent who is a poet that is an avid reader of literature and listens to the Beatles, Jefferson Airplane, Paul McCartney, the Eagles, Aerosmith, etc. in a cutesy anime girl. At least it was a catchy song.
It was nice.
Okay, they were whining again. I was whining to myself too. Hunger was the issue. We stopped by and parked near a French brunch restaurant. There was a Mexican one that we passed by... you know what's gonna happen.
We stepped in. French music was softly booming through the restaurant. It was smelling cozy and full of French food and scented candles. Definitely smelt like baguettes. We sat down on a half-moon table, because I didn't want to avoid conflict by taking a chair of another table and putting it at the edge of a four-seat table. And also, I hate being the chair jutting out of the table. I think I stood out too much.
"It smells nice," Yuri said. "And reminiscent of wine."
"Lovely," I sighed, knowing full well about that little mention about that alcohol shit Monika uttered between our confrontation.
As I looked around the room eyeing for waiters, I saw four girls, in colored blazers. Red, yellow, green and blue with skirts. It was a bit familiar.
"Well, fuck me gently with a chainsaw," the girl in the green blazer cursed.
"Why are you looking at them?" Monika asked. She was jealous, I could tell by her condescending tone.
"They're familiar," I admitted. "They're supposed to be in Sherwood, Ohio."
"Sherwood, Ohio?"
"That's where the Heathers are supposed to be."
"Heathers?" Yuri chimed in. "Are they your friends?"
"This is a plug, isn't it?" I remembered. "For the Heathers the Musical or movie fanfiction that he's writing named "Well, Fuck Me Gently with a Chainsaw" that embarks an adventure of smut between Heather Chandler and Veronica Sawyer. Isn't she supposed to be dead?"
"Oh, now I know what you're talking about," Monika chimed in. "Yeah, I read that. Slutty as hell. But surprisingly good. I loved the part where Veronica rewards Heather Chandler. God, that was hot."
"Don't flatter the author.," I interrupted her. "If I travel to that side, that will be Ohio and this will be New Zealand. Weird. Aren't they supposed to be in that French place?"
"The Chateau?" Monika asked.
"The one that starts with a D?"
"Décontractée," Natsuki chimed in.
"How do you know?" Monika inquired.
"Décontractée means casual in French. I don't really know. I quit French," she replied.
"Well, fuck me gently with a chainsaw," Sayori blurted. "Sorry, I don't know how that got into me. The period or shit."
"The author's plugging it," I stated. Oh well. It's fine for me. Unless it isn't like spam.
"Can we watch the movie?" Monika asked.
"Sure," I agreed, ending the tangent that the author placed in. This was all scripted. "It has date rape and suicides in it."
"Not my style," Yuri asked. "Just horror. That seems like high school drama. I would watch it with you~"
"Let's browse the menu," Sayori jumped in. "Beef bourguignon looks good."
"That's what one of them ordered," Monika stated.
I sighed. "Let's just continue on with the ordering?"
"Coq au vin," Yuri chimed in. "Seems delicious. Chicken casserole braised with wine, lardons, mushrooms and garlic with Russet potatoes. That's the main course."
"There are no courses," Natsuki said.
"Let's order bread for the table," Monika suggested. "Different from the Heathers. Apparently Veronica and Heather Chandler ordered a Long Island Iced Tea."
I chuckled a little bit. "Oh, Monika," I sighed, with Monika confused as I took a quick glance and returned my eyes to the vast menu. "That's an alcoholic drink. 1/2 ounce vodka, 1/2 ounce rum, 1/2 ounce gin, 1/2 ounce tequila, 1/2 ounce triple sec or other orange-flavored liqueur, 1 ounce sweet and sour mix, 1 ounce cola, my favorite's a Fanta, and a lemon slice. Lovely drink."
"How do you know the ingredients?" Natsuki asked, perplexed.
"Let's say I've made it more than a few times to remember the nature of the concoction," I phrased. I remember the drunken nights of sweet and sour dancing happily on my tongue. It was lovely. And I've had my fair share of watching people passing out and passing out myself.
The waiter came. I already had my decision. I bet the girls did too.
"Hi, what would you like to order?" The waiter questioned.
"I'd like a coq au vin," Yuri said.
"I'd like a croque madame," Sayori smiled gleefully. Way better before her suicide.
I shouldn't have said that, should I?
"Too dark, Jeremy," Monika muttered.
"How do you know-"
"I am self-aware, bitch," Monika retained her fake smile after that dark joke. Okay, Monika. "That's alright, Jeremy. I can read everything."
Oh, wow. Shouldn't go italics for thoughts, since she said that.
AUTHOR: Keep it consistent, Jeremy. By the way, you're still scripted. This Deadpool-like-but-not-really gag is all scripted.
Okay, fine I'll be consistent, iamhellonwheels. Also, what the fuck is with that name?
AUTHOR: Heathers trash. I say it on the daily. Watch the musical. On YouTube. Currently waiting for Mean Girls soundtrack and Mamma Mia 2: Here We Go Again. Barrett and Jessica are my crushes.
You just said that on air.
AUTHOR: Call me Heather.
You are a male.
AUTHOR: Call me Noah.
Spoilers!
AUTHOR: Ah, fuck. Call me Ryu.
Ryu is in the story.
RYU: Hi, guys.
Okay, way too many self-awareness.
MONIKA: Can we just fucking continue?
AUTHOR: BTW, we can change our usernames.
FLUFFYBUNS: Guess who, bitch?
Who the fuck are you?
FLUFFYBUNS: Monika. Anyway, let's fucking continue, this gag is way too stretched out, guys.
AUTHOR: I ran out of ideas.
MONIKA: That explains it!
Anyway...
"I'll have a braised lamb shank," Natsuki smiled gleefully.
"Me too," Monika stated.
"Bacon and eggs with wild pork sausage," I stated my order. The essential. Even though I ate bacon and eggs only two times.
"Drinks?" The waiter asked.
"Earl Grey Tea," Yuri suggested.
"Oh, lovely," Sayori still grinned. "I'll have tea. Earl Grey Tea."
"Earl Grey tea," Natsuki slowly enunciated.
"I'll have Earl Grey tea too," Monika leaned over to me. "Don't ruin it," she whispered.
"Coffee."
Natsuki grunted. "Come on!" She softly pounded her hands on the table.
"You ruined the tea streak," Sayori looked at me with a condescending glare. "Shame."
"Eh," I shrugged. The waiter left, presumably to avoid any awkward conversation or any awkward glares. "I'll have coffee because I'm goddamn sleepy, so I don't want to swerve down the road snoozing."
"He has a good point," Yuri nodded.
"Thank you!" I sighed and waited.
"I don't want to die on the second day," Monika admitted. "Would you?"
"Eh, I'll take whatever," Sayori shrugged.
Oh God. Her suicidal part is coming?
Monika glared at me with a gaze of shock, and returning back to Sayori. I knew what she meant. "So, you kind of want to die, don't you?" Monika stammered, with Sayori looking all casual.
"I don't want to die, really," Sayori leaned back and put her hands on the rim of the conjoined leather seat. "We don't have a choice if we die. Unless you do it with intent. I'll take whatever, because I won't have a choice. It's like choosing between gravy on your fries or extra salt on your fries. You still get the fries. Whether we choose to live a happy life or live a miserable one, we still die. If we choose to live longer, or die shorter, we're still going to die. Our doom is always ahead of us. It's like traffic. It's inevitably going to happen no matter what you do."
The entire table paused.
"That's deep as fuck," Yuri sat up with elbows on the table.
Is that it?
AUTHOR: Yes. That is it.
FLUFFYBUNS: Depressing.
AUTHOR: It's a realization that shit has gone down.
MONIKA: Are you okay?
AUTHOR: Yes.
But you are not okay in ending chapters.
AUTHOR: What the fuck do you think I am? Edgar Allan Poe? Dan Brown?
Obviously not.
AUTHOR: Whatever. Curtain call. Bye.
Bye.
MONIKA: Bye.