November 21, 2014
It's 5 PM on a Friday, so that means it's time for Rose to barge into your bedroom unannounced and without permission. You've given up on locking the door anymore -- she just uses a hairpin to pick it whenever she decides she wants to come in.
"We need to start putting our plans together for the spring culture festival."
"Our plans?" You say, without even looking back -- too focused on stopping the suspicious incident that has befallen Gensokyo. "What do you mean 'our plans'? My plans. I'm the President. Not you."
"Go to hell, Alabaster."
"Please. That's President Soliloquy to you."
"You cheated. You stuffed the ballot box--"
"Bitch bitch bitch. You just can't accept the fact that people didn't want to vote for you, huh?"
Rose calms herself by smoothing her skirt and swiping a strand of hair behind her ear. It's one of her tics that she falls into whenever you make her frustrated and anxious -- you enjoy inciting it.
"What is this? One of your ridiculous, over-sexualized anime games?"
"It's not sexualized. It's cute. Something you would know nothing about. Get the fuck out of my bedroom, Rose."
"You have work to do! Stop wasting time on your stupid, misogynistic video games and be productive for once."
All this arguing has distracted you, and now the danmaku nails Reimu right in the face. Your reaction time isn't quick enough to trigger the life-saving counter-attack and so your game ends ignominiously on level 5. "Fuck," you mutter.
"Great," Rose says. "So the first thing we need to figure out is how the booth layout should be-- oh what the hell!" Rose interrupts herself to nag at you some more, as you begin another attempt in the game.
"I told you to get out," you say. "President Soliloquy keeps a tight schedule. Right now, this is my schedule. Not planning for the culture festival."
"You are such a--"
"And let me tell you the next item on my agenda. After I get a game over this time, I'm gonna take off my pants and shake hands with my vice president. So for the last time, and for your own good, get out."
Rose talks right over you: "Your friends in the anime club want to have a booth at the festival, but I really don't think such an unseemly group--"
"That's low. Even for you. My friends in the anime club? I don't associate with those people. They're not my friends."
"Oh really? You don't walk to school every day with Stacklefreak?"
"HE walks with ME. I-- fuck!" Reimu dies to a random enemy on the first level, how embarrassing. "The more you distract me, the closer I get to my summit with the vice president. Just saying."
Instead of leaving, though, Rose sits down on your bed. "The Turkish Cultural Appreciation Club wants to show a movie in the auditorium during the first day, but that's probably going to conflict with the diversity seminar I scheduled last year... We Are One is booked out to 2016, and they won't be willing to change the date of their stop at North High -- Alabaster!!"
"I stopped listening to you halfway through the word Turkish."
"Do you get how important this is? You have to present your plan for the festival on the Monday after Thanksgiving break! You don't have time to play this stupid..." she pauses, watching the game for several moments. Then, catching herself, she adds: "If this proposal doesn't go over, the administration could force you out of the presidency. They already don't like you, especially after that business with the FBI."
The bullet pattern of the first boss is really easy once you understand it, but it requires some precise control during the survival spell card. Rose's prattle is far from helpful.
"Don't you care, Alabaster?"
"No. But you do. So why don't you go plan your precious festival, and leave me alone."
"It's not my ass on the line. I could give a shit if you get kicked off StuCo. I'm just trying to be ... to be... what is this game? Why are you flying around? Are you playing as a fairy or something?"
"Shrine maiden."
"What on earth is a shrine maiden?"
"Such shocking ignorance like that is exactly why we need the culture festival. I trust you to plan it."
"Aren't those energy balls hurting you? It's like they're just passing right through you."
"Do you see that little dot at the center of my character? That's the only part of her that can-- why am I talking to you about this? Get out of my room."
Rose doesn't leave. Instead she just gets up and stands directly over your shoulder, and watches in her typically creepy, Rose-ish way. She seriously gives you the heebie jeebies sometimes.
"What's this game called?" She asks.
"It's called Five Seconds Until Alabaster Jerks Off. Really fun. Very apt title."
Reimu explodes.
"God fucking damn it," you snarl. You're down to your final life and you haven't even cleared stage 2. "I can't play with you standing there -- looming over my shoulder. Get a life. Jesus."
She's not listening. "What's this game called again?"
"Fuck's sake, Rose... it's a Touhou game."
"How's that spelled?"
"F, U, C..."
"You're such a fucking prick. Can't ever have a normal conversation with you, can I? This is what I get for trying to take an interest in your asinine hobbies--"
Game over. You're almost breathless with frustration.
"You are absolutely terrible at this game," Rose tells you.
Now you really are breathless with frustration. You close your eyes, slump your shoulders, and shake your head. If you batter her into a coma, you can't be faulted, right? No jury would convict you.
"You should have moved like this," Rose says. She puts her finger to your monitor and traces a hypothetical path, zig-zagging down towards the left corner, then back up towards the center -- showing you a strategy you could have used to save yourself. This despite the fact that the boss, your character, and the danmaku are all long gone from the screen.
"Gee, thanks," you say. "I'll just remember to do that next time."
Rose squints at the screen. "You were playing on easy? That was easy mode?"
"I'm taking off my pants. This is me undoing my belt buckle. I'm about to have a heated exchange with the vice president here."
"What's it called again? Touhou?"
"That's the series. The one I'm playing is called Perfect Cherry Blos-- Jesus Christ. Get out. Do you want to see me masturbate?"
Rose stands there and stares back at you as you rise to your feet and hook your fingers in the waistband of your jeans. She folds her arms -- as if to call your bluff. You freeze in place, staring her down, willing her to just fucking leave you alone already. But she won't relent. So, left with no other option, you call her calling of your bluff. You tug down your jeans.
"Ugh," she purrs. "Weirdo!"
She storms out -- but only after a moment's hesitation. She slams the door as she goes, and you hear her out in the hall as she stomps away: "enjoy your hand, you pig! It's all you'll ever have!"
Whatever. As if that hurts coming from a girl like her. If you have to choose between your hand and Rose's diseased beartrap of a pussy, your hand is going to win 10 times out of 10. No contest.
November 27, 2014
"Thank you so much again for all your help, Alabaster," Mrs. Mallory says as you gingerly set the pumpkin pie on the stovetop and pull your oven mitts back from the tin. "I can cook most anything but I simply cannot bake to save my life. Most holidays I go with store-bought desserts... this will be a nice change of pace."
You can't help blushing. You hope Mrs. Mallory doesn't notice. She bends over the countertop and fishes through a utensil drawer for some whisks. Finding them, she attaches them to the electric beater and plugs it in.
"Can you be a dear and pour that milk into the pot for me?" She asks. You slowly pour the warm milk as instructed, while Mrs. Mallory whips it together with the butter and potatoes. Without being bidden, you add salt and pepper, too.
"You're going to make a wonderful husband to some very lucky girl someday," Mrs. Mallory says.
You huff. "Yeah right."
"Or to some very lucky man," she adds. "We don't judge in this household."
You choke and stammer. "I -- I'm not gay--"
Mrs. Mallory laughs. "That's good to hear. It would be such a waste if you were. Don't tell Rose I said such a thing, now..."
"Where is she, anyway? You kept going on and on about how you're this unstoppable Thanksgiving duo. How did I end up doing all her work for her?"
"I've texted her about a dozen times today. She won't come out of her cave. Too busy for us common people, I suppose."
Come to think of it, you haven't seen much of Rose all break long. It's been a blessed respite from her naggy, bitchy, overbearing, absolutely insufferable, heinous, two-faced, smug, obnoxious--
"I'll go check on her," you offer.
---
You walk through Rose's bedroom door.
"Dinner's almost ready. No thanks to you."
She's at her computer, transfixed, face like a ghost in the monitor's light. She doesn't even acknowledge your presence. Her desktop is piled high with mostly-empty bottles of Mountain Dew.
She's playing Touhou.
Instead of the bog standard Rose outfit of mini skirt and blouse, she's wearing a tee she pilfered from you a few months ago, which is comically over-large and baggy on her. Her legs are bare and you suspect she may not have on much else underneath. That thought makes your temples throb for some reason, but you're not sure why.
"...Rose?"
On-screen, Marisa gets smacked with a laser, and dies. "FUCK!" Rose shrieks. "Oh my fu-- Alabaster!! I didn't give you permission to come waltzing into my bedroom! What the fuck! Don't you know how to knock? Creep!"
"Are you seriously playing a Touhou game? Is this what you've been doing all day? ... All -- week?"
"What business of it is yours?" Rose is back in the saddle, resuming her run from stage 1. Usually if you saw her in such a state of dress, she'd spend the next ten minutes haranguing you for being a pervert, but she's too focused on the game to care right now. You didn't get a good look because you were so surprised to discover this situation, but the density of bullets on screen leaves little doubt that she's playing on Lunatic. Even more shocking, she's acquitting herself quite well.
"While you were trying to save Gensokyo, some of us were busy cooking..." you begin. Then idly picking up a half-full bottle of Mountain Dew that's been sitting out so long it's warm to the touch, you say: "gamer fuel? Where are your Dortios? Tsk tsk."
Rose dies to the mid-boss of stage 1. She's not happy. "Get out! Go annoy someone else!"
"It stinks in here. Have you taken a shower this century? Starting a moldy dinner plate collection in your spare time? I sure hope it's just Mountain Dew in these bottles, Rose..."
This time, when Rose dies, she spins in her chair and kicks you in the shins. You howl and stumble back, only managing to avoid falling by bracing yourself against the mattress of her bed. "Bitch! What's wrong with you?"
You caught only the briefest glimpse when she reared back to kick you, enough to confirm your suspicion that she's using your shirt as a sort of nightgown, with no underwear beneath. You swallow hard.
"Get out of my fucking room! I'm busy!"
Instead of leaving, you stand behind her and watch her play. You'd never admit it to her, but the level of skill she's risen to in the span of a few short days is nothing less than sincerely impressive. She gets to stage 3 before she has to use a bomb, and doesn't outright lose a life until the boss of stage 4. With more practice, she'll be capable of a perfect CC.
Unfortunately, something else is on your mind. You assess the scene before you: Rose, half naked, hair mussed, eyes dark and baggy, glued to the game, and sitting surrounded by a virtual nest of garbage -- discarded soda bottles, dirty plates, empty packages of chips. It's the most disorganized, undignified and un-Rose state you've ever seen her in. Her sudden, total obsession with Touhou can only mean...
Oh, no. No, no, no. Your entire gambit to procrastinate planning for the spring culture festival so that she would be forced to do it for you --
"Rose... have you worked at all on our proposal?"
"Huh?" She's weaving in and out of danmaku barrages, jaw slack.
"For the festival. Our proposal due on Monday. President Soliloquy needs a status update."
"Our proposal? What do you mean 'our proposal'? Your proposal. It's not my problem anymore. I lost the election, remember?"
"Oh my god. You have got to be kidding right n--"
"I offered you my help. You turned me down. It's not my job to make the proposal anymore, Alabaster. You have to propose-- FUCK." She dies again. "Why are you still here? Out! Out out out!"
You turn in a tight circle, hands on your head, like a hiker who suddenly realized that he's far astray from the trail and without cell reception. Rose is too absorbed to help you -- and with only a few days to plan, without any idea of where to even begin... you're boned. You're not going to have a complete presentation for the StuCo and the NHS administration. Your presidency is going to go down in flames after only a couple short months of your term. All because Rose picked now, of all times, to develop her otaku side.
---
At dinner, Mrs. Mallory tells everyone to say what they're thankful for.
"I'm thankful for Miranda v State of Arizona and cops who are too stupid to remember to read people their rights," Mr. Mallory says.
"I can definitely agree with that," you say. It's what saved you from federal lockup, after all.
"What else?" Mrs. Mallory asks you.
"Uh... pie. I'm thankful for pie..." You're terrible at moments of reflection and givings of thanks.
"Well I'm thankful for you, Alabaster," Mrs. Mallory says. "And Cerise -- Rose and Saul, too. I'm thankful we're all here together tonight. I'm thankful we're all safe and healthy... and I'm thankful for... all the wonderful times we have together..." she's getting misty eyed and fast developing a lump in her throat.
"What am I, chopped liver?" Whitney says.
Mrs. Mallory lays a hand on hers. "I'm thankful for you, too. You're such an... interesting girl, Whitney."
"How about you, Cerise?" Mr. Mallory asks.
Cerise is sullen and staring at her plate. She's obviously drunk, too; her cheeks and the tip of her nose are pink. She's quiet for an excruciatingly long turn, before finally slurring: "I'm thankful for a job..."
She doesn't have a job yet. What she has is an interview at some tech firm in Palo Alto, Dark-something, scheduled for mid-December. If it goes well, she might get the chance to work for just above minimum wage as a data entry monkey or some similar low-skill job. And if she doesn't sound thrilled at that prospect, it's because she isn't. The only reason she's even trying to get this job is because, despite Mrs. Mallory's insistence that it's not the case, Cerise feels as if she's fast wearing out her welcome living rent-free in this house, and wants to leave.
"You'll knock them dead," Mrs. Mallory tells her.
"Just remember the STAR method," Mr. Mallory adds. He's been coaching Cerise on how to do well in interviews -- although it hasn't given her any better luck so far.
"Will you help me some more?" Cerise asks him. Her voice is quavering. Even this far out, the prospect of the interview terrifies her.
"You bet," Mr. Mallory says, "anything you need." He's always liked Cerise much more than you.
"I'm thankful for these bitch-ass potatoes," Whitney says. "Whoa."
"Bitch-ass?" You question.
"Like one step above bitchin'. Y'know. Even more bitchin' than bitchin'."
"Watch your language, please," Mrs. Mallory gently chides. "And please don't eat until we're all served." Whitney is the only one who's dug in to the bounty of food on the table, having served herself; and she already wolfed down several forkfuls of potatoes, yams, and cranberry sauce.
"Sorry, Mrs. Mallory! I can't resist!"
Mrs. Mallory is more tolerant of Whitney's poor manners than most people would be. She's developed a mostly-implicit understanding of Whitney's meager upbringing and home life. And as her husband carves the turkey and she doles out plates to the rest of you, she doesn't chastise Whitney for sneaking a couple more bites.
"What are you thankful for, Rose?" You prod. No way you can let her get away without having to contribute to this saccharine tradition.
She made herself minimally presentable by at least dressing herself, but she didn't wash or brush her hair, and her face bears the clear evidence of her exhaustion. She isn't looking at anyone or anything else in the room -- her mind is clearly elsewhere. Her eyes, though tired, are nonetheless darting around with the speed of someone in the REM stage of sleep. You know she's charting invisible paths through invisible danmaku fields.
"Wow," Whitney says, "I think you finally cracked her up for real, Ally. Nice job."
Mr. Mallory waves a palm up and down in front of Rose's face.
"Did you say something?" She asks, coming out of her fugue.
"Preoccupied?" Mr. Mallory responds wryly.
"Sorry, daddy. What were we talking about?"
"Shit you're thankful for," Whitney tells her. When Mrs. Mallory casts a displeased look Whitney's way, she corrects herself: "schtuff you're thankful for."
Rose ponders the question, although she looks about ready to pass out. Finally she comes back with: "I'm rather thankful for cultural exchange."
---
After dinner, when you're alone with her upstairs, and the panic is beginning to truly set in, you come clean with her. It's humiliating, but there's no other way.
"I could really use a little bit of help with my proposal. If you've got some time tonight--"
"I'm busy."
"You're playing a video game."
"So?"
"So this is more important! This is about cultural exchange, remember? That thing you're thankful for?"
"I trust you, Alabaster. Do your best."
She shuts her door behind her and locks it, the cunt. Unlike her, you don't know how to pick locks. You pound uselessly on her door. "Goddamn it, Rose! You have all the booth applications and guest confirmations! How am I supposed to propose a festival that you've been planning! Open this door! Open it right now!"
A few moments later comes her response: A USB stick slid underneath her door. All the files you'll need to spend the next few days working on the proposal, by yourself.
You pick it up, and glare at it bitterly. You fantasize about climbing on top of Rose and strangling her unconscious.
It's all up to you now. You're going to have to plan everything yourself. The future of your presidency is at stake.
December 1, 2014
You practice a couple more times in front of the mirror in the boys' bathroom before heading into the StuCo meeting. You're physically, mentally and emotionally enervated, but you don't show it. In fact, you're more respectably dressed than you've ever been. You wear pressed khakis and a conservative, pearl-white button-down; your hair is neatly combed, and you've even donned thick, black-rimmed eyeglasses, all the better to blend in and mollify the natives.
You stride purposefully into the meeting, standing tall, to command a presence. A stark contrast to your usual way of just slinking in, slouchy and apathetic.
Most of the student council is here. Over the course of several minutes, the administration starts showing up, too: Principal Jackson, and his immediate underlings, as well as some faculty advisers.
Rose is also here. She looks shabby, her clothes rumpled, her hair messy. She has deep, dark bags under her eyes, so severe that she looks like a raccoon. She listlessly browses her phone at a seat in the far corner, away from everyone else.
While you wait for the faculty to filter in, you stand before Rose and peer over the top of her screen. She's looking at fucking Touhou fanart. Some of it is pretty risque. Some of it is more than risque. Her addiction is pathetic, and total; it's consuming every aspect of her life.
"What are you doing?" You hiss, so only she can hear.
This catches her attention. She pulls her phone's screen close to her chest. "Are you spying on me? Jesus. You creep me out."
"That isn't StuCo-appropriate material, Rose..."
"Go fuck yourself. I don't need to listen to this bullshit. Not from you, of all people."
"Those drawings are obscene -- not to mention horribly objectifying. Not that I would expect you to care about that. But such lurid depictions could trigger people who see them... don't make me confiscate your phone, Rose."
"'Ooooh, it's obsceeeeeene'," Rose repeats mockingly. She laughs at you. "You're the biggest hypocrite in the world. Go peddle your fake concern to people who buy it. You Chris Hayes looking asshole. Fucking prick..."
You sigh and return to the front of the room to set up your Powerpoint presentation. You have more important things to focus on than a degenerate like her. You'll have plenty of time to punish Rose for her insolence later.
---
You use your laser pointer to indicate the next part of the festival's floorplan that you've created. "...and allow the Turkish Cultural Appreciation Club to use the gymnasium as a screening facility for their mini cinema marathon. Showtimes would be scheduled in such a way so as not to conflict with their prayer times. ... And if you direct your attention here, to the quad -- you can see the designated safe-space tents for LGBT and minority students --"
In the corner, where she sits, Rose's head droops to a critical point; and a with a loud snore, she snaps awake again.
"Am I bothering you?" You ask her sarcastically.
"Yeah you are," she replies, unafraid to get snitty with you while everyone can hear. She pulls out her phone and starts browsing it again.
"This is tremendous work, Alabaster," Principal Jackson says. "I'm honestly impressed. I didn't expect such a stellar proposal... you've really turned yourself around, I can tell."
"Thank you--" you begin.
But one of Rose's orbiters, some toady named Brock, cuts in: "This obviously isn't his work. It has Rose written all over it. She's the one who deserves the credit."
"Excuse me?" You snap.
"Just look!" Brock continues. "She obviously stayed up all night doing the proposal for him. She's exhausted." He nods in her direction, and everyone turns; in the space of just a few moments, Rose has curled up with her head on the desktop, and fallen soundly asleep. "I'd be shocked if Alabaster contributed anything at all to the planning. She probably had to do it all for him, like usual..."
There are murmurs of assent to this and the mood in the room is somehow souring against you. "I wish we had her back as president..." whines your own treasurer, Lucy, another of Rose's entourage.
"Rose! Rose! Rose!" begins Brock in a chant that consumes the rest of the StuCo.
This wakes her up, and she looks from face to chanting face, befuddled. "Whuuh?"
"Great work!" a girl, Kaylee, cheers for her. "We love your proposal!"
"Rose! Rose! Rose!"
"Thank you," Rose says, smiling smugly. "I did my best."
She takes out her phone again and goes back to the Touhou fanart even as her suck-ups and lickspittles cheer her.
You swipe at your hair and smooth your khakis. This is absurd... impossible... you've done all the work, put in all the effort, made sure to be conscientious and sensitive in a way that you NEVER are... but somehow Rose got all the credit... it's not fair... it's completely, uterrly not fair.
You feel a dark, all-encompassing rage grip you as you watch her staring at her perverted anime game, as you watch her eat up the unearned praise being heaped on her. Oh, yes. She definitely needs to be punished... a disgusting, useless pervert like her deserves it.