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Scrapped Princess | Canzonetta of the Unforgiven | The Songstress | Part 4/5
Halfway through the festivities, its direction, its cohesion--all that sort of thing fell apart.
A youth was gulping down liquor in earnest, a young woman had passed out drunk and lay sleeping on the floor, an old man was amusing himself with stories of the good old days, a man was singing out of tune to the wall . . . All semblance of order had collapsed long ago, and chaos was rearing its head.
In its midst, Shannon was making the rounds as asked, in a parody of waiting on these people. Once he had finished singing, he had tried to head straight for the dressing room, but several guests had held him back, and so he had missed his chance to escape.
"Come on, come on, drink, drink, ohh, you can really put it away, Raquel! I'm surprised."
It's fine since it's me, but . . . whatever you do, don't go making the genuine article drink, for your own sakes.
Shannon's thoughts were along these lines as he was surrounded by several men and women who plied him with drinks.
To tell the truth, his tolerance for alcohol was not particularly high. Ever since he was a child, his father had often brought him along for an evening drink, so it was not as though he could not drink, but . . . he got drunk right away. Perhaps because they were twins, Raquel was the same way.
In her case, though, if she slipped up and got drunk, it would end in disaster. Even their father, Yuuma, after having Raquel act as his drinking partner once when she was fifteen, had never again tried to drink with his beloved daughter.
"My life is still dear to me," were the words that had spilled from their father the next morning.
"Ahh, you're a fine woman. I'm just, I'm ruined for all other women now, you know."
"Is--is that so . . . Thank you."
Even though having the arm of one of the drunks around his shoulders gave him goose bumps, Shannon managed a proper reply. If he had been a teetotaler, then he would have known how to handle drunks, but being a desultory drinker, Shannon was not proficient at this sort of thing. Consequently, he was made to drink at this table and that, and depending on the circumstances, he might even be fondled on his rear, and would have to desperately resist the instinctive urge to lash out violently. Time passed on as he underwent this torture.
"Ahh, Raquel!" said another man from the opposite side of the room. "Ahh, I can't, I can't--!"
"Wai--!"
Before he could even think to protest . . .
The man, his eyes glittering brightly (obviously, he was muddled by drink), threw his arms around Shannon and squeezed him tight.
"Ah, damn it, that bastard stole a march on us!"
"He can't do that! I live for the forbidden love between Oneesama and me!"
"Lemme get in on that!"
. . . the other guests raised these sorts of audacious hails, and tried to follow his lead.
"Ahh, Raquel-san, I can't take it anymore--your round eyes, your soft hair, ahh, and also, this bosom, ahh, I--"
Clinging to Shannon with both his arms and both his legs, the youth buried his face in the breast of Shannon's dress, and for a moment, his expression was puzzled.
"Huh?"
Rrrr!
Uttering quite a dangerous sound, Shannon sank his fist into the top of the young man's head.
"OHH!"
This caused a stir among the assembled drunks.
Damn it, Shannon thought, drunkenness lingering in his consciousness. He had acted by reflex, but now, it would have made no difference even if his chest had not been found out as a fake.
But then.
"Amazing! Good one!"
"P--please hit me too!"
"Keep it up! Beat his ass to death!"
"Ooh, I'm next!"
It seemed it was not really a problem.
Except that, caught up in the moment, the drunks rushed upon Shannon en masse. Young and old, men and women--finding himself grappling with dozens of people at once, Shannon was at a loss for how to deal with them. Had they been enemies, he probably could have knocked them down mercilessly and made his escape, but . . .
"Da . . . damn you all . . ."
A furious vein stood out on Shannon's forehead, but none of the people around him (including those he was grappling with) seemed the least bit bothered.
"Come on, don't make such a scary face!"
"You're so unfair, Raquel!"
"Being the only one to stay sober is just--!"
"I'm drunk, so you get drunk too! Wahahahaha!"
At the moment when Shannon tried to use all his might to find his way out of that human meatball . . .
"--and so!"
. . . someone suddenly shoved the mouth of a bottle of liquor to his lips.
"Now you can be one of us! Nyahahahaha!"
The voice that shouted this sounded familiar . . . rather, it was Pacifica. She was guffawing as she shoved the bottle of liquor to Shannon's lips.
The liquor went straight to Shannon's guts.
"Sto--Pacifi--"
"Come on now, can't you just get drunk without grumbling?!"
Looking at her more closely, Shannon saw that Pacifica's face was completely red, and her head was swaying from side to side just as though her neck were boneless. In the hand that was not forcing Shannon to drink, she held a bottle of fruit wine. Apparently, its taste was mild and smooth enough that she could drink it unreservedly, without realizing that it was alcoholic.
"Not . . . good."
His vision warped hazily. Drunkenness spread through his entire body in an instant, bringing with it a stirring agitation. It seemed that, among those who were grappling with him, there were those who had insolent thoughts in mind, and he felt the touch of hands on the nape of his neck, on his thighs, and on places more private than that . . .
"Wha--what the hell is this?"
"Sto--"
His brain whirling amid the tremors of drunkeness, Shannon felt his reason melt away.
And then.
Something, somewhere, definitively snapped.
"DAAAMN YOUUU AAALL!"
Unleashing his full might, Shannon wrenched his body around and flung the drunks away. Some flew as far as the walls, and there--their bodies limp and weak--tumbled down to the floor.
A bottle of liquor in one hand, Shannon stood tall and bellowed, "Yah! Come at me! I won't let you lay a finger on Raquel!"
. . . he had completely lost it.
Of course, because Shannon said this while in the guise of Raquel, the resultant spectacle was incomprehensible, but . . . unfortunately there was no one left who retained the wit to identify the absurdity of the situation. Even Shannon himself was in no condition to understand what he was saying.
"Number 1: Falke1 the Blacksmith, twenty-seven and single! Hobby: gardening. Here I come!" shouted a youth as he came to throw his arms around Shannon.
Shannon threw an elbow that brought him down to the floor and roared, "Get the hell outta my face!"
But the drunks did not shy away. One after the other, they threw themselves upon Shannon.
"Number 2: Michelle the Baker, who out-blooms even the flowers! Seventeen years old. My fortune for today is to live by your heart-racing love, Oneesama!"
"Die by my love!"
"Number 3: Pacifica! I don't really get what's going on, but I'll do my best!"
"Alcohol is for after you've grown up!"
"Number 4: Randall2 the Doctor--"
"Lights out, Grandpa!"
. . . thus.
As the night wore on at the tavern of the Wild Horse, it was impossible to tell whether they were engaged in a competition to win Raquel, or else the deciding match in a martial arts tournament to determine who was the strongest.
---
[Next] [Previous]
Notes:
1) Another obscure one, Falke is the name of a type of air rifle. Back
2) Like Jim Boland, sources are difficult to come by, but The Sight has some information on the now defunct Randall Firearms Company. Back
[Disclaimer]
Scrapped Princess | Canzonetta of the Unforgiven | The Songstress | Part 4/5
Halfway through the festivities, its direction, its cohesion--all that sort of thing fell apart.
A youth was gulping down liquor in earnest, a young woman had passed out drunk and lay sleeping on the floor, an old man was amusing himself with stories of the good old days, a man was singing out of tune to the wall . . . All semblance of order had collapsed long ago, and chaos was rearing its head.
In its midst, Shannon was making the rounds as asked, in a parody of waiting on these people. Once he had finished singing, he had tried to head straight for the dressing room, but several guests had held him back, and so he had missed his chance to escape.
"Come on, come on, drink, drink, ohh, you can really put it away, Raquel! I'm surprised."
It's fine since it's me, but . . . whatever you do, don't go making the genuine article drink, for your own sakes.
Shannon's thoughts were along these lines as he was surrounded by several men and women who plied him with drinks.
To tell the truth, his tolerance for alcohol was not particularly high. Ever since he was a child, his father had often brought him along for an evening drink, so it was not as though he could not drink, but . . . he got drunk right away. Perhaps because they were twins, Raquel was the same way.
In her case, though, if she slipped up and got drunk, it would end in disaster. Even their father, Yuuma, after having Raquel act as his drinking partner once when she was fifteen, had never again tried to drink with his beloved daughter.
"My life is still dear to me," were the words that had spilled from their father the next morning.
"Ahh, you're a fine woman. I'm just, I'm ruined for all other women now, you know."
"Is--is that so . . . Thank you."
Even though having the arm of one of the drunks around his shoulders gave him goose bumps, Shannon managed a proper reply. If he had been a teetotaler, then he would have known how to handle drunks, but being a desultory drinker, Shannon was not proficient at this sort of thing. Consequently, he was made to drink at this table and that, and depending on the circumstances, he might even be fondled on his rear, and would have to desperately resist the instinctive urge to lash out violently. Time passed on as he underwent this torture.
"Ahh, Raquel!" said another man from the opposite side of the room. "Ahh, I can't, I can't--!"
"Wai--!"
Before he could even think to protest . . .
The man, his eyes glittering brightly (obviously, he was muddled by drink), threw his arms around Shannon and squeezed him tight.
"Ah, damn it, that bastard stole a march on us!"
"He can't do that! I live for the forbidden love between Oneesama and me!"
"Lemme get in on that!"
. . . the other guests raised these sorts of audacious hails, and tried to follow his lead.
"Ahh, Raquel-san, I can't take it anymore--your round eyes, your soft hair, ahh, and also, this bosom, ahh, I--"
Clinging to Shannon with both his arms and both his legs, the youth buried his face in the breast of Shannon's dress, and for a moment, his expression was puzzled.
"Huh?"
Rrrr!
Uttering quite a dangerous sound, Shannon sank his fist into the top of the young man's head.
"OHH!"
This caused a stir among the assembled drunks.
Damn it, Shannon thought, drunkenness lingering in his consciousness. He had acted by reflex, but now, it would have made no difference even if his chest had not been found out as a fake.
But then.
"Amazing! Good one!"
"P--please hit me too!"
"Keep it up! Beat his ass to death!"
"Ooh, I'm next!"
It seemed it was not really a problem.
Except that, caught up in the moment, the drunks rushed upon Shannon en masse. Young and old, men and women--finding himself grappling with dozens of people at once, Shannon was at a loss for how to deal with them. Had they been enemies, he probably could have knocked them down mercilessly and made his escape, but . . .
"Da . . . damn you all . . ."
A furious vein stood out on Shannon's forehead, but none of the people around him (including those he was grappling with) seemed the least bit bothered.
"Come on, don't make such a scary face!"
"You're so unfair, Raquel!"
"Being the only one to stay sober is just--!"
"I'm drunk, so you get drunk too! Wahahahaha!"
At the moment when Shannon tried to use all his might to find his way out of that human meatball . . .
"--and so!"
. . . someone suddenly shoved the mouth of a bottle of liquor to his lips.
"Now you can be one of us! Nyahahahaha!"
The voice that shouted this sounded familiar . . . rather, it was Pacifica. She was guffawing as she shoved the bottle of liquor to Shannon's lips.
The liquor went straight to Shannon's guts.
"Sto--Pacifi--"
"Come on now, can't you just get drunk without grumbling?!"
Looking at her more closely, Shannon saw that Pacifica's face was completely red, and her head was swaying from side to side just as though her neck were boneless. In the hand that was not forcing Shannon to drink, she held a bottle of fruit wine. Apparently, its taste was mild and smooth enough that she could drink it unreservedly, without realizing that it was alcoholic.
"Not . . . good."
His vision warped hazily. Drunkenness spread through his entire body in an instant, bringing with it a stirring agitation. It seemed that, among those who were grappling with him, there were those who had insolent thoughts in mind, and he felt the touch of hands on the nape of his neck, on his thighs, and on places more private than that . . .
"Wha--what the hell is this?"
"Sto--"
His brain whirling amid the tremors of drunkeness, Shannon felt his reason melt away.
And then.
Something, somewhere, definitively snapped.
"DAAAMN YOUUU AAALL!"
Unleashing his full might, Shannon wrenched his body around and flung the drunks away. Some flew as far as the walls, and there--their bodies limp and weak--tumbled down to the floor.
A bottle of liquor in one hand, Shannon stood tall and bellowed, "Yah! Come at me! I won't let you lay a finger on Raquel!"
. . . he had completely lost it.
Of course, because Shannon said this while in the guise of Raquel, the resultant spectacle was incomprehensible, but . . . unfortunately there was no one left who retained the wit to identify the absurdity of the situation. Even Shannon himself was in no condition to understand what he was saying.
"Number 1: Falke1 the Blacksmith, twenty-seven and single! Hobby: gardening. Here I come!" shouted a youth as he came to throw his arms around Shannon.
Shannon threw an elbow that brought him down to the floor and roared, "Get the hell outta my face!"
But the drunks did not shy away. One after the other, they threw themselves upon Shannon.
"Number 2: Michelle the Baker, who out-blooms even the flowers! Seventeen years old. My fortune for today is to live by your heart-racing love, Oneesama!"
"Die by my love!"
"Number 3: Pacifica! I don't really get what's going on, but I'll do my best!"
"Alcohol is for after you've grown up!"
"Number 4: Randall2 the Doctor--"
"Lights out, Grandpa!"
. . . thus.
As the night wore on at the tavern of the Wild Horse, it was impossible to tell whether they were engaged in a competition to win Raquel, or else the deciding match in a martial arts tournament to determine who was the strongest.
---
[Next] [Previous]
Notes:
1) Another obscure one, Falke is the name of a type of air rifle. Back
2) Like Jim Boland, sources are difficult to come by, but The Sight has some information on the now defunct Randall Firearms Company. Back
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no subject
Date: 2011-10-13 01:46 am (UTC)"Yuuma, after having Raquel act as his drinking partner once when she was fifteen,"
I wonder where Carol was and what is the legal age for drinking!
From that part on, I kept laughing and laughing.
"Die by my love!"
LOL
"Lights out, Grandpa!"
Priceless.
I don't think Pacifica can be the band manager, Winia is a better choice :)
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-10-13 05:39 am (UTC)I'm sad this was not in the anime. ]:
(no subject)
From: