Post by paris on Apr 9, 2012 20:43:36 GMT -6
Date: [May 11th 2003]
Time: [1:00 PM]
Time: [1:00 PM]
The afternoon was warm with a breeze that swayed and danced through the air. With no clouds to hide the beautiful blue that looked down upon the town, it was quite clear that this was the day of the Founder's Festival: the celebration of the town's founding. A time when the citizens all came together to a common place to celebrate what they have and what the future would bring them. A day of appreciation, and simply a day for what the town had become and what it meant to them. There was practically nobody in Hikarizaka that didn't enjoy Founder's Festival and what it offered, cultural enrichment or otherwise.
Well, except one person.
"I think I'm going to just die."
Hikarizaka's streets were barren of life as many of its citizens were either home or at the school (mostly the latter), bundled together in groups to peer at many of the surrounding "booths", or set-ups were differing activities could be partaken in.
Inside however, the hallways were bundled with students, teachers, adults and other surveyors who came to see the plays, dine at the student-run cafes and refresh their knowledge on the town’s roots. It was the same every year, just with different ideas and ways to tell the story of how it began. The cafes were for nourishment, such as drinks and food. They also allowed the much-younger to get a look at traditional Japanese behavior, especially around the time of founding.
As such, the class of 2-D had its own booth: a café, but a maid-café at that. Emphasis was placed on honor, respect and mealtime manners. The entire classroom was filled with a faint albeit alluring haze creating from the brewing tea at the back of the room, with elaborate decorations hung from the walls, such as scrolls with Japanese phrases and quotes and wouldn’t be completed so professionally without the “tower” of floral fans lining along the walls. To make room for the shiny, glossed dark-oak tables and chairs layered throughout the room, the desks were all lined up at the sides and front of the classroom, where upon porcelain cups and plates were stacked neatly on silk-like fabric of a cranberry color. The scent of the tea was sweet and uplifting. Prepared in hot water at the front with a face-visor protecting it and confectionaries from germs and prying hands, it was incredibly popular and seem to attract many citizens as the addictive scent trailed down the hallways. The tea itself was green, most likely Sencha, where a choice was given between chilled and warm. Due to the unexpected high demand, many of the students working as the butlers and maids (complete with their respective get-up) had to work fast and orientated. Each one seemed to be doing their fair amount of work, with different personalities to add charm to the dining experience.
Well, except one person.
Avery Vanderbilt, American foreign-exchange student, stood disgruntledly and angrily (as usual) amongst an open window where haze was lazily drifting outwards into the fresh, spring air. Noisy commotion could be heard outside and below while she narrowed her eyes at the scene. It was bad enough she would be dressing up as a domestic, but she was dressing up as a Japanese VARIANT of a domestic, the slightly-poofy dress with its frills and bows, the hem ending just below her slender knees. Even her hair wasn’t spared of this heinous and usual crime, pulled up into what she termed it as “two, weird, dumpling ball thingies” while her bangs were left default and frayed at the sides of her face. Two thick locks hung at the back which seemed to sway with even the slightest jerk of her head (basically img855.imageshack.us/img855/5527/averyhair.jpg ). To top it all off, a maid’s “cap” was lined horizontally along her crown. She herself attempted to call the cap a tiara, in some vain attempt to make herself feel better and more in terms with her own “element”.
It didn’t work.
Her rebelliousness (and perhaps reflection of her Japanophobia) was furthered by refusing to wear the traditional, low-heeled black mary-janes that went with the maid’s uniform. To her they were clunky, so instead she opted for sleek, 5” black pumps. When the decision came for it to be a maid-café, the blonde of course protested but was met with over-ruling by her peers. Eventually, it came down to how she appeared now, with the shoe ordeal being a last-minute approved plea, to get her to cooperate.
“I should be the one being served.”
Snapped from her callous, self-centered thoughts, a sing-songy male voice called her name. At first it seemed as though she were being teased, but she looked to see one of her classmates giving her a flirty, playful gaze complete with a perfect smirk. Resisting the urge to smack him Avery stomped his way as he gave little laughs of endearment.
“It’s your turn to deliver. Try being nice for once. Might see where it’ll get you, yeah? Sides’, you’re much cuter when you’re smiling.”
“I rarely do that like, at all, you dork.”
“Making it all the more exotic”, he chortle as he looked he over. She swiped the tray from his hands with a single grab, almost toppling them over but quickly catching herself. Closing her eyes, (as she was sure he was resisting laughing even more at her inability to help others) she turned on her heel with her nose high in the air. She only took a few more steps before turning her head around and giving him a death glare.
“Laugh it up, pervert. Because soon my foot will be up your…” she mouthed the last word before jerking her head skyward and continuing on her way to the table of three, where a small boy and his parents sat. Shaking the laughs of the boy out of her fuzzy head, she stared at the family as they stared back. They seemed pleasant enough, which only made her stomach churn more. It was difficult showing her mean side to little children, but she was in a vicious-enough mood as it is, so it wouldn’t be too much of a challenge. Upon placing their plates down carelessly with loud clangs, she sneered to the little boy with an upturned lip. “Bon Appétit.”
“That’s like, American slang for ‘Stuff your face with food because you’re a piggy.’” Content with the way her poison dripped, she turned back away from the family where she was sure the child was about to start crying and be consoled by his nervous father while the mother would shoot her a scornful look. It wasn’t until she was back at the window, looking out below onto the crowds of people and their excited banter and enthusiasm. It all seemed to stab inwards at her, like cruel mockery so she averted her darting gaze to random spots throughout the class with crossed arms. “Feh. Service.”