Shota: Oh wait, come on!!!! Is this a thing on the internet?!
Seiko: No more! Please no more!
Takuto: If there’s no blood, I’m gonna cut somebody Riki: o.O What’s wrong with you?!
Kuni: He must not like his fingers. Haruka: I happen to like my fingers a lot thank you very much.
Kenny: I’m just waiting for it. The moment he screws up.
Roberto: They say three’s a charm, but I think in this case it’s not going to work out for him.
Ibuki: I don’t think he’s even playing it right.
Ranko: Please, I can’t take anymore!
Video zooms in on his hand
Haruka: OH MY GOD!!!!!!! Kuni: Did he get all of them?!!!
Riki: There’s your blood. Are you happy now? Takuto: Yes, I am.
Shota: You’re an idiot! That is what you get!
Josh: He stabbed himself so much!!! Roberto: Oh my goodness!
Ibuki: Whoever thought this up has some serious issues.
Kenny: I don’t even know how to respond to such sheer stupidity.
Seiko: Is this just an American thing?
Director: It’s worldwide.
Seiko: What?! Are you serious?!
Director: Have you ever heard of the Knife Game? Ranko: No, I have not.
Haruka: No, and I wish I still have never heard of it Kuni: I’ve heard people at my work talk about it
Roberto: I’ve noticed a video here and there but never really clicked them; I hang around the internet a lot…wait, please edit that! I don’t want my butler to hear that! Josh: You’re an idiot.
Shota: I have this aversion to knives so naturally no, I would have never heard of this game
Director: There are several videos out there of people attempting this game, even teenagers.
Seiko: Why?!?! I would have never done anything like that as a teenager!
Takuto: That’s Darwinism at work. Riki: Oh please, like you didn’t do anything remotely stupid when you were a teenager? Takuto: No, because I was smarter than everyone else. I left all the stupid stuff to you and the others.
Kenny: What is wrong with kids these days?
Director to Ibuki: What do you think of your fellow teens doing this game?
Ibuki: It’s horrible! I don’t understand it.
Director: What are your thoughts on people doing this?
Haruka: It’s the stupidest thing I have ever heard!
Ranko: If you’re dumb enough to do it, then you deserve to get stabbed! Just sayin’!
Josh: My parents would be thoroughly disappointed if they knew I tried to do something like this. Roberto: I think my butler would do far worse to me than I would to myself if he found out.
Kenny: I think it has to do with the adrenaline rush of brushing with pain and death. You are so close to hurting yourself but when you come out of it without a scratch then you’re relieved and you feel like you’ve won.
Director: Why do you think people would want to do this?
Riki: There’s some sick people in this world Nudges Takuto Takuto: Why are you poking me?
Kuni: Anyone can do it, you know? If you think you’re brave enough. Haruka: You shouldn’t confuse bravery with stupidity.
Seiko: They’re probably bored.
Ibuki: They’re sadist? Don’t tell my brother about this.
Ibuki: He would hate that I know that word!
Riki: She said that?! Where did she hear that word?! Looks at Takuto glaringly Takuto: Why are you looking at me?
Director: What do you want to say to the people out there who want to do this?
Josh and Roberto: Don’t do it!!!!
Seiko: Please put the knife down and do something productive with your hands. Please!
Kenny: If you’re that stupid, at least make it entertaining for the rest of us.
Takuto: If you’re gonna do it, chop off your finger. You’ll get more views that way. Riki:…o.O
Kuni: I would say no, but… Haruka: There’s a “but”? Kuni: But if you still insist on it, give me time to get my camera.
Shota: First of all, don’t. If you’re still dumb enough to attempt it at least practice first and then upload, no matter the outcome.
Director: And finally, would you like to play? Places a knife on the table
Ranko: NOOOOOOO!!!!! Get it away from me!!!!!!!!
Kenny: Are you serious?
Shota: No, I don’t want to play!!!
Roberto takes the knife. Josh: Get that thing away from me. Roberto: Don’t you want a billion views?!
Ibuki: Why?! Don’t make me do it! Oh my gosh, this is a big knife!!!
Takuto takes the knife. Takuto: Give me your hand. Riki: No. Takuto: Give me your hand. Riki: No!
Seiko attempts to do it but stops after one hit. Seiko: I can’t! I can’t do it!
Roberto: Put your head down, we’re gonna do something different. Josh: No, I’m not gonna do it! You do it! Roberto: Ok, I’ll do it. Hands Josh the knife and starts stabbing the table getting close to Roberto’s face Roberto: This will get us so many hits!
Kenny does it slowly Kenny: Let me speed it up.
Director and staff: NOOOO!!!
Kenny: No? You should see the looks on your faces!
Kuni: You do it. Haruka: I’m not gonna do it. Kuni: You scared? Haruka: Since what I do for a living involves my hands, yes I am.
Ranko: Hey thanks for watching the first episode of Voltage Stars React!
Kenny: Let us know in the comments below as to what other videos we should watch!
Shota: Be sure you to check us out in our games in your app store!
Seiko: Please don’t do the knife game! Ever!!!!
Roberto: See you next time! OW!!!! Josh: OH!!! GO!!! GO!!! GO!!! Roberto: We’re gonna get so many hits!!!!!
I was heading out after a long day at the museum when my cell phone rang. “Hello?” “Hey! Are you leaving work yet?” It was Hiro. What’s he calling me for? “Yes, what is it?” “Get down here quick! We got trouble!” I hung up and made a mad dash to Le Renard Noir. When I got there, Riki and Takuto were having some sort of argument. Hiro and Kenshi were off to the side with Boss trying to stay out of it. “Hey, what’s going on?” “Riki got onto Takuto for his pork noodle eating habit; saying he needs to eat other things,” said Kenshi. “Takuto, doing what Takuto does best told him to piss off and kept eating,” said Boss. “Then, Riki did the unthinkable…he took his bowl away,” said Hiro. I don’t know what kind of reaction they were expecting but I still didn’t see what the big deal was. “So?” “So?! You don’t take Takuto’s pork bowl away from him,” yelled Hiro. “Yeah, he takes it very seriously,” said Kenshi. I knew Takuto loved pork noodles but I didn’t know it was that serious. Things were escalating quickly. “You’ve got to eat other things besides those noodles! You’re not getting adequate nutrition,” yelled Riki. “Give me back my bowl! I can eat them as much as I want! I could eat them all day and every day and you have no right to tell me what I can and cannot eat,” Takuto shouted back. “Care to make a wager on that,” said Riki. “What do you mean?” “If you can eat more pork noodle bowls than me, I’ll stop bugging you about it.” Takuto frown went up into a smile. “Piece of cake; and just to make it more interesting…let’s make them spicy.” “How spicy?” “As spicy as Beardy can make it.” “Can they do that,” I asked. Boss finally stepped in between them. “OK, OK, go to your corners guys.” Takuto started to walk out. “I’m going home. Beardy! Make it as spicy as you can get!” “You can’t handle the spice,” Riki yelled. I watch Takuto leave and I noticed Riki heading upstairs. I decided to follow him.
Here's a quick intro to this little one-shot. I'll get Takuto's and Riki's parts up as soon as I can.
Taking all bets, who's going to eat more spicy pork noodle bowls? Pick your side and be on the look out for the result.
I've been on a "Man v Food" binge right now and seen a lot of his spicy food challenges and thought this would be a great idea to see how they would handle something like this.
EDIT: UGH! I've been suffering writers block and had a good part of Takuto's Route written till I think I accidentally deleted it. I'll have to rewrite probably; for now life and stuff has gotten in the way but hopefully I can get this back on track
Characters from "Love Letter from Thief X" (c) Voltage, Inc
the sky had bled introverted colors of reds and purples, like some drunken painter had decided to declare his independence.
you kissed her pale pink lips, and i thought about why you'd love such a homesick murmur.
the liquor was golden and gleaming in your rusty hands, and your voice after you drank a glass was grunge and grey and you were different afterwards. like someone had lacerated out your heart from your chest and left it beating in my hands.
you were combing through the bible like an unread diary, and i could see jesus's disapproving face from your unshaven chin.
5. you were sinning and you were also adam and i was eve and we were both damned to hell.
You inhaled her And exhaled me Taking in deap slow breathes But breathing out fast When she holds you You breathe her in With each moan Every time you say her name You exhale me
In time back I filled your lungs I was spreading I was in your cells I traveled into your muscles I made your heart beat With each beat you took more of me You could feel me I was in your being I was part of you
hope is the tired little bird at the bottom of your heart, the one whose tiny wings are broken and bleeding, the one that won't stop flapping uselessly at the sky, like it's going to take off, take off dammit, even when it's fading by the second and dying in a heap of feathers, and it breaks your heart to see the optimistic flame still sparkling in such innocent eyes.
i'm writing this to tell you that i don't know what i need. i'm writing this because i can't pull any fancy metaphors from the back of my throat to save my pride this time. i'm writing this to see the look on your face when you wake up and wonder why i keep running away.
hope is the thing with feathers, my broken baby bird. hope is the trust in those newborn eyes that makes you burst out sobbing although you never know why. it's the razor-sharp edge between happiness and pain, the line you try to fly on crippled wings, my little bird, just to save someone stronger from having to walk it for themselves.
i'm writing this because my eyes don't work anymore and i can't see where the lines blur and cross in my overemotional mind. i'm writing this because i have nothing real to hold onto, just guesses and ancient promises and things that mean nothing to anyone but me. i'm writing this because i don't want to swing from hope to doubt every five point two seconds, but when the music starts, i can't help but fall apart.
hope is holding such a tiny, battered body in the palm of your hand and feeling so horribly guilty, so completely guilty, as you watch its labored struggle for breath and wish you could do something, anything, to make it stop, just make it stop so you don't have to watch anymore.
my baby bird, my beautiful baby bird, you break my heart with your hopeful singing. stop flapping your tiny wings and let go, my little songbird, let go because sometimes hope isn't worth it any more.
but even though it tears me apart to watch, i know you're not going to stop believing.
there is something haunting about the way blood flows. just think - all that crimson coursing through you, scribing calligraphy inside your gut.
through your arms, through your heart.
it paints promises across the canvas of your innards, saying:
i promise to take time, to give you as much as you need. i promise to stay warm even when chills tickle your spinal cord. when blades threaten to sharpen themselves like buffers across your skin, i will flow slowly, giving them a chance to see the light in your bones.
i promise to stay powerful. i promise to stay abundant. i promise to stay holy.
i will weave through your veins, craft myself into a villanelle to savor your breath, so that if you ever decide to drain me by your own 2 hands, you can read my words and know that you are not worthless.
The feeling you get the day after sending a letter, and you know there is no possible way that the recipient has received your message yet, let alone formulated time to write a reply, but you still get just a little hopeful when you hear the mailman drive by and rush out to the postbox a little too quickly and are disappointed by the pile of free coupons, bills, charity flyers, and a late Christmas card from Grandma Moses.
The noise of a faraway car driving late at night, or perhaps early in the morning, in that sleepy place somewhere between consciousness and dreaming where everything is warm and vaguely fuzzy. The remote sound of tires on asphalt speaks to a sense of curiosity – where are they going? Why so early? – but the blankets are so heavy, your eyes are so heavy, and before you can wonder anymore, the car is long gone and you are long gone, carving out a hollow place to rest in just a few hours more.
A sudden awareness that occurs during funerals that you are going to die, you are dying right now – your cells are shedding like snakeskin scales and your hair is turning silver and every moment is one less than before and you will never know which one is the last one because you won’t be around to count the grains in your hourglass anymore – and, somehow, this knowledge both sharpens and dulls the grief of saying goodbye, like a blade that loses all effectiveness once it’s already in your chest.
The empty feeling of having completed a good book, watched a great movie, listened to an amazing song, and knowing your own life will never match up to all the things you want it to be. It gets worse the more invested you are in the material and when it ends it’s like coming down from an energy high only to crash into the side of Reality Inc. and you wake up in the same crappy bed that you’ve been sleeping your same crappy life away in for the last fifteen years.
The sense of frustration when the perforated edge of your notebook paper doesn’t tear properly, ripping into the pristine white sidebar like a particularly vicious dog into flesh and, oh, you just can’t do anything right at all, can you?
The sudden jolt of seeing someone familiar in an unfamiliar place; a disorientation that comes when you see an office co-worker or your doctor or an old teacher in a place where you are not used to seeing them – in the grocery store, at the movie theater, browsing the library. Often accompanied by the sudden knowledge that this person has an entire life locked away behind doors you never even knew existed, but suddenly light has spilled out from underneath one of them and your fingers are brushing the carpet of a room full of ordinary secrets that have not been hidden, but have been kept from your eyes all the same.
The distant mumble of the television in another room, or perhaps up one floor, whose muffled voices are at first annoying and then comfortable, lulling away the loud silences of the night – the buzz of the streetlight, the hum of the fridge, the pulse of your own heartbeat – long enough to put a few hours away for dreaming.
The swift rush of perspective when you stare at the sky hard enough and see that it is not a flat plane but a curve, and that the clouds and stars are not level, but have depth; an incredible depth that has to be measured in alien terms because human sensibilities are just too little; a depth is so far beyond the scope of your imaginings that just staring is enough to make you go weak at the knees and lose your balance and as soon as that happens you have to look away just to feel normal again.
An unexpected desire to leave home – not forever – but just long enough to see something you’ve never seen before and to have something exciting to talk about when the neighbors visit because these tea parties are getting old and you can only stand to look at so many baby pictures.
A thoughtfulness that occurs when you’ve just had a long conversation and you’re going over it in your head, remembering all the lines that made you smile and you’d like to keep for those grey days when you need a bit of sunshine and abruptly realizing that when he offhandedly mentioned that you seemed happier, you are. You really are.