Subjugate [Chapter 3, Death Note]
It was Sunday, December 31st; New Year’s Eve.
Back in Japan, this would be a glorious day of tradition and celebration. Kadomatsu would be seen in every corner, mothers would be at home preparing mochi for the whole family, and children would be seen beaming with joy as they showed their mother and father the wonderful nengajo they made for their relatives.
However, this was not Japan. This was the United States of America, it would never be (nor did Misa particularly hope for it to be) Japan.
This, of course, may explain why her dear old not-Japanese assistant manager had somehow found a way to convince the manager, Murky Blue (otherwise known as The Narcissist, and Your-Friendly-Neighborhood-Closet-Pervert, between others) to close the store down around three so all the willing employees (and by willing, she really meant suicidal) could drown themselves in leftover alcohol and punch to celebrate the new year, while Misa, who had found no reasonable excuse to say no, wished for what seemed to be the umpteenth time that day to just the get hell out of there.
This went on until it was well around six, and by then, Misa, who had decided to sit in a corner and stare at everyone else while they got absolutely hammered (she would get to laugh at their hangovers the next day, anyways), was practically oozing misery; to the point that Samantha, who had decided that using an empty punch bowl as a hat was a terrific idea, had walked (or shuffled, really) right over to her corner.
Of course, conversations with the inebriated were never as eloquent as Misa hoped they would be, and, before she even realized what was happening, an umbrella had been shoved into her arms and she was being pushed out the front door while Samantha muttered something along the lines of ‘go get your man’.
All Misa had said was that she missed somebody, really, and she did miss her family.
Either way, this may or may not explain why Misa was currently soaked from head to toe, fumbling with her apartment keys as she attempted to open the door without dropping them or the umbrella into the disgusting puddle of water in the hallway. If Misa was correct, it was around twelve in Kyoto, meaning that it was well past New Year’s in Japan, and that her parents must be, more or less, getting ready to call the funerary services to mourn the disappearance and death of their dear, dear daughter; going three weeks without contacting her family made her parents do strange things, really.
There was a click, and the door opened, allowing Misa to finally go inside. She shivered, placing her umbrella in a corner, before taking her coat off and throwing it towards God knows where; if there was one thing Misa absolutely despised about California, it was the rain, which was closely followed, by… Well…
She still hadn’t returned Rue’s jacket, Misa noted, it was still in the exact same place she had left it in before going out to get herself a new coat. It was also stinky, dirty, and just generally ugly looking, even after Misa had taken it to the laundry five times (which may, or may not have been an exaggeration on her part, but she was desperate to get the stench of week old strawberry jam and Rue off of it).
Misa shook her head, she had more important matters to attend to than musing over Rue Ryuuzaki’s filthy jacket, like, say, actually writing something to her parents before they sent out a search party or did something equally stupid.
It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the fact that they were (probably, most likely) worried about her, but she was eighteen for God’s sake, and she could take care of herself. Her parents were specially fond of smothering her and--
No, no, no.
Misa needed to concentrate, that kind of thinking was what made her procrastinate, and procrastinate, until it was already New Year’s and she hadn’t even done as much as to write ‘Dear mother and father’, and that wouldn’t just do.
And so, grabbing the first pen she saw, and snatching the nearest notebook in her apartment, Misa sat down on the couch, tapping her lips with the pen before scribbling down the first thing that came to mind.
Dear mother and father,
I’m sorry I disappeared just like that, but
…‘But’ what?
If she told her parents that she (or rather, her manager) had royally screwed up, and that she was going to be stuck here for a good, long while, working as a waitress, they would throw a fit, swim across the Pacific Ocean, drag her back to Japan, and lock her up until she was fifty. That was definitely not something Misa wanted to happen.
She stared blankly at the ‘letter’ (if it could be called that) before her; telling her parents what had really happened was not an option, obviously, and lying… Well, Misa was never one to lie unless it was absolutely necessary, and, well...
One little white lie couldn't hurt much, right?
And thus, Misa began to scribble down the rest of her letter, pausing every now and then to think of ways to phrase a sentence without it sounding completely and utterly wrong. It took only one word to give the wrong impression, especially when it came to the subject in question, and the last thing Misa wanted was for her parents to get the wrong idea, really.
Ten, or fifteen minutes passed, and Misa pursed her lips, debating on whether or not she should change a certain line (one that would surely give the wrong impression if phrased incorrectly), before deciding that it was fine the way it was and that she should just finish it before she got distracted, again. She would need to go to an internet café tomorrow to send her letter in an e-mail; mostly because it was faster that way, partly because she wasn’t even sure that the U.S. postal service worked the same way as it did in Japan.
It was only after she had finished that she realized that, yes, she had forgotten to change out of her wet clothes and her nose was beginning to itch.
Good job, idiot.
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The following day, the first thing Misa did upon arriving at her apartment after sending the e-mail, was to take out the draft from her purse, crumple it up into a little ball, and throw it into the trash-bin.
Dear mother and father,
I’m sorry I disappeared just like that, but you wouldn’t believe what happened to me! The shoot was a success; a lot of people want to hire Misa-Misa now! Isn’t that great, mother and father? The pay for some of the jobs I’ve been offered is great, and the people I’ve talked to are really nice. Misa couldn’t be happier!
But… Yeah… I got a little carried away with the job offerings, and I won’t be able to return home for a little while, but don’t worry! Misa is 18 now! I can take care of myself, so don’t worry. In any case, Misa has an awesome friend to help her.
His name is Rue Ryuuzaki, and he’s helped me a lot in the past few weeks! If I ever get the chance to do so, I’m going to introduce him to you. He’s a little finicky, but I’m sure you’ll like him!
Much love,
Your daughter, Amane Misa. ♥
Oh, she was so going to hell for this.
Back in Japan, this would be a glorious day of tradition and celebration. Kadomatsu would be seen in every corner, mothers would be at home preparing mochi for the whole family, and children would be seen beaming with joy as they showed their mother and father the wonderful nengajo they made for their relatives.
However, this was not Japan. This was the United States of America, it would never be (nor did Misa particularly hope for it to be) Japan.
This, of course, may explain why her dear old not-Japanese assistant manager had somehow found a way to convince the manager, Murky Blue (otherwise known as The Narcissist, and Your-Friendly-Neighborhood-Closet-Pervert, between others) to close the store down around three so all the willing employees (and by willing, she really meant suicidal) could drown themselves in leftover alcohol and punch to celebrate the new year, while Misa, who had found no reasonable excuse to say no, wished for what seemed to be the umpteenth time that day to just the get hell out of there.
This went on until it was well around six, and by then, Misa, who had decided to sit in a corner and stare at everyone else while they got absolutely hammered (she would get to laugh at their hangovers the next day, anyways), was practically oozing misery; to the point that Samantha, who had decided that using an empty punch bowl as a hat was a terrific idea, had walked (or shuffled, really) right over to her corner.
Of course, conversations with the inebriated were never as eloquent as Misa hoped they would be, and, before she even realized what was happening, an umbrella had been shoved into her arms and she was being pushed out the front door while Samantha muttered something along the lines of ‘go get your man’.
All Misa had said was that she missed somebody, really, and she did miss her family.
Either way, this may or may not explain why Misa was currently soaked from head to toe, fumbling with her apartment keys as she attempted to open the door without dropping them or the umbrella into the disgusting puddle of water in the hallway. If Misa was correct, it was around twelve in Kyoto, meaning that it was well past New Year’s in Japan, and that her parents must be, more or less, getting ready to call the funerary services to mourn the disappearance and death of their dear, dear daughter; going three weeks without contacting her family made her parents do strange things, really.
There was a click, and the door opened, allowing Misa to finally go inside. She shivered, placing her umbrella in a corner, before taking her coat off and throwing it towards God knows where; if there was one thing Misa absolutely despised about California, it was the rain, which was closely followed, by… Well…
She still hadn’t returned Rue’s jacket, Misa noted, it was still in the exact same place she had left it in before going out to get herself a new coat. It was also stinky, dirty, and just generally ugly looking, even after Misa had taken it to the laundry five times (which may, or may not have been an exaggeration on her part, but she was desperate to get the stench of week old strawberry jam and Rue off of it).
Misa shook her head, she had more important matters to attend to than musing over Rue Ryuuzaki’s filthy jacket, like, say, actually writing something to her parents before they sent out a search party or did something equally stupid.
It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the fact that they were (probably, most likely) worried about her, but she was eighteen for God’s sake, and she could take care of herself. Her parents were specially fond of smothering her and--
No, no, no.
Misa needed to concentrate, that kind of thinking was what made her procrastinate, and procrastinate, until it was already New Year’s and she hadn’t even done as much as to write ‘Dear mother and father’, and that wouldn’t just do.
And so, grabbing the first pen she saw, and snatching the nearest notebook in her apartment, Misa sat down on the couch, tapping her lips with the pen before scribbling down the first thing that came to mind.
Dear mother and father,
I’m sorry I disappeared just like that, but
…‘But’ what?
If she told her parents that she (or rather, her manager) had royally screwed up, and that she was going to be stuck here for a good, long while, working as a waitress, they would throw a fit, swim across the Pacific Ocean, drag her back to Japan, and lock her up until she was fifty. That was definitely not something Misa wanted to happen.
She stared blankly at the ‘letter’ (if it could be called that) before her; telling her parents what had really happened was not an option, obviously, and lying… Well, Misa was never one to lie unless it was absolutely necessary, and, well...
One little white lie couldn't hurt much, right?
And thus, Misa began to scribble down the rest of her letter, pausing every now and then to think of ways to phrase a sentence without it sounding completely and utterly wrong. It took only one word to give the wrong impression, especially when it came to the subject in question, and the last thing Misa wanted was for her parents to get the wrong idea, really.
Ten, or fifteen minutes passed, and Misa pursed her lips, debating on whether or not she should change a certain line (one that would surely give the wrong impression if phrased incorrectly), before deciding that it was fine the way it was and that she should just finish it before she got distracted, again. She would need to go to an internet café tomorrow to send her letter in an e-mail; mostly because it was faster that way, partly because she wasn’t even sure that the U.S. postal service worked the same way as it did in Japan.
It was only after she had finished that she realized that, yes, she had forgotten to change out of her wet clothes and her nose was beginning to itch.
Good job, idiot.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The following day, the first thing Misa did upon arriving at her apartment after sending the e-mail, was to take out the draft from her purse, crumple it up into a little ball, and throw it into the trash-bin.
Dear mother and father,
I’m sorry I disappeared just like that, but you wouldn’t believe what happened to me! The shoot was a success; a lot of people want to hire Misa-Misa now! Isn’t that great, mother and father? The pay for some of the jobs I’ve been offered is great, and the people I’ve talked to are really nice. Misa couldn’t be happier!
But… Yeah… I got a little carried away with the job offerings, and I won’t be able to return home for a little while, but don’t worry! Misa is 18 now! I can take care of myself, so don’t worry. In any case, Misa has an awesome friend to help her.
His name is Rue Ryuuzaki, and he’s helped me a lot in the past few weeks! If I ever get the chance to do so, I’m going to introduce him to you. He’s a little finicky, but I’m sure you’ll like him!
Much love,
Your daughter, Amane Misa. ♥
Oh, she was so going to hell for this.