[Fanfic, 100% Orange Juice] Lazy Sunday

Series: Suguri
Genre: Slice of life/humour
Length: 1510 words
B/D: This is an example of me getting on a train of thought and utterly refusing to relinquish it. I can do this because I am not a paid professional and I very much enjoy it. Also, font shenanigans because I've moved computer and there's some general weirdness with the different font packs.

It was a lazy Sunday. Well, it would have been. It was a curious phenomenon; before Suguri met Hime, every Sunday was a lazy Sunday. It was the only flavour of Sunday available. You could perhaps make a call to the manager of the Sunday store and ask her to stock new and innovative varieties of Sunday, and she would simply push up her metaphorical glasses and say, “Our consumer data says that Lazy Sundays are the best selling Sunday by far. Do you know how many Lazy Sundays are being consumed worldwide? In fact, we have a 100% takeup rate. Why would we stock anything else, given that everybody loves Lazy Sundays so much?”

Well, you would say, Lazy Sundays are very nice and nobody is denying that, but a change is as good as a rest, isn’t it? There’s nothing wrong with trying just a little something new every once in a while to see if you like it. The store manager would look at you, check the data on her phone (which looks suspiciously not like actual data and more like a candy-based puzzle game) and say, “Sorry, but it just wouldn’t be profitable for us. If you want Sundays, you’ll just have to abide by the ones we have, or check with one of our competitors. By the way, the only ones we have are lazy ones, and our competitors don’t exist.”

So, defeated, you would slink back to your bed for an enforced lie-in of at least two hours, followed by shuffling about to make an easy breakfast so you could count as being awake at noon. It was the only choice.

Until, of course, Hime appeared. Hime had taken the world of Sunday selling by storm, mainly because she was from Space, and Space’s idea of a Sunday was very different. Mainly it didn’t exist, because having seven days of the week when you weren’t on a chunk of rock hurtling through space around the day’s namesake seemed a little silly.

In the end, Hime had bravely purged any and all traces of the insidious Lazy Sunday from Suguri’s home, because Lazy Sundays bored her and there were few things as dangerous as Hime when she was bored. It brought out her impish streak, which was a mile wide and twice as long, with every step being a new and embarrassing hazard for anybody trying to walk the path. She was a master at unexpected teasing, a 2^nd Dan at dry retorts, an unrelenting agent of whimsy that spread her missive of mischief as far as her arms would allow.

In short, Hime had not sat in the core of a spaceship for 10,000 years so she could be bored and sleep in all day. She did, at least, come fully furnished with helpful suggestions for things that would entertain her and keep everybody within an arm’s reach of their sanity.

“Suguri, let’s go visit Saki today.”

Suguri sucked the top of her pen. She was valiantly wrestling with the crossword puzzle, which she knew from experience was harder than wrestling a polar bear. There were things printed words on a sheet of tree pulp could do to your brain that even half a ton of raw ursine muscle and carnivorous intent couldn’t.

“I do enjoy Saki’s company,” she murmured, in between scrawling “apotheosis” into the little box with her childish, loopy handwriting.

“Of course you do. She’s blonde, homeless, and hilariously dangerous. You have a track record with that kind of girl, you know,” Hime said. Hime was currently draped across the loveseat, her head lolling over the arm, looking at Suguri upside down. Her hair was hanging down; her forehead was formidable.

“One girl does not constitute a track record. Ooh, constitute. I think that fits. Anyway, even if I enjoyed myself, what would you do?”

“Gossip about old times, braid each other’s hair, debase myself for baked goods. It has all the makings of a fun afternoon!”

Suguri sighed, and shut her newspaper. It was a reluctant admission of defeat; even her smallest, squigliest handwriting had not managed to compress ‘recalcitrant’ into a space meant for four letters. “Yes, well. Last I heard, Saki was in Brazil. Even with our speed, we’d struggle to fly to Brazil in less than twelve hours.”

Hime pouted. Or perhaps not. Hime was very good at pouting without actually pouting. She would imply a pout, and that made them all the more effective because she could still retain the appearance of being refined and sanguine while being childish. “Oh, boo. I know! Let’s hire out a rowboat. We can enjoy a day on the water. Me, you, the sunshine, dragonflies, reeds, lilypads, krakens...”

Aside from the fact that Hime didn’t seem to know if she wanted to sail down the River Nile or straight down into the cold, pressurised depths of the ocean, Suguri had some private objections to that plan. Firstly, she thought Hime had spent enough time on boats. A spaceship, according to Suguri, was just a boat that happened to be in space. According to Hime, it was a ship, because a boat had to have oars, and could you imagine trying to paddle to Neptune? Neither one of them was correct, but both of them were very passionate about it.

Secondly, Suguri had recently brought home a bookshelf. (She didn’t know quite how she’d done it. She acquired furniture the same way that people acquired lost puppies; it just sort’ve appeared at her ankles one day and she picked it up and fussed it and gave it a loving home). She had donated it to Hime, and kept a semi-close eye on the contents. In the last two weeks, it had accrued a number of books about pirates, and Suguri thought that Hime might not be able to resist an opportunity to swash some buckles.

“Why don’t you take a look at your unfinished knitting projects?” Suguri asked, jerking her head towards the corner. The corner was dominated by a sprawling jungle of worsted spread, in a variety of beautiful pastel colours. Last time Suguri had checked, Hime had been working on a shapeless bundle of cloth that she described as ‘a scarf, but it’s a very postmodern kind of scarf.’

Hime winced. “Aha. I think I’ll leave that for today. One day, I shall have needlework that strikes wonder into the hearts of the gods themselves, but I have thousands of years to attain that skill, so I needn’t be in a hurry.”

Suguri smiled to herself. She had knit, on and off, for a stretch of fifty years in her ten thousand year life, but Hime was adamant about learning to do it herself. The next time Hime went to stay with Kyoko, Saki or Iru, Suguri fully intended to knit her a nice sweater to see the reaction. (Suguri had also, in her past, spent a long time wrangling various ‘postmodern’ knitted garments back into wearable shape, with questionable success.)

“Hah… That still doesn’t solve the problem of what to do. Suguri, do you mind if I spoon feed you three tubs of chocolate fudge ice cream? I feel like that will bring us both closer to enlightenment.”

In Suguri’s opinion, the only thing eating three tubs of ice cream in a row would enlighten her of was her lunch. She took the suggestion as the warning shot that it was. It was time to unveil her secret weapon.

“Hime, how much do you like loud noises?”

“I’m not really a huge fan,” Hime said, conveniently forgetting that she was sometimes a steady source of loud noises.

“Okay. How much do you like Kae?”

“I feel like you just asked the same question twice but in different ways. Oh well. I suppose it depends on how you serve her – rare, medium or well done?”

“Anything less than well done wouldn’t even singe that one. Anyway, she recently made some friends who are also loud and have guitars, and sent us some free tickets.”

“Free tickets! Those are the best kind,” Hime replied wryly. “Oh, but what shall I wear? My wardrobe is rather light on ripped t-shirts and spiked collars, although that could be addressed. Will we need to daub ourselves with eyeliner and draw stars on our faces, do you think?”

With that, Hime launched herself from the loveseat, pleased with the itenerary of the day. It was a fine one. There would be loud noises and moshing, which, in Hime’s understanding, was like dancing except it incorporated violence, and thus was a fusion of two things she was rather good at. There would also be Kae, who would most likely be louder than the band, but always a source of fun.

Suguri watched her go, pleased with her work. Although crossword mastery still eluded her, Hime was happy and not sowing gentile chaos in the surrounding area, which was victory enough. Unlike Hime, though, Suguri knew exactly what she would be wearing to Kae’s concert.

Earplugs.