[Fanfic, 100% OJ] Poppomikki Sunshine, part 2

Genre: Slice of Life

Length: 4088 words

B/D: Is it okay to use Sora/Nath artwork if Nath isn't in the story? But it's my only cover image with Sora in it, so... Part 1 is here.

Sora was visibly wavering. She couldn’t help it. On one hand, she had an objective: make her way through a crowd of dedicated Poppomikki Sunshine fans so she could stand right at the stage and get the best view of the starlet who might be Sham. On the other hand, there was a man selling glowsticks at the entrance to the venue, and it had apparently piqued her curiosity. It had also piqued Hime’s curiosity, and the ex-ship guardian was trying to explain to Sora exactly what a glowstick was.

“So, you bend it, and it activates the liquid inside and it produces light.”

“So it’s like an emergency flare?”

“Well, no. It doesn’t produce that much light. Just enough to glow for a while.”

“Then what’s the point?”

Even from where she was standing, Suguri could pick out Hime rolling her eyes. Sora, they had both observed, had a very strange worldview; on one hand, she was curious about anything and everything. On the other hand, she had spent many years in the ‘loving’ care of the military during the greatest war mankind had ever seen or was likely to see, and had adopted some of the more utilitarian outlooks. She seemed convinced that everything had to have a use, a purpose, and tended to interpret new things in terms of what they might be for, rather than what they actually were.

“Well… The point is that they also don’t get nearly so hot as a flare. So you can hold them in your hand and wave them about.”

“So… you use them to signal aircraft?”

“No, they aren’t bright enough for that.”

“Then what’s the point?”

“The point,” Hime said, and the briskness of the word hinted that she was becoming impatient, “is that it’s very aesthetically pleasing to see the light moving around in a darkened room. They’re very popular at raves, so I’m told.”

Which, Suguri thought, was probably why the salesman had such a long face. There weren’t quite so many ravers at a concert for a bright, cheerful, energetic pop idol. He should have been selling bottles of water, she thought; it was a hot day, and soon they were going to be pressed into a crowd of almost a thousand other hot, sweaty people. She would definitely have paid for some hydration on a day like today, but in this kind of sunshine, a glowstick was just as useless as Sora seemed to think they were.

“Raving… That’s a dance? How do you do it?” Sora asked.

“Here, I’ll show you. Excuse me!” Hime called, turning to the seller and reaching for her purse. “Do you have the ones you can wear as necklaces? I’ll take three – no, five.”

Suguri could swear that there was a tear in the seller’s eye when he handed over the merchandise and took his payment. He was definitely looking at Sora with some form of gratitude, and Hime was though she were the actual saviour of the world.

“So, usually there’s a very strong, rhythmic backbeat at a rave. Like, unst unst unst, yes? So, in time with that, you put your hands in the air – as if you were trying to push up an invisible ceiling,” Hime explained, snapping the glowstick necklace and putting it around her neck. “Here. Unst, unst, unst!”

She demonstrated, taking her rainbow coloured wings out and back in again on every beat. Sora looked about as mystified as she had before, but this time she at least had some mystified passers-by for company. Hime seemed to be having fun, though, which to Suguri felt like the main thing.

“Wow,” Sora said, after Hime’s single-woman, twenty-second rave came to a halt. “That’s hardly dancing at all.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean you can disrespect raving. It’s an expression of the primal desire to dance, even when you don’t know any forms, and for that I applaud it,” Hime said, tucking the rest of the glowsticks into her bag. “Well, then. Shall we go off and stake our claim?”

Sora’s focus narrowed almost palpably to a laser point. Glowsticks had been interesting. Raving was interesting. But she was here to see Sham, and to see Sham she had to be close to the stage. There were hundreds of people between her and the stage, and she was going to move all of them if she had to. She wondered what she would do if they fought back. She wasn’t really dressed for battle. They had gone out in the week and gotten her a powder-blue blouse and a skirt long enough to swoosh around by her ankles, which wasn’t the most effective clothing for extreme shoulder barging. But even with a handicap, she felt sure she could achieve her objective. She rolled up her sleeves, and prepared to get to work. She was stopped by Suguri’s hand on her shoulder.

“Sora. I know you want to go to the stage right away. But try to relax and enjoy yourself, okay? That way, even if it isn’t your friend up there, it can be a nice day out,” Suguri said. “…Also, rather than barging our way through the crowd, why don’t we fly around and see if we can get a good vantage point instead?”

Sora tilted her head. It did sound nice to be able to watch the show in the air, rather than sandwiched in a crowd of sweaty, smelly people. “What if they get mad at us for flying?”

“Well, how mad can they get? It’s not like we’re trying to sneak in without tickets – we have those VIP backstage passes, so we can go to the meet and greet. If anything, I should think it would help her recognise you, if it is indeed Sham. After all, there are a lot of blonde girls in the world, but how many can fly?”

“At least three, that I know of. Maybe it’s not such an exclusive club,” Suguri said.

For the second time in ten minutes, Sora’s focus wavered. After a moment more thought, she came to her conclusion. “Nn…If we’re flying, we don’t have to hurry. Let’s get snacks.”

Hime smiled. “Oh, yes. We can’t march into battle on an empty stomach, can we?”

“Dancing is a battle?”

“Dancing is a battle, an art, and a romance. Provided you have the right partner, of course.” This was where, in a perfect world, Hime would have reached over and given Suguri a jaunty pat on the bottom. But as of yet that bottom was untouched, a sacred land; now wasn’t quite the right time to make the advance.

So she settled for a wink and a burger instead.

“Mikki, darling, I keep telling you: we can’t have robots as backup dancers, we just can’t. I’ve seen the think tank data, and I’m telling you, people just don’t like robots.”

Poppomikki Sunshine – Mikki to her friends – smiled prettily and fought the urge to tell her producer that he was lying to her. He may well have seen the think tank data, but she had also seen the think tank data, and people loved robots. She loved robots, as a matter of fact. She thought they were cute and chunky and adorable, especially if you gave them one of those screens on the front that let them display LED smiley face emoticons. The moment they could smile at you, they went from soulless machines to friendly metal beachball buddies in five seconds flat. What she really wanted was to cover one in a fuzzy fur coat or something, so it could be plushy and huggable, but that would clog the vents and the robot would overheat, and it’d be like embracing a toaster that was still plugged in and turning bread into breakfast.

Speaking of toasters, she had been toasting for the past few hours. The hot days were always the worst; as an idol, she prided herself on her cheerful personality and boundless energy. So she couldn’t really tone down her dance routine because the thermostat demanded it without feeling like a hypocrite. Nevertheless, she absolutely lived for those sweet, blissful moments just after the show where she could scurry away into a shady back room with air conditioning, peel off her sweaty clothes and put on something loose, cool and casual. (Of course, the outfit was still picked out by the wardrobe department since she’d be wearing it to fan meet and greets, but it was still a joy.)

At least, she thought to herself, she wasn’t the only one feeling the heat. Her producer had it even worse, because he seemed to think that being a producer meant he had to exist inside of a business suit at all times. His shirts were always immaculately pressed, and there was probably more starch in his trousers than in the average bowl of rice. She had made a private resolution to get him to take off his tie at least once before he died.

“Come oooooon, Dewey. I just want to try having a show with robots. Just one time. Pleaaase?” she asked. As an idol, she knew her fans; as an intelligent businesswoman in her own right, she had made sure that her producer was her biggest fan of all. He was a sucker for the long vowels and the silly pet name he said he hated but secretly enjoyed. His real name was Deuteronomy; his parents had been convinced he was going to be a lawyer, and it took until he was a floppy-haired teenager with media studies as his electives for them to realise the mistake.

“It just isn’t the right time, Mikki. Tell you what, I’ll see if we can trial it for a show in next year’s tour, okay?” he replied, running his hand through his hair. His thinning hair, she noted. How old was he, anyway? Thirty? Forty? She had entirely forgotten. Time flew, and wasn’t in the habit of flying back.

“Fiiiine. But it’s a promise, okay? You know, an idol is like an elephant. Not because we’re huge and grey and wrinkly, but because we never forget, and we especially don’t forget promises. Promises are forever!” she said. This was what passed for negotiations in Poppomikki Sunshine’s world, and she was more than happy to keep it that way.

With the promise of robot backup dancers successfully extracted, all that was left to do was grab a can of something pink and fizzy (raspberry, melon, it didn’t really matter – she liked to be surprised), check that the mauve shirt and pinafore the wardrobe department had put her in was immaculate, and go out to greet her fans backstage. She always loved the fan meet and greets, although she preferred the quieter, low-key ones. There was a certain pleasure in having a crowd of people chant your name, of course, but she liked to stop and chat with them all individual, give handshakes… just generally have something a little more humane, a little more intimate. Less chaotic and demanding. She hoped it would be one like that as she threaded her way through the corridors to the comfy, air-conditioned hall where her fans were waiting. She took a deep breath, counted to ten in her head, put on her brightest smile, and threw open the door.

“It’s Mikki!!!”

The shouting started immediately. She sighed without losing her smile – a skill particular to her profession – and embraced the chaos. It was just going to be one of those days.

“Heeeey, everybody! Thanks so much for coming out to see me!” she shouted. The reply she got back was an indecipherable melange of excited voices. She felt as though she was a piece of paper that somebody had folded in half and put into an envelope, only the envelope was made out of pure noise.

At times like that, it was tempting to rush things – just make a quick circuit, scribble as many autographs as she needed to and retreat back to somewhere less crowded, more quiet. It was all the more tempting because nobody would blame her. But she wanted to do things properly, and so began to slowly make the rounds. There were some faces she recognised, veterans from the tours before her hiatus; where she could she called them by name, and she remembered more than a few. For new faces, she made a point to introduce herself, ask them their name, take a moment to memorise their faces while she signed. And then, regrettably quickly, she had to choose her next target as the crowd bayed for her attention. Standing at the door she walked in from, two security guards with black suits and wide shoulders cast a wary eye over the proceedings.

“Mikki! Mikki! Over here!”

“Mikki, can I go next?”

“Don’t rush her. She’ll see all of us.”

At least, she thought, an excited after-party usually meant she’d nailed the show itself. They were still riding the buzz. Even if all the voices got annoying sometimes, there was a certain satisfaction in it. Even if she would have preferred something quieter and more relaxed, she was still happy. And then, in a voice quiet enough to stand out amongst all the shouting, she heard:

“Sham!”

Her heart stopped.

Her smile froze in place; her pen left off mid-autograph. How long had it been since she last heard anybody use that name? She had been Mikki for a while now. Before that, she was Jenna with her band of Gems; even longer ago she had been Stella, Britney, Celja. But now she was Sham again, Sham wearing a mask called Mikki, Sham trying desperately not to let that mask slip. She lurched back into motion, finished her autograph – the tail end of the signature was wrong, because she was signing a name that suddenly no longer applied to her – and cast a glance around the room, eyes narrowed, trying to pick out the right face, the right voice –

She saw her right as the security guard began to move. Her staff were fantastic. Almost like family. They’d noticed there was something wrong straight away, and found the source just as quickly as she did. A girl with long, blonde hair, piercing green eyes, an expression that was both hopeful and painful at the same time. She wasn’t looking at the security guards. They didn’t exist to her. Her eyes were locked on Sham’s face.

“Sham. Sham, it’s me,” she said. Her voice was urgent, as if she were begging for food or water or air. Please, be you. Please, remember me.

Sham’s mind raced. The security guard was going to reach her – her, Sora, after all these years, after all this time, here, now – before she could, and then… what? Would Sora just let herself be escorted out without a struggle? Not now, not here. The look on her face was too serious, too intense. Then – oh god. Oh god. An ordinary human being was about to get into a fight with Sora. She wanted to scream. She wanted to break into a sprint. Her body wouldn’t let her do either. She took a long step towards them but it wasn’t enough, the security guard was already closing in–

“Hey, get out of the way,” he said, in a voice that was gruff and booming.

“Oh? I do apologise,” the girl said. She had blonde, curled hair and had definitely – almost definitely – deliberately shifted into the guard’s way. She didn’t seem worried at all; her expression was a knowing, confident smile. “What seems to be the problem?”

“That girl behind you is being disruptive. I’m going to have to ask her to–”

“Oh, you guuuuuuuys! I thought I told you to wait in the room!” Her voice finally came out, all energy and sparkle – like she had been practising for years upon years, decades upon decades. “Let me guess, you forgot your passes again? You dummies~<3!”

“Sorry.” The reply came from a girl with long grey hair and a Poppomikki Sunshine t-shirt that was far too large for her. She had serious red eyes. “We must have left them at the house. We didn’t realise until we got here.”

Sham breathed a sigh of relief. They were playing along. Good. The security guard looked at her with raised eyebrows, a look of surprise. Sora seemed just as confused.

“Sorry, but I have to spend some quality time with my fans right now. Here, this is my ID card. Greg–” she said, and flashed an imperious look at the security guard – “Could you please take them to my dressing room? I don’t want them to get lost.”

The guard’s eyes narrowed. There was definitely something wrong here, but the look in her eyes told him not to ask any awkward questions – at least, not right now. Reluctantly, he jerked his thumb towards the door. “Alright. Come on, you three.”

“Don’t worry. Just wait for me, okay?” she hissed to Sora, as quietly as she could. “I’ll finish up here, then come and see you. I promise.”

There was definitely worry in the girl’s eyes, but after a momentary pause, she allowed herself to be lead away with her friends. Sham’s heart, hammering inside her chest, slowed down just a fraction.

But the autographs she gave were noticeably more shaky than the ones before.

“Sora, you’re going to wear a hole in the carpet,” Hime said cheerfully. She had good reason to be cheerful. Whether Poppomikki Sunshine was indeed Sham or not, her dressing room had both a water cooler and a very comfy armchair that Hime had immediately commandeered.

Sora ignored her and kept pacing, her hands balled into fists at her side. She crossed the room in three long steps, about turned, and repeated. As measured and efficient as a soldier marching on parade. All thoughts of having a pleasant day out or just enjoying the concert had quickly gone out of the window, to be replaced by a terse silence.

Suguri, leaning against the wall near Hime’s chosen chair, said nothing. She thought it would be more helpful for Sora to have somebody calm and quiet around while she went over her own thoughts. The girl was stressed, and understandably so, but this was a fairly good outcome. It seemed like ‘Mikki’ either was Sham or knew something about her, either of which was a fantastic outcome. As for herself, well… She was just thankful to Hime for stepping in front of the guard when she did. If he had actually touched Sora when she was so agitated, she knew exactly what would have happened – Sora would have removed his hand from her body, and then probably removed his arm from its socket right afterwards. That would have… complicated the situation, in ways that even Suguri wasn’t sure she could fix.

The seconds ticked by and became minutes; five, ten, and then fifteen. Slowly, Suguri began to become worried. Sora’s expression was gradually changing from a girl who was stressed to a girl who might or might not be trying not to cry. Then, at last they heard a knock on the door: small, gentle. Surprisingly timid. Not quite the knock expected from an idol about to walk into her own dressing room.

But when the door opened, there she was. She looked somehow smaller than earlier; she had her hands balled up underneath the cuffs of her sleeves. The energy that had poured out of every movement she made had gone, like she was the spring in a watch that hadn’t be wound.

“Sham,” Sora said, taking a step towards her. Her voice had lost none of the ragged, urgent edge it had earlier. “It’s you, isn’t it? Do you remember me?”

There was a moment of silence. The idol’s face softened. Then, almost out of nowhere, she burst into tears.

“Of course I remember you, you dummy!” she bawled. “Soraaaaaaaaaaa!”

It happened before even Suguri could blink. One moment they were standing apart, and the next they were hugging. How many times had Sham imagined this in the past millennia? How many thousands of scenarios had she pictured? In her imagination, Sora also hugged her so softly, so tenderly. She always smelled of fresh linen. But the real Sora was sweaty and hugged her so tightly, so desperately, the kind of hug you gave to somebody who you thought had died. It was the best hug she’d ever had.

“I knew it was you. I saw you on the internet and just knew. I came to see you. I missed you,” Sora said, her voice low and quiet. Her breath tickled Sham’s ears.

“I… I found you after the war, and put you in a life support capsule. I came by every few hundred years to maintain it and check on you, but… you were always, always asleep. I… thought you would never wake up! I waited ten thousand years for you, you dummy!” Sham said, her voice cracking. She felt almost hysterical. “And now look at you. You got taller, didn’t you? You’re definitely taller. And you have muscles!”

“Mn. I do lots of gardening. I could lift a whole bear,” Sora replied dreamily.

“I bet you could lift five bears!”

“Five bears is too many bears. They only ever come in packs of three. A mom bear, a dad bear, and a baby bear.” She paused. “I really liked your show. You’re a good idol.”

“I know, right?! I dedicated myself to being super cute so I could spread a message of love and peace and wearing pink every day!”

“It’s an important job.”

Neither of them noticed when Suguri gently tapped Hime on the shoulder and gestured towards the door. They were too wrapped in their conversation, in dancing loops around the things they really wanted to say, in taking flights of fancy and working themselves back. Sora had begun to say something along the lines of “sorry I shot you” when Hime finally pressed the door shut behind her.

“…Hah. I was worried there. But those two seem like they’re on the same wavelength… I think,” Suguri said.

Hime reached down and gave her hand a squeeze. “All’s well that ends well, I suppose. By the way… it was very sensitive of you to give them some time to themselves. Even I was just sitting there, watching it unfold. I’m impressed.” She moved behind her, put her hands on her hips, and pulled her back into an embrace.

“…Mmn. Don’t laugh, alright? But I… kinda sympathise with her. Sham, I mean.”

“Oh?”

“She said she waited ten thousand years for Sora to wake up. That’s… kind’ve crazy, right? But… I feel like that about you.” She took a little breath. “When we met, you… um. Filled such a big hole in my life. It was like I had been waiting for you the whole time, and didn’t know it.”

“Oh, my,” Hime said softly. “…It’s embarrassing when you say it so openly.”

“You’re embarrassed? Usually, you’re the one teasing me.”

“Oh, I tease you for a lot of reasons, you know. Sometimes it’s because you’re fun to tease. Sometimes, I just want to make you laugh or smile or blush. And sometimes…” She paused, moved Suguri’s hair out of the way and pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. “Sometimes… It lets me say the things I really mean, or really want, without feeling too heavy about it, since I know you’ll assume it’s a joke.”

“Do you do that often?”

“Well, I’m always inviting you to take a shower with me, aren’t I?”

Suguri turned her head to look her in the eye. “…You’re kidding, right?”

“Maybe,” Hime said lightly. There was mischief in her voice. “For now, let’s go and find somewhere to grab a drink, and let those two sort themselves out. I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

“Mm. …I wonder if we can persuade Mik – Sham, to give us a free t-shirt,” Suguri mused, looking down at the one swamping her. “Maybe they have backstock.”

Hime smirked. “Oh, my. Well, I’m glad to know that seeing your favourite pop idol break down in tears hasn’t stopped you from being her biggest fan.”

She looked back at the room where Sora and Sham were still talking, smiled, and shook her head.

“I’m still a fan,” Suguri said. “But somehow, I don’t think I’m the biggest.”

A/N: Sham's introduced, we can have stories with Sham now. All hail Sham, the ultra super cute. Also, Celja, I hope you don't mind the cameo! I'm rushing to get this one out before work tomorrow, so I might give it a once over later and see if anything's up. For now, I'm relatively happy with it, considering the writer's block I'm only just starting to recover from.